Slumping against the wall, he sought to catch his breath, his chest heaving. His fabled temper was much more calculated than most people realized, one more weapon in a king’s arsenal. But what had just happened in Eleanor’s chamber was different. He’d come so close to losing control that it frightened him, for he’d always prided himself on being in command, scorning those men who could not master their own passions. A king at the mercy of his emotions did not deserve to be one.
He’d not been prepared for this, neither his own blind fury nor her defiance. Just as he’d expected his sons to accept his olive branch at Gisors, he’d expected Eleanor to seek his forgiveness, for what defense could she offer? His breathing had steadied, yet his sense of unreality remained. How had his life gone so dreadfully wrong? What sins had he committed that his own family would turn upon him like this? He slammed his fist suddenly into the wall above his head, again and again, stopping only when he saw a smear of blood on the stones. He felt no pain, but he brought his injured hand to his mouth, sucked the blood from his scraped knuckles. And then he straightened his shoulders, adjusted his mantle, and, raising his head high, emerged out into the pale winter sunlight of the bailey.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
May 1174
Poitiers, Poitou
Wars were not usually fought during the winter months, but on January 1, Hal and the Counts of Blois, Perche, and Alencon struck deep into Normandy, launching a surprise assault upon the town of Sees. If Sees had been captured, Falaise would have been at risk and Henry’s road south into Anjou would have been blocked. But the citizens of Sees fought back fiercely and repulsed the attack. Louis then negotiated a truce with Henry to last until the end of March and a similar truce was struck in England with the Scots king. Both sides set about preparing for the resumption of hostilities in the spring.
After Easter the Scots King crossed the border and laid waste to Northumberland. The Pope sent two legates to Paris, hoping that they could persuade the French king to reconcile Henry and his sons, but they had no luck. The Count of Flanders showed interest in rejoining the rebel alliance. And on April 30, Henry left Normandy for the city of his birth, Le Mans. From there he headed into Anjou and then into the lands of his captive queen. He met little opposition and on Whitsunday Eve, he was admitted without resistance into Eleanor’s capital city of Poitiers.
Torches flared in the night, casting wavering shadows as the English king and his men dismounted in the bailey. Eleanor’s steward hastened down the steps of the great hall to bid them welcome. “Sir Herve,” Henry said brusquely, cutting off the man’s obsequious greeting. The steward had been secretly in his pay since the previous summer, one of several Poitevin lords who’d put self-interest before fidelity to their duchess, and while he made use of them all, Henry had no respect for a man whose loyalty was for sale to the highest bidder.
Not taking the hint, the steward continued to fawn and flatter, so unctuously that Henry was hard put to maintain even a semblance of civility. Seeing the royal temper beginning to kindle, the Earl of Essex intervened, declaring that the king was eager to see his daughter, and when Sir Herve assured them that Joanna was waiting within the great hall, Henry pushed past the man and took the steps two at a time. The steward hurried after him, saying something about “a surprise guest,” but Henry was no longer listening. His half sister Emma was standing in the doorway, with a smile so like his eldest son’s that he felt a pang. And then he came to a startled halt, gazing over Emma’s shoulder into the hall.
“Marguerite?” As he strode forward, the girl hastily made a deep, submissive curtsy, but he quickly raised her up. “What are you doing here, lass?”
“I…I came to take my sister and Constance back with me to Paris,” she said, almost inaudibly.
Noting her pallor and the tears brimming behind her lashes, he smiled quizzically. “You do know that I am not going to cast you into a dungeon?”
“Yes,” she whispered, “I know. But I also know that you will not let me go.”
“No,” he admitted, “I cannot do that-not until Hal and I have made our peace.” She asked when that would be, but since he had no answer for her, he preferred to pretend he hadn’t heard the question. His younger sons’ future wives were standing nearby and he moved to greet them. Neither Alys nor Constance shared Marguerite’s misery. The former knew that she had nothing to fear from him and the latter was indifferent to this sudden change in her circumstances, for she considered herself to be a hostage whether she dwelled in Eleanor’s duchy or Henry’s domains.
John’s plight-trothed, little Alice of Maurienne, was sitting on the steps of the dais, clutching her favorite felt puppet. As she yawned, blinking sleepily up at him, Henry instructed her nurse to put her to bed, and then glanced around the hall. “Where is Joanna?”
Emma had followed him inside. “Over there,” she said, “in the window-seat.”
The hall was so deep in shadows that Henry had not noticed his daughter. Smiling, he started toward her, holding out his arms. But he stopped abruptly when Joanna drew back at his approach, staring at her in disbelief. “Surely you are not afraid of me, child?”
That stung her pride. “Afraid? No! But I am not happy with you, Papa.”
Henry could only marvel at the damage wrought by the snake in his Eden. “What in God’s Name did your mother tell you?”
“That you are angry with her, but it has naught to do with me. That you love me as she does. That I do not have to choose between you.”
The words themselves were not objectionable. They were, in fact, so fair and impartial that Henry could find no fault with them, and that vexed him all the more. Joanna had always held a special place in his heart, for he’d imagined that she was much like Eleanor had been as a child. Now, as troubled as he was by her recalcitrance, he could not help admiring her spirit. Moving forward, he sat down beside her in the window-seat.
“Why are you ‘not happy’ with me, Joanna?”
Joanna gave him the look that children bestow upon adults who are being deliberately obtuse. “You are holding Maman as a prisoner!”
“Yes, I am. But she gave me no choice, lass. She plotted with my enemies against me. You do know that?”
“Yesss,” she said, drawing the word out reluctantly. “But I heard…I was told that you are not treating her kindly.”
“Yes, I daresay you were,” he said grimly, raking the hall with accusing eyes. None of Eleanor’s retainers met that ice-grey gaze, doing their best to become invisible, or at least inconspicuous. “They were lying to you, Joanna. Your mother is being treated as a highborn hostage, not a rebel. She is being held in a comfortable bedchamber, not a dungeon. You have my sworn word on that.”
She stared down into her lap, twisting her fingers together. He saw that she’d begun biting her nails again, a habit he thought she’d outgrown. “Where is Maman?” she asked at last. This was a question being asked throughout most of Christendom, and he heard the murmur that swept the hall, knew that every ear was turned their way.
“I will tell you,” he said, “but only you.” And leaning over, he whispered in her ear.
Joanna looked intently into his face. “Maman has never liked it there,” she said, but she was honored that he should entrust her with so great a secret. “May I see her?”
Not in this lifetime or the next, Henry vowed silently. But those sea-green eyes were watching him so hopefully that he could not bring himself to hurt her with the truth. “Yes,” he said, “once the war is over,” and that seemed to satisfy her, for when he put his arm around her shoulders, she did not pull away.
“What now, Papa? Do you want me to stay here?”
“No, lass, I do not,” he said, thinking that he’d sooner see her thrust into a snake pit. “You and the other girls will be going to live in Rouen for now. I was thinking of having Johnny leave Fontevrault and join you there. Would you like that?” Sweeping up the fragments of his broken family, he thought bitterly, but Joanna looked pleased.
“I would like that very much,” she said. “I’ve missed Johnny.” She missed her other brothers, too, though she
