She focused her thoughts instead on John’s brief reign. So far it was going better than she’d dared hope. He’d had a narrow escape at Le Mans, but even there his instincts had served him well; he’d sensed the danger that enabled him to evade a Breton trap. And he’d later punished the citizens of Le Mans harshly for their disloyalty as a king must, razing the castle and the town’s walls. He’d been generous with those who had been loyal, though, bestowing the earldom of Pembroke upon Will Marshal, making the reluctant Hubert Walter his chancellor, and naming the Viscount of Thouars as castellan of Chinon Castle and seneschal of Anjou. He’d been able to retain Richard’s valuable alliances with the Count of Flanders and the Count of Boulogne. And he’d made his half brother Geoff welcome upon his return from Rome. She doubted that their reconciliation would last, no more than it ever had with Richard, for Geoff had never forgiven his brothers for rebelling against their father, and he loathed John for that deathbed betrayal of Henry. But as the Archbishop of York, he had to be placated, at least initially. A new, unproven king was wise to adopt a policy of conciliation, to turn as many of his enemies as he could into allies, even temporary ones.
Philippe had not learned that lesson. He’d been unable to keep Richard from weaving a web of dangerous alliances and then entangling him in it. He’d been badly hurt by the defections of the counts of Flanders and Boulogne, by the enmity of Richard’s German allies in the Rhineland, and now by the hostility of the new emperor; Otto had pledged his support to John in any war against the French king. Most damaging of all was the anger of the new Pope; Innocent was set upon making Philippe put aside his “concubine,” Agnes of Meran, and acknowledge Ingeborg as his lawful wife and queen. But Philippe continued to defy the Church. Nor had he been conciliatory when he and John had met a week ago near Castle Gaillard. He’d agreed to recognize John as the rightful heir to Normandy, but only if John surrendered the Norman Vexin to him and agreed to make Arthur the liege lord of Anjou, Touraine, and Maine. Not only had John spurned such outrageous demands, he’d laughed in Philippe’s face. Eleanor would have enjoyed witnessing that.
Almost as if reading her mind, John looked up with a grin. “I’d love to be there to watch when Philippe learns that you’ve outwitted him and turned your homage into a shield to use against him.” Rising, he moved to the table and poured wine, serving her with a flourish and a jest about having a king as her cupbearer. She suspected there were still times when he could hardly believe it himself—that he was king at long last.
Eleanor took a sip, then saw that he was still watching her. “What is it?”
“I heard from the papal legate again. He claimed it was a warning, but it was actually a threat. You know that some of Philippe’s men captured the Count of Flanders’s ally, the Bishop-elect of Cambrai?”
Eleanor nodded. “That was foolish of the French, a needless provocation of a Pope who needs no urging to protect the Church’s prerogatives and privileges. But why should Cardinal Pietro threaten you for a crime committed by the French king?”
“My thoughts exactly. But it seems the Pope wants to appear evenhanded. He means to lay an Interdict upon France if Pierre de Corbeil, the bishop-elect, is not freed at once. And he warns that he will do the same for Normandy if I do not agree to set that polecat Beauvais loose.”
She’d known this day would eventually come, for Innocent III was strong-willed, shrewd, and not about to let a prince of the Church languish in a dungeon, even one he held in such low regard as the Bishop of Beauvais. Richard would never have freed him, but John had no personal stake in his continuing confinement, and so it was not surprising that he’d yield to the Pope in order to avoid an Interdict. It still left a bad taste in her mouth.
“I told the cardinal—a truly tiresome man—that I would take the Church’s demand under advisement. I shall have to let the swine go, but I mean to charge him two thousand marks for the cost of feeding him during those two years he was Brother Richard’s guest.”
When he laughed, Eleanor could not help laughing, too, imagining the bishop’s utter outrage at being billed for the time he’d spent in Angevin dungeons in Rouen and Chinon. John poured wine for himself, perching on the edge of the table. “One of my spies tells me that Guillaume des Roches is becoming discontented with Philippe’s high-handedness and may be amenable to switching sides again. Tell me, Mother, what did you say to the man at Tours?”
“I asked if it was true that Philippe had proclaimed him seneschal of Anjou. He admitted it but indignantly denied that he’d been influenced by this. I agreed that he was not a man to be bribed, that what mattered to him was honor. And I assured him that we value men of honor, too.”
John’s eyes shone golden in the sunlight streaming through the open window. Cat eyes, she thought, wondering if others said the same of her own eyes. When he confided that he’d be going into Maine next week and hoped he’d have an opportunity for a private talk with des Roches, she knew that he’d make sure the opportunity came to pass. He thrived on intrigue, this youngest son of hers. Mayhap too much so, for he’d shown a decided preference for the oblique approach, enjoying guile and subterfuge as much for their own sake as for what they could accomplish.
“Is it true what I heard, John, that the Earl of Chester has annulled his marriage to Constance?”