“Do not despair, Eleanor. I daresay you can coax him into making another attempt.”
“I am not so sure of that, Petra.” Eleanor had begun to pace restlessly. “Harry can be stubborn beyond all belief. He is not easily coaxed into anything, except into bed.”
“Well, then, make that your battlefield. Give him your body if you must, but not your passion. Indifference is a most effective weapon, Sister. It always won me victory in my skirmishes with Raoul.” Petronilla added a conventional “May God assoil him” for her late husband that was also heartfelt; hers had been that rarest of marriages, one made for love. Turning aside to pour more wine, she frowned upon finding the flagon empty, and frowned again when no servant came in response to her summons. “I will be back straightaway,” she promised, “as soon as I put the fear of God into those laggards down in the hall.”
Once she had gone, Maud set her wine cup down, rose to her feet, and crossed to the queen. “I know you are very fond of your sister,” she said, “but she gives you poor advice. I would hope you not heed her.”
Eleanor’s eyes glinted, green to gold and then green again. “You are Harry’s cousin. Defend him if you must, but not this day, not to me. I am entitled to my anger, will not let you rob me of it.”
“I speak as your friend. If you reject what I say, do so because you like not the message. But doubt not the messenger, Eleanor. My loyalty is not given only to blood-kin. It is yours, too, if you want it.”
Eleanor searched the other woman’s face. “You think I am in the wrong? That I have no right to feel disappointed, even betrayed?”
“I think that your anger has been a long-smoldering fire, feeding on grievances that lie far from the borders of Toulouse. I am not saying you have no cause for it. But let that fire kindle in your marriage bed and your marriage itself could be left in charred ruins. Think long and hard ere you let that happen, Eleanor. You may not have found all you hoped to gain in wedlock with Harry, but surely what you do have is worth holding on to.”
“So you’d have me swallow my pride and play the role of submissive, compliant wife? Is that the best you can do, Maud? What very ordinary advice. If I wanted a tiresome lecture about my duty to obey my husband, I could get that from my confessor!”
“You misread me, Madame. I preach no sermons. Heed me or not, as you will. But at least hear me out.”
“Why should I?”
“Because,” Maud said, “I know more than you of a woman’s lot. I know more, too, about compromise and caution and survival. These were lessons I had to learn, and at a very early age.”
“I know your marriage was not a happy one, Maud, but-”
“No, you do not know, Eleanor. You could not possibly know.” Maud’s usual insouciance was utterly gone; her dark eyes held only shadows and secrets she’d never before shared. “You see,” she said, “my husband was quite mad.”
Eleanor was momentarily startled into silence. “I’ve heard stories about Randolph,” she said, “stories about his ungodly rages and his treachery. Harry said he’d sooner have trusted Judas than Chester. I know he was so hated that when he was poisoned, the only surprise was that it had not happened earlier. But Harry and Ranulf led me to believe that you did not fear him as others did, that you-”
“I learned not to show him my fear. And in time, the fear did lessen, for I found that my boldness was the best shield I could have against Randolph’s cruelty. He scented out weakness, the way they say wolves can smell blood for miles. Because I never cowered, because I never let him see my tears, he grudgingly gave me a reluctant respect. So few people ever dared to stand up to him that I suppose the novelty of it disarmed him. And it helped greatly, of course, that he was always so hot to share my bed.”
“Did you never think to leave him?”
“I was seventeen when we wed, too young and too proud to be scorned for a failed marriage. For I knew that I’d be blamed, just as my aunt Maude was when her marriage to Geoffrey of Anjou foundered on the rocks of their mutual loathing. Geoffrey was more brutal to her than Randolph was to me, yet that counted for naught. People still saw the failure as hers. So I knew what I could expect. I did not want to disappoint my parents, to bring dishonor upon our family. And so I chose to make the best of it.”
“Jesu, Maud, your life must have been hellish!”
“No… surprisingly, it was not. I learned to take my pleasures where I could find them, even in Randolph’s bed. I also enjoyed the privileges that came to me as Countess of Chester. And in time, I had my sons to love. I suppose ours was not the worst of marriages, given how wretched some of them can be. But when Randolph died,” she concluded coolly, “I felt like a prisoner suddenly shoved from the dark up into the light of day.”
Eleanor turned abruptly toward the bed, sat down, and beckoned for Maud to join her. “So what would you have me do? Follow in your footsteps?”
“No, there is no need for you to go down that rock-strewn road.” Maud grinned suddenly. “You could not even if you wanted to, for it is not in your nature to make ‘the best’ of things. If it were, you’d still be Queen of France.”
“God forbid,” Eleanor said, and they both smiled.
“As for Toulouse, I think you must resign yourself to its loss.”
Eleanor arched an elegant brow. “Must I, indeed?” she said, but with none of her earlier asperity, and Maud nodded.
“If two men as utterly unlike as Harry and Louis could not win it, does that not tell you something about your chances?” Maud paused, unable to resist adding, “Unless you mean to try again with a third husband?”
“Do not tempt me,” Eleanor retorted, but there was a hint of amusement hovering in the corners of her mouth. “A pity I could not ride against Toulouse myself. If only women were not so damnably dependent upon men to get what we want in this life!”
“Amen,” Maud said fervently. “But you cannot in fairness blame Harry for that, Eleanor. It is not his fault that men get to soar high and wide whilst we are earthbound, birds with clipped wings.”
“Ah, here it comes, the loyal kinswoman rallying to her cousin’s defense,” Eleanor mocked, and Maud grinned again.
“A defense, yes, but a qualified one. For all that I think the world of Harry, I am not blind to his flaws. He is stubborn and single-minded and surely not the easiest of men to live with. But he is also a man who does love you deeply… if reluctantly.”
Eleanor stared at her and then burst out laughing. “You do understand Harry,” she said, “much better than I realized! Harry was prepared, even eager, to give me his name, his body, his crown, but not his heart. That caught him by surprise, and even now I suspect that he is not entirely easy about it.”
“Harry has good reason to be mistrustful of love. His parents’ union was not so much a marriage as a war, and he was their hostage, for he was unlucky enough to love them both.”
“He rarely talks to me of his childhood, usually shrugging off my questions with one of his jokes. I suspect that you know more than I do, Maud, about his family’s bloodletting.”
“What I know comes mainly from Ranulf and from my own parents. My father was very protective of Maude and felt strongly that she was ill-used by Geoffrey. Of course there are those to argue that she was equally to blame for their feuding. I do know that the marriage got off to the worst possible start, for Maude had been forced by her father to wed Geoffrey and she was not loath to let him know of her unwillingness to be his wife. Their most bitter quarrels took place in those first years of the marriage, and by all accounts, Maude’s sharp tongue was a poor match for Geoffrey’s fists. I would wager,” she said unexpectedly, “that Harry has never struck you… has he?”
Eleanor shook her head. “No.”
“Did you never wonder why? Most men feel it is their God-given right to chastise their wives as they would their children, and why not, when Holy Church tells them that woman was born to be ruled by man? But I knew Harry would not, for I remember a talk I once had with him and Ranulf on that subject. Not surprisingly, Ranulf disapproved of wife-beating. God save him, he is the last truly chivalrous soul in all of Christendom. But Harry was no less emphatic, saying a man ought not to take advantage of his superior strength, and Ranulf and I knew he was thinking of his mother.”