Baldwin snorted. “Says the man who has spent more than half of his life wandering the tourney roads through France and Flanders, and taken a pilgrim’s cross to Jerusalem.”
William smiled gravely. “Indeed, but perhaps when I am not warming my hands at the hellish fires of the court, I would prefer to be in England.”
“Then ask him for an English heiress instead.”
“That’s what I intend to—when I find an opportune moment. His mood’s too chancy just now. Anyone who asks for anything is likely to receive the sharp edge of his tongue.”
“Had you any particular heiress in mind?”
William set his cup on the scrubbed wooden board. “Isabelle de Clare.”
Baldwin pursed his lips assessingly and nodded. “The estates are not as valuable as Berry.”
William shrugged. “Almost, and they’re not on the French border.”
“Welsh and Irish though,” Baldwin smiled.
“That is a challenge, not a difficulty,” William answered and returned Baldwin’s smile, albeit that the curve of his lips was dour. “As matters stand, it’s not as if I am about to become a bridegroom soon, is it?”
In the morning the counsel resumed and William watched the situation between Henry and his eldest surviving son deteriorate as each man made demands untenable to the other. King Philip, who had instigated the dispute between father and son by declaring that he would retreat from the territory he had occupied if Henry would confirm Richard as his heir and see him married to his betrothed of twenty years, Alys, Philip’s half-sister, looked on like a spectator at a lion fight. Red in the face, fists clenched, Henry glared at the King of France and at Richard, whose own complexion was hectic.
“I will not be backed into a corner by your petty scheming,” he snarled at Philip. “I will designate my heir at a time of my choosing, not yours.”
Philip spread his hands. “It seems a fair enough compromise to me. Confirm your eldest son as your heir, see him wed to his bride in honour of your promise. He asks nothing that a reasonable father would not grant to his eldest son.”
“No,youask!” Henry snarled, stabbing a short, nail-chewed forefinger at Philip. “It’s your intent to drive a wedge between me and my sons.”
“I do not need a wedge when you have a much larger one of your own,” Philip said. “Do not blame me for your troubles when they are all of your own making.” He extended his open palm towards Richard. “Confirm Richard as your heir; set his wedding day to my sister. That is all you have to do.”
Standing on guard at Henry’s side, William could see the King’s body shuddering with the force of his rage. Beside his father, John sat with the inscrutability of a cat, although William suspected that inside his mouth he was grinning from ear to ear. “I have to do nothing. You will not force me to it,” Henry said in a constricted voice. “All you will do is beget yourself a war that will cost you dear.”
Richard unfolded his long body and stood up. His grey eyes glittered like chips of polished serpentine as he turned towards his father. “No,” he said, “it will costyoudear. Why should I keep faith with you when you refuse to acknowledge my rights? Are you so eaten up with bitterness and your contrary will that you would leave your kingdom to a fool boy who’s proven he can neither rule men nor fight his way out of a flour sack?” He gestured contemptuously at his youngest brother. “You think he’s worthy? God’s death, everything he touches curdles and turns sour.”
John’s tawny gaze narrowed.
“It is not John who is curdling my gut,” Henry said. “Sit down.”
William’s right hand crawled involuntarily towards the hilt of his sword. Richard’s eyes flickered as he caught William’s intention and his own hand went to his gilded swordbelt. But instead of drawing his blade, he unbuckled the belt and slowly removed both it and the attached scabbard. Turning his back on his father and brother, he slowly approached the King of France and just as slowly knelt before him, laying the scabbard at his feet. “I hereby give you my homage for my lands of Normandy and Aquitaine,” he declared in a voice that rang around the hall, “and I swear you my fealty saving only that which I owe to my father the King.” The last words were loud and bitter. “And I beseech your aid should I be deprived of my rights as his heir.”
Henry leaped to his feet and had to be restrained by the Archbishop of Canterbury. “You purblind fool!” Henry raged. “Can’t you see that you’re being manipulated!”
Richard looked at his father, his own control deadly. “No,” he said in a voice husky with tension. “I have chosen freedom from manipulation. Look to the plank of wood in your own eye before you remove the mote of sawdust from mine!” Turning on his heel, summoning his retainers, he took up his swordbelt and strode from the hall.
Philip of France rose and also turned to leave. “War is upon you,” he said to Henry, “and of your own causing. If I ever envied you, then today I have been cured. You know where to seek if you come to your senses and desire not to see your heartlands burn beneath the wrath of your son. He has given me his fealty and I am honour bound to help him.”
Henry flung from the meeting in a blind rage, taking the opposite direction to Richard and Philip. When the Archbishop tried to remonstrate with him, he snatched the crozier out of the old man’s hand and hurled it like a spear. “By Christ I wish that my seed was barren when I see what it has brought forth!” he choked as William retrieved the crozier and pressed it back into the Archbishop’s hand. “They want war, I will give them war! I…Jesu!” Henry doubled over with a choking cry, his hands folded against his midriff.
The Earl of Chester hastened to support him, as did the Archbishop of Rouen. William sent an attendant running to fetch Henry’s physician. Filled with anxiety, his retainers bore him back to his chamber and laid him on the bed. Henry’s brow was beaded with droplets of pain. His body shook with rigors and he groaned through his clenched teeth.
“You see what Richard has done to him?” John said with a curl of his lip. “You see what his betrayal has wrought?”
“Come now,” said Ranulf of Chester, “the King has suffered these bouts before. You cannot lay all the blame at the lord Richard’s feet.”
“I can and I do,” John said icily.
William quietly absented himself from the group and went in search of Richard. He found him drinking wine in his chamber with his knights and in savage mood. William noted with alarm that his attendants were packing the baggage chests.
“If you have come to plead my father’s case, Marshal, you can save your breath,” Richard growled. “If my father wishes to speak to me, let him come himself, and with different words on his lips.”
