Captive Queen

himself and de Trihan. It was high summer, and hot, and the King had been suffering from a noisome complaint …

No, he would not tell Eleanor any of this. She was still crying, her head against Amaria’s ample bosom, but the storm of her weeping had subsided now, and she was recovering herself, taking deep, gasping breaths. It was a relief to know that she could weep, he thought. It was a significant step on the hard road to coming to terms with her loss and the tragedies that had surrounded it. No doubt she would weep again, many times. But she would heal, for she was strong. She had weathered many tempests in her time, and this latest one would not crush her.

“Forgive me,” Eleanor said, sniffing. “I am forgetting myself.”

“Not at all, my lady,” he assured her.

“If anyone’s entitled to do that, it’s you!” Amaria said tartly, but with affection. William Marshal noted, and approved, of the familiarity. It was good to know that the Queen had someone like this sensible, homely woman to help her through this difficult time.

Eleanor reached for her goblet and took a gulp of the sweet vintage it held.

“That’s better,” she said, essaying a weak smile. “You have seen the King?”

For an awful moment, Marshal thought she was referring to Henry, but then realized she meant Richard.

“Yes, my lady. I brought him the news of King Henry’s passing.”

“And how did he take it?”

“He hastened to Chinon and bade me ride with him there. When he looked down on the late King’s body, his face was unreadable. I could not tell if he felt sorrow or grief …”

“Or even joy or triumph!” Eleanor put in. “I know my son, as I know myself. I am sure he would have experienced very mixed feelings.”

“I am sure of that too,” Marshal agreed. “He did pray awhile before the bier.” He omitted to add that no sooner had Richard gotten to his knees than he was up again, much to the disapproval of many who saw it. And there was no way that he would tell Eleanor that, as the new King rose to his feet, black blood began to flow from the nostrils of the corpse. Or that there were gasps and cries of horror from the observers, who later voiced the firm opinion that Henry’s spirit was angered by his son’s approach and hurried prayers. It had been a ghastly thing to witness, and Marshal still shuddered at the memory of it.

Still, he could tell Eleanor how Richard, no doubt belatedly racked by guilt, had been weeping and lamenting as he followed the body to Fontevrault, which the new King deemed a more fitting resting place for his father than Grandmont, where Henry had long ago expressed a wish to be buried.

“Is that where he lies?” Eleanor asked.

“Yes, my lady. They laid him to rest in the nuns’ choir.”

“It is more fitting than that austere abbey at Grandmont,” she observed. “Richard could not have chosen a better sepulchre, for Henry loved Fontevrault. That is where I myself mean to be buried when my time comes. Has Richard said anything about raising a tomb to his memory?”

“Yes, my lady. Already, he has sent for masons and commissioned an effigy to lie upon it.”

“It seems strange,” she brooded, “that a man to whom many realms were subject should be brought, in the end, to lay in a few feet of earth. Yet it is our mortal lot, and it does us good for God to remind us of the narrowness of death. Yet a tomb, even a fine one, hardly seems to suffice for a man like Henry—for whom the world was not enough.”

She smiled at him, all trace of her tears gone. “Forgive me, old friend. I am pondering aloud.”

“Your pondering was very profound,” he told her, returning the smile. “You are a great philosopher, my lady.”

“Ah, but I never benefit from my own wisdom, William!” She sipped the wine again and reflected. “There was much I did not like in Henry. He could be oppressive and unjust, and his morals were appalling. I hope he repented at the last. I should hate to think of him suffering the torments of Hell for his sins.”

“He did repent,” Marshal assured her.

“I thank God for that,” Eleanor went on. “I am sure that many will remember Henry as a wicked man, but he was never that simple. I loved him with a passion—and came to hate him as fervently, and in our later years I hardly recognized the young man I had so joyfully married. But I could never forget what had been between us, and just occasionally I was afforded a rare glimpse of the old Henry, the one I had loved—and that is why I say to you that he was not truly a wicked man. And when all is said and done, he was, in many respects, an excellent and beneficial ruler.”

“He was a great king, and I will miss him,” Marshal said simply.

“And I too, immeasurably,” said Eleanor. “For all the unkindness between us, and our terrible betrayals of each other, I think I still loved him to the last. I can’t explain why, and God knows I had little reason to love him. But there was something about him, something about us, that kept me in thralldom, even when I wanted to free myself. It’s very complicated, and I couldn’t expect anyone to understand it.”

Clearing the buffet cupboard behind her, Amaria made a face.

William Marshal, flouting protocol, laid his hand on Eleanor’s. His kind eyes were warm. “I know what you mean,” he said. “I loved him too. I would have died for him.”

PART FIVE The Eagle Rejoices 1189

67 Winchester, 1189

Later, after the tablecloth had been lifted, Marshal came to the chief purpose of his visit.

“My lady, we must get down to business. This cannot wait. I have come here, not just to set you free, but to inform you that the King has entrusted you with the power of ruling England as regent. I carry in my saddle pouch instructions to the princes and lords of the realm that your word shall be law in all matters.”

Her heart was suddenly singing. This was the measure of Richard’s love and trust, she knew. And, please God, she would be equal to it. Not many men, let alone women, were called at the advanced age of sixty-seven to such responsibility and honor. She gave thanks that her years of endurance had taught her a degree of wisdom, despite what she had self-deprecatingly said to William Marshal, and that she was as energetic as she had ever been, and had all her faculties about her. She knew, for she had learned in a hard school, how to rule well, and how to command the respect and obedience—and the love—of her people. Her new authority, for which she thanked God most humbly, would sit easily upon her.

She was eager to be gone from Winchester, to grasp the reins of government and wield power for the common good. She would make sure that she exerted a sage and benevolent influence over her son the King, who was going to need all the help and support he could get to rule his great empire. His subjects in England hardly knew him, for he was a stranger to them. Well, she would do all in her power to win him their love.

Her head was full of plans. She would go to Westminster and make every free man in England swear to bear fealty to their new liege lord. Then she would make a progress through the shires, dispensing justice and disposing of all things as she sought fit, cozening the obedience of the nobles. She would transact the business of court and chancery in the King’s name, but using her own seal.

She was bursting with great plans. She would reform the harsh forest laws, which were so injurious to the poor who tried to scratch a living from the vast swaths of woodland that kings had hitherto regarded purely as their personal hunting grounds. She would legislate for honest weights and measures, and a coinage that would be legal tender anywhere in the kingdom; and she would found hospitals and free prisoners. If any protested against that,