son!” she said, with more warmth, and raised her face for the expected dutiful kiss.
“Mother, where is Eleanor to sit?” Henry muttered, ignoring her and jerking his head at the two thrones.
“I will have a chair brought,” the Empress said. She signaled to her steward.
She means to slight me, Eleanor thought. She wishes to show me who is mistress here. She knew I was coming, yet conveniently forgot to have a third throne set ready.
Aloud, she said, smiling, “My Lady Empress, I am most happy to meet you, especially on this joyous occasion. You must be overjoyed that Henry’s invasion of England has led to such a successful conclusion.”
The Empress bristled faintly. Was Eleanor implying that Henry had succeeded where she, for all her efforts, had failed? “He has indeed done well in championing and vindicating my cause, for England was always rightfully mine,” she declared frostily. “But I happily cede my claim to him, for I will never return to that godforsaken island …”
Henry cut her off in mid-flow. Clearly he had heard this before, and had no mind to listen to another tirade against King Stephen, his adoptive father, whom he had found himself quite liking, after having been brought up to regard him as the archenemy, and little worse than the Devil himself on the general scale of wickedness.
“You are of much greater use to me here, ruling Normandy in my absence, Mother,” he said. “And when I have England under my hand, as well as Aquitaine and my other domains, I will need your help and support more than ever.”
Matilda looked somewhat mollified. Just then the third chair was brought and placed next to Henry’s. It was lower-backed than his, but Eleanor swallowed the insult and sat down on it, not waiting for the Empress, as the highest in rank, to be seated first. Henry covered her hand with his and squeezed it, which made her feel a little better, but she knew already that the battle lines had been drawn.
“I have a surprise for you both,” she told her husband and his mother, then nodded at Torqueri de Bouillon, who briefly disappeared, came back with little William wriggling in her arms, and handed him to Eleanor.
“My lord, let me introduce your heir, the Count of Poitiers!” Eleanor announced triumphantly.
Henry’s face was ecstatic as he took the child, marveling at the infant’s chubby limbs and the red curls that were so like his own.
“What a grip!” he grinned, as William grabbed his finger in his tiny fist. “That’s a sword grip, my son! That augurs well for the future. This boy will hold onto his own.” Even the Empress’s steely gaze softened. Then Henry rose to his feet and held William high above his head, much to the child’s delight.
“Madame my mother, my lady, my lords and barons all. Behold my son, William, who will one day rule this duchy—and England and Aquitaine too, God willing. When he is older, I will bring him to you so that you may swear fealty to him, but in the meantime I thank God for the gift of such a fine boy, and entrust him to the excellent care of his mother.” As the company cheered lustily, he passed William back to Eleanor.
“He looks like your father,” the Empress said to Henry.
“And his beautiful mother!” Henry replied. “Eleanor has done well, has she not, in bearing me such a strong son?”
Matilda smiled faintly. “You are both to be congratulated,” she said stiffly. “Now, send the child back to his nurse, as our lords and bishops are waiting to be presented to the duchess.”
They dined in private that evening, just the three of them, in the Empress’s solar. After spreading the cloth, the servitors brought napkins, wine cups, and dishes, all offered on bended knee. Then round cakes of wheaten bread marked with crosses were served, followed by the best that Normandy could offer: gigots of lamb and succulent duckling, sole in a cream sauce, spiced apples with jugs of thick cream, and a platter of the Pont l’Eveque and Livarot cheeses that tasted like ambrosia to Eleanor. When the servitors had withdrawn, the talk was mostly of England and Normandy, and by the time the fruit and spiced wine appeared, she was growing tired of being ignored.
“Have you ever visited Aquitaine, madame?” she asked Matilda.
“No,” Matilda said. “Henry, did you go to Oxford? I had a horrid time there.”
“Yes, Mother, I did, but we were speaking of Aquitaine. It is a land of great beauty.” Oh, so you did notice, Eleanor thought, a trifle resentfully.
“I have no desire to go there,” Matilda said. “I have heard that the lords there are violent and uncontrollable.” She shot a look at Eleanor.
“It has ever been so,” Eleanor said. “That is because Aquitaine has massive rocky hills and rivers, and each lord thinks he is a king in his own valley. They have always fought among themselves, but I trust that now, thanks to their love for me and my lord’s reputation as a strong ruler, they will not be so disobedient. My cities of Poitiers and Bordeaux are always safe and quiet, and there we enjoy a good standard of living. My duchy is a land of great abbeys and churches, and the arts and letters are thriving.”
“By that, I take it you are referring to your troubadours,” her mother-in-law said, her tone dismissive. “I have heard that they sing only of love and its trivialities.”
“Love is not trivial,” Eleanor defied her. “In Aquitaine, it is an important part of life. And women are valued there as nowhere else. Believe me, madame, I know. I have lived in France—”
“Where women are required to be virtuous and live in subjection to their husbands!” the Empress cut in.
Henry, toying with his wine cup, glanced at his mother in mock surprise, wondering when she had ever lived in virtuous subjection to his father. But Matilda was a woman on a mission and did not notice.
“I dare say,” she was commenting to a frozen-faced Eleanor, “that you would not understand that, coming from Aquitaine, which, I am told, is little better than one vast brothel!”
Eleanor’s temper flared, but Henry was there before her. He had been sitting at the head of the table, listening to the exchange between his wife and his mother with amused interest, but now it had gone far enough.
“Are you suggesting that Eleanor is less than virtuous?” he barked, his blood up. “Remember she is my wife!”
His mother looked as wrathful as he did. “I’m not only suggesting it, I know it!” she retorted. “Either this woman has deceived you, my son, or you have lost all sense of respect for me in bringing her here and forcing me to receive her.”
Eleanor rose. “I am leaving,” she said hotly. “I will not be spoken of like that.”
“Will you deny, then, that you were Geoffrey’s mistress?” the Empress flung at her. Eleanor paused in her flight, drawing in her breath, and there was an awful silence before she found the words to reply. Henry’s expression was, as so often, unreadable.
“I will not deny it,” she said, her cheeks burning, “but know this, madame, that he told me he was unhappily married and that you had no more use for each other as man and woman. Do you deny
“My relations with Geoffrey are no business of yours. What you did was wrong, and it was even more wrong of you to marry my son, knowing you had been his father’s leman.”
“That’s enough,” snarled Henry. “I will hear no more. And you, Mother, must keep what you know to yourself, if you wish to retain what power is left to you in the world—and my filial devotion.” His tone was sarcastic.
Matilda got to her feet. “You must both live with your consciences. It is not I who have committed the sin of incest. Mark me, there will be a reckoning one day. God is not to be mocked. And there’s no need to threaten me, Henry. I had already decided that discretion was essential—do you think I would bring shame on myself by publicly announcing that my late lamented husband had an affair with a woman who is the scandal of Christendom? Don’t think I haven’t heard the rumors—”
“Enough!” Henry bellowed, flushing with rage.
“You’re right, I’ve had enough,” spat Eleanor, and gathering up her mantle, swept regally out of the room.
“Well, I hope you’re pleased with yourself, Mother,” Henry said, his gaze thunderous.
“Your marriage made good political sense, I grant you that,” Matilda muttered. “But I can only deplore the fact that your wife has a stained reputation, and that she betrayed me with my husband, your own father. And that she has the brazen nerve to come here and expect to be honorably received.”
