the expressions on the faces of Raoul de Faye and Richard, neither did they. But as Will glanced over at Marguerite, whose hand was tightly clasped in Hal’s, he decided that Hal was being protective of his young wife; Marguerite was just fifteen, after all.
“Louis was badly shaken by the news,” Hal said, looking somberly at Will. “And who can blame him? In just a month, our great alliance has fallen apart. The Scots king has fled back across the border. The Count of Flanders has gone home, too. Our invasion of Normandy came to naught, and now the Breton rebellion has been quelled, and so easily. Little wonder Louis told me that he has begun to fear the Almighty is no longer on our side.”
That was such a tactless admission that Will winced. It was bad enough that the French king was having such dangerous doubts without Hal letting others know of his misgivings. Another strained silence fell, this one broken by Richard. “The Almighty,” he said, “is usually on the side of the best battle commander.” Hal scowled at his brother, for that sounded almost sacrilegious to him. But before he could respond, the Countess of Leicester spoke up. She’d been listening with obvious impatience, and now took advantage of the break in the conversation to voice her opinion.
“The French king ought not to mourn the loss of the Bretons. They always make unreliable allies, skulk back to their own lands as soon as things start to go wrong, and so do the Scots. England is the key to victory. If we’d invaded it as my husband advised, we could have taken London by now.”
Will was offended by her meddling in these military matters. It was one thing for a woman to express her opinions to her husband in the privacy of their bedchamber, quite another for her to speak out so boldly in public. He had no trouble reconciling his traditional views of the female sex with his admiration for the highly untraditional Queen Eleanor, for in Will’s eyes, she was unique, not to be judged by the same standards that applied to lesser women. Glancing around the table, he saw that Peronelle’s views had not gone down well with the others, either. Richard, Raoul, Hal, and Marguerite were all regarding her with disapproval. Her husband was smiling at her, though, confirming Will’s suspicions that Peronelle was the master in that marriage. He knew she was a great heiress, but he did not like her any the better for it; if arrogance was a male failing, it was even more unseemly and unappealing in a woman.
“We must hope that the Count of Flanders reconsiders his rash decision to abandon our alliance,” Hal was saying when the door was flung open and the French king entered the hall.
They all jumped to their feet at his approach, but he waved them back into their seats. He looked surprisingly calm and peaceful for a man who’d gotten dire news such a short time ago. “I know what must be done,” he told them, with a certainty he rarely showed. “I have prayed for answers, and the Almighty has shown me the way.”
Henry had called a council meeting on such short notice that he’d begun to think it would be dawn until they all straggled in. But they were finally seated around a trestle table, looking at him expectantly, some smothering yawns, for not all men kept Henry’s late hours and several had been roused from their beds by his summons. Henry waited until they’d been served a good quality Gascon wine, and then broke his news.
“I have received a remarkable communication from the French king. It seems that he now sees himself as a peacemaker and has generously offered to reconcile me with my sons.”
As he’d expected, their response was explosive and incredulous. He let them vent, but when Willem called Louis the greatest hypocrite in Christendom, Henry demurred. “No, I think not. Louis has a rare gift; he is able to entertain any number of contrary thoughts at one time. Moreover, he has the dubious talent of believing whatever he wants to be true at any given moment, and should I be churlish enough to remind him that he was the cause of this estrangement he is now eager to heal, he’d be deeply wounded by my ingratitude.”
They did not dispute his sardonic assessment of the French king, for most of them had experiences with Louis stretching back more than two decades. “What will your answer be, my liege?” the Archbishop of Rouen asked, although he was confident he already knew what Henry would answer.
“I shall accept his invitation, agree to attend his peace conference.”
Some of the men seemed surprised, but most of them weren’t. Regarding the king pensively over the rim of his wine cup, Willem said, “What are your terms for peace?”
“I mean,” Henry said, “to put an end to this needless war as soon as possible. I would not offer Louis so much as a stale crust of bread. But with my sons, I am prepared to be more generous.”
“How generous, my liege?” the Earl of Arundel asked cautiously, and when Henry told them, they stared at him in astonishment, shocked that he could be so magnanimous after such a grievous betrayal by those of his own blood.
“Are you sure, my lord?” Willem thought he knew Henry as well as any man did, but he’d not been expecting this. “Sure that you can forgive them?”
Henry was amazed that the question could be asked. “Of course I can forgive them, Willem. They are my sons.”
After that, it was quiet in the council chamber, for none doubted he’d spoken from the heart, and none dared to ask if he could also forgive his queen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
September 1173
Gisors, Normandy
Henry agreed to meet his sons and the French king on September 25 between Gisors and Trie in the Norman Vexin, at a huge, spreading elm tree that had often been the site of peace conferences. Accompanied by the Earls of Essex and Pembroke, the Constable of Normandy, the Archbishop of Rouen, his son Geoff, and his household knights, Henry arrived at noon. The French were already there. Henry reined in his stallion, but made no move to dismount.
It had been six months since he’d last seen his sons. In the past, he’d been separated from them for longer than that, most recently during his sojourn in Ireland. But he was acutely aware now of the changes that those months apart had wrought. Richard seemed to have added a year or two to his age, for his shoulders had broadened and his stubble had become a full-fledged golden beard. A shadow on Geoffrey’s upper lip and peach fuzz on his cheeks had not been there at Christmas. The sight of Hal was the most painful. The sunlight gilding his curly, fair hair, he looked regal and resplendent in a scarlet mantle and matching cowhide boots with gold turned-down tops, a natural magnet for all eyes-just as on that night at Chinon when he’d saluted Henry with a dazzling smile and a silver cup of drugged wine.
Hal was standing beside the French king, with Richard and Geoffrey close by, proclaiming to the world that they were united, allies, and he-their father-was the enemy. Henry fought back a wave of baffled hurt and anger, waiting until he was sure his voice would not betray him. Ignoring Louis, he locked his eyes upon Hal.
“I am not here to negotiate with you and your brothers, Hal, nor to bargain with you. I have come to tell you what I am willing to offer to mend this rift between us and restore peace in our family. You may choose between England and Normandy. If you choose England, you will have half the crown revenues and four royal castles. If you prefer Normandy, you will be entitled to half the ducal revenues, plus all the revenues of Anjou, and three castles in Normandy, one each in Anjou, Maine, and Touraine.”
Hal’s mouth had dropped open; his eyes were as round as moons. Without waiting for his response, Henry shifted in the saddle so that he faced Richard. “I am offering you, Richard, half the ducal income from Aquitaine and four castles.”
Richard’s reaction was more guarded than Hal’s, but his surprise was still evident and Henry suppressed a smile, thinking that they suddenly looked less like defiant rebels and more like lads getting an unexpected birthday treat. Turning his gaze upon his third son, he said, “For you, Geoffrey, I am willing to be no less generous. As soon as the Pope sanctions your marriage to Constance, you will come into the full inheritance of Brittany.”
A stunned silence fell, broken at last by Hal. “May we have time to think it over?”
Henry was disappointed that it could not be resolved then and there; he truly did not see why they’d need to discuss his offer. But he did not want to appear to be pressuring them. “You may give me your answers on the morrow. And know this, that I am willing to put the past behind us, as if this foolhardy rebellion had never been.
