Sharon Penman: When Christ and his Saints Slept

Henry grinned. “You need not worry about that, love. Given a choice, I’d eat all my meals at home!” As he moved away from the cradle, Will whimpered in protest, but he didn’t notice; at the moment, his wife was claiming all of his attention. “You are the most amazing woman, Eleanor. I have to admit that I was not expecting you to be so understanding.”

“I’ve always understood men,” she said blandly, “and I’ve always tried to be tolerant of their failings. I’d like to think that you’d be as tolerant, too, Harry…should the need ever arise.”

He stopped abruptly, halfway to the bed. “If you’re suggesting…”

“You sound upset. Why is that?”

“Infidelity is not the same sin for men and women,” he said tautly, “for it puts a child’s paternity into question. You’re clever enough to realize that, Eleanor, to know-”

He cut himself off in midsentence, and she said encouragingly, “Know what? Do go on, Harry.”

By now, though, he’d caught on. But mixed in with his relief was a genuine anger, for he was not accustomed to being laughed at. “Damn you,” he said softly, and her eyebrows arched upward in feigned surprise.

“Why, Harry,” she murmured, “are you trying to seduce me again?”

The corner of his mouth twitched in involuntary amusement. “What would you have me say, Eleanor? That I am sorry?”

She shook her head impatiently. “I do not care if you tumbled an English harlot, Harry. I am not about to get jealous because you scratched an itch-as long as that is all it was.”

He thought he saw now where he’d erred. Crossing to the bed, he threw the covers back, seating himself beside her. “If I said I’d never stray, I’d be lying, and we both know it. But you have my heart, not to mention my crown. Surely that matters more than an occasional trespass?”

“A crown, you say?” She pretended to ponder it, and then reached out, inviting his embrace. As her arms slid up around his neck, she kissed him with incendiary effect. Finally getting his breath back, he murmured against her throat,

“That kiss was hot enough to leave a brand. If that is indeed what you intend, you might want to aim somewhat lower.”

She laughed and drew him deeper into the bed. But as he started to strip off her robe, she caught his hand in hers. “Promise me that you’ll remember what I am about to tell you, Harry. Whenever you’re tempted to ‘trespass’ in the future, just bear in mind that I am willing to be reasonable-but not saintly.”

“I’ll promise anything on earth, love, if it’ll keep you from ever getting saintly.” After that, they did not talk, concentrating upon ridding him of his clothes. They were making progress when an indignant wailing blared from the cradle. His face red, mouth puckered, and eyes tearing, their small son was venting his outrage at being ignored, loudly and persistently.

Henry shot up in the bed. “Christ Almighty, is all that noise coming from him?”

“I did warn you,” Eleanor said, beginning to laugh, “that having Will sleep with us might not be one of your better ideas. Welcome to fatherhood, Harry!”

Soon after his return from England, Henry found himself forced to deal with some of Eleanor’s rebellious barons. This he did with such dispatch that by the end of June, he was able to take his wife and son to Rouen for their first meeting with his mother.

Henry was unable to sit still; he kept getting up and prowling aimlessly about the chamber, all the while keeping a wary eye upon the women in his life. They were making polite conversation, seemingly at ease, but he could not enjoy the lull, constantly scanning the skies for approaching clouds. The only one more obviously uncomfortable than Henry was his brother Geoff; he was slouched down in his seat, twitching nervously every time his mother glanced his way. Will at last took pity upon them both and suggested that they adjourn to the stables to see his new roan stallion. His brothers accepted his offer with alacrity, and retreated in unseemly haste.

Watching them go, Eleanor shook her head. “Men are not usually so squeamish about bloodshed.”

Maude blinked, looking at Eleanor so blankly that she wondered if she’d made a mistake. But then the older woman smiled. “Men do not know nearly as much about women as they think. Geoffrey was sure that I’d not approve of you, but I’d hoped that Henry would have more sense.”

Eleanor had decided beforehand that honesty was the only weapon likely to penetrate her mother-in-law’s defenses. “It just matters so much to Harry that we get along. I’ll admit that I was somewhat uneasy myself about this meeting. If you believed even half of what’s been said of me, you’d have good reason to fear for Harry’s immortal soul!”

“Gossip,” Maude said dismissively. “The world is full of mud, and unfortunately there is no shortage of people eager to splatter it about, with women the targets of choice. You need not have fretted about your reception, Eleanor. I can think of at least three compelling reasons why I should want to welcome you into my family. The first and foremost one is sitting on your lap,” she said, gesturing toward Will, balancing on Eleanor’s knee.

“Would you like to hold him?” Eleanor suggested, and Will switched laps with aplomb. “And the other reasons?”

“You make my son happy. And then of course,” Maude said with a faint smile, “there is Aquitaine.”

Eleanor returned the smile. “I appreciate your candor. As it happens, there is a fourth reason, too. We were not going to say anything until I could be certain, but I’d like you to know. I may be pregnant again.”

“So soon? That is indeed blessed news!” Maude detached her grandson’s clutching fingers from the rosary at her belt. “No, Will, not the Pater Noster. You said that you are not sure yet, Eleanor?”

“I’ve missed just one flux so far. But yes…yes, I am sure. Sometime in Lent, by my calculations, I hope to give Harry another son.”

“Two pregnancies in two years of marriage, possibly two sons.” After a moment, Maude smiled, saying with satisfaction but some pity, too, “Poor Louis.”

October that year was an idyllic month, mild and dry, with clarion blue skies and mellowed golden sunlight. Londoners were determined to make the most of this respite before the winter freeze, and the Friday horse fair at West Smithfield had drawn a large, boisterous crowd. A race was in progress across the meadow, and most of the bargaining had been suspended so people could watch. Although neither Ranulf nor Padarn had wagered on the outcome, they found themselves cheering as loudly as the other spectators, caught up in the excitement. The winner, a rangy bay, edged out a lathered chestnut in a rousing finish that satisfied all but the chestnut’s backers. Ranulf was turning toward a piebald filly that had taken his eye when he heard his name called out behind him.

Bearing down upon him was a ghost from his past: Fulk de Bernay, Annora and Ancel’s elder brother. Once greetings had been exchanged, Fulk clapped Ranulf heartily on the shoulder. “What are you doing in London? We’d heard that you’d gone off to live on top of a Welsh mountain.”

Ranulf was accustomed by now to jokes about his adopted Welsh homeland, and had learned to shrug them off. “Since the peace seems to be holding, I decided this would be a good time to show England to my wife and son. We went to Chester first, collecting my niece Maud, her sons, and her mother, who happened to be visiting. We’ve been to Coventry, Woodstock, Oxford, and my father’s tomb at Reading, and for the past week, we’ve been enjoying the sights of London. From here we go on to Canterbury and then Dover to meet the king, and on our way back to Wales, we hope to stop at Bury St Edmunds to see St Edmund’s shrine.”