It took a while to get the children calmed down, and a while longer to convince them that bedtime was inevitable and nonnegotiable. Only Hal, in his sixth year, was given a reprieve. But he was unable to resist teasing Richard about his good fortune, and the younger boy kicked him in the shins, setting off such a squabble that Eleanor and Maude left the nurses to deal with it and made an unobtrusive departure.
Entering the solar, they settled themselves before the hearth with wine and wafers, and Eleanor then showed her mother-in-law the letter she’d just gotten from Bishop Laurentius, who was working with her to replace Poitiers’s cathedral of St Pierre with a splendid new structure. Watching as Maude enthusiastically studied the proposed plans, Eleanor smiled to herself, remembering how sure people had been that she’d never get along with Henry’s mother.
To widespread disappointment and universal astonishment, though, they had established a cordial relationship from the first. Maude the mother may have had qualms about her son’s controversial bride, but Maude the empress had readily appreciated Aquitaine’s worth as a stepping-stone to the English throne. It helped, too, that Eleanor had so swiftly dispelled any fears that she would be a barren queen, unable to bear sons as her enemies had often alleged. Eleanor had a theory of her own: that Maude had recognized a kindred soul, for they both were strong-willed women in a world ruled by men, loath to allow others to dictate their destinies. Nor did it hurt that they so rarely lived under the same roof. Acknowledging both the truth and the wry humor of that observation of her husband’s, Eleanor laughed softly.
Maude glanced up quizzically from the bishop’s letter. “I’m glad to see you are in better spirits. I detected some tension between you and Henry at supper tonight?” Her voice rose questioningly, but she would leave it to Eleanor to satisfy her curiosity or not, too proud to meddle overtly in her son’s marriage.
“That must have been when I was tempted to pour my wine into his lap,” Eleanor said dryly. She well knew that in any serious clash of wills, Maude would back her son utterly and unconditionally, whether he was in the right or not. But her mother-in-law could still sympathize with minor marital woes, for she’d been a wife, too, and so Eleanor felt free to voice her complaints, one woman to another.
“Ever since we got word of the French queen’s death, Harry has been impossible to live with. He has been like a bear with a thorn in his paw, lashing out at anyone who gets within reach, and my patience is well nigh gone.”
“That Angevin temper is his father’s legacy,” Maude said regretfully. “Will seems to have been spared it, but Geoffrey had his share, too. I do understand Henry’s disquiet, though. It was troubling enough to learn that the French queen had gotten pregnant, having to worry that she might give Louis a son. But now…” Shaking her head, she said, “In some ways, this was the worst possible outcome.”
“I know,” Eleanor agreed morosely. “If Constance had birthed a son, we were prepared to make another marriage offer, between the lad and our daughter. But how do we stop Louis from making a disastrous marriage of his own now that he’s free to wed again?”
Maude nodded, her brows puckering in anxious thought. “I suppose the most dangerous alliance would be with the House of Blois, for they bear Henry a grudge more bitter than gall. Give them half a chance and they might even try to resurrect Stephen’s hollow claim to the English crown. But there are other alarming prospects, too. I would not like to see Louis look for a bride amongst the kinswomen of the Count of Toulouse-”
“Jesu forfend!” Eleanor said sharply, and took a deep swallow of wine, for the very thought left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. Before she could express herself further upon the unpalatable subject of Raymond de St Gilles, the door banged open and her husband strode into the solar, trailed by Thomas Becket.
One look at Henry’s face and Eleanor half-rose from her seat. “Harry? What is wrong?”
“You will not believe the news out of Paris. Louis has found himself a bride already.”
Eleanor was startled. “So soon? Who?”
“Adela, the fifteen-year-old sister of the Counts of Blois and Champagne,” Henry said grimly.
Eleanor caught her breath, while Maude let hers out slowly. For a moment, neither woman spoke. Eleanor rallied first, seeking to find a few sparks of comfort midst the ashes. “Well, at least we have time to consider our options whilst Louis mourns for Constance. Mayhap by then we’ll have thought of a way to thwart the marriage-”
“Not bloody likely. He plans to wed the girl straightaway.”
“God in Heaven!” Maude was genuinely shocked. “His wife has been dead less than a fortnight. Where is his sense of decorum and decency?”
“Buried with Constance, it would seem,” Becket said acidly; like Maude, he was deeply offended by such a blatant breach of the proprieties. “It is a sad commentary upon our times when a man of such reputed piety goes right from his wife’s funeral to a young bride’s bed.”
“Lust is not the motivation for this marriage,” Eleanor said impatiently. “I doubt that even Cleopatra could kindle Louis’s ardor. No, the forces behind this union are far more sinister. Louis has always been one for doing what is proper, what is expected of him. It would never have occurred to him of his own volition to wed again with such unseemly haste. Harry and I have long suspected that he was listening more and more to the House of Blois. What more conclusive proof do we need?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Henry said. “And if Theobald and his brother could coax Louis into going against his own nature like this, Christ only knows what they’ll prod him into doing next. Disavowing the marriage plans of our children, God rot them!”
The scenario he suggested seemed all too plausible to the others. Seeing upon their faces confirmation of his own fears, Henry cursed again, using words he rarely uttered in his mother’s hearing. “I will not let those misbegotten, treacherous whoresons cheat me out of the Vexin,” he vowed. “I swear by all that’s holy that I will not!”
Stalking the solar as if it were a cage, he paced back and forth while they watched. For Eleanor, there was always something mesmerizing about her husband’s bursts of frenetic, creative energy. She often teased him that she could actually hear the wheels turning as his brain accelerated, but she was genuinely fascinated by his ability to cut through excess flesh to the bone. He’d halted abruptly, staring into the hearth’s smoldering flames with such a glazed intensity that she knew he was mentally miles away at the French court. When he finally turned around, it was with a smile that put her in mind of cats and stolen cream.
“What have you come up with, Harry?”
“I think,” he said, “that Louis is right. There is much to be said, after all, for the holy state of matrimony.”
Eleanor blinked, then began to laugh. “Louis will have an apoplectic seizure,” she predicted gleefully. “But can you be sure of the Templars?”
“What do you think?” he said, with such utter assurance that she laughed again, never loving him more than at that moment. Only the presence of his mother and chancellor kept her from showing him just how much, then and there.
Maude and Becket had not been as quick to comprehend as Eleanor. They spoke now in unison, in the aggrieved tones of people who feel shut out and do not like it in the least. “What are you going to do?”
Henry’s smile was full of mischief, faintly flavored with malice. “I am going,” he said, “to invite you to a wedding.”