Free Lady of the English by Elizabeth Chadwick Page A

can give to you.”
    Robert reddened. “I do not ask for a crown, my father.”
    “I know that, and it is one of the reasons I have confidence in you to hold fast for your sister and her heirs. There are very few I can trust so wholeheartedly.”
    Robert’s flush darkened. “The Blois faction will not approve of the match. Relations between them and Anjou are unsettled.
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    If they have to choose between paying homage to France or to Anjou, they may well choose France.”
    Henry’s extended hand closed into a fist and he drew it in against his body. “There is time to work on all of that, but I must lay the foundations now, and for that, I must have Anjou in my camp.”
    “What of the bishop of Salisbury, sire?” Brian asked. “He took the oath to the empress, but he said it was on condition that everyone be consulted on the matter of her marriage, and that she should not wed outside your lands.”
    Henry said frostily, “The bishop of Salisbury may be my adviser and chancellor, but he is also my servant and he will know his place. I will deal with him.”
    “Will you at least summon a council to debate the matter?”
    Robert asked.
    Henry shook his head. “I will open the matter to wider debate when I deem it is time, and not before. Besides, I require a response from Anjou before I act on anything.”
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    Eight
    Chinon, Anjou, April 1127
    G eoffrey, son of Fulke, Count of Anjou, stroked the soft, mottled breast feathers of the young peregrine falcon on his gauntleted fist. “You summoned me, sire?” His voice was light. It had broken almost a year ago, but still grated like a cracked millstone if pressure was put upon it. He would far rather be out training his bird to the lure, but knew better than to disobey a paternal summons.
    His father had been standing before the hearth contemplating the fire, but now he turned. His red hair was dusty at the temples and silver striped his beard, but he was a strong man, still in his full prime. “I have news.” He gestured to the empty hawk perch near the window. Geoffrey took the peregrine and settled her there. For a moment she bated on the perch and the sound of her beating wings filled the space where no words fell. Geoffrey soothed her with a gentle forefinger until she settled and in that time he settled himself too. He knew what the news was going to be. Producing a gobbet of venison from the pouch at his belt, he fed it to her. “Are you going to accept King Baldwin’s offer for the Princess Melisande?”
    His father clasped his hands behind his back. “That depends on whether I can leave Anjou in safe hands.”
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    Geoffrey sauntered over to the sideboard to pour himself a goblet of wine, then adopted a manly pose, one foot thrust out.
    His father gave him a frosty look. “It is not the clothes or the stance that make the man, but his words and deeds. I need to know that you are capable of ruling Anjou as an adult when I am gone.”
    Geoffrey’s resentment was tempered by pleasure at the notion of having power, and of being a count. He stood taller and jutted his chin, where the first coppery beard hairs had begun to sprout. “I am a man,” he said proudly.
    “In word and deed, my son?”
    “Yes, sire. You can trust me.”
    His father’s expression did not lighten. He left the fire to pace the room, his tread heavy and deliberate. “I am pleased to hear it, because I have a task for you beyond the wisdom of ruling Anjou.” He stopped at the hawk perch, watched the bird preen, then went to Geoffrey and tilted his son’s face towards the window to study his features in full light. The youth’s hair was a rich, ruddy gold with a healthy gleam like layered feathers. His eyes were sea-blue with a flash of green in their depths and Fulke could see the intelligence in them as well as the arrogance