Devil's Brood (24 page)

Will was thankful that Hal shared this conviction, for it would have been very hard to follow a lord who did not. He just wished Hal had been strong enough to defy the French king and his evil advisors, strong enough to have prevailed. But Hal was young. He had time to develop that steel in his soul, Will assured himself. So far he had resolutely refused to listen to the seditious inner voice whispering that age was no excuse, that had King Henry been faced with a Verneuil at eighteen, he would never have allowed it to happen.

With duskfall, the day’s heat slowly began to ebb. They could hear the sounds downstairs as Barbe’s assistant ushered out the last customers and closed up the shop. The noise from the street continued to waft through the open window, though, for people would not retire to their homes until curfew rang. Will and Barbe made love again, and then she fetched some cold chicken, cheese, and fruit for a bedside supper. They were just finishing their apples when a muffled thumping sounded below.

Will cocked his head. “Is someone knocking at the door?”

Barbe paused to listen, too. “Whoever it is will go away.”

But the pounding continued. And then a voice shouted loudly, “Will Marshal! If you’re up there, come to the window!”

“Ignore him,” Barbe urged.

But Will recognized the voice. Swinging his legs over the bed, he crossed to the window and peered down into the street, where Simon de Morisco was standing, hands on hips, getting ready to shout again. At the sight of Will, he heaved a sigh of relief.

“Thank God! I was sent to find you straightaway and did not know where else to look. Hurry and dress, Will. You have been summoned back to the palace.”

E
NTERING THE PALACE’S GREAT HALL,
Will was surprised to see Hal and Richard seated together, for they did not often seek out each other’s company. Clearly the news from Brittany must be grave, indeed. All Simon could tell him was that a messenger had arrived with word of a calamity, but no more than that. Hal and Richard were sitting with Raoul de Faye, Marguerite, the Count of Leicester, Robert Beaumont, and his wife, Peronelle. As Will approached, Richard and Hal slid over on the bench to make room for him beside them. He took his seat, ignoring the disgruntled looks he was getting from several of Hal’s knights; he well knew that some were jealous of his privileged status and since he could do nothing about it, he did his best not to let it bother him.

“Simon said there was a setback in Brittany?”

Hal nodded, and Richard gave a short laugh that sounded uncannily like Henry’s. “To call it a ‘setback’ is like calling the Expulsion from Eden a minor misunderstanding. It was a disaster, Will. Last Thursday Hugh and Raoul de Fougères and all their knights surrendered Dol Castle to my father. The rebellion in Brittany is over.”

“Sweet Jesu,” Will breathed, for this was far worse than he’d expected. “I did not even know King Henry was in Brittany, thought he’d returned to Rouen after…after Verneuil.”

“He did,” Hal said glumly, “but as soon as he learned Hugh and the Bretons were trapped in Dol, he hastened west, and once he arrived on the scene, they panicked and ran up a white flag.”

“A disgrace,” the Earl of Leicester muttered, shaking his head in disgust, and Hal, Richard, and Will exchanged glances, all of them sharing the same thought: that Leicester had abandoned his castle at Breteuil and ran for his life as soon as he’d gotten word of Henry’s approach. None of them voiced that thought, though. It would never occur to Will to do so, and the brothers were learning some hard lessons in diplomacy; Leicester was a valued ally, even if they both thought he was a horse’s arse.

Will diplomatically ended the silence that had followed Leicester’s accusation, asking, “What happened to them after they surrendered?”

It was Raoul de Faye who answered him. “Actually, they were treated rather leniently under the circumstances. Harry let most of them go once they’d sworn homage to him again and promised not to take part in further rebellions. He even freed Raoul de Fougères after he’d offered up his sons as hostages for his good behavior, and did not declare any of their estates forfeit to the Crown…at least not yet.”

Raoul did not sound particularly happy about the Bretons’ good fortune, and Will understood why. Word of Henry’s forbearance would quickly spread, reassuring other rebels that they could submit to the Crown without fearing they’d lose their lands or their lives. It was a shrewd tactic for a man fighting a civil war. “What of the Earl of Chester?”

“He was not as lucky.” Hal frowned, for he was fond of Hugh. “My father sent him under guard to Falaise Castle, where he’ll be held prisoner…”

His words trailed off, but Will knew the phrase he was reluctant to say. “At the king’s pleasure.” Hugh of Chester could be freed if Henry won the rebellion. He could also be held for the rest of his earthly days. And for one as high-strung as Hugh, the uncertainty would gnaw at his nerves his every waking hour. Glancing at Henry’s sons, Will wondered if they feared their father might treat them as harshly as he had Hugh. He certainly did, feared for Queen Eleanor, too, since Hugh’s imprisonment showed that Henry could not forgive family betrayal as easily as he could the disloyalty of vassals and liegemen.

“Poor Hugh,” Hal said softly, “and poor Bertrada and Cousin Maud. I cannot give them such sad news. You do it for me, Uncle Raoul. But when you write, offer them hope for his early release. Women are not meant to bear such heavy burdens.”

Will did not understand how Queen Eleanor’s son could make such a nonsensical statement and, judging from the expressions on the faces of Raoul de Faye and Richard, neither did they. But as Will glanced over at Marguerite, whose hand was tightly clasped in Hal’s, he decided that Hal was being protective of his young wife; Marguerite was just fifteen, after all.

“Louis was badly shaken by the news,” Hal said, looking somberly at Will. “And who can blame him? In just a month, our great alliance has fallen apart. The Scots king has fled back across the border. The Count of Flanders has gone home, too. Our invasion of Normandy came to naught, and now the Breton rebellion has been quelled, and so easily. Little wonder Louis told me that he has begun to fear the Almighty is no longer on our side.”

That was such a tactless admission that Will winced. It was bad enough that the French king was having such dangerous doubts without Hal letting others know of his misgivings. Another strained silence fell, this one broken by Richard. “The Almighty,” he said, “is usually on the side of the best battle commander.” Hal scowled at his brother, for that sounded almost sacrilegious to him. But before he could respond, the Countess of Leicester spoke up. She’d been listening with obvious impatience, and now took advantage of the break in the conversation to voice her opinion.

“The French king ought not to mourn the loss of the Bretons. They always make unreliable allies, skulk back to their own lands as soon as things start to go wrong, and so do the Scots. England is the key to victory. If we’d invaded it as my husband advised, we could have taken London by now.”

Will was offended by her meddling in these military matters. It was one thing for a woman to express her opinions to her husband in the privacy of their bedchamber, quite another for her to speak out so boldly in public. He had no trouble reconciling his traditional views of the female sex with his admiration for the highly untraditional Queen Eleanor, for in Will’s eyes, she was unique, not to be judged by the same standards that applied to lesser women. Glancing around the table, he saw that Peronelle’s views had not gone down well with the others, either. Richard, Raoul, Hal, and Marguerite were all regarding her with disapproval. Her husband was smiling at her, though, confirming Will’s suspicions that Peronelle was the master in that marriage. He knew she was a great heiress, but he did not like her any the better for it; if arrogance was a male failing, it was even more unseemly and unappealing in a woman.

“We must hope that the Count of Flanders reconsiders his rash decision to abandon our alliance,” Hal was saying when the door was flung open and the French king entered the hall.

They all jumped to their feet at his approach, but he waved them back into their seats. He looked surprisingly calm and peaceful for a man who’d gotten dire news such a short time ago. “I know what must be done,” he told them, with a certainty he rarely showed. “I have prayed for answers, and the Almighty has shown me the way.”

H
ENRY HAD CALLED A COUNCIL MEETING
on such short notice that he’d begun to think it would be dawn until they all straggled in. But they were finally seated around a trestle table, looking at him expectantly, some smothering yawns, for not all men kept Henry’s late hours and several had been roused from their beds by his summons. Henry waited until they’d been served a good quality Gascon wine, and then broke his news.

“I have received a remarkable communication from the French king. It seems that he now sees himself as a peacemaker and has generously offered to reconcile me with my sons.”

As he’d expected, their response was explosive and incredulous. He let them vent, but when Willem called Louis the greatest hypocrite in Christendom, Henry demurred. “No, I think not. Louis has a rare gift; he is able to entertain any number of contrary thoughts at one time. Moreover, he has the dubious talent of believing whatever he wants to be true at any given moment, and should I be churlish enough to remind him that he was the cause of this estrangement he is now eager to heal, he’d be deeply wounded by my ingratitude.”

They did not dispute his sardonic assessment of the French king, for most of them had experiences with Louis stretching back more than two decades. “What will your answer be, my liege?” the Archbishop of Rouen asked, although he was confident he already knew what Henry would answer.

“I shall accept his invitation, agree to attend his peace conference.”

Some of the men seemed surprised, but most of them weren’t. Regarding the king pensively over the rim of his wine cup, Willem said, “What are your terms for peace?”

“I mean,” Henry said, “to put an end to this needless war as soon as possible. I would not offer Louis so much as a stale crust of bread. But with my sons, I am prepared to be more generous.”

“How generous, my liege?” the Earl of Arundel asked cautiously, and when Henry told them, they stared at him in astonishment, shocked that he could be so magnanimous after such a grievous betrayal by those of his own blood.

“Are you sure, my lord?” Willem thought he knew Henry as well as any man did, but he’d not been expecting this. “Sure that you can forgive them?”

Henry was amazed that the question could be asked. “Of course I can forgive them, Willem. They are my sons.”

After that, it was quiet in the council chamber, for none doubted he’d spoken from the heart, and none dared to ask if he could also forgive his queen.

H
ENRY AGREED TO MEET
his sons and the French king on September 25 between Gisors and Trie in the Norman Vexin, at a huge, spreading elm tree that had often been the site of peace conferences. Accompanied by the Earls of Essex and Pembroke, the Constable of Normandy, the Archbishop of Rouen, his son Geoff, and his household knights, Henry arrived at noon. The French were already there. Henry reined in his stallion, but made no move to dismount.

It had been six months since he’d last seen his sons. In the past, he’d been separated from them for longer than that, most recently during his sojourn in Ireland. But he was acutely aware now of the changes that those months apart had wrought. Richard seemed to have added a year or two to his age, for his shoulders had broadened and his stubble had become a full-fledged golden beard. A shadow on Geoffrey’s upper lip and peach fuzz on his cheeks had not been there at Christmas. The sight of Hal was the most painful. The sunlight gilding his curly, fair hair, he looked regal and resplendent in a scarlet mantle and matching cowhide boots with gold turned-down tops, a natural magnet for all eyes—just as on that night at Chinon when he’d saluted Henry with a dazzling smile and a silver cup of drugged wine.

Hal was standing beside the French king, with Richard and Geoffrey close by, proclaiming to the world that they were united, allies, and he—their father—was the enemy. Henry fought back a wave of baffled hurt and anger, waiting until he was sure his voice would not betray him. Ignoring Louis, he locked his eyes upon Hal.

“I am not here to negotiate with you and your brothers, Hal, nor to bargain with you. I have come to tell you what I am willing to offer to mend this rift between us and restore peace in our family. You may choose between England and Normandy. If you choose England, you will have half the crown revenues and four royal castles. If you prefer Normandy, you will be entitled to half the ducal revenues, plus all the revenues of Anjou, and three castles in Normandy, one each in Anjou, Maine, and Touraine.”

Hal’s mouth had dropped open; his eyes were as round as moons. Without waiting for his response, Henry shifted in the saddle so that he faced Richard. “I am offering you, Richard, half the ducal income from Aquitaine and four castles.”

Richard’s reaction was more guarded than Hal’s, but his surprise was still evident and Henry suppressed a smile, thinking that they suddenly looked less like defiant rebels and more like lads getting an unexpected birthday treat. Turning his gaze upon his third son, he said, “For you, Geoffrey, I am willing to be no less generous. As soon as the Pope sanctions your marriage to Constance, you will come into the full inheritance of Brittany.”

A stunned silence fell, broken at last by Hal. “May we have time to think it over?”

Henry was disappointed that it could not be resolved then and there; he truly did not see why they’d need to discuss his offer. But he did not want to appear to be pressuring them. “You may give me your answers on the morrow. And know this, that I am willing to put the past behind us, as if this foolhardy rebellion had never been. Whatever our differences, you are my sons, of my blood, and nothing is more important than that.”

Henry signaled, then, to his men, swung his stallion in a circle, and rode away without looking back.

H
ENRY WAS STAYING
at Gisors Castle, and Louis had chosen to lodge at Chaumont-en-Vexin, a formidable royal fortress just six miles away. Not long after their return, Raoul de Faye was standing on the steps of the great hall, his eyes roaming the bailey. When he finally saw his brother, the Viscount of Châtellerault, emerging from the stables, he shouted “Hugh!” so urgently that the other man looked around in alarm. By then, Raoul was halfway across the bailey. He pulled Hugh aside, his fingers biting into his brother’s arm, but Hugh did not protest, for he’d never seen Raoul so angry, so agitated.

“Have you spoken yet to Richard or his brothers?”

Hugh shook his head. “No…have you?”

“I had just a few words with Hal. I did speak with Louis, though, and that gutless weasel wants to accept Harry’s peace terms and skulk back to Paris. When I reminded him that Harry had not said a word about Eleanor’s fate, do you know what he told me? He said very piously that it was not for him to meddle in the sacrament of matrimony, that what happened in a marriage was between a husband and his wife and the Almighty. He has no stomach for continuing the war and is willing to let Eleanor pay the price for his blundering, God curse his craven, sanctimonious soul!”

“Lower your voice,” Hugh warned. “You’re attracting attention. What of Hal? What did he say?”

“Enough to make me suspect he wants to take Harry’s bait. Did you see how his eyes lit up when Harry offered him half the crown revenues? I’d wager he’s already planning how to spend the money. He and Louis are together in the solar now, and if he has any doubts, you may be sure Louis will argue them away.”

“He does not have a brain in that handsome head of his, does he?” Hugh said bitterly. “Does he not realize that—Wait, there’s Geoffrey!”

Geoffrey looked startled to see both his great-uncles bearing down upon him with such haste; he hadn’t realized men their age could move so fast. When Raoul demanded to know if he was willing to accept his father’s offer, he did not answer at once; he was learning to be wary even with family. He’d talked it over with Hal and he was leaning toward acceptance, for he knew that he could not hope for more than Henry had offered, not at fifteen. He also knew that these men would not be happy to hear that, and so he temporized, saying only, “I admit it is tempting, but I have not made up my mind.”

His evasion did not work, though, for they began to berate him for his indecision, but then Raoul spotted Richard coming around the corner of the mews. They immediately called out his name, hurrying to intercept him. Geoffrey was forgotten, but he was accustomed to being utterly overshadowed by his elder brothers, and he chose to overlook the slight and follow them, sure that this would be a conversation he ought to hear.

Richard had halted, although he made no attempt to meet them halfway. As soon as they’d reached him, Raoul put to him the question he’d just demanded of Geoffrey. Richard answered readily. “No, I am not willing. He offered money, and much more than I expected, but only money. Nor did he make any mention of my mother and the part she played in the rebellion.”

Raoul heaved a great, gusty sigh. “Thank God Jesus that someone else noticed that! His offer is a bribe, a lavish, tempting bribe, but a bribe all the same. It is a bribe, though, that your brother seems willing to take. He and Louis are meeting even as we speak, laying their plans for the morrow—”

“Where?”

When Raoul said the solar, Richard spun around and headed across the bailey, so swiftly that the others were hard pressed to keep up with him. The great hall was crowded, and several intense discussions were going on, the most heated one led by the Count of Dreux, Louis’s volatile younger brother. Robert was gesturing emphatically, his face a mottled shade of red, and those gathered around him seemed to be in agreement, for they were nodding and murmuring among themselves. The Earl of Leicester was pacing back and forth by the open hearth. As soon as he saw Richard, he swerved toward him.

“Richard! We need to talk. Your father said nothing about your allies. If you make peace with him, what happens to me or Hugh of Chester?”

Richard brushed by him as if he’d not spoken, and plunged into the stairwell. Taking the stairs two at a time, he did not pause before the solar door, shoved it open, with Raoul and Hugh on his heels and Geoffrey a few steps behind. Louis and Hal were seated at a trestle table with Henri of Blois, the Count of Champagne, his brother Étienne, the Count of Sancerre, and Louis’s youngest brother, the Archbishop of Rheims. There were other men there, too, but Richard did not know their names, clerks and priests who labored anonymously for the French king since his chancellor had resigned the year before. They turned startled faces toward the door as Richard burst into the chamber.

“I am sorry I am late. The messenger you sent to fetch me must have gotten waylaid or lost. Surely you
did
send someone to find me, for this is as much my decision as it is Hal’s.”

It did not take much effort for Louis to imagine those barbed words coming from Henry’s mouth. He was genuinely fond of Hal, but he’d never warmed to Richard, and he realized now how easily that indifference could turn into active dislike. Forcing a smile, he said, “Come in, Richard. I assure you that we were not trying to keep anything from you.”

Richard ignored him as completely as Henry had done just hours earlier. “Hal, is it true you mean to accept the offer?”

Hal was irked by his peremptory tone. He chose to let it go, though, for too much was at stake for their usual brotherly squabbles. “If he’d made this offer to me at Christmas, I’d never have rebelled. So, yes, I am accepting it. Why would I not?”

“I can understand that you’d not want to be burdened with any real authority. Having to govern would interfere with your tournament time. But did you spare even a thought for our mother’s safety?”

Angry color scorched Hal’s skin. “Of course I did! That was the first thing my father-by-marriage and I discussed. He pointed out that she has not taken an active part in the rebellion. All that our father knows for certes is that she let you and Geoffrey go to Paris with me, and that is easily explained. If I assure him that she did not know of my plans, that none of it was her doing, I am sure—”

“Christ on the Cross! I cannot believe we came from the same womb, for you do not have the sense God gave a goat!”

Hal shoved his chair back, coming quickly to his feet. “How dare you—”

“Enough!” Raoul shouted, loudly enough to drown out Hal’s outraged response. “If you do not want to hear it from Richard, hear it from me, then, Hal. You know I have a spy at your father’s court. He has reported that Harry does not believe you or your brothers would have rebelled if you’d not been beguiled into it, and he has no doubt who bears the responsibility—the French king and your mother. He does not just think she aided and abetted you. He is convinced that she was the instigator, for as long as he can blame Eleanor, he need not blame himself.”

“You exaggerate,” Louis said sharply. “I have spies, too, at his court, Hal, and they tell me something quite different.”

Hal looked from Louis to Raoul to Richard, then back to his father-in-law. “If my mother is to bear the blame for this—”

He got no further, for the door banged open again. This time the intruder was Louis’s brother Robert. His suspicions flared as soon as he saw Henry’s sons, and he glowered at Louis. “What is going on up here? Why are we not discussing this in council, Louis?”

Louis glared back at him. “It is not for you to question me, my lord count,” he said coldly, making use of his brother’s title as a pointed reminder of their respective status as sovereign and subject. “It was my intent to summon them once I’d spoken with my son-in-law.”

Robert was not impressed by Louis’s assumption of kingly authority. “I am gladdened to hear that,” he said, and smirked. “I shall go back to the hall and tell the others that we are about to hold a council meeting.” And he exited the solar before Louis could stop him. Louis was furious, but Robert had maneuvered him into a corner and he saw no other option than to hold a council. Rising, he gathered his dignity about him as if he were donning robes of state, and strode from the solar. The others were quick to follow.

Raoul lingered behind, though, and stepped in front of the Count of Champagne as he started toward the door. Henri of Blois and his brother Thibault were the most influential of Louis’s lords, his sons-in-law by their marriages to his daughters by Eleanor, Marie and Alix, and brothers-in-law by his marriage to their sister, Adèle. Raoul had not often crossed paths with them until the rebellion, and he’d been surprised to find that Henri was quite likable. His beautiful, elegant countess had joined him in Paris, eager to meet her young half brothers, and they’d developed an immediate rapport. Raoul was very taken with Marie, too, for she reminded him of a youthful Eleanor, and as she was quite curious about the mother she’d not seen since she was seven, Raoul had passed some pleasant evenings in Marie and Henri’s company.

It was Henri to whom he turned now, for the count knew Louis far better than he did, and he was desperate to glean insights about the French king, to learn anything that might help him to avert this impending catastrophe. “You cannot approve of this so-called peace, Henri, for what does France stand to gain by it?” He did not ask the count how he would benefit. His brother Thibault would get Amboise Castle should they win, but rather remarkably, Henri had demanded nothing of Hal in return for his support.

“Not much,” Henri admitted. “If it were up to me, I’d not be so quick to agree to terms with the English king. But it is Louis who wears the crown, and as much as that galls his brother Robert, it is Louis who decides if it is to be peace or war. And as you saw, he has chosen peace.”

“Why? I do not understand the workings of that man’s mind. Why go to such great lengths to stir up a rebellion against Harry and then call it off as if it were a game of camp-ball halted by rain? I know he wants to see Harry humbled, weakened. So why will he not do all he can to make that happen?”

“Ah, Raoul, you do not understand Louis at all, do you? You share the English king’s view of him as somewhat simple, easily swayed by others, with sand where his backbone ought to be. But he is more complicated than that. He is very devout; his great tragedy is that he was plucked out of that monastery when his elder brother died, for he’d have been far happier as the monk he was meant to be. As a good Christian, he loathes war; as a king, he is forced to wage it. But in his heart, he believes that shedding blood is a mortal sin, so when his campaigns go awry, as they usually do, he concludes that the Almighty is punishing him for violating the commandment that states, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’”