magnanimous gesture as shameless grandstanding, and Geoffrey laughed out loud at the look of horror on the tavern owner’s face. Pulling up a stool to the table, he said, “The poor sot knows he has a better chance of sprouting wings than collecting so much as a farthing.”
“That is not so,” Hal protested. “I always pay my debts…eventually.” He and Geoffrey both laughed, and looked vexed when Richard waved the serving maid away again.
“I did not ask you here to drink this swill. We need to talk about Fontevrault Abbey. Maman says that-”
“I already know all about it,” Hal interrupted, with a hint of smugness. “Papa told me last night.”
“Well, no one bothered to enlighten me,” Geoffrey said testily, “so suppose one of you lets me in on the secret.”
Richard looked around to make sure the other customers had gone back to their drinking and gambling. “He wants Maman to agree to an annulment and then retire to Fontevrault Abbey-as its abbess.”
“As bribes go, that is not a bad one,” Geoffrey allowed, and Hal grinned, saying that was his thinking, too.
Richard glared at his brothers. “She does not want to enter a nunnery!”
Hal shrugged. “Is she sure of that? It is a generous offer, would give her far more influence than she is enjoying these days. Maman could make of it what she wanted. We’re not talking about life as a recluse or an anchoress, for pity’s sake. She’d be abbess of Fontevrault, and there are queens who might well envy that.”
“Is your hearing faulty? I said she does not want to do it, Hal!”
Hal returned Richard’s scowl in full measure, and Geoffrey could see another of their squabbles brewing. Before Hal could respond, he said sharply, “Enough!”
They looked at him in surprise, and he glanced over his shoulder to see if they’d attracted attention. “As usual, Hal, you see only what is right in front of your nose. As for you, Richard, even when you’re right, you’re right for all the wrong reasons. Neither one of you has fully considered the consequences of this annulment.”
Temporarily united in their irritation with Geoffrey, they launched a joint attack, Hal insisting that he understood the situation quite well and Richard wanting to know what he meant by the “wrong reasons.”
“Keep your voices down,” Geoffrey warned. “Tell me this. How old is Papa?”
“I do not know,” Richard said snappishly. “Forty-two?”
“No, forty-three,” Hal corrected, remembering Chinon and his father’s March birthday. “What of it?”
“To us, that seems as old as God. But it is not. He could easily wed again and have sons with his new queen. Think about that for a moment.”
Hal was already shaking his head. “He would never disinherit me!”
Richard did not look so sure. “You truly think we could be put at risk, Geoff?”
“I do not know,” Geoffrey admitted. “But I am not willing to take that chance. Are you? Look how he has begun to dote upon Johnny, even giving him the earldom of his uncle Rainald. I am just saying that if he had a few more sons, we could become superfluous. At the very least, it would give him a formidable club to hold over our heads. Now if you both have utter faith in his good will, there is no cause for concern. So…do you?”
Neither Hal nor Richard answered him, but words were not needed. They regarded one another in silence, in a rare moment of mutual understanding and total accord.
Henry glanced toward his scribe. “Are you ready, Simon? Write as follows:
“To William, by the Grace of God, the illustrious King of Sicily, the Duke of Apulia, and the Prince of Capua, Henry, by the same grace, King of England, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, and Count of Anjou, greetings and the enjoyment of health. Inasmuch as we expect that-”
He got no further, for it was then that his sons sought admittance to his bedchamber. Henry immediately gave them permission to enter and dismissed his scribe, telling him they’d resume on the morrow. When they asked if they could speak with him alone, he readily agreed, surprised to see them together, for he was unhappily aware that they rarely sought out one another’s company.
As soon as the other men had exited the chamber, Henry bade his sons help themselves to the flagon of night wine on a side table, saying with a smile, “It is good that you are all here, for I have plans to share with you. Richard, you requested further aid in subduing the Poitevin rebels, and you wanted the same for Brittany, Geoffrey. Your requests are granted. You will be provided with the funds that you need ere you depart Winchester.” His gaze shifted then to his eldest son. “I know you have been restless of late, Hal. I daresay that was behind your sudden desire to go on pilgrimage. So I am sending you back to Poitou with Richard, to assist him in restoring peace in that troublesome land.”
Hal was very pleased, Richard less so, for he’d wanted men and money, not to be saddled with his brother. He joined Hal in expressing his gratitude, though, thinking that Hal would soon lose interest in the drudgery and tedium of a siege and go off in pursuit of pleasure. Hal was reconsidering the timing of their mission, not wanting to jeopardize his new command, and as soon as Henry’s back was turned, he mouthed a message to his brothers that they ought to delay discussing Fontevrault.
Richard and Geoffrey would have none of that, though, neither one trusting Hal to remain resolute if their father’s inducements were sweetened enough. “We have come to talk with you about our mother and your intent to make her abbess of Fontevrault,” Richard said, so abruptly that his brothers both winced. “It is only fair that I tell you at the outset that I am adamantly opposed to this scheme.”
Henry had been about to pour wine. At that, he swung about with a frown. Before he could speak, Geoffrey hastily interceded. “Actually, it is a sound plan, fair to both you and Maman, and if she were willing, I’d gladly support it. Alas, she is not, as you know. And since it concerns her most directly, we have to be guided by her wishes in this.”
Henry studied his younger sons, and then looked toward Hal. “What of you, Hal? Do your brothers speak for you, too?”
Hal bridled. “I can speak for myself. But I happen to agree with them.”
“Do you? Passing strange, for you seemed much more receptive to the idea when we discussed it last night.”
“Yes, that is true. But once I had a chance to think about it, I changed my mind.” Hal smiled snidely. “The way you changed your mind about the forest laws.”
Henry was quiet for so long that his sons began to shift uneasily. “I understand,” he said at last, “and I will give your opinions the consideration they merit.”
Eleanor was holding up a mirror while Amaria brushed her hair. Even in the candlelight, she could see the sprinkling of silver, and she grimaced, remembering how she’d once taken her beauty for granted, not realizing what a potent weapon it had been until it was slipping from her grasp. “Should I bother to hide the grey?” she wondered aloud, and Amaria at once volunteered to go into Winchester to purchase the needed ingredients.
“I cannot count all the sermons I’ve heard priests give over the years,” Amaria said with a grin, “railing at female vanity and the sinful use of dyes and face paints. But women will always do whatever they can to hold the years at bay and to make themselves look attractive to men.”
“Why go to all that trouble, though?” Eleanor mused. “After all, none but you can see the grey. It is not as if my husband is going to be demanding his conjugal rights any time soon, and I cannot say that I have plans to take a lover.”
Amaria chuckled. “Women rarely plan to take a lover. It just happens.”
“Not for queens. The one essential for love affairs is privacy, and royal palaces have even less privacy than nunneries.”
Amaria had heard, of course, of the scandalous stories of the queen’s youth, and would have loved to know the truth of them. She would not have blamed Eleanor for cuckolding the French king, thinking that he deserved horns if any husband did. Outspoken though she might be, she was not foolhardy, and that was not a question she’d have dared to ask. Instead, she decided to broach a subject that had been causing her some unease of mind.
“Madame…you do not think the king would truly force you into taking holy vows, do you?”
“He might if he thought he could get away with it,” Eleanor said, sounding much too nonchalant for Amaria’s liking. “But whatever Harry’s failings, slowness of wit is not amongst them. He knows his grand scheme would work only if I agree to cooperate.” Glancing over her shoulder at Amaria, she smiled coolly. “I am not as quick to gamble as I once was, though, so I told Richard to appeal to the Archbishop of Rouen on my behalf.”
