ELEANOR ENJOYED the Countess of Aumale’s company, for they had much in common. Like Eleanor, Hawisa was a great heiress, Countess of Aumale in her own right, possessing valuable estates in Normandy, Yorkshire, and Lincolnshire. And like Eleanor, she was strong-willed, not one who deferred easily to male authority. She’d had the backbone to balk when Richard wanted her to marry one of his vassals, William de Forz, and the common sense to yield after Richard distrained her lands. Hawisa had wed Richard’s handpicked husband, but that did not tame her independent spirit. She’d accompanied Eleanor on her journey to Sicily, for she shared the queen’s keen curiosity about exotic, foreign lands, and she had not let pregnancy curtail her travels any more than Eleanor ever had. Eleanor had only been close to two women in her long life: her sister Petronilla and Henry’s cousin Maud, the Countess of Chester. But as she’d gotten to know Hawisa better, she’d lowered the drawbridge, allowing the younger woman into the castle bailey, if not yet into the keep.
On this rain-swept afternoon in November, they were sipping wine in Eleanor’s great hall in the White Tower. Eleanor had met for much of the morning with Henry Fitz-Ailwin, the city’s mayor, and Richard Fitz Neal, the Bishop of London and Lord Treasurer of the Exchequer, and she was glad now to be able to put her troubles aside for a few hours of easy conversation with Hawisa, who could always make her laugh.
Hawisa had already finished her wine and signaled to a servant for another cup. “I heard that the French king called a council at Compiègne to rid himself of that poor little bride of his. Is that true?”
Eleanor nodded. “He claimed that Ingeborg and his first wife were related in the fourth and fifth degrees, which would be grounds for annulling the marriage—if it had been true.”
“And it was not?”
“No. The chart Philippe produced was a forgery and a clumsy one at that. But he knew his audience—eight of the fifteen council members were his kinsmen and several of the others were part of the royal household. To no one’s surprise—except possibly Ingeborg’s—the Archbishop of Reims, who happens to be Philippe’s uncle, dutifully declared that the marriage was null and void. When they told Ingeborg, since she had no French, she resorted to Latin, crying out, ‘Mala Francia! Roma!’ Yet if she expects the Pope to champion her cause, she is in for a grievous disappointment. Celestine will express great indignation on her behalf. But words are cheap, especially his.”
Hawisa did not have a high opinion of the Pope, either. “If I were Ingeborg, I’d have thanked God fasting to be spared a lifetime sharing Philippe’s bed. Why is she fighting so hard to hold on to a man who shamed her like that?”
“Pride, I expect,” Eleanor said pensively. “It might be difficult for her brother to find another husband for her after such a scandal. And since she swears he consummated the marriage, I suppose she sees herself as his wife in God’s eyes.”
“If I thought a scandal would rid me of my husband, I’d gladly walk the streets naked from dawn to dusk.”
Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Marriage is a man’s game for certes. They make the rules and we have to play by them.”
“Sometimes the game can be fun,” Hawisa conceded. “I liked being married to my first husband—most of the time.”
“I could say the same about my second husband—until he became my gaoler, of course.” Eleanor took a swallow of wine, regarding Hawisa over the cup’s rim. “I had a letter from Constance not long ago. She is outraged that her daughter is to be part of the price paid for Richard’s freedom. The foolish woman acts as if we had a choice in the matter. But it is no easy thing to let a daughter go, Hawisa. We can only hope that they find a measure of contentment in the lives we choose for them. I do not know about Alix, but I think Marie, Leonora, Tilda, and Joanna did. I suppose mothers always want to believe that, though. . . .”
“I’m glad I birthed a son, not a daughter. At least our sons are not bartered away like prize mares.”
“But sons find other ways to steal our peace and break our hearts.”
That was true enough to bring a lump to Hawisa’s throat. Swallowing it, she joked that it was well babies did not know what awaited them, or they’d never be willing to leave the womb, and then she opened the door wide in case the queen wanted to come through, saying, “Madame . . . have you heard from your son?”