the wine flask out to Henry, and inhaled audibly when his father took it. Geoff was still in shock, too. He’d always liked the queen, for she’d been good to him. Her kindness had puzzled him at first, but he decided she did not mind his father’s straying since it occurred whilst they’d been long apart, during those sixteen months when he’d been in England fighting to claim the crown that was rightfully his. But she was now Jezebel in his eyes, one with Delilah and Bathsheba, all the wicked women of Scriptures, and he harbored a savage hope that she, too, would end her days as Jezebel did, in ignominy and shame, carrion for hungry dogs.
“At least now you know why Hal and his brothers were so easily led astray,” he said, and then tensed, afraid he’d overstepped his bounds. But his father showed no anger and he was emboldened to continue. “She turned them against you, Papa. They would never have heeded the French king’s blandishments if she had not urged them on.”
As unwelcome as it was, that was the first logical explanation offered for why his sons had become his enemies. Hal’s defection to the French court was a festering wound, one he suspected he’d take to his grave, for it could never heal if he could not understand why it had happened. Richard and Geoffrey’s treachery was even more incomprehensible to him. But if it were all Eleanor’s doing, it suddenly made dreadful sense. She had stolen his sons away, turned them into weapons to use against him. And fool that he was, he’d never seen it coming, never suspected for even a moment that she was capable of such a vile, unforgivable betrayal.
“Papa…do you want me to go?”
Henry looked at his son and then slowly shook his head. “No, lad, I want you to stay.”
They’d not talked, passing the wine flask back and forth as they watched the hearth log burn away into ashes and cinders and glowing embers. Eventually Geoff had fallen asleep in the floor rushes, not stirring even as Henry tucked a blanket around his shoulders. A pale grey light was trickling through the cracks in the shutters, and Henry guessed that dawn must be nigh. He’d not slept. Nor had he been able to follow Geoff’s advice and drown his sorrows in spiced red wine. He’d passed the longest night of his life locked in mortal combat with his ghosts, calling up and then disavowing twenty years of memories. He would banish that bitch from his heart if it meant cutting her out with his own dagger. And when at last he allowed himself to grieve, he did so silently and unwillingly, his tears hidden by the darkness, his rage congealing into a core of ice.
Geoff was awakening, yawning and stretching, blinking in bewilderment to find himself on the floor. Remembrance soon came flooding back, and he jerked upright, his eyes frantically roaming the chamber in search of his father. “Papa? Papa…are you all right?” He immediately cursed his clumsy tongue. How could a man be all right with a knife thrust into his back?
But when Henry answered, his voice was level and measured, revealing nothing of the night’s turmoil. “I am well enough, Geoff,” he said, rising from the window-seat and moving to the hearth, where he sought in vain to revive a few sparks. “I have need of you this morning, lad.”
“Anything, Papa, anything at all!”
“First, I want you to fetch my squires. Then find Willem and tell him that I shall be holding a council meeting this afternoon. Lastly, I want you to go to a house on St Catherine’s Mount, close by the church of St Paul. I shall give you a letter to deliver to the lady dwelling there. Tell her to start packing her belongings, that I will be sending a cart. I want her moved into the castle by nightfall.”
CHAPTER NINE
July 1173
Rouen, Normandy
Letter from Rotrou, Archbishop of Rouen, to Eleanor, Queen of England:
Greetings in the search for peace.
Marriage is a firm and indissoluble union… Truly, whoever separates a married couple becomes a transgressor of the divine commandment. So the woman is at fault who leaves her husband and fails to keep the trust of this social bond… A woman who is not under the headship of the husband violates the condition of nature, the mandate of the Apostle, and the law of Scripture: “The head of the woman is the man.” She is created from him, and she is subject to his power.
We deplore publicly and regretfully that, while you are a most prudent woman, you have left your husband… You have opened the way for the lordking’s, and your own, children to rise up against the father.
We know that unless you return to your husband, you will be the cause of widespread disaster. While you alone are now the delinquent one, your actions will result in ruin for everyone in the kingdom. Therefore, illustrious queen, return to your husband and our king. In your reconciliation, peace will be restored from distress, and in your return, joy may return to all. If our pleadings do not move you to this, at least let the affliction of the people, the imminent pressure of the church and the desolation of the kingdom stir you. For either truth deceives, or “every kingdom divided against itself will be destroyed.”…
And so, before this matter reaches a bad end, you should return with your sons to your husband, whom you have promised to obey and live with. Turn back so that neither you nor your sons become suspect. We are certain that he will show you every possible kindness and the surest guarantee of safety…
Truly, you are our parishioner as much as your husband. We cannot fall short in justice: Either you will return to your husband or we must call upon canon law and use ecclesiastic censures against you. We say this reluctantly, but unless you come back to your senses, with sorrow and tears, we will do so.
Eleanor did not reply.
The Bishop of Worcester’s ship approached the Norman coast at dusk and anchored in the Seine estuary. Two days later, Roger disembarked at the Rouen docks, and he was admitted to the king’s riverside castle as the noonday sun reached its zenith. As usual, he traveled with only a small retinue, and they were quickly settled in. Roger then went in search of his cousin the king.
He soon learned that Henry was absent, off hunting in the Roumare Forest. The great hall was empty, the inner bailey all but deserted. He assumed that the barons with Henry were part of the hunting party, and Archbishop Rotrou would be found in his own palace close by the great cathedral. But there was something eerie about the silence, the lack of the customary hustle and bustle and organized disorder that heralded the king’s presence. Not wanting to go back to his cramped, stifling chamber, he found himself wandering aimlessly about the castle grounds, as if movement could keep his troubled thoughts at bay.
Had Fortune’s Wheel ever spun so wildly? His cousin had begun the year as the most powerful king in all of Christendom, only to be struck down by one calamity after another. The betrayal by his queen and sons had opened the floodgates, inundating him in wave after wave of defections and desertions. Anjou and Maine were, for the most part, loyal, but Brittany, England, and Normandy were in peril, and Roger could not help wondering if Henry was being punished for the death of the Church’s newest saint, Thomas of Blessed Memory.
Roger’s own nephew, the Earl of Chester, had joined the Breton rebels. The Earl of Leicester, son of Henry’s former justiciar, was with Hal, as was his cousin, the Count of Meulan. The Chamberlain of Normandy had treacherously gone over to the enemy, bringing with him more than one hundred armed knights. The Earls of Derby and Norfolk had thrown in their lot with the rebels, and other English lords were under suspicion, including Roger’s elder brother William, Earl of Gloucester. For the most sinister aspect of rebellion was that the king’s vassals need not openly declare for Hal to do Henry harm; they need only do nothing. And that was what many of them were choosing to do, waiting to see who was likely to prevail, father or son.
England was rife with rumors and speculation, fed by the news coming out of Normandy. In June a two- pronged assault had begun upon the eastern border. Philip d’Alsace, the Count of Flanders, and his brother Matthew, the Count of Boulogne, were laying siege to Driencourt while Louis led a French army against Verneuil. Should these two fortresses fall, the road to Rouen would be open to them. As alarming as that was, Henry’s English supporters were alarmed, too, by his apparent inactivity. He’d been at Rouen for more than three months, the longest he’d ever been in one place during his entire reign, and by all accounts, he’d been passing most of his days hunting deer, not rebels.
Concern for Henry’s mental state had been one of the reasons for Roger’s trip to Rouen; the other was the
