Devil's Brood by Sharon Kay Penman Page B

Christ! Why is that not enough for him?”
    “He wants more than privileges and prestige, Harry. He wants to exercise power. Can you truly blame him? At his age, you’d have demanded no less.”
    “At his age, I’d been fighting for two years to claim the crown stolen from my mother. He keeps throwing that at me—the fact that I was younger than he is now when I took command of Normandy. But we both know that is a false comparison. For all the love I bear him, Hal is not ready to rule on his own. When left to his own devices, he passes his time playing those damnable tourney games, carousing with dubious companions, and spending money like a drunken sailor. If one of those coxcombs who cluster around him like bees to honey expresses admiration for his new mantle, like as not, he’ll strip it off and hand it over. Whilst he was in England, the Exchequer could not keep track of all the bills submitted by merchants for his rash expenditures. Look at that foolishness at Bonneville last month. He threw a feast restricted to knights named William, for the love of God! They came out in droves, too, more than a hundred of them eager to wallow at the trough, eating and drinking enough to feed an entire town for a week.”
    Eleanor could not keep from smiling. “And you see no humor at all in that?”
    “No, I do not,” he insisted, but the corner of his mouth was twitching, and after a moment, he conceded, “Well, some…but I’d find it much more amusing if I were not paying the bills!” He was scanning the floor rushes for his leather belt and dagger sheath. “After Christmas, I go to Auvergne to meet with the Count of Maurienne.”
    “I know,” she responded, irked by his sudden change of subject. She was familiar with his newest scheme—to secure a future for their youngest nestling by marriage to the count’s daughter and heiress. The arrangements had been made months ago. He would journey to Auvergne, meet the count while mediating a dispute between the King of Aragon and her personal bête noire, Count Raimon of Toulouse, and then he’d escort the count and his young daughter to Limoges where the marriage contract would be sealed. But it was Hal she wanted to discuss, not John, and she was about to steer the conversation back to their eldest son when Henry’s next words showed his mention of Auvergne was not a digression, after all.
    “We’d agreed that you’d continue on to Limoges with our sons and await my arrival. But there has been a change of plans. Hal comes with me to Auvergne, like it or not. I sent word to him this morn, a command, not an invitation. I mean to keep him on a short leash until he proves he can be trusted off-lead.”
    Eleanor exhaled a soft breath, almost a sigh. He still did not understand what a sharp sword he’d given his enemies by crowning Hal. He’d claimed he was merely following the custom of his continental domains, and it was indeed traditionally done in France; she did not doubt Louis would crown his son Philippe in due time. But she knew that there was more to Henry’s controversial decision to crown Hal, never before done by an English king. He’d seen his mother cheated of her queenship by her cousin Stephen, had seen the suffering that resulted from Stephen’s usurpation and the resulting horrors of civil war, a time so wretched that the people had whispered that Christ and his saints must surely be asleep. He’d had to fight fiercely for his own inheritance, both in Normandy and England, and such a turbulent childhood had left scars. He was bound and determined to spare his sons what he’d endured, and that was his true reason for insisting upon crowning Hal in his own lifetime—to make sure that there’d be no doubts about the legitimacy of his heir’s claim to the English crown.
    But in acting to protect Hal, he’d made himself dangerously vulnerable. The future would always exert a more potent pull than the past, and Hal now represented the glowing