The Autumn Throne (23 page)

Belbel pushed the final pin into her veil, and with an ermine-lined cloak fastened around her shoulders Alienor was ready to go and discover just what Henry had in store.

When she arrived, Henry was pacing the chamber impatiently. Several clerics sat at lecterns in the light from the window arch, toiling away over sheets of parchment, the scratching of their quills a constant noise in the background. Richard, Geoffrey and John were already seated at a trestle table with documents piled in the centre.

‘At last,’ Henry said. ‘I thought we might have to begin without you.’

‘I commend your restraint.’ She took the empty seat at his side. ‘Yet you could hardly do so and be legal, could you?’

She
settled in the chair, keeping her spine erect, and folding her hands in her lap, each movement measured and stately. Catching Richard’s eye she recognised his unease, although he was affecting loose-limbed nonchalance. He was already Count of Poitou and acting Duke of Aquitaine. Now came the moment when England and Normandy should be added to his inheritance – although nothing was ever a certainty with Henry.

‘Mama.’ Geoffrey bowed courteously. ‘That is a beautiful gown.’

She thanked him warmly and ignored Henry’s impatient rumble. John murmured a greeting, his gaze slipping over hers and away as he bowed his head.

Henry seated himself beside Alienor and, clasping his hands, leaned over them, his manner brisk and pugilistic. ‘We are here to attend to matters of your inheritance,’ he announced, looking round at their sons. ‘I have had to make adjustments because of your brother’s loss, and this is what I have decided to do.’

He reached to the pile of documents in the middle of the table, and Alienor realised that they had in fact been divided into three piles. Henry took each one and handed it to the relevant son, the parchments trailing cords and seals.

‘This is your inheritance,’ he said. ‘I want to make it very clear so there are no arguments about what it will be, and no one claiming I have disinherited them. Is that understood?’

Alienor’s stomach clenched. Henry’s laying down of the law did not bode well.

‘Is it?’ Henry gathered his sons in a single fierce glare.

Richard leaned back in his chair. ‘Perfectly, sire.’ His right fist clenched on the table. Against his knuckles, the ring of St Valerie, symbol of his position as Count of Poitou, gleamed in the September light slanting through the open shutters.

His brothers nodded agreement, and exchanged glances, like men about to engage in a swordfight.

‘Good.’ Henry nodded stiffly. ‘I expect your compliance. You
must move into the breach your brother has left in his dying and you must not flinch from the responsibilities placed on you to do greater things with your lives. I expect you to acquit yourself outstandingly because you are my sons and your duty is to uphold the family honour and pride. Whatever you do reflects on me, remember this. You stand in my stead in these positions while I am alive, and you must under no circumstances overstep that mark of being in my stead. The policies we pursue are family ones – mine while I live since I am head of this family. I expect your obedience.’

Alienor almost winced. It was like being threatened by a giant with a nail club. Did he think to win them over like this? She remembered the boyish charm he had once possessed and wondered where it had gone. Perhaps like a bag of gold dust with an open top, the winds of time had swirled it away in a glittering spiral until there was nothing left but an empty pouch.

‘You must work with each other as one,’ Henry continued, the words emerging from him, heavy as stones. ‘You must not overstep the bounds with each other or indulge in deliberate provocation. That is ultimately what led to your brother’s death. If any one of you dares to step out of line, the whole weight of my hand will come upon you.’ His fist struck the table, causing the goblets to jump, and the dark wine to ripple across the surface. ‘Where you are does not matter, what you do is imperative, and you shall do my will. You are my sons and I love you dearly. I have bestowed great wealth upon you and I know you will acquit yourselves well for you have my blood running through your veins. Remember that when you seek to make war on each other. When you fight your brother or me, you only make yourselves bleed. We are all one, and for the sake of our house we must remember that. We are one and we move forward as one to quell and dispel pretenders to our authority and only in this way shall we survive and excel.’ He leaned back and waved his hand. ‘What I have done is fair and just and I will brook no argument.’

Richard
picked up the parchment before him and began to read, and as he did so his guarded expression turned to one of utter disbelief, closely followed by fury. Surging to his feet he glared across the table at Henry, who was watching him with hard eyes and set lips. Without a word, Richard crumpled the document, threw it across the table at him and stormed out.

Alienor stared at her husband. ‘What have you done?’

‘What needed to be done,’ he replied shortly. ‘The best for everyone, and if Richard does not see it, then he is a fool and he will take the consequences. It is my rule and my will.’

Alienor shot a swift glance at her other sons. Geoffrey’s expression was shocked and astonished. John, in contrast, looked as if he was sucking on a particularly juicy oyster.

Alienor rose to go after Richard, but a swift gesture from Henry sent two guards to bar her exit. ‘I pray you be seated, madam,’ he said. ‘I will deal with the matter myself in good time.’

Alienor felt sick. ‘I ask you again, what have you done? Why has Richard walked out?’

Henry shrugged. ‘Because he has not listened to a word I have said.’

‘Or perhaps he heard you quite clearly.’ She thought back over Henry’s diatribe; the remark about disinheritance and compliance and about not arguing between themselves.

Henry drew an impatient breath. ‘As my oldest surviving son, Richard is now to have England and Normandy. Geoffrey is to keep Brittany and be granted the earldom of Richmond in right of that title.’ His gaze flicked to his smiling youngest son. ‘And John is to do homage to Richard and govern Aquitaine.’

Alienor felt as if she had been thrown against a wall. She stared at Henry in appalled disbelief. ‘Have you run utterly mad?’

‘My reasoning is sound,’ Henry snapped. ‘John will do well for Aquitaine and Richard can concentrate his efforts on other dominions. That is my will and he has no choice.’

She
shook her head and bit down on words that she would not speak in front of her other sons. That Henry could do this and not see how wrong it was, and how untenable, was beyond belief. Richard would never agree to give up Aquitaine. He had fought too long and too hard to hand it over to John, a youth not yet seventeen with no experience of governing. Aquitaine was in Richard’s blood and bones and he did have a choice – the same one that had killed his brother.

Without a word she turned to the door again, and this time Henry let her go, but guards accompanied her to her chamber and then took up their posts outside her door, denying her any opportunity to have contact with Richard.

Richard raged around his chamber like a whirlwind, overturning a trestle table, throwing stools, kicking over a heavy barrel chair, swearing he would never give up Aquitaine to his runt of a little brother. He did not care what his father said; his father wasn’t God and he had no right to dictate such terms of inheritance. He would fight until he was the last man standing.

He was snarling at his servants to pack the baggage chests when John sauntered into the room, swaggering a little, one hand resting on the dagger sheath at his hip. ‘Do you want me to do homage to you for Aquitaine now?’ he enquired.

Incandescent with rage, Richard strode to him and seized him by the throat of his tunic. ‘You dare to come in here …’ he spluttered.

‘If you touch me, you will have to deal with Papa,’ John said almost gleefully, although his gaze flickered with sudden fear.

‘You think that would be a problem?’ Richard scoffed. ‘You’ll have Aquitaine over my dead body. And as to touching you …’ He flung him to the floor. ‘I wouldn’t foul my sword. Get out, you worm!’ He picked up a bowl of sops in wine from a small table that had survived the first onslaught of his fury and dumped it over his brother’s head. ‘There, let that be your anointing, you conniving brat. You are no more fit to rule
Aquitaine than a carbuncle on a beggar’s arse. I will never accept your homage, never! Aquitaine is not our father’s to give.’

John stumbled to his feet, pieces of soggy bread clinging to his tunic like drowned mice. His expression was contorted with malice. ‘You heard what he said – that we had to obey his will and he would strike down anyone who opposed it.’

‘Let him try’ – Richard bared his teeth – ‘and let us see who wins. It won’t be you, no matter how you wheedle and plot.’

‘Don’t be so certain of that,’ John retorted, but finally made discretion the better part of valour by taking swift leave of the room. ‘I’ll win, you’ll see!’ he called over his shoulder before banging the door shut.

Standing at her narrow chamber window, Alienor watched Richard make final preparations to leave Rouen. He glanced up in her direction, and as a groom brought his palfrey, bridled and saddled, he ran up the outer wooden staircase until he was close enough to speak to her through the window opening.

‘I will return for you,’ he said fiercely. ‘Mama, I promise.’ Seeing the taut, angry lines on his face, put there far too young by his father, Alienor shook her head. ‘Godspeed you on your journey. Do not worry about me and do not give into him however he threatens you, even if it is through me. But think before you move. What he has suggested is untenable, but do not burn every bridge.’

Richard’s expression twisted. ‘I have told him I need time to digest what he has said and to consult with others, but I tell you now, Mama, I will never yield Aquitaine to John. I will fight until I fall before I let that happen.’

‘I promise you it won’t. Go now, my son, and swiftly.’

Barely had Richard left in a cloud of dust when Henry walked into the chamber, John and Geoffrey a few paces behind. John had changed his clothes since the morning and his hair was combed back and darkly damp. A faint herbal scent hung around him as if he had just taken a bath.

‘I suppose
you cooked this up between you,’ she said with cold fury. ‘Well be damned to you because it is not your heritage to decide.’

‘I have to do what is for the best,’ Henry answered. ‘It makes sense that John should have Aquitaine. If he pays homage to Richard for it, then I see no reason to baulk.’

‘Then you are blind. You would set a child in the place of a proven man.’

‘I am not a child,’ John protested indignantly. ‘Papa was Duke of Normandy when he was my age.’

‘You are not your father either, and heaven help you with him as an example,’ Alienor retorted. ‘Begetting a child on your cousin and scheming behind your brother’s back makes you neither a man nor a good ruler. It makes you someone who does not know the boundaries. It makes you someone who cannot be trusted to keep his word.’ Her anger was hard and bitter. ‘You are not ready to govern Aquitaine and Richard will never be manipulated into the same position that Harry was.’

John reddened. ‘I am more than ready, Mama; you just do not see it because you only have eyes for Richard.’

‘That is not true. I am concerned that all my sons should be employed in the roles that best suit their skills.’

Henry had been silent during the exchange, although his eyes had narrowed as he watched the repartee. ‘Richard will do as I command or face the consequences,’ he said curtly. ‘He has too many responsibilities. Some of them must be shouldered elsewhere.’

‘Too much potential power you mean,’ she retorted. ‘There are better ways of dealing with this. Tell me, how many of your own responsibilities have you been willing to place elsewhere?’

‘I do not know why I bother speaking with you, madam,’ Henry said and stalked from the room. John gave her a similar look and followed his father out. Geoffrey made to go after them and then hesitated.

‘You know he won’t let it rest, Mama.’

‘Neither will Richard,’ she said tightly.

‘Then there
will be war again.’

She noted her middle son’s air of guarded reserve. She did not know where Geoffrey’s loyalties lay because he was reticent. He did not try to ingratiate himself with Henry as John did, but held more aloof. There was a strong rivalry between Geoffrey and Richard; they were not comfortable in each other’s company. If she imagined scales with Henry and John on one side and herself and Richard on the other, then Geoffrey held the balance, and he would play whichever side was to his own advantage.

‘Yes, there will, but what part will you take, and on whose side will you stand, my son?’

‘My own. I have the responsibility for Brittany and for Richmond and I must do what is best for them and for my heirs.’ He drew a pattern on the floor with the toe of his boot. ‘Constance is with child. She told me just before I set out for this meeting. Come late spring we shall have a son or daughter.’

Alienor was thrown by the change of nuance, from talk of political manoeuvring to an announcement of family news, but she adjusted swiftly. ‘Oh, I am so pleased for you. Constance is well?’

‘A little sick in the mornings, but nothing untoward.’

‘It will change your world,’ she said.

Geoffrey nodded, and behind his smile his eyes were shrewd and thoughtful. ‘Indeed. It behoves me to think even more carefully about the future.’ He bowed to her, took both her hands and kissed them. ‘I honour you, Mama, I always will.’ And then he left to follow his father and John.

Frowning, she went to sit in the window seat and stare out. Her grandchildren were playing with some other youngsters in the courtyard where Richard had so recently set spurs to his palfrey. Heinri was giving little Otto a piggy back and the latter was shouting instructions in his native German and waving a stick in his hand as they jousted with a rival pair of boys. The sound of their shouts floated up to her, high-pitched with glee. Her sons had once played like that too, but it had
all changed as the rivalry grew too strong. She suspected that Geoffrey’s careful thought about the future was likely to lead to yet more difficulties rather than a solution.