Devil's Brood (17 page)

“Because,” Eleanor said, “you love your son as much as I love mine.”

To Maud, there was something ominous in that matter-of-fact statement. “What are you saying, Eleanor? That my son is to be held hostage for my good behavior?”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed, the only sign that she was now as angry as Maud. “No, I am saying that your son Hugh is one of Hal’s most enthusiastic allies. He has pledged his honor and the vast resources of Chester’s earldom to this rebellion. So you’d best hope that you are wrong about this being a war we cannot win.”

Maud gasped, losing color so rapidly that she looked ill. “I…I do not believe you. Hugh is in Spain! Would he have gone on pilgrimage if he were conspiring against the Crown?”

It was a feeble hope, though, and Eleanor was quick to snatch it away. “The rebellion was not to begin so soon. That is why Raoul and Richard were so vexed with Hal. Hugh expected to have plenty of time to make his pilgrimage, and I’d wager that he planned to pray at Santiago’s holy shrine for victory. Not that he shares your doubts about the outcome. He sees Hal as an anointed king, one he wants to serve, and there are many young lords who share his convictions.”

Maud reached out, grasped the back of the closest chair for support. She had never been so frightened as she was at this moment. If Hugh was in rebellion, her daughter Beatrix’s husband might well be implicated, too, for he’d been bedazzled to be the brother-in-law of the Earl of Chester. “It is not enough that you’ve poisoned your own well,” she said bitterly. “No, you must poison mine, too!”

“Jesus God, you sound just like Harry! He cannot admit that our sons have minds of their own, and it seems that neither can you. I did not subvert Hugh’s loyalty, did not lead him astray. I never even discussed Hal’s grievances with him. The choice was his.”

“I love my son dearly, but I am not blind to his failings. He lacks the attributes of leadership, has always been easily influenced. It would not take much to convince him that he’d be embarking upon a great adventure. Hal would have been just as easily persuaded, and there’d be many at the French court eager to do the persuading. But you could have put a halt to it, Eleanor. If you’d warned Hal that this rash intrigue could be his ruination, he’d have listened to you. But you did not, and I’ll never forgive you for that.”

She was turning toward the door when Eleanor spat, “You have not been dismissed yet, my lady countess.”

Maud paused, then dropped a deep, mocking curtsy. At that moment, she wanted only to strike out, to make Eleanor hurt as much as she was hurting, and she had the weapon at hand. “What is there left to say, Madame? Unless you wish to discuss those rumors of your involvement in the conspiracy?”

“What are you talking about?”

Maud feigned surprise. “Harry did not tell you, then? The Count of Toulouse sought him out at Limoges and warned him that you were plotting with the French king against him.”

Eleanor stared at her. “What sort of game are you playing, Maud? Why should I believe you? Even if that swine St Gilles did come to Harry with his suspicions, how would you have known about it?”

“I know because my brother and my uncle were in Harry’s bedchamber when St Gilles brought his baneful offering. Roger held his tongue, of course, having had practice in keeping the confidences of the confessional. But Ranulf knew that I could be trusted with secrets, mayhap because I’d kept so many of his, and he told me what happened. Should you like to know Harry’s response? He was outraged that St Gilles should dare to malign you like that. Not for a heartbeat did he wonder if it could be true, as he proved by sending Richard and Geoffrey back with you to Poitiers.”

Eleanor’s throat had tightened, but she was not about to let Maud see that her words had wounded. “That does not surprise me. His pride would keep him from believing it.”

“Not pride,” Maud said, “trust.” And confident that she’d gotten the last word, she made her departure.

Eleanor exhaled a ragged breath and sat down abruptly on the settle. She’d been shocked by Maud’s judgmental response, and she felt betrayed by a woman she’d long trusted. She was hurt and disappointed, but above all, she was angry, and there was no dearth of targets for her fury—Maud for her disloyalty, Hal for his foolhardy flight from Chinon, Raoul for taking pleasure in the wreckage of her family, Louis for simply being Louis, Raimon St Gilles for being even more treacherous than she’d realized, Harry for his obstinacy, his arrogance, and his faith in her. The remainder of her rage she spilled over onto herself—for caring about his pain, pain he’d brought upon himself. She swore aloud, using all of Henry’s favorite oaths, but it did not help, and when she was nudged by her greyhound, she gratefully accepted the dog’s silent sympathy. She invited the animal up onto the settle beside her, and was taking what comfort she could from the abiding, absolute loyalty shining from those slanted dark eyes when the door opened and Raoul entered the chamber.

“I am guessing that you did not patch up the rift with our troublesome countess,” he said, “for when I passed her in the stairwell, she drew her skirts about her as if I were infected with the pox.”

Eleanor hastily blinked back the tears that had begun to trickle from the corners of her eyes, knowing her uncle would see them as womanly weakness, for he constantly feared that her regrets might give way to remorse and, then, repudiation of their plans. “No, we did not ‘patch up the rift.’ She greatly disapproves of our intentions and was not shy about expressing that disapproval.”

“Why in Our Lady’s Name did you allow her to remain in the solar, Eleanor?”

“She asked me the same question,” Eleanor said, with a mirthless smile. “Because Maud is not a woman to be dismissed as if she were a maid servant.” She conveniently ignored the fact that she’d tried to do just that moments ago. “Because she would have to be told sooner or later, especially now that Hal has forced our hand. And because I thought she would understand…”

“You ought to have known better. It was only to be expected that her kinship to the king would count for more than her friendship with you. Blood always wins out. What happens now? Will she try to warn Harry?”

“No, she will not,” Eleanor said, with enough certainty to ease his qualms. “As you say, Uncle, blood will out. Her love for her son is greater than her loyalty to Harry.”

D
INNER WAS AN ELABORATE AFFAIR
as Eleanor was entertaining William le Templier, the new Archbishop of Bordeaux, and John aux Bellesmains, the Bishop of Poitiers. The first course was being served when her steward was called aside, listened intently to the message being murmured in his ear, and, with apologies, hurried from the hall. He soon returned and hastened toward the high table. “Madame, the king is here! He has just ridden into the bailey.”

Eleanor set her wine cup down with a thud. All along the length of the table, she saw her guests reacting to this startling news, none of them with pleasure. Raoul paled and Saldebreuil de Sanzay frowned and, for a brief moment, an expression of unease shadowed Richard’s face. Geoffrey, less practiced in concealing his emotions, looked downright alarmed. Although she maintained her public poise, Eleanor was shaken, too, for she was not ready to face her husband. What if she’d been wrong about Maud’s keeping quiet? She’d departed the morrow after their confrontation; could she have gone to Harry, after all?

The steward glanced around the table, saw the tension, and began to laugh. “Ah, no, Madame, ’tis the young king, your son!”

H
AL’S UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL
loosed chaos in the hall, for he had to be welcomed by the clerics and the other guests and apologies had to be made for interrupting the dinner. But at last they were gathered in the privacy of Eleanor’s solar, all family except for her venerable constable, Saldebreuil. Hal was lounging on the settle, with Marguerite sitting so close that she was practically in his lap. Geoffrey was hovering nearby, eager to begin bombarding his elder brother with questions. Raoul and Eleanor’s other uncle, Hugh, were also in high spirits, treating Hal as if he were returning from a battlefield triumph. Only Richard stood apart, and when their eyes met, Eleanor shot him a silent warning to mind his manners. She’d long been troubled by the strain between her two oldest sons, and she did not want Richard to spoil Hal’s homecoming by starting a quarrel; as young as he was, his sarcasm could be lethal, and she did not want him exercising it at Hal’s expense.

Hal was relating the story of his escape from Chinon, with a flair for the dramatic that would have done justice to the
Song of Roland.
He was extravagantly complimented for his cleverness, and only his mother spared a thought, however reluctant, for the injury he’d inflicted upon his father. “I never doubted,” he concluded, “that I would get away, not for a moment. Just as I knew my knights would be there for me. I am indeed blessed to have such loyal men. And such a fair wife,” he added, laughing and dropping a kiss upon the tip of Marguerite’s nose.

She laughed, too, blushing very becomingly. “What happened once you reached my father’s court?”

“I was welcomed as a king ought to be. Louis made me a new great seal and I was given lavish quarters in his Paris palace, and as soon as word spread of my arrival, the Counts of Flanders and Boulogne traveled to the French court to meet with me, as did the Count of Blois and—” Hal broke off, sat upright on the settle, and glanced over at Eleanor, blue eyes bright with excitement. “But first I must tell you, Maman. I was knighted in Paris!”

It was impossible not to share in his joy, and he was immediately inundated with praise; even Richard bestirred himself to offer a laconic congratulations. After a moment to reflect, Raoul began to laugh. “Well, it was not the way he’d expected it, but Harry got his wish. Hal was knighted by the French king!”

Hal looked over at Raoul and shook his head. “I was not knighted by the French king.” That drew all their attention, as he’d hoped, and he paused to heighten the suspense. “I asked the most worthy, honorable man I know to confer knighthood upon me. I asked Will Marshal.”

There were exclamations of surprise and astonishment, for they did not see why Hal would have chosen a mere knight to perform such a significant ceremony when he could have had it done by a king. Only Eleanor understood and, crossing the solar, she leaned over and kissed her eldest son on the cheek. “That was a very generous gesture, Hal. I am sure Will was greatly honored by it.”

Hal separated from his wife long enough to rise to his feet and give his mother an exuberant hug. “I had trouble convincing him that I was serious, but once I had, he was overwhelmed.”

“Loyalty like his should be rewarded,” she said approvingly. “It does not hurt to let the world know, too, that you value fidelity. A great lord is expected to show great generosity to his vassals and knights. It makes others all the more eager to serve you.”

“I suppose,” he said vaguely, for the truth was that he’d not considered the political ramifications of his choice. It had been an impulsive act, a way to honor a man he greatly respected, the embodiment of knightly chivalry. Sitting down again beside Marguerite, he smiled up at his mother. “I know it was not easy for Will to defy my father. I am sure he had misgivings, and I think he overcame those misgivings because of you, Maman.”

“Me? What do you mean, Hal?”

“Once we were safely in French territory, naturally we wanted to celebrate. We celebrated so much, in fact, that the next morn I felt as if the bells of Notre Dame were going off inside my head. Even Will drank enough to loosen his tongue. He started to talk about you, Maman, about how he owed you his very life, about what a great queen you were and what an honor it had been to serve you whilst he was one of your household knights.” He grinned. “He sounded smitten, if truth be told!”

Eleanor was pleased, but Marguerite looked puzzled. “What did he mean about owing her his life?”

Hal slid his arm around her waist, quite happy to enlighten her. “It happened five years ago in Poitou, darling. My mother was ambushed by the de Lusignans. To save her from capture, Will and his uncle, the Earl of Salisbury, fought like demons. She got away safely, thank God, but the earl was slain and Will was wounded and taken prisoner. Will had no money for the ransom, although he lied and pretended that he had kin willing to pay it. He knew sooner or later they’d find out the truth, but he was desperate to buy as much time as he could. Then—as he described it—the miracle happened. His captors announced that his ransom had been paid by the queen and set him free. When he returned to Poitiers, grateful beyond words, my mother not only gave him a position in her household, but she provided him with a destrier and chain mail, thus winning his heart for all eternity!”

Marguerite was regarding Eleanor with wide, admiring eyes. She’d been astonished by some of Hal’s stories about his mother—that she’d gone on crusade with Louis and their caravan had been attacked by Saracens, that her ship had been captured by pirates in the pay of the Byzantine Emperor, only to be rescued in the nick of time by the King of Sicily’s fleet—but this one sounded as if it came straight from a minstrel’s tale. “You have led the most remarkable life,” she blurted out, “like Iseult or Guinevere!”

Both of those legendary queens had also been faithless wives, but Eleanor knew that her daughter-in-law’s insult was an innocent one, and she smiled at the girl before turning back to Hal. “You mentioned a number of highborn lords. Have they fully committed themselves to our rebellion?”

“Indeed they have, all of them! It was very easy to come to terms with them, Maman. I promised the Count of Blois two hundred pounds a year and the castle of Amboise. The Count of Flanders shall have the county of Kent, a thousand pounds a year, and the castles at Dover and Rochester, and his brother, the Count of Boulogne, shall have the county of Mortain in Normandy and the Honour of Hay in Wales. Best of all, Louis thinks that the King of Scotland will also commit to our cause in return for Northumbria and the earldoms of Huntingdon and Cambridge for his brother. We can count, too, upon Raoul de Fougères and most of the Breton barons, and in England, the Earls of Chester, Leicester, Norfolk, and Derby. Not to forget your lords in Poitou, Maman. Has there ever been such a redoubtable alliance? Not since all those Greek kings sailed for Troy!”