intending to help his mother fight Stephen.”
“Yes, and when the routiers balked at his promises of payment and threatened to desert, leaving him stranded, he asked Stephen to lend him money to return to Normandy. Stephen was so amused by his sheer bravado that he did! Does that sound like your ordinary fourteen-year-old, Eleanor? For this is what it comes down to, does it not? How could you have forgotten the mettle of the man?”
“I do not need you to lecture me about Harry’s capabilities. After twenty years of marriage, I’d say I know him far better than you do.”
Maud shook her head slowly. “I am beginning to think that Harry is not the only blind one in your family. You once described Louis as ‘dithering at every royal crossroads.’ He is not going to defeat Henry Fitz Empress, not in this life or the next. Neither are striplings like Hal or Richard. Nor are you. Oh, I know you can match Harry in shrewdness and daring and ice-blooded resolve. But you cannot take the field against him, can you? Why do you think I am so distraught over this madness? Because this is a war you cannot hope to win!”
Henry was facing a far more formidable coalition than just Louis and her sons, but Eleanor was not about to reveal that to Maud, for it was painfully apparent that she’d greatly misjudged the other woman. She said nothing, and after a moment, Maud moved, shivering, to the hearth, feeling cold to the very marrow of her bones. “Why did you let me stay in the solar? I would to God I’d never heard a word of all this, for what am I to do now with what I know?”
Eleanor did not doubt the sincerity of her distress, but she had no sympathy to spare for Maud’s misery. “There is nothing you can do.”
Maud’s nerves were so raw that it took very little to inflame her temper. “How can you be so sure of that?” she challenged. “How do you know that I’ll not tell Harry what I’ve learned?”
“Because,” Eleanor said, “you love your son as much as I love mine.”
To Maud, there was something ominous in that matter-of-fact statement. “What are you saying, Eleanor? That my son is to be held hostage for my good behavior?”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed, the only sign that she was now as angry as Maud. “No, I am saying that your son Hugh is one of Hal’s most enthusiastic allies. He has pledged his honor and the vast resources of Chester’s earldom to this rebellion. So you’d best hope that you are wrong about this being a war we cannot win.”
Maud gasped, losing color so rapidly that she looked ill. “I…I do not believe you. Hugh is in Spain! Would he have gone on pilgrimage if he were conspiring against the Crown?”
It was a feeble hope, though, and Eleanor was quick to snatch it away. “The rebellion was not to begin so soon. That is why Raoul and Richard were so vexed with Hal. Hugh expected to have plenty of time to make his pilgrimage, and I’d wager that he planned to pray at Santiago’s holy shrine for victory. Not that he shares your doubts about the outcome. He sees Hal as an anointed king, one he wants to serve, and there are many young lords who share his convictions.”
Maud reached out, grasped the back of the closest chair for support. She had never been so frightened as she was at this moment. If Hugh was in rebellion, her daughter Beatrix’s husband might well be implicated, too, for he’d been bedazzled to be the brother-in-law of the Earl of Chester. “It is not enough that you’ve poisoned your own well,” she said bitterly. “No, you must poison mine, too!”
“Jesus God, you sound just like Harry! He cannot admit that our sons have minds of their own, and it seems that neither can you. I did not subvert Hugh’s loyalty, did not lead him astray. I never even discussed Hal’s grievances with him. The choice was his.”
“I love my son dearly, but I am not blind to his failings. He lacks the attributes of leadership, has always been easily influenced. It would not take much to convince him that he’d be embarking upon a great adventure. Hal would have been just as easily persuaded, and there’d be many at the French court eager to do the persuading. But you could have put a halt to it, Eleanor. If you’d warned Hal that this rash intrigue could be his ruination, he’d have listened to you. But you did not, and I’ll never forgive you for that.”
She was turning toward the door when Eleanor spat, “You have not been dismissed yet, my lady countess.”
Maud paused, then dropped a deep, mocking curtsy. At that moment, she wanted only to strike out, to make Eleanor hurt as much as she was hurting, and she had the weapon at hand. “What is there left to say, Madame? Unless you wish to discuss those rumors of your involvement in the conspiracy?”
“What are you talking about?”
Maud feigned surprise. “Harry did not tell you, then? The Count of Toulouse sought him out at Limoges and warned him that you were plotting with the French king against him.”
Eleanor stared at her. “What sort of game are you playing, Maud? Why should I believe you? Even if that swine St Gilles did come to Harry with his suspicions, how would you have known about it?”
“I know because my brother and my uncle were in Harry’s bedchamber when St Gilles brought his baneful offering. Roger held his tongue, of course, having had practice in keeping the confidences of the confessional. But Ranulf knew that I could be trusted with secrets, mayhap because I’d kept so many of his, and he told me what happened. Should you like to know Harry’s response? He was outraged that St Gilles should dare to malign you like that. Not for a heartbeat did he wonder if it could be true, as he proved by sending Richard and Geoffrey back with you to Poitiers.”
Eleanor’s throat had tightened, but she was not about to let Maud see that her words had wounded. “That does not surprise me. His pride would keep him from believing it.”
“Not pride,” Maud said, “trust.” And confident that she’d gotten the last word, she made her departure.
Eleanor exhaled a ragged breath and sat down abruptly on the settle. She’d been shocked by Maud’s judgmental response, and she felt betrayed by a woman she’d long trusted. She was hurt and disappointed, but above all, she was angry, and there was no dearth of targets for her fury-Maud for her disloyalty, Hal for his foolhardy flight from Chinon, Raoul for taking pleasure in the wreckage of her family, Louis for simply being Louis, Raimon St Gilles for being even more treacherous than she’d realized, Harry for his obstinacy, his arrogance, and his faith in her. The remainder of her rage she spilled over onto herself-for caring about his pain, pain he’d brought upon himself. She swore aloud, using all of Henry’s favorite oaths, but it did not help, and when she was nudged by her greyhound, she gratefully accepted the dog’s silent sympathy. She invited the animal up onto the settle beside her, and was taking what comfort she could from the abiding, absolute loyalty shining from those slanted dark eyes when the door opened and Raoul entered the chamber.
“I am guessing that you did not patch up the rift with our troublesome countess,” he said, “for when I passed her in the stairwell, she drew her skirts about her as if I were infected with the pox.”
Eleanor hastily blinked back the tears that had begun to trickle from the corners of her eyes, knowing her uncle would see them as womanly weakness, for he constantly feared that her regrets might give way to remorse and, then, repudiation of their plans. “No, we did not ‘patch up the rift.’ She greatly disapproves of our intentions and was not shy about expressing that disapproval.”
“Why in Our Lady’s Name did you allow her to remain in the solar, Eleanor?”
“She asked me the same question,” Eleanor said, with a mirthless smile. “Because Maud is not a woman to be dismissed as if she were a maid servant.” She conveniently ignored the fact that she’d tried to do just that moments ago. “Because she would have to be told sooner or later, especially now that Hal has forced our hand. And because I thought she would understand…”
“You ought to have known better. It was only to be expected that her kinship to the king would count for more than her friendship with you. Blood always wins out. What happens now? Will she try to warn Harry?”
“No, she will not,” Eleanor said, with enough certainty to ease his qualms. “As you say, Uncle, blood will out. Her love for her son is greater than her loyalty to Harry.”
Dinner was an elaborate affair as Eleanor was entertaining William le Templier, the new Archbishop of Bordeaux, and John aux Bellesmains, the Bishop of Poitiers. The first course was being served when her steward was called aside, listened intently to the message being murmured in his ear, and, with apologies, hurried from the hall. He soon returned and hastened toward the high table. “Madame, the king is here! He has just ridden into the bailey.”
Eleanor set her wine cup down with a thud. All along the length of the table, she saw her guests reacting to this startling news, none of them with pleasure. Raoul paled and Saldebreuil de Sanzay frowned and, for a brief moment, an expression of unease shadowed Richard’s face. Geoffrey, less practiced in concealing his emotions,
