The Winter Crown by Elizabeth Chadwick Page A

brother Geoffrey to heel and seized the castles of Mirebeau, Chinon and Loudon that had been in rebellion against him. Chinon had capitulated at dawn that morning and Geoffrey had bowed his head and accepted the inevitable, if not with good grace, then with dour resignation. It was the second time he had rebelled against Henry. The three castles were a bone of contention between the brothers that was not going to go away. Geoffrey insisted their father had willed them to him, but in using them as centres of rebellion, he had made it impossible for Henry to let him keep them.
    ‘Sire, if I may make a suggestion?’
    Henry turned round from the embrasure and eyed his chancellor. Thomas had proven invaluable during the weeks on campaign, dealing with routine matters and keeping the coffers full. He was also a convivial and cultured companion with a shrewd eye for an advantage. ‘By all means.’
    ‘It seems to me that your b-brother will continue to be a thorn in your side for the foreseeable future. The moment you turn your back, he will be fomenting rebellion.’
    ‘I do not intend turning my back,’ Henry said, ‘but go on.’
    ‘Perhaps if he were to have lands of his own – something he can carve out of another estate that might benefit you also?’
    Henry rubbed his forefinger across his beard. ‘You had in mind?’
    ‘Brittany, sire. They have recently rebelled against their count and with a little persuasion might be prevailed upon to consider your b-brother to replace him? He would be occupied keeping the Bretons in check and at the same time he would bring B-Brittany into your sphere of influence. It would also fulfil his desire for a title and elevate his standing.’
    Henry’s eyes gleamed. ‘An interesting notion. On the margins, but not Ireland.’
    Becket made an elegant gesture of agreement that emphasised the garnets and pearls jewelling the cuff on his sleeve.
    ‘It needs some thought, but I can see the possibilities.’ Henry clapped his shoulder. ‘You are to be commended, Thomas.’
    ‘I do my best to fulfil my duty, sire.’
    ‘Ah no, it is more than just duty, you enjoy this,’ Henry said with a knowing smile. He glanced towards the door where a messenger had just been admitted. With Chinon newly taken the bustle of envoys in and out of the keep was at full tide, but he recognised the man as one of Alienor’s. His immediate thought was that the child had been born and he beckoned the man to come forward. As he approached, however, following the usher, Henry realised something was wrong. There was no smile on the messenger’s face, no anticipation of a reward for joyful news.
    ‘Sire.’ The man knelt and from his satchel produced a single thin package to which was attached Alienor’s seal. And then he bowed his head and looked at the ground. Henry took the letter and broke the seal, not wanting to open the thing, but knowing he must, and immediately, lest he needed to act.
    The words were Alienor’s, but written in the formal tone she used as queen, and what she wrote was so immense and devastating that he could not take it in. It was like being presented with a rock to swallow. Everything seemed to stop inside him. He lifted his gaze and stared around the room. At the stones in the wall, the hangings, at the texture of his chancellor’s jewelled cuff, the glitter of light on the chips of rock crystal. They were all real because he could see them and reach out and touch them; but this letter spoke of something he had not seen, something so terrible that it couldn’t be true; yet the fact that it might be took him to silence.
    Becket was eyeing him in consternation. ‘Sire?’
    Henry handed him the letter; he would not read it again because the words were indelibly branded on his brain. He left the hall and almost ran to his chamber, where he ordered everyone to leave before slamming and barring the door. Turning, he leaned against it with his eyes closed, shutting everything out, so