true grievance with me, Robert-jealousy, pure and simple!”
Paying no attention to Robert’s enraged reply, Raoul shoved his way over to the window-seat where Simon de Montfort was lounging. “I need your help. I know how to get Louis to change his mind, but he’ll not heed Eleanor’s uncle. You have to be the one to tell him.”
“I’d like nothing better than to continue the war, but Louis will not heed me, either.”
“He listened to you at Verneuil!”
“Yes…and soon regretted it. Have you not noticed how coldly he has treated me since then? It is a wonder I have not gotten frostbite by now. No, you need someone else, someone he truly trusts…and that has never been me.”
Raoul turned away, searching the hall frantically for the right face, one whom the French king “truly trusts.” For a moment, his eyes rested upon the Count of Champagne. Henri had nothing to gain, though, nor to lose, whether it be peace or war. But his brother…his brother had long lusted after Amboise Castle, and a premature peace would take that glittering prize from his grasp. Within moments, Raoul had drawn Thibault of Blois aside, speaking quietly and urgently in the count’s ear, and then he held his breath as Thibault strode toward the dais.
“I am astonished,” he declared, “that our sovereign lord should be spoken to so disrespectfully. The Duke of Aquitaine must be forgiven, for he is young and has not yet learned to govern his temper or his tongue. But you, my lord Count of Dreux, have no such excuse.”
Robert was quite willing to aim his rage at a new target, but Thibault did not give him a chance to retaliate. “May I speak to the council, my liege?” Mollified by his deference, Louis graciously gave his permission, and Thibault mounted the steps of the dais.
“We can all agree that the English king’s offer was surprisingly generous, and this from a man not known for spending with wild abandon.” There were some chuckles at that, and even Louis smiled. “We need to consider what that means, my lords. Henry Fitz Empress proclaimed his willingness to welcome his sons back with open arms, as if their rebellion had never been, and then to reward them lavishly for that very rebellion. What does that tell us? That he is desperate to make peace with his sons. Think about that, my liege, my lords, think about the leverage that gives us. If Henry will offer so much in his opening gambit, how much more will he concede if only we hold firm!”
Thibault paused, saw with satisfaction that Louis was listening intently. “This is a rare opportunity, my lord king. We have something that the English king very badly wants. I say we take advantage of that, deny him his peace until he is willing to pay the price we set upon it. And he will pay it, for as he said himself this morn, nothing is more important than blood, than his sons.”
A hushed silence greeted Thibault’s words; even Robert had the sense to keep quiet. Louis leaned back in his chair, and then nodded gravely. “As always, you are the voice of reason, my lord count, the only one in the hall. We would be fools, indeed, if we let this chance go by. On the morrow, we shall tell the English king that he will have to do better, much better.”
Raoul’s first reaction was the exhausted relief that so often marked the end of a bloody battle. Too weary to celebrate, he found an empty window-seat and slumped down upon the cushions, closing his eyes, not looking up until his brother was standing beside him, asking if this was his doing.
“Indeed, yes,” he said proudly, and began to laugh. “How I love the way Fortune’s Wheel tilts when we least expect it. I daresay you remember what almost befell Eleanor when her marriage to Louis was dissolved and she was seeking to reach safety in her own lands.”
“Of course I remember. Twice she was almost abducted by overly eager grooms.”
“And one of them was Count Thibault, who was sorely disappointed when she was warned that he’d planned to seize her in Blois and force her to wed him. I always thought it ironic that Louis would then marry her daughter to him. But it is even more ironic,” Raoul said with a grin, “that Thibault, of all men, should now be her unwitting savior!”
As they rode from Gisors to the meeting place under that venerable elm, Henry was in good spirits, listening as Willem boasted to Geoff about their capture of Louis’s castle at Chaumont-en-Vexin six years ago. “It was a great triumph for your lord father, brilliantly executed.”
“He says that because he was one of my commanders,” Henry interjected and Willem grinned.
“Modesty has never been one of my failings. Whilst your father tempted the garrison to rush out and engage him, Geoff, his Welsh routiers swam the river and got into the town. The garrison was soon put to flight by our men and when they tried to retreat back into the town, they found it was in flames. Chaumont was where Louis was keeping his army’s provisions, so he was greatly grieved by its fall.”
“Staying at Chaumont last night must have given him a bad dream or two, then,” Geoff said gleefully and Henry turned in the saddle to smile at him.
“I hope so, lad, I surely hope so!”
Ahead they saw the towering branches of the elm, and beneath its vast shadow, the French had gathered. Henry was amused that they’d claimed the shade, for that much he was willing to concede to them. His sons were standing together at a distance from Louis, and he took that as a good sign, although he did not feel much need to look for favorable omens, so sure was he that their answer would be the one he wanted. How could it not be? He was offering forgiveness and substantial revenues and more independence than they’d ever had before, and he was offering it despite the collapse of their rebellion. What greater proof of his sincerity could there be than that?
Upon dismounting, he gave Louis a terse greeting, for it would be years, if ever, before he’d forgive the French king for Verneuil, and then walked over to his sons. “You’ve had the night to think it over. What is your answer?”
Hal seemed to have been designated as their spokesman, for he was the one to step forward. “Our answer is no. We cannot accept.”
This was one of the few times in Henry’s life when he was caught utterly off balance, and his intake of breath was audible to Hal. He looked at this stranger who was his son and he could not understand how it had ever come to this. “Out of curiosity,” he said at last, “would you mind telling me why?”
Hal was making a disquieting discovery, that it was easier to defy Henry when he was enraged and hurling threats. For just a moment he’d seen his father’s vulnerability, seen his hurt, and somewhat to his surprise, he found he could take no pleasure in it. “It…” Clearing his throat, he said simply and with no hostility, “It is not enough.”
“Not enough,” Henry echoed incredulously. “Again, out of curiosity, you understand, just how much money will it take to buy back your allegiance?”
Stung, Hal cried out that was not what he meant, but it was Richard who now drew Henry’s attention. “We are not talking about money.”
Henry regarded his second son, looking intently into grey eyes very like his own. “What, then?”
“You gave us no assurances that Hal will have any say in the governance of England or Normandy. Nor have you said that I will be able to rule Aquitaine as is my right.”
Henry’s anger was diluted by a vast weariness, for he’d had this very argument so often with Hal. “As I’ve told your brother more times than I can begin to count, that is because of your youth and inexperience. Why do you lads find this so hard to grasp? An aspiring goldsmith does not expect to become one overnight; he knows he must first serve an apprenticeship. Why should it be any different for young princes?”
“You did not serve an apprenticeship,” Richard pointed out coolly, “before your father turned Normandy over to you.”
“And you were just seventeen,” Hal chimed in, “fully a year younger than I am now!”
Henry wanted nothing so much at that moment than to grab them both and shake some sense into them. “That happened because I had proved myself by then, and my father knew my judgment could be trusted.”
“Yes, but you will not give us the chance to prove ourselves!”
This was an old and familiar argument of Hal’s, but before Henry could respond to it, Richard stepped in front of his brother. “There is more. Even if you agree to give us a share in the governing of Aquitaine and England or Normandy, there is another obstacle in our path to peace. You said you were willing to forgive us.”
“I said it and I meant it.” Henry glanced from one to the other; Geoffrey, as usual, was forgotten. “I will forgive you, I swear it upon all I hold sacred.”
