“I once knew a traveling player, and he told me one of the tricks of their trade. When they arrived in a town, they liked to give their performances in as crowded a site as possible to make it look as if they’d drawn twice the audience they actually did.”
Morgan looked curiously at the speaker, for this was not the first time that he’d heard comments about the poor turnout for a royal Christmas Court. The king’s son John was present as was his other son, the chancellor, the steadfast Earl of Essex and his wife, Maurice de Craon, and some Norman barons and bishops. But many more were conspicuous by their absence, either keeping to their own hearths or paying court to Henry’s rebel son Richard.
Morgan had been stunned to learn that Richard had done homage to the French king, for he’d not realized how serious their rupture was until his arrival at Saumur. The king had gone “white as death,” Will told him sadly, and since then not a one of them had heard him so much as mention Richard’s name. Unlike many of the king’s knights, Morgan was not personally hostile toward Richard. If Geoffrey’s rebellion was understandable, then in fairness he could not hold Richard to a higher standard of accountability, for he had genuine grievances, too. Still, he regretted Richard’s public repudiation of his father, for that seemed like such a drastic step to take.
The other knights were still discussing the lords and barons who’d chosen to stay away from Saumur. The more he listened, the more unsettled Morgan became. “You make it sound,” he protested, “as if the king will not be able to rely upon his own vassals. Surely that is not so?”
There was a telling silence, and then Will said stoutly, “Men of honor will stand by the king.”
“And the others will wait to see who is likely to win, the king or his son. Anyone want to wager that the second band far outnumbers the first?”
This was the same man who’d implied that Henry had chosen Saumur over Chinon to make the disappointing attendance at his Christmas Court less noticeable. Renaud was one of the sons of the Count of Dammartin, a young man with a sardonic tongue, a swagger, and a disconcerting habit of saying what was on his mind.
Some of the others viewed him with mistrust for he’d been raised with Philippe in Paris, but Will Marshal’s look of disapproval now was aimed at Renaud’s cynical appraisal of Henry’s chances of victory. “I have more faith in the king’s vassals than you do,” he insisted, but he saw Renaud’s pessimism mirrored on many of the other faces.
Renaud himself did not look impressed by the rebuke. “If you are right, Sir William, Saumur ought to be swarming with men eager to display their loyalty to the king. But the hall does not look all that crowded, does it? Whether we like it or not, rats rarely swim toward a sinking ship.”
There was another awkward silence, for most of the men were not comfortable with such blunt speaking. If Henry’s ship was floundering, they were at peril, too. Once again it was Will Marshal who took charge. “I cannot speak for any others,” he said brusquely. “But I will not be amongst those who abandon their liege lord, and if you are right, Renaud, it is a shameful commentary upon our times. As I said, no man of honor would betray the king.”
Renaud de Dammartin opened his mouth to argue further. But before he could speak, Baldwin de Bethune leaned over and clamped his hand warningly upon the younger man’s wrist. Baldwin was a close friend of the Marshal’s. Renaud considered him a friend, too, though, and he looked at the Flemish knight in surprise.
Baldwin shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and Renaud saw several of the men were gazing over his shoulder toward the stairwell. He turned in time to catch a movement in the shadows, and felt a sudden unease that he could not explain. No one spoke for several moments, not until Baldwin said softly, “He’s gone.”
“Who is gone?” Renaud demanded, though he was not sure he wanted the answer to that question.
“The king’s son. I saw him standing in the stairwell, listening to us.”
Renaud cursed softly. “You do not think he thought I was advocating a wait-and-see approach, do you? I am here with the king now, am I not?” He was more disquieted than he wanted to admit, though, so much so that it did not occur to him to ask the natural question. Will did, and Renaud felt some relief when Baldwin said it was the Count of Mortain, not the chancellor, for Geoff’s fiery loyalty to the king was legendary. Lord John was more of an unknown quantity, and Renaud assured himself that there was no reason to think he’d go to the old king with what he’d heard.
After that, they found safer topics of conversation. Morgan was among those listening to a minstrel’s plaintive song of lost love when he received an unexpected summons to the king’s bedchamber. Baffled and a little bit nervous, Morgan followed a servant from the hall. The snow was coming down so heavily now that when he glanced over his shoulder, he could no longer see the footprints they’d tracked across the bailey. Why would the king want to see him?
Flames were crackling in the hearth, and Morgan was grateful when Henry instructed him to warm himself by the fire. The king was seated in a cushioned chair, his leg propped up on a stool. He looked very tired and caught up in thoughts that were far from pleasant. “I had sorrowful news today, Morgan,” he said, his voice so low that Morgan could barely hear his words. “A message from Brittany, from the Lady Constance.”
Morgan felt a flicker of unease. “The duchess…she is well, my lord?”
“No…she is heartsick. Her daughter is dead.”
Morgan gasped, then said haltingly, “Which…which one?”
“Matilda, her younger. A sudden fever.” Henry closed his eyes for a moment. “Constance says she was not sick long…”
“Sire, I am so sorry. I hope it is of some comfort to the duchess and to you that she is with her father now.”
Henry looked up, his eyes glistening. “At least Geoffrey was spared this. It is an awful thing to lose a child, Morgan. I hope you never learn what it is like.”
Morgan nodded mutely, not knowing what to say. “I will pray for her soul,” he promised at last, but Henry did not reply. It soon became apparent to him that the king had forgotten he was there. He waited a while longer and then quietly withdrew. Henry did not seem to notice, continuing to gaze into the flickering, wavering flames.
Sharon Kay Penman
Devil's Brood
C HAPTER F IFTY-THREE
June 1189
La Ferte-Bernard, Maine
In the months since Richard’s dramatic public repudiation at Bonsmoulins, Henry tried in vain to reestablish communications between them, entreating his son to return to the English court. But even when he dispatched the Archbishop of Canterbury as his messenger, Richard refused to meet with the prelate. The truce between the English and French kings had expired when Henry was too ill to attend the conference, and that spring Philippe and Richard began to stage raids into Henry’s domains, much to the dismay of those who’d taken the cross and were eager to depart for the Holy Land. The arrival of a papal legate, the Cardinal John of Anagni, rekindled hope, though, for the Church was determined to make peace between the warring crusader-kings. The cardinal succeeded in gaining their agreement to arbitration, and a meeting was set up at Whitsuntide at which time their grievances would be submitted to the cardinal himself and the Archbishops of Rheims, Bourges, Rouen, and Canterbury.
The Cardinal was a tall, elegant figure in a silk cappa magna and linen miter banded in gold, his impressive bearing enhanced by his regal aplomb. This was obviously not a man to be intimidated by those who wielded secular power and many of the witnesses took heart, daring to hope that the Peace of God would prevail.
It was soon evident, though, that neither Philippe nor Richard was in a conciliatory frame of mind. Philippe wasted no time in articulating their position, that war was inevitable unless Henry acceded to their demands. They reiterated the conditions they’d set forth at Bonsmoulins, that Alys be wed at once to Richard and that Richard be formally recognized as the rightful heir to the English crown. And they added a new proviso, insisting that John take the cross and accompany them to Outremer.
John looked startled to find himself suddenly the center of attention. Henry ignored Philippe, although he had been the speaker, and looked coolly at his elder son. “Are you saying that the success of our holy war depends upon
