Geoff scowled. “That is a waste of time,” he told Richard vehemently. “Never have I met a more deceitful lot than those sly, scheming canons. They have opposed me from the day of my consecration, and you’d scarce believe what I’ve had to endure at their hands!”
“We have to hear them, Geoff, but you’ll get ample opportunity to respond to their charges,” Richard assured him, with more patience than he usually mustered up for his half brother. Geoff subsided reluctantly, staring balefully at Longchamp as if he suspected the chancellor had encouraged the disgruntled monks.
Eleanor leaned back in her seat, studying Geoff covertly through half-closed eyes. He’d been raised at her husband’s court and she’d made no objections, believing that a man should assume responsibility for children sired in or out of wedlock. But their relationship had soured when she and her sons had rebelled against Henry, for Geoff had never forgiven any of them for that. Richard had honored Henry’s deathbed promises and approved Geoff’s elevation to the archbishopric of York, even though all knew that he did not have the temperament for a Church career and Geoff himself had never wanted to take holy vows. Few had expected him to stir up so much turmoil, though, in his new vocation. He’d feuded bitterly with the Bishop of Durham, even excommunicating him. He’d clashed with Longchamp and antagonized York’s cathedral chapter by trying to get his maternal half brother elected as Dean of York. He’d horrified his fellow prelates by having his archiepiscopal cross carried before him in other Sees than his own, and then offended Hubert Walter by challenging the primacy of Canterbury over York. Eleanor had lost track of all those he’d excommunicated, including a priory of nuns. She’d always known that he’d inherited his fair share of the Angevin temper, but he’d never been so unreasonable or so belligerent in the past, and she could only conclude that York’s archbishop was a very unhappy man.
Richard had told her Geoff’s cathedral chapter was accusing him of a multitude of sins—simony, extortion, violence, and neglect of his pastoral duties. Richard seemed skeptical of these charges and appeared willing to give Geoff the benefit of the doubt, which had not often been true in their contentious past. But Eleanor knew he was pleased with Geoff’s military efforts at the siege of Tickhill; Geoff had also made a good-faith effort to raise money for the ransom, only to be sabotaged by the opposition of his monks, who’d gone so far as to suspend divine services in the Minster in protest. Eleanor did not think this truce between Richard and Geoff would last long; they were both too strong-willed for that. Seeing Geoff glance in her direction, she discreetly lowered her gaze, thinking it was a shame that Harry had been so stubbornly set upon making Geoff into what he was not, could not be, and never wanted to be.
They’d begun a discussion of the new tax to be imposed, two shillings for every one hundred twenty acres of land. Eleanor knew it would not be popular, but she did not see what other choice they had, not if they hoped to free their hostages. Thinking of her grandsons, Otto and Wilhelm, she felt a weary sense of sadness, knowing how homesick they both must be. At least she need no longer worry that Heinrich would renege on the agreement and not release them after the remainder of the ransom was paid, for word had come that the emperor had finally made peace with their father, Der L?we.
Richard had just told them he meant to send out a letter to the English clerics, thanking them for all they’d done to secure his release. Stifling a yawn, he asked if there was anything else they needed to discuss, saying he’d gotten little sleep last night. André smirked at that, having seen Eve being escorted up to Richard’s bedchamber, but the other men started to rise when Richard did, bidding him good night. Geoff and Hubert exchanged glances, and the latter said reluctantly, “There is one matter, sire.”
Richard sat back down again. “What is it, Hubert?”
“Yesterday, whilst you were riding in Sherwood Forest, the prelates held a meeting.”
Longchamp stiffened, both offended and hurt that even after being restored to the king’s favor, his fellow bishops continued to shun him as if he were a leper, for he’d known nothing of this colloquy. Richard was waiting expectantly, but Hubert took his time, sensing that what he was about to say would not be well received.
“They think it would be a good idea, my liege, if you were to hold a ceremony of some sort now that you’ve returned to England.”
Richard’s eyes narrowed. Before he could respond, Geoff intervened, for he did not understand why Hubert was vacillating like this. “He is talking about another coronation,” he said bluntly, “a renewal of royal authority, a way to—” He stopped in midsentence then, for his brother had shoved his chair back with such force that it toppled over.
“A way to . . . what, Geoff? To exorcise the shame of my captivity and homage to Heinrich?”