doorway of the stable.
“There you are, Papa. I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she chided, hurrying toward the stall, where she paused to admire his new stallion. “He is a beauty, Papa. May I name him for you?”
Henry did not think that was a good idea; he’d heard some of the names that Joanna bestowed upon her pets. But he found it almost impossible to deny her anything these days; she’d become even more precious now that he was so close to losing her. “If you insist, lass,” he said, making an effort to swallow his anger. “Do not embarrass him, though, by giving him a name better suited to a mare.”
“Horses are not embarrassed…are they?” Momentarily distracted, she pondered that for a moment. “You are just teasing me. Papa…did you speak with Maman yet about becoming the abbess of Fontevrault?”
“I did, Joanna. She refused the offer.”
Willem blinked; he hadn’t known that Henry had discussed this with his daughter. But when he saw the look of disappointment that crossed her face, he understood. That was shrewd, he thought, getting the lass on Harry’s side. It was to be expected that she’d like the idea. From a child’s perspective, it must seem like the perfect solution. Her mother would no longer be a prisoner; instead would rule an important abbey. It would have to be easier for the girl to leave England for her new life in Sicily if she could believe that her mother was beginning a new life, too.
“I’ll talk to her,” Joanna said. “Mayhap I can get her to change her mind…” She frowned, lost in thought, and then smiled. “I know who could persuade her, Papa! Hal could.”
“Hal is most likely in Normandy by now,” Henry reminded her, but she was shaking her head.
“No, he is still at Porchester. I heard men talking in the hall at dinner. They said the winds were still blowing the wrong way, allowing ships to sail from Normandy but keeping Porchester’s ships in port. Hal is very unhappy with Maman’s confinement. I think it would ease his mind greatly if she became the abbess. And he can be most convincing when he wants to be, Papa.”
Willem stayed silent, curious to see how Henry got out of the trap. But to his surprise, Henry seemed to be giving it consideration, telling Joanna that she might be right. He restrained himself until after the little girl had gotten bored and wandered off, and then said, “Are you serious about summoning Hal back to talk to the queen?”
“It is not a bad notion,” Henry conceded. “I cannot keep them apart forever, however much I’d like to, Willem. He has asked me twice if he may visit her, and sooner or later I must agree or he’ll not forgive me. Jesu, how that lad can cherish a grievance! And I think Joanna is right. He probably would favor the idea.”
“Yes,” Willem said, “he probably would.” Leaving unsaid the rest of his thought: that Hal was always one for the easy way. He’d likely be relieved if he did not have to fret about his mother’s welfare. He glanced at Henry as the other man reached for a brush and began to curry his horse, wondering if he’d also seen that flaw in his son’s character. Most likely he had; that would explain why he so often watched Hal with such troubled eyes.
By the first Saturday in April, Winchester was overflowing with highborn guests, barons and princes of the Church come to pay honor to their king and the King of Kings upon the solemn festival of Easter. With the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishops of Winchester, Exeter, Bath, and Ely present, the castle cooks were already anticipating the end of Lent, planning the great feast they would serve the king and his guests once Eastertide began.
Henry was enjoying a frank political discussion with the Bishops of Ely and Bath, for he need not weigh his words with either man; Geoffrey Ridel and Reginald Fitz Jocelin had been his agents before being rewarded for their loyalty with mitres. From the corner of his eye, he saw that his daughter had sidled up onto the dais and seated herself in his high-backed chair, obviously practicing for the day when she, too, would wear a crown, and he felt a surge of affectionate pride soured by anxiety. Ten suddenly seemed such a tender age, and Sicily at the back of beyond. Seeing the direction of his gaze, the bishops smiled, willing to indulge the father until the king turned his attention back to them. It was then that the steward hastened into the hall, headed straight for Henry.
“My liege, the young king has just ridden in,” he announced. He hesitated then, and decided to let Lord Hal be the one to tell him the rest of the news, for he suspected the king would not be pleased; this development could only complicate his tenuous truce with the queen.
Hal had never learned the royal skill of dissembling in public, and as he strode into the hall, he seemed to trail storm clouds in his wake. Henry had known he’d be disgruntled at being summoned back to Winchester like this, for he’d fear that his Normandy jaunt was imperiled. He knew, too, that once Hal learned the reason for his return, he’d be flattered that his father had sought his aid and delighted to see his mother. But as he looked at his son’s handsome, sullen face, Henry could not suppress a sigh. Why did he have to work so hard to keep the lad in a good humor? As a boy, Hal had been sunny-natured and full of fun, given to pranks but not tantrums. How had he changed so much in such a few short years?
“My lord king,” Hal said, giving a formal salutation appropriate to their distinguished audience. But then Joanna squeezed through the encircling guests to greet him with a pert “Brother, you’re back!” Hal abandoned protocol and gathered her into a fond embrace; Joanna’s brothers had always vied with one another to see who could spoil her the most.
“Where is Marguerite?” Henry asked, coming forward to welcome his son.
“She stayed behind at Porchester. That made more sense, as I assumed I would not be long at Winchester,” Hal said, delivering a veiled warning as well as an explanation, letting his father know that he was still set upon departing England. “You once told me you were stranded at Barfleur for six weeks, awaiting favorable winds, my lord father. I do not know how you endured the wait; we’ve been bored unto death in Porchester!”
“You’ll want to send for her,” Joanna predicted, “when you hear the reason for your return. We have a special surprise for you!”
“Do you now, imp?” Hal grinned down at his little sister. “As it happens, I have a surprise, too. Guess who landed yesterday at Southampton?”
Henry felt a sudden premonition. Before he could confirm his suspicions, the door banged open and his sons Richard and Geoffrey entered the hall. They started toward him, looking far more pleased to be at Winchester than Hal. But Joanna was faster. With a gleeful cry of “Richard!” she met him in mid-hall. Henry could only watch as the scene played itself out to its inevitable conclusion.
“Maman is here!” Joanna gasped, so excited she was almost hyperventilating. “Here in Winchester!”
Hal looked dumbfounded, Geoffrey no less surprised. Richard grasped Joanna’s arm, demanding, “Where? Show me!”
“Come on,” she said, and they headed for the door. Hal and Geoffrey caught up with them in a few strides. Acutely aware of the utter silence in the hall, Henry followed after them, halting in the doorway. Richard and Hal and Joanna were strung out across the bailey, running as if their very lives depended upon speed. Geoffrey trailed in the rear, his a more measured pace. And as he watched them, Henry could hear again, with haunting clarity, his wife’s bitter taunt. You’ve already lost what you value almost as much as your kingdom. You’ve lost your sons.
C HAPTER T WENTY-THREE
April 1176
Winchester, England
In her girlhood, Eleanor had learned to play the harp, for that was considered a social requisite for young women of high birth. She had not continued with the lessons, though, and so she was quite pleased to learn that Amaria was an accomplished harpist. After a word to Joanna, a harp was delivered to her chamber, and she was watching intently as Amaria played a plaintive melody.
“Wait, let me see you play that chord again,” she said, for she’d determined to revive her rusty musical skills during this enforced idleness. Amaria was complying when the door was thrust open without warning and her sons burst into the chamber.
“Splendor of God,” she whispered, not believing her own senses until she was being embraced by Richard and then Hal, then Richard again, as Geoffrey and Joanna waited impatiently for their turn, and Amaria, who had a secret sentimental vein she’d so far hidden from Eleanor, smiled through tears as she watched her lady’s reunion
