I knew you’d not want me to do that, not whilst you and Maman are still quarreling. So we need to get Maman a handmaiden, Papa. Will you see to it? I know you are too busy now, but mayhap later, when you have more time?”
She was regarding Henry so trustingly that he felt a rush of emotion, love for this innocent child of his flesh warring with his need to punish her treacherous mother. “Yes, Joanna,” he said at last. “I will see that it is done.”
“Thank you, Papa, thank you!” She threw herself into his arms, hugging him gratefully. “I will not worry about Maman so much if she is not alone.”
As she embraced her father, her face was not visible to him. But it was to Willem, and he caught her triumphant grin. Why, the little vixen, he thought, and when their eyes met, he gave her a mock scowl that caused her to look at him in dismay. He winked, then, and Joanna relaxed, giggled, and winked back.
“I will not keep you, Papa,” she said dutifully. “I know you have much to do these days. May I tell Johnny that you will be in to bid him good night?” When he nodded, she smiled and slid off his lap, heading for the door. There she paused, as if having an afterthought. “I almost forgot to tell you about the kitten, Papa. She was going to be drowned by one of the stable grooms, but I stopped him. I know cats are not often kept as pets, but I did not want the kitten to die. So I gave her to Maman.” And with a farewell wave, she slipped out the door.
Henry glanced up to find both Ranulf and Willem watching him, and raised a hand in warning. “Do not say a word, either of you. I know very well that we have just performed a puppet show, with me playing the role of puppet.”
“And a fine puppet show it was, too,” Ranulf said, with as much cheer as he could muster. “If the Almighty had meant us to be able to resist the coaxing of our daughters, He’d not have made them so irresistible…now would He?”
Willem laughed and Henry smiled. But it seemed to Ranulf that he could see a glimmer of tears behind his nephew’s lashes, and he felt a sorrowful rage that Harry was being hurt so badly by his heedless, selfish sons and his false, coldhearted queen.
Eleanor was having the most restful nights she’d had in months, lulled to sleep by the reassuring rhythms of the storm, each blast of wind and torrent of rain giving promise of yet another day with her daughter. She was not prepared, therefore, when she was awakened at dawn on the Monday after her arrival by an apologetic guard, who told her that she must make ready to depart as the king was sailing that morn.
Eleanor could see nothing but chaos. The bailey was crowded with men and horses. Servants were dragging large coffers toward the carts, routiers carrying food from the great hall to eat on the run, dogs barking madly and getting underfoot. Whips cracked the air as horses struggled to move carts mired in mud. A stallion reared suddenly, unseating his rider and nearly trampling those who tried to grab the dangling reins. Men were cursing and shoving, shouting commands that went unheeded. A priest was berating a castle page, while a woman shrieked as her mule shied away when she was being assisted into the saddle. The Earls of Leicester and Chester were being prodded toward their waiting mounts, while Peronelle lagged behind, complaining loudly to anyone within earshot. Trying to shelter herself from the rain with the hood of her mantle, Eleanor halted on the steps of the great hall, looking about frantically. But she could not find Joanna, John, or Marguerite. Nor was there any sign of Henry.
When her guard nervously urged her on, she turned on him in fury. “I told you I am not going anywhere until I speak with the king. See to it, damn you, see to it!”
“Madame, I…I cannot do that!” he stammered. “Our orders were to escort you to the harbor!” Much to his relief, then, he spotted Barfleur’s castellan and let out a yell, pushing his way toward the man. Momentarily abandoned, Eleanor resumed her search for Henry or her children, to no avail. And when her guard returned with the castellan, that harried individual refused to listen to her protests.
“You may want to see the king, Madame,” he snapped, “but I very much doubt that he wants to see you!” Ordering the guard to follow his orders, he moved on. The guard and Eleanor looked at each other in mutual frustration. Clearing his throat, he was imploring her not to get him into trouble when she finally caught sight of a familiar figure.
“Tell Lord Ranulf I want to speak with him,” she directed the unhappy guard. “Now, man, now!” As she watched tensely, he did as she bade, hurrying over to intercept Ranulf. Henry’s uncle had an easily read face, his dismay and reluctance all too evident. She’d expected as much; if Henry’s officials found it awkward to deal with her, how much more uncomfortable it must be for his kinsmen. But she was relying upon Ranulf’s innate good manners, and she was not disappointed. Holding his mantle tightly against the gusting wind, he strode toward her, the guard following closely on his heels.
“Ranulf, thank God you’re here! You can get through to Harry if any man can. You must convince him that it is too dangerous to sail in this storm.”
“I cannot do that.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “You want to die? I cannot believe you’ve forgotten the fate of the White Ship!”
“Of course I have not forgotten,” he said testily. “But I have already talked to Harry and I could not get him to change his mind. The winds have shifted, are coming now from the west, and he is determined to sail ere they shift again.”
“This is madness,” she said, “utter madness. Let Harry go to the Devil and drown for all I care! But I’ll not have him risk my children’s lives!”
“I doubt that you are in a position to do anything about it,” he said, so coldly that she was suddenly reminded that he was a king’s son, and the blood of the autocratic William the Bastard flowed in his veins as it did in Henry’s.
Abruptly changing her tactics, she laid her hand on his arm and said in a calmer voice, “I know you are loyal to Harry. I know, too, that you are angry with me. But you are a fair man, Ranulf, and a sensible one. Surely you do not want to sail in such vile weather. Speak to Harry again. Not for me. Do it for Joanna and John and Rhiannon, who does not want to become a widow this day.”
Ranulf looked at her for a moment, wanting to turn away but unable to do so. Whatever her other crimes, she was still a mother. Seeing him hesitate, she said, “Harry will listen to you. I know he will.”
Making up his mind, then, he grasped her arm and steered her back toward the steps. They were like a small island in a sea of bodies, as people surged past them on all sides, not even glancing their way. “I have already tried to convince Harry to wait. So have Willem and the ship’s master. He told us that if his safe arrival in England will bring peace to his realm, the Almighty will guide him safely into port. But if God has turned away His Face and His Favor, may he never reach the shore.”
Eleanor was stunned. “I do not believe you. I do not believe Harry said that. He is reckless, yes, but not foolhardy. And he has never deferred to anyone’s will but his own, not even the Almighty’s. Most of the time he thinks they are one and the same.”
Ranulf’s mouth tightened. “If you knew Harry half as well as you think you do, you could never have betrayed him,” he said, and stalked away, leaving her standing alone on the steps of the hall, with her guard hovering nearby.
Eleanor had sailed in storms before. But nothing had prepared her for what awaited them as soon as their ships rounded Barfleur Point and headed out into open water.
The rain was being blown sideways by the force of the wind, and the Channel was churned into white-water froth. Canvas tents had been set up to shelter the passengers, and the stench was soon overpowering, for even the most experienced travelers were fighting seasickness. As Eleanor’s ship sank down in a trough and then battled its way up, people were flung about like children’s toys, crashing into coffers and gunwale, screaming as they slid along the wet deck. All around her, she could hear men praying with the fervor of the doomed, entreating Nicholas of Bari, the patron saint of sailors, to save them from the perils of the sea. She was too angry to pray, though, and chose to spend her last hours damning her husband to Hell Everlasting.
When she could endure the stifling, stinking tent no longer, Eleanor got up and lurched toward the open flap. Two of her guards at once staggered after her, crying out in alarm. Stumbling out into the storm, she grabbed at one of the windlass posts for support. As the ship’s master screamed, “Hard on the helm!” the helmsman jerked the
