Raoul had not often crossed paths with them until the rebellion, and he’d been surprised to find that Henri was quite likable. His beautiful, elegant countess had joined him in Paris, eager to meet her young half brothers, and they’d developed an immediate rapport. Raoul was very taken with Marie, too, for she reminded him of a youthful Eleanor, and as she was quite curious about the mother she’d not seen since she was seven, Raoul had passed some pleasant evenings in Marie and Henri’s company.
It was Henri to whom he turned now, for the count knew Louis far better than he did, and he was desperate to glean insights about the French king, to learn anything that might help him to avert this impending catastrophe. “You cannot approve of this so-called peace, Henri, for what does France stand to gain by it?” He did not ask the count how he would benefit. His brother Thibault would get Amboise Castle should they win, but rather remarkably, Henri had demanded nothing of Hal in return for his support.
“Not much,” Henri admitted. “If it were up to me, I’d not be so quick to agree to terms with the English king. But it is Louis who wears the crown, and as much as that galls his brother Robert, it is Louis who decides if it is to be peace or war. And as you saw, he has chosen peace.”
“Why? I do not understand the workings of that man’s mind. Why go to such great lengths to stir up a rebellion against Harry and then call it off as if it were a game of camp-ball halted by rain? I know he wants to see Harry humbled, weakened. So why will he not do all he can to make that happen?”
“Ah, Raoul, you do not understand Louis at all, do you? You share the English king’s view of him as somewhat simple, easily swayed by others, with sand where his backbone ought to be. But he is more complicated than that. He is very devout; his great tragedy is that he was plucked out of that monastery when his elder brother died, for he’d have been far happier as the monk he was meant to be. As a good Christian, he loathes war; as a king, he is forced to wage it. But in his heart, he believes that shedding blood is a mortal sin, so when his campaigns go awry, as they usually do, he concludes that the Almighty is punishing him for violating the commandment that states, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’”
“But he started this war, not Harry. Why goad Harry’s sons into rebellion if he were not willing to see it through to the end?”
Henri smiled faintly. “I said he was complicated, not consistent. Louis hates the English king almost as much as he loves God. For more than twenty years, Harry has bested him at every turn. He could not keep Harry from wedding his queen, or from winning the English Crown, or from expanding his realm until it now rivals Charlemagne’s. Had he not been so starved for success, he’d not have let himself be talked into that farce at Verneuil. But you may be sure that any satisfaction he gained from it was all too fleeting, a poisoned brew by morning, for even if he does not always heed it, Louis is cursed with a conscience, a most inconvenient virtue for a king.”
The count paused, as if deciding how candid he ought to be. “A man so beset with self-doubts does not deceive himself about his capabilities. He may not admit it, but he knows he is an inept battle commander, Harry a brilliant one. He thought Thomas Becket had given him the weapon he needed, a way to defeat Harry beyond the battlefield, and when the archbishop was so foully murdered, midst his grief there was satisfaction, too, that Harry would finally reap what he had sown. You can imagine his frustration when Harry managed to avoid excommunication and then to make his peace with the Church. You have to feel some sympathy for him, Raoul. He is like that figure in Greek myth…what was he called? The poor king condemned forever to roll a stone uphill, only to have it roll back down again. Well, that is Louis, constantly struggling to thwart Harry at something, anything, and constantly losing.”
“I might have more sympathy for the man,” Raoul said tautly, “if he were not so willing to make my niece the scapegoat for his sins.”
“Does that truly surprise you? He has never forgiven Eleanor for daring to wed Harry rather than waiting dutifully for him to select a husband for her. And he has never forgiven her for then giving Harry five sons when she gave him only daughters. But if you cannot muster up sympathy for Louis, neither can I find sympathy to spare for your niece. She meant to use Louis for her own ends, so she can hardly complain once she discovers that he was using her, too.”
Raoul felt resentment flicker, but he did not allow it to catch fire. He’d long known that Eleanor’s French allies were of two minds about her part in the rebellion. They welcomed the aid offered by the Duchess of Aquitaine, but they were not comfortable with the rebel queen, the faithless wife. Raoul held his tongue, though, for he’d not yet gotten what he needed from Henri. “What if we could make Louis believe that this was one war he could win? That if he held firm, he could have a great victory over Harry?”
“If you can give him that certainty, the king will prevail over the monk, to borrow that memorable phrase coined by your niece. But it will be no easy task. I know that at times it seems as if he can be led by the nose like a bridled gelding. But he can also be very stubborn, his the stiff-necked obstinacy of the weak. And between them, Robert and your young Richard have him determined to make peace on the morrow, if only to punish them for their defiance. So it will not be enough to convince him that he can finally gain that victory over Harry. You will have to offer him a way to save face, too, to reverse himself without sacrificing his pride.”
Henri smiled then, signaling that the lesson was over. “We’d best go down to the hall whilst there is still time to change Louis’s mind. I will be interested to see if you can put my advice into action.”
Upon his return to the great hall, Raoul joined his brother, who whispered that Robert had just stormed out after a particularly acrimonious exchange with Louis. The French lords were gathered around the dais, save for the Count of Evreux, who had withdrawn to a window-seat, watching the proceedings with the detached amusement of one being entertained by minstrels or jongleurs. Louis was seated upon the dais, and a chair had been provided for Hal, but he’d not remained in it for long and was fidgeting like a horse about to bolt, although he kept his gaze fastened upon the French king and his brother all the while.
Richard was standing on the dais steps, looking at Louis with a hawk’s unblinking intensity. “You still have not answered me, my liege. How would my lady mother fare under this ‘peace’ of yours?”
Raoul silently blessed Richard for putting the question so bluntly, for going right to the heart of the matter. But as he glanced around the hall, he could find little sympathy for Eleanor’s plight, and with a chill, he realized that the only one standing between Eleanor and disaster was her sixteen-year-old son.
Louis was finding it harder and harder to maintain a civil tone with this prideful young lordling, who seemed to have inherited the worst qualities of both his parents. “I understand your concern for your mother, lad, but you must trust me that-”
For Richard, the French king’s patronizing smile was the spark that set his smoldering temper ablaze. “I am the Duke of Aquitaine, not your lad! And I do not give my trust freely. It must be earned.”
Louis saw no further reason to humor this impudent brat. “You need to be reminded, Richard, that you came to me as a supplicant, and you and your brothers promised to be guided by my advice and that of my council.”
Richard’s upper lip curled. “But not all promises are kept, my liege…are they?”
This not-so-subtle reference to Verneuil hit its target, and Louis’s face twitched as if he’d been struck. “You are a foolish boy, and you’ve said more than enough!”
“Not nearly enough! Hear me on this-all of you.” Richard swung around, his eyes raking the hall. “I will have no part of this so-called peace.”
Louis had half risen from his chair. “Then you will stand alone!”
“No,” Hal said suddenly, “he will not.” Coming down the steps of the dais, he stood beside Richard and looked at his father-in-law, head high. “My brother and I do not often see eye-to-eye, but he has convinced me that he is right and it would be folly to accept our father’s offer.”
Richard and Louis were staring at Hal, the former with gratified surprise, the latter with angry disappointment. When Hal shot a meaningful glance toward Geoffrey, he hesitated briefly and then sauntered over to join them. “I will not be accepting the offer either.”
“And how do you expect to fight your father without French help?” Louis demanded scornfully. “You’ll find that your words ring as hollow as your titles!”
“They’ll have my help!” Heads turned toward the Count of Dreux, standing in the open doorway of the hall. Once he was sure that all eyes were upon him, Robert swaggered forward to stand beside Henry’s sons. “And they ought to have yours, for they have sworn allegiance to you for Normandy and Aquitaine, so you owe them a liege- lord’s protection!”
“What would you know about a king’s duties and obligations? You’ve never worn a crown, and that is your
