Beloved Enemy (66 page)

“When you’re finished with our new novice, Thomas, attend me in the hall and we will break our fast together. See to it our future nun remembers me in her daily prayers.”

Henry started to walk down the passage then stopped. He took a deep breath, turned back, then hesitated. This was the moment of decision. A parade of images marched before his eyes: Thomas at his side in meetings of the Great Council; Thomas approving while he dispensed justice; Thomas successfully dealing with Louis of France, skillfully negotiating treaties, drafting carefully worded documents. Henry remembered their hunting together with hound and falcon, their adventures in taverns, the first moment their eyes had met in the council chamber at St. Paul’s before he was king.

He had known from the beginning Thomas was a harbinger of his fate. Whatever the outcome, he knew as certain as he drew breath, that their fates were bound together.

“I have an interesting proposition, Thomas … one that might intrigue you.”

E
LEANOR, AFTER SEEING HER
new baby safely ensconced at Tower Royal in London, took to leading a wanderer’s life once more, this time in the south of England. She rode through meadows, over streams, stopping at castles, manors, towns, and abbeys issuing official writs and documents. The yellowing stone roofs of Sherbourne, ancient abbeys, the iron-gray hues of Cornwall, the rust-colored battlements of castles in Devon were fast becoming almost as familiar to her as the castles and villages of Sarlat, Niort, and Blaye. The weeks of riding, while often tiring, did not bother her. On the contrary, she believed the constant exercise kept her body slender and firm after her many childbirths.

Not only that, but Eleanor took genuine pleasure in her accomplishments. After all, the fact that the roads in England were now safe, the sheriffs conscientiously dispensing justice and collecting taxes, was due as much to her endeavors as to Henry’s and Becket’s labors. If one counted all the months since Henry ascended the throne, she had probably spent more time in England than he had, although she was still considered only Henry’s surrogate and never recognized in her own right.

Now she was on her way back to London. Watling Street, this day in late November, was lined with crowds come to see royalty pass by. Although Eleanor was never greeted with the same rapturous acclaim as in Aquitaine, there was always a cordial response to the Eagle, the king’s “foreign queen.” How she hated that misnomer, forcing herself to remember that it probably meant no more than that, since time out of mind, she was the first English queen not born and bred on English soil.

Eleanor waved and smiled, slowing her palfrey to greet people, letting them crowd around her and even fearfully touch her garments in superstitious awe. She noted that they looked prosperous and content, a far cry from the miserable wretches she had seen when she first arrived in England almost seven years earlier. Something else she could take pride in.

As she rode on, Eleanor also observed that the cattle in the meadows looked fat and sleek; they should fetch a good price at market. Had the number of monks working in the abbey fields increased since the last time she had passed this way? Or were the abbeys amassing more land? Cassocks tucked up around their knees, the brethren paused in their labors to gaze at the royal cavalcade riding by.

The sight of sheep grazing on the hill crests filled her with a sense of satisfaction. Surely the flocks were growing each year? Lots of sheep meant more bales of wool leaving the port of London, just as row upon row of Bordeaux vineyards meant casks of wine stacked in Channel ports. Eleanor had heard that the demand for wine in the English inns and taverns was starting to compete with that for ale.

All this prosperity spread out before her eyes bore witness to how the realm was expanding, not only in England but on the Continent as well. She had persuaded Henry to build new city walls and bridges in Poitiers, add a spacious hall to the ducal palace, and plan for the construction of another cathedral. He had also decided to build a new palace at Bures in Normandy, so vast that hundreds of oak trees had already been felled. There were also additions to the castles at Angers and Rouen, a royal park, and stronger fortifications along the Maine and Normandy borders. Together, she and Henry had had built several hospitals and a leper-house at Caen, and encouraged the abbess at Fontevrault to found similar abbeys at Eaton and Westwood in England.

All their endeavors prospered—with the exception of Toulouse, the loss of which still rankled. Louis, however, had had little time in which to gloat. The wind had been taken out of the French sails with the hasty marriage of young Henry to the Princess Marguerite, and the recovery of the Vexin. In fact, Louis of France had once again foundered on the shoals of Plantagenet ambition and cunning—

Ambition and cunning? Why was she thinking like that? Eleanor passed a hand across her forehead. She felt as if she had just eavesdropped at the door of her own thoughts.
Her
thoughts? Sweet St. Radegonde, she was looking at the world exactly the way Henry or Thomas Becket might look at it.

There was a time when she would have simply feasted on the beauty of the landscape, reveled in the glory of an autumn morning. Now all that was translated into cattle prices at market, wool for export, wine for import, the abbeys desire to gobble up more land, not to mention Henry’s and her own drive for building and improving their vast holdings. It was a sobering realization, an unwelcome indication of how far she had come from the carefree, joyous maid she had been in Aquitaine.

Now, deliberately, Eleanor looked with new eyes at the rolling green downs that stretched on either side of the winding road. She became aware of the brisk wind that throughout the morning had brought sudden flurries of rain and bursts of sunlight on its wings. The air was redolent of moldering leaves and damp earth. Somewhere a bird sang. A flock of geese soared across a slate sky patched with charcoal gray clouds.

It was late afternoon when Eleanor rode through Bermondsey, where she had a manor house she hardly ever saw, then across the river to the Strand in London, and, finally, back to Tower Royal again. She arrived just after Compline, exhausted, and went straight to bed.

It was not until the following morning that Eleanor discovered that sometime during the three weeks she had been traveling, young Henry and his wife, plus their entire household, had been moved to the quarters of the chancellor in Westminster.

“But the chancellor is in Rouen, surely?” There must be a mistake, she thought. It was inconceivable that without consulting her, his mother, young Henry had been removed from her custody. Not to mention the fact that she had grown attached to the little golden-haired Marguerite.

“No, Madam,” the steward informed her, “the chancellor returned five days ago, with the king’s writ in his hand, ordering the prince and his household to be transferred.”

She could not believe it. After breaking her fast and greeting her other children, Eleanor ordered a litter, and, tired though she still was, rode through London to Westminster. It was a cold blustery morning the first day of December, and despite her fur-lined cloak and additional coverlets piled over her, she shivered throughout the tedious journey. How could Henry have done this? Only a month ago they had been so close, so in harmony—or so she had thought. What possessed him to change from a loving, appreciative husband to a near-tyrant? How could he so totally ignore her wishes or feelings? It must be due to Becket’s influence; nothing else could account for … the litter came to a shuddering halt.

Without waiting for a groom to help her, Eleanor jumped down and marched across the courtyard to the chancery. For a moment she was brought up short. Surely it had been completely rearranged since her last visit several years earlier? Two guards with long pikes now flanked the entrance. The cheerless hall was lined with long benches filled with petitioners, and the antechamber was crowded with at least fifty clerks working at rows of long tables. The secretary, Fitz-Stephen, directed her to a small stone apartment that led directly off the antechamber.

Eleanor paused outside the open door. From where she stood, she could see that the walls were lined with ornate crimson-and-blue tapestries, the chamber filled with copper charcoal braziers, two polished oak tables, and embroidered stools. From a seven-branched silver candleholder, slender white tapers burned brightly. The room was warmer and more comfortably appointed than any other administrative office Eleanor had ever seen.

A frown on his face, the chancellor was seated at one of the small tables piled high with quill pens, containers of ink, sheets of parchment and vellum, and scrolls sealed with wax emblems. He was listening intently to a light-haired knight with a beard who leaned over the table, talking rapidly in a low voice.

Without preamble, Eleanor stepped into the chamber. “What is all this nonsense about young Henry being moved to your household?”

The knight looked up and abruptly stopped talking. It was obvious from the concerned looks on both their faces that they were fearful she might have overheard them.

“Attend me later,” Becket told the knight with a dismissive gesture.

The knight nodded and limped away. Eleanor noted that he wore an unusual silver medallion set with emeralds.

“Who was that?”

“A petitioner. How may I help you, Madam?”

“Why has Prince Henry been transferred to your household without my knowledge or consent?”

Becket looked genuinely surprised. “I thought you knew, Madam. After all, the boy is well over six years old now, married, and should have begun his formal education long before this. As heir, young Henry must succeed to the king’s wisdom and learning as well as his throne. I have under my care many noble youths whom I educate in letters and knightly accomplishments. Surely you expected such an arrangement to occur sooner or later?”

What could she say? Every noble youth was educated in the household of another noble. “Naturally I expected it, but no one consulted me as to where, or with whom, young Henry would be educated. Now it is a
fait accompli.
I cannot but regard this as an affront to my position as both mother and queen.”

“I deeply regret any offense you may have been caused, Madam, though I assure you none was intended. It is your son’s future at stake.”

The chancellor’s cool demeanor enraged her, the more so because Eleanor knew he was right.

Becket looked down at his littered table, a pointed reminder of how busy he was. “Please bear in mind, I’m only following His Majesty’s orders. If the king did not see fit to consult you, Madam, I can hardly be blamed. I suggest you take the matter up with him. He should be arriving within the next few weeks, in time for the Christmas court.”

His casual arrogance took her breath away. Even she hadn’t known that Henry planned to hold his Christmas court in England. There was a slight but significant change in Becket’s manner that could only mean—Holy Mother, had Henry already offered Becket the plum of Canterbury? She prayed he had not, but there was a look about Becket, reminding her of a sleek, self-satisfied cat that’s swallowed the cream. Eleanor already found him insufferable as chancellor. What would he be like after attaining the highest church office in England?

Feeling like a fool, Eleanor realized there was nothing more to be accomplished here. Young Henry was lost to her, and she must make the best of it. “I wish to see my son.”

“Of course. Whenever you like.”

Eleanor could tell Becket was enjoying this.

With a lofty smile, he rang a silver bell on his table, and when several clerks came running, gave orders that the queen was to be taken to his private household.

“Not too long, Madam. We have young Henry on a strict routine now. Best not to disturb it.”

Refusing to dignify that with an answer, Eleanor turned and stalked out of the chamber. On her way out of the chancery Eleanor saw the knight with the medallion lounging against the wall. His glance shifted away from her. Something about him—his wary stance, his reptilian eyes—chilled her, and she hugged her cloak closer about her shoulders. She wondered again who he was and what business he had with the king’s chancellor.

“Have you seen my chessboard, Henry?”

Henry looked up sharply to find his mother’s eyes upon him. “Chessboard?”

He and his mother were seated in the great hall of the ducal palace at Rouen, dawdling over the remains of an early supper. Most of the ducal mesnie had left the hall, and they were virtually alone at the high table.

“The silver-and-gilt chessboard with the ivory figures, you know, the one the emperor gave me. It appears to have vanished,” the Empress Maud said. “I asked Eleanor before she left for England but she hadn’t seen it.”

“You probably mislaid it. When did you notice it had gone missing?”

“I’m not in the habit of mislaying things.” She paused. “Let me see … I’d promised the bishop of Rouen a game, and I was mortified when the board and men couldn’t be found.”

“A bishop playing chess? How have the mighty fallen.”

“That irreverent tone doesn’t suit you, Henry. Have you seen it?”

Some time ago, Henry had taken the chessboard to England and impulsively given it to his bastard son, Geoffrey, about whom his mother knew nothing. There was no immediate way now to return it, but he could hardly tell her that. In truth, he had assumed she would not notice its absence.

“I’ll look for it,” he said, avoiding her eye. “It may have gotten mixed in among my own possessions.” He paused. “Perhaps it got shipped to England by error. Surely you have another chess set?”

“That’s hardly the point, is it? That particular one is all that remains of my life in the empire; I should hate to lose it.”

Lying to his mother was not easy—she could see through him like water—and Henry wondered how he could get her off the subject. There must be a way to divert her attention. Something controversial perhaps?

“I offered the See of Canterbury to Thomas,” he said, after a lengthy pause.