“We did not say that, sire,” Hubert said hastily.
“You were thinking it, though,” Richard raged. “Why else would I need this ceremony, this rite of purification? Well, you tell them this, my lord archbishop. Say that if there is any stain upon my honor, I intend to wash it away with French blood!” With that, he swung around, stalked to the door, and slammed it so resoundingly behind him that they all flinched.
There was a long moment of silence. They’d seen the Angevin temper at full blaze before, but none had expected to be scorched by the flames themselves. Longchamp glared at the two archbishops. “Well done! If you’d bothered to include me in that meeting, I could have told you how the king would react to this ‘good idea’ of yours.”
“It was not my idea,” Hubert said curtly.
“They thought he would enjoy a royal ceremony. He’s always liked being the center of attention,” Geoff pointed out, his own temper kindling when Longchamp shook his head in conspicuous contempt. But before he could protest, Eleanor rose from her seat.
“My lord archbishop,” she said icily and at once all eyes fastened upon her, for it was obvious that she was as furious as Richard. “Is what my son said true? Do men think there is something shameful about his having to do homage to Heinrich?”
“I do not, Madame,” Hubert said stoutly. She did not doubt his sincerity, but he’d answered a question she’d not asked, and she turned toward Geoff, who was candid to a fault.
Nor did he disappoint now. “Yes, some do,” he confirmed. “It is not that they are doubting the king’s courage—only a fool would do that. But there are those who see his act of homage as sullying English honor, even though it was not given of his free will. Captivity itself carries a certain degree of shame, and this only—”
“God in Heaven!” Eleanor stared at him and then turned away, so angry she did not fully trust herself. How dare they judge Richard for doing what he must to save himself? False-hearted hypocrites! Men and their daft notions of honor!
André was on his feet, too, by now. “I’d like to see any man dare to say that to the king’s face!” His eyes swept the chamber challengingly. “How many of you agree with them?”
“I am sure I can speak for us all when I say that none of us do,” Will Marshal said in measured, deliberate tones. “The king’s homage was regrettable, but not blameworthy, for he was given no choice in the matter. Nor do I see captivity as shameful.” For a moment, his gaze rested coolly on Geoff. “Any man who says that has never been held prisoner himself.”
Remembering that the Marshal had been held captive by the de Lusignans until Eleanor had paid his ransom, Geoff backtracked, saying earnestly, “I was not voicing my own opinion, merely repeating what some have said. I do agree with the other bishops, though, and believe that the king ought to have a crown-wearing ceremony or even a second coronation. It would be a dramatic way of putting this unfortunate incident behind him and signifying a new beginning.”
No one answered him. No one spoke at all, for Eleanor, André, and Longchamp were still fuming, and the others were uncomfortable, regretting that the king had been so angered and that they had been caught in the line of fire. They did not even know if they should wait in case Richard meant to return.
RICHARD HAD NOT GONE FAR. He’d come to a halt out in the inner bailey, ignoring the deferential greetings of soldiers and curious eyes of servants. The cooling night air did not dispel his rage. But he realized almost at once that he’d lashed out at the wrong target. Hubert did not deserve that. None of the men in that chamber did. He could not even blame the bishops and the others who thought he needed to submit to a cleansing ceremony. If he felt that what he’d done was shameful, how could he fault them for believing it, too? After a few moments of bleak reflection, he turned reluctantly and retraced his steps.
They all jumped to their feet as he entered the antechamber, and he waved them back into their seats. “Whether the bishops’ suggestion is a ‘good idea’ is open to debate, but it is never a good idea to confuse the messenger with the message. I did this and I regret it.” They at once began to insist that his flare-up was of no matter and perfectly understandable, their predictable assurances washing over him unheard and unheeded. Taking a seat himself, he looked from one face to another, his gaze at last coming to rest upon Hubert Walter.