Beloved Enemy (76 page)

“If you mean by that, Sire, have I changed my mind about accepting the See of Canterbury, the answer is no,” Thomas replied.

“I didn’t really think you would. Tomorrow I will announce the momentous news to the court at a special feast I’ve planned. An envoy from His Holiness will be attending.”

“I’m impressed, Sire. You’ve thought of everything.”

They walked down the long passage that led to the great hall. Nobles and prelates who walked by them bowed.

“You took care of that matter regarding the Southwark stews before you left, Thomas?”

Thomas reached into the scrip at his waist and handed him a roll of parchment. “Here is a copy. The council approved it and it has already gone into effect. Although I still fail to understand why an ordinance is required to give Southwark’s brothels—the most notorious in all England—status and protection. Why not just suppress them and be done with it?”

“And leave the worthy bishop of Winchester virtually penniless? Without the Southwark brothel rents he would have to beg his bread in the streets.” Henry laughed, although Thomas was obviously not amused. “No, the brothels should not be suppressed, but why not regulate them? All of them. This—” Henry unrolled the parchment and quickly scanned it—“may refer directly to the Bankside stews, but any brothelkeeper in London and elsewhere with an ounce of sense in his greedy head will take heed and follow its rules.” He read through the document then handed the parchment back to Thomas. “Everything appears to be in order. Very good.”

Clearly disapproving, Thomas rolled up the parchment then tucked it into the scrip at his belt. “An extraordinary document.”

“Not so extraordinary.” Henry repressed a smile. “Were you aware that the Roman prostitutes had their own guild?”

“Such vital information was not included in my studies of Roman law, Sire.”

“Pity. God’s eyes, such a face, my friend. Sour as vinegar. I thank you for seeing to this matter, regardless of your reservations.”

“One of my last acts as chancellor.”

“As
only
chancellor, you mean. You will still be my chancellor when you become primate, remember? That is the whole point of your becoming primate.”

“Yes, Sire, something I could hardly forget.”

Despite the glum look on Thomas’s face, Henry entered the hall with a renewed feeling of security. He wondered what Bellebelle would say when she heard about the ordinance. How he would love to see the expression of wonder on her face. He sighed. At least he had the consolation of knowing that his conscience would rest easy now. He had seen justice done and paid his debt of honor.

“If I lay dead in my shroud,” said Henry to Richard de Lucy at the noon feast next day, “would you do your utmost to secure the throne for my son and heir?”

Despite the chatter at the high table in Falaise’s great hall, the voices of the troubadours raised in song, Henry was sharply aware of the long look exchanged between his mother and Eleanor—with whom he had barely had time to do more than exchange greetings since his arrival. He took note of the startled glances, surreptitious whispers, and raised brows that passed between the nobles who attended his Easter court.

“With my very life, Sire, if need be,” replied the co-justiciar, de Lucy, a fervent note in his voice.

“By God’s splendor, one can’t say fairer than that, my lords.” Henry held up his heavy silver goblet; his gaze swept the hall in one compelling glance.

The talk at the high table, the laughter and raucous voices coming from the castle mesnie seated at the trestle tables below abruptly ceased. The troubadours’ hands fell suddenly idle on their lutes; servitors and pages, sprinting back and forth from hall to kitchen, froze where they stood. Within moments a vast silence descended upon the assembled throng. Henry knew he had full attention, as if the inhabitants of the castle, nay, even Normandy itself, held its breath, spellbound, for what would come next.

“Then I charge you to strive just as hard to make my chancellor, Thomas Becket, archbishop of Canterbury.” Henry’s voice rang through the hall piercing as a clarion call to arms. “Rest assured that I have the papal blessing in this matter.”

He indicated his guest, the cardinal of Pisa, a special envoy from the pope, whose presence, he hoped, would lend weight to the announcement.

It was evident from the shocked expression on many faces that this was the very last thing most members of his court expected to hear. Not surprising, as only his very closest associates knew his intentions concerning the See of Canterbury. Every eye turned to Thomas Becket, who smiled in acknowledgment. Today, the chancellor was extravagantly clad in a tunic of his favorite scarlet cloth trimmed with sable, red leather boots fastened with silver spurs, and several gold chains around his neck. Henry frowned. Not the most politic choice of garb for the occasion.

Richard de Lucy bowed his head in agreement. “I will set sail for England as soon as may be and tell the monks of Christ Church, Canterbury, that the king has nominated his candidate and they have the royal permission to proceed to election.”

“The king may nominate his candidate but the monks are supposed to have a
free
election, I believe?” It was the voice of Master John of Salisbury, a member of the late archbishop’s household, sitting with other clerics at one of the trestle tables below.

Trust that grave scholar of Canterbury to let everyone know that he, for one, disapproved the choice of Thomas Becket.

With a bland smile, Henry faced the castle mesnie and guests seated below the dais. “A free election, Master John, naturally. What else? As king, I can only offer my nomination.” It fooled no one but preserved the formalities.

Henry downed the last of the wine in his goblet and resumed his seat; the inhabitants of the hall renewed their talk, the servants brought platters of food; the troubadours commenced to play and sing. But the air in the hall now bristled with expectancy. More than one face continued to glower with the disapproval voiced by John of Salisbury.

Henry had always been aware he charted a dangerous course in these troubled waters, therefore he was not overly surprised by the reaction of his magnates. He knew his choice of Becket might prove unpopular, that there would be those—both in and out of the Church—who would strongly oppose his will. Although he would have his way in the end, as he always did.

“De Lucy, you and Thomas must leave for the coast without delay. It would be best if I remain behind.”

“But your assent is needed at the election, Sire,” de Lucy said with a frown. “You must return with us.”

Henry hesitated. This was true—A hand touched his arm.

Eleanor, seated next to him at the high table, bent her head and said in an urgent whisper, “I don’t think everyone has entirely grasped that your
chancellor
will also be primate of all England. The sooner this election is brought to a speedy conclusion—without your presence—the better for all concerned.”

“But as de Lucy said, my assent is needed,” Henry murmured under his breath.

“Send young Henry in your stead, my lord,” said Eleanor in a loud voice. “It is high time the prince performed his first official function as the king’s deputy by giving assent in your name.”

Henry sent her a passionate look of gratitude. “An excellent suggestion, don’t you think so, Thomas? De Lucy?”

“Indeed, excellent.” Thomas bestowed a lofty smile upon everyone at the table.

The co-justiciar nodded his agreement.

Henry felt the tension drain from his body. He had now taken the decisive step that would set in motion those series of events that would result in Thomas being elected primate.

Eleanor, bless her, had supported his decision despite her reservations concerning Thomas. Not to mention her quick wit in helping him out of a tight corner. He stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye. She looked very lovely today in a new cloth of gold tunic, the sleeves cut with increasing width from elbow to wrist, their open ends trailing on the rushes. The inside was lined with sapphire silk. Eleanor’s manner toward him appeared to have thawed considerably. As soon as the feast was over he intended to take her off somewhere and repair whatever damage still remained over the business of little Geoffrey and Bellebelle. He was prepared to make any necessary amends—within reason, of course.

With a sigh, Henry turned his attention back to the inhabitants of the hall. How he wished it were within his power to change Nell’s attitude—as well as his mother’s—toward Thomas. If only he could get her to see what he and Thomas had accomplished together in terms of reformed laws, prosperity, peace in England, power and prestige on the Continent! This was one of Nell’s few blind spots.

Now that the matter was almost as good as settled—he could envision no obstacles—Henry felt such a sense of freedom, he was so light-hearted, he could hardly contain himself. With Thomas safely installed at Canterbury, he knew that both Church and realm would work peacefully together, nominally apart but, in truth, under the control of one viewpoint—his.

With Thomas as primate, young Henry would be crowned within his lifetime. If it was a break with precedent—well, precedents, as well as rules, were fated to be broken. Hadn’t all his family done just that? William I had taken England by conquest; William Rufus, a sodomite, had thumbed his nose at the Church; his grandfather, the first Henry, had named a daughter his heir to the throne. Let his enemies do their worst, spread what vile rumors they liked. Although this had not occurred, Henry felt prepared for any eventuality; the succession would be assured when young Henry was crowned king. It was one thing to usurp a disputed throne, quite another to depose not one anointed king but two! At last, at last, he could draw an easy breath.

He felt like getting up, jumping on the table, and doing a Moorish dance.

When the feast was over, Henry grabbed Eleanor’s hand.

“Meet me within the hour just outside the gates.” At the look of surprise on her face, he said, “Your king commands you. And
don’t
bring any of the children.”

A short while later he and Eleanor were strolling on the banks of a broad stream that ran outside the walls of Falaise Castle. On the battlements above, guards and archers kept watch. The weather had totally cleared on this third day of May, and apart from a brisk wind, the day was fair, a bright sun swimming in a pale blue sky streaked with shreds of white cloud.

“I’ve missed you,” Henry said.

“Usually, I didn’t think my absence bothered you.”

“Usually it doesn’t. But we have never been seriously estranged before. Not for more than a day or two anyway. To my surprise, I found my attention returning to you again and again.”

Eleanor gave him the ghost of a smile. “I think of you frequently when we are parted.”

“It’s what women are meant to do. But how can you expect a man to run a kingdom thinking about some woman all the time? It won’t do.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “All the same, I’m glad you’re here and—no longer angry?”

“No longer angry, no.”

From the out-flung branches of several apple trees, clouds of pink apple blossom floated on the swirls and eddies of the stream and carpeted the green path where they walked. Henry had always liked Falaise, an ancient huge fortress of the dukes of Normandy, flanked by fourteen towers that dominated the tiny village set in a ravine marked by scattered rock spurs. It seemed to him that the immense square keep, perched on high ground with great flat buttresses, was haunted by the memory of his great-great-grandmother, Herleva, and the misbegotten son she bore, who first became Duke William Bastard of Normandy and then Conqueror of England.

“Did you know, Nell, that just here, in the last century, was where it all began?”

She raised her brows in a question.

“My ancestor, Robert the Fearless, son of Duke Richard, first saw Herleva washing clothes in this very stream. The Chronicles say she was very beautiful and, despite being the daughter of a simple tanner, she found favor in his eyes. When Robert, in turn, became duke, he did not forget her—nor their bastard son, William.”

“Yes, of course, I remember now. It’s a lovely tale.”

“You know what Thomas said when I told him?” Henry drew himself up, looked down his nose, and said in a deep voice reminiscent of the chancellor: “ ‘And from such humble beginnings sprang a great dynasty. It clearly illustrates the teaching of the Gospel.’ ”

Eleanor burst out laughing. God’s eyes! What a treat it was to see her laugh like that.

“Obviously readying himself for his new calling,” she said, “Thomas Becket, man of God.”

They walked along in companionable silence.

Some elusive quality—to which Henry could put no name—concerning the Conqueror and his origins filled him with a sense of fate this morning.

“Sometimes, Nell, I marvel at the strange, unforeseen ways in which our destinies are forged. Because a duke’s son glimpsed a fair maid in the stream and desired her, because they conceived an illegitimate son who became duke of Normandy, because that duke followed a dream and conquered England, I was fated to expand that dream into an empire.”

“The Conqueror would be proud of your accomplishments, Henry.”

“Do you really think so? Well, what I have done—what we have done—is only the beginning. After all, I’m far from dead yet, eh?”

Thoughts of his illustrious forebear led Henry to thoughts of his own well-beloved bastard, Geoffrey. A gifted, highly intelligent child with Bellebelle’s easy, affectionate nature. What would he, in turn, accomplish?

Henry stopped by an apple tree and took Eleanor in his arms. “Is that coil all behind us now? Am I forgiven?”

“Yes to both.”

He looked down into her hazel eyes, whose unfathomable depths were as darkly green as a forest pool this afternoon. “But something still troubles you, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not very good at hiding things from you, am I?”

“I would hope not. What have I done now?”

“This is not to do with you, Henry, but me.” She broke away from his arms and leaned back against the twisted trunk of the tree. “I’m not sure I can explain.”