Eleanor was seated upon the dais in the great hall beside England’s chief justiciar, Gautier de Coutances, Archbishop of Rouen. The members of the great council were finding seats on the wooden benches and she watched them closely, wondering how many of them would remain loyal to her son. The men in the first row were the other justiciars: Hugh Bardolf, William Briwerre, Geoffrey Fitz Peter, and William Marshal.
Beside them sat Richard’s half brother Geoff. Eleanor knew he bore no love for Richard, but he loathed John far more, for he’d been fiercely loyal to the man who’d sired him, and had seen John’s betrayal as Henry’s death blow. Richard had honored Henry’s dying wish and saw to it that Geoff was elected Archbishop of York, a post for which he was spectacularly ill-suited. Henry’s insistence upon seeking for Geoff a career in the Church was, Eleanor thought sadly, further proof of how little he’d understood any of his sons, however much he’d claimed to love them. Geoff’s brief tenure as archbishop had so far been a turbulent one, for he had inherited the Angevin fiery temper and had no qualms about excommunicating those who offended him.
One of those he’d excommunicated was sitting in the next row: Hugh de Puiset, Bishop of Durham. Hugh was one of those worldly prelates who saw the Church as a career, not a vocation. He was highborn, handsome, and affable. He was also luxury-loving, arrogant, quarrelsome, and indifferent to scandal; he had four illegitimate sons and a longtime mistress he’d never attempted to hide. He’d accumulated great wealth and when Richard was raising as much money as he could for the crusade, Hugh had purchased the earldom of Northumberland for two thousand marks, prompting Richard to jest that he’d made a new earl out of an old bishop. Eleanor could not have imagined turning to Hugh for spiritual guidance, but his political skills might be useful in the coming struggle to free her son. Could he be trusted, though?
Close by were two other bishops who shared the same name. Hugh de Nonant, Bishop of Coventry, was believed to be hand in glove with John. Self-interest was his true religion and Eleanor thought he’d abandon John if it seemed likely that Richard would be returning to claim his kingdom. Yet if Hugh de Puiset and Hugh de Nonant were cynical wheeler-dealers, the third Hugh was that rarity, a powerful prelate who exuded a genuine odor of sanctity. Hugh d’Avalon’s bishopric of Lincoln was a wealthy one, and he was no innocent Lamb of God midst the court wolves. He was not afraid to speak up in defense of his diocese or his Church, even if that meant facing down an angry Angevin king. But he was living proof that charm could be its own shield, for his boldness was tempered with humor, his candor infused with his innate understanding of human nature. Henry had become so fond of his vexingly independent bishop that gossip turned Hugh into another of the king’s bastard sons. It was not so—Hugh was only seven years Henry’s junior—but both men had been amused by the rumors and Eleanor suspected that her husband had half wished they were true. Whatever doubts she harbored about his fellow bishops, Eleanor had none about Hugh of Lincoln.
Her appraising gaze moved then from the princes of the Church to the barons of the realm. Hamelin de Warenne was Richard’s uncle, one of Geoffrey of Anjou’s by-blows. Henry had done well by his half brother, wedding him to a wealthy heiress who brought him an earldom, and Eleanor thought his loyalty to Richard was steadfast. She’d never been impressed by William d’Aubigny; although the earldom of Arundel was an important one, the man himself seemed to leave few footprints. Randolph de Blundeville was the grandson of a woman who’d been one of her closest friends, Maud, Countess of Chester, and therefore a cousin to Richard. He was also the husband of Eleanor’s former daughter-in-law, Constance of Brittany, theirs a marriage of Henry’s making, and one of mutual loathing if gossip was to be believed. He was young—only twenty-three—and so far he’d played no active role in the governance of the realm, neither taking the cross with Richard nor taking part in the downfall of Richard’s chancellor, Guillaume de Longchamp. But his extensive holdings on both sides of the channel made him a great magnate and, therefore, a man to be watched.