with her sons.
With the innocent self-absorption of the young, they’d asked few questions so far about their mother’s confinement. Instead, Richard and Hal were vying for her attention, each one seeking to impress her with his exploits and adventures in these past two years. Richard had the advantage here, for he had military deeds to brag about, and Hal had only accounts of forest court sessions and diplomatic missions, which even he would concede lacked the panache or verve of castle sieges and raids. That did not stop him from seeking to regain control of the conversation every time Richard paused for breath. Joanna was just as rapt an audience as Eleanor, but Amaria noticed that Geoffrey had soon stopped competing with his brothers and was slouched in the window-seat, conceding them center stage.
Feeling Amaria’s gaze upon him, he smiled and said softly, “Rather like watching two dogs fighting over a bone, no?” That so eerily echoed her own thoughts that she gave him a surprised smile, although later she would think the comment was too cynical for a lad of seventeen.
Richard was dwelling again upon his triumph at Castillon, assuring his mother that “Arnald de Bonville sang a very different tune the day he surrendered than when the siege began. He’d claimed it could hold out till Judgment Day, but that came much sooner than he’d expected!”
Hal heaved an audible sigh, and shifted in his seat, stretching his legs out so Joanna could lean against him. He wondered how long his brother was going to hold forth about the capture of one paltry castle; he made it sound like the most significant military accomplishment since the days of Caesar. He suddenly remembered, then, that he had news of a sensational nature to share, news Richard wasn’t likely to have heard yet, and he wasted no time in cutting Richard off in mid-sentence.
“I have astonishing news, Maman, concerning that Clifford harlot. She has withdrawn from court and our father’s bed and entered the nunnery at Godstow!”
As he’d hoped, that ended any interest in his younger brother’s boasting. They were all staring at him, exclaiming in surprise; even Richard looked interested in this dramatic revelation.
“Are you sure, Hal?” Eleanor asked doubtfully, for that did not seem very likely to her.
“I swear it is so, Maman. Last month Papa escorted her from his manor at Woodstock to Godstow, where he made a generous contribution to the nunnery. It has been the talk of the court ever since. No one seems to know why, though. Some think Papa was growing tired of her, others that she was ailing. I’ve heard people insist that she was stricken with guilt and wanted to repent for sinning as Papa’s concubine. But I’ve also heard it claimed that she is with child, and hopes to have the babe in secret. The truth is that no one knows the real reason, for no one has been brave enough to ask our father. And yes,” he conceded with a wry grin, “that includes me, too!”
“Has she taken vows?” And when Hal admitted he did not know, Eleanor fell silent to ponder this amazing bit of news. She did not have any great animosity toward the girl, for she knew how beguiling her husband could be when he put his mind to it. She knew, too, that it would be no easy thing to refuse the king. Her anger had always been aimed more at Henry than Rosamund, not for the infidelity itself but for the emotional attachment that she’d seen as a betrayal far more than any sins of the flesh. It was then that she remembered the strange way he’d reacted to her barb about Rosamund earlier in the week. Whatever the reason for Rosamund’s nunnery retreat, it was not because Harry had tired of her. A man does not grieve for a woman who no longer holds his affections.
Just then a timid knock announced a servant with a message for the “young lords.” He’d been sent by the steward, he explained, to remind them that the hour was growing short and the Easter Eve feast was soon to start. Eleanor’s sons rose reluctantly, surprised when she remained seated. It was left to Joanna to tell them that she’d been eating her meals here in her own chamber, not in the hall with their highborn guests.
“That is absurd!” Hal said indignantly, as Richard snatched up his mother’s mantle and held it out. Eleanor took it without hesitation, and then linked her arm in Hal’s as he made a gallant’s bow. Richard glowered at Hal, but recovered quickly and made Joanna laugh when he asked for the honor of escorting her in the exaggerated, courtly style made popular by jongleurs and troubadours. That left Geoffrey to offer his arm to Amaria, which he did with that quick smile of secret amusement.
Amaria was nervous, though, as they emerged into the bailey and headed for the great hall. She’d heard so many stories of the king’s notorious tempers, had no wish to witness one firsthand. The odd intimacy of their circumstances had encouraged a bonding that would not normally take place between a queen and her attendants. In the few months since she’d entered Eleanor’s service, Amaria had come to see them as allies, even friends, and she had no desire to return to the Welsh court of the discontented Lady Emma and her unscrupulous braggart of a husband. But it occurred to her that King Henry might well look around for safer targets for his rage, turn upon her the fury he could not turn upon his queen.
Catching the hesitation in her step, Geoffrey gave her a curious glance, and she decided to take him into her confidence, saying quietly, “My lord, we both know the king will like it not when the queen enters with the young king. Do you think he will react with anger or make a scene?”
“No, Dame Amaria, I do not,” Geoffrey said at once. “Most likely he suspects this will happen. But even if he is truly taken by surprise, he will save face by acting as if this were planned. To do otherwise would be to admit before all his bishops and barons that my mother outwitted him.” He seemed to read her mind then, for he added, “Nor will he dismiss you in disgrace. In fairness to him, he has never been one to chase after scapegoats, prefers to hunt more challenging quarry.”
“You’ve eased my mind, kind sir,” Amaria said playfully, and hoped that he knew his father better than Henry seemed to know his sons.
Their arrival stopped all conversation, created just the sort of commotion that they’d hoped it would. As the highborn guests forgot their dignity and crowded closer to gape at Henry’s rebel queen, Henry himself seemed to take Eleanor’s dramatic appearance in stride, and came down the steps of the dais to meet her.
“Madame,” he said composedly, kissing her hand and then taking her arm to escort her to the high table. Eleanor played her part with no less aplomb, pausing to acknowledge the greetings of her husband’s guests as they made their way toward the dais. Henry’s self-control never faltered, but the arm she held was as hard and unyielding as granite. Once she was seated beside him, she did her best to hide her jubilation behind a demure demeanor. But after their wineglasses had been filled, she could not resist a gentle gibe.
Raising her cup, she favored Henry with her most loving smile, as she murmured, “I trust I’ve no need of a food taster?”
The smile he gave her in return was not in the least loving. “Poison is your weapon of choice, not mine, Madame,” he shot back, just as softly. “Though it is true that you prefer to poison minds rather than wine.”
Her smile did not waver, and she clicked her cup lightly against his as all eyes in the hall fastened avidly upon them. But she had the uncomfortable feeling that he’d gotten the last word in that exchange.
The tavern was located in Goldstret in the goldsmiths’ quarter, close by St Clement’s Church. Richard had been waiting long enough for his simmering impatience to reach the boiling point. He was fidgeting restlessly, drumming his fingers on the scarred, wax-splattered table, waving away a serving maid who’d approached to see if he wanted more wine. Finally the door was shoved open and his brothers swaggered in. Geoffrey was accompanied only by a squire, but Hal had his usual entourage of household knights, and they made such a noisy entrance that all heads turned in their direction.
“What took you so long?” Richard demanded as soon as they approached his table. “I told you by Compline!”
“Blame Sir Bountiful here,” Geoffrey said, pointing his thumb at Hal. “He had to stop and give alms to every beggar within a half-mile of the castle, even chasing one across the street to press coins upon him.”
“Charity is a virtue,” Hal responded, jostling Geoffrey good-naturedly, “but then you’d not know much about virtues, would you?”
“Sit down,” Richard said quickly, before Geoffrey could retort in kind. “We need to talk.” Hal’s knights were milling about nearby, and he added, “Alone,” with a pointed glance toward the other men.
Hal dismissed them with an airy “You heard my little brother. Go off and debauch yourselves. I’ll pay for your wine, but not for your whores. There you’re on your own.” As they grinned and obeyed, he looked around at the other tavern patrons and said, “Ah, why not? I’ll buy drinks for everyone!”
His generosity won him enthusiastic cheers from all but his brothers and the tavern keeper. Richard saw Hal’s
