Before Plantagenet - Chapter 175
January 1117 - Anjou, Duchy of Aquitaine
As Geoffrey sat in silence in his father’s former chamber in Anjou, in his former chair no less, he found himself dreading the words he was about to say.
I should not be in this position, he thought.
My brothers… they seem intent on making my life miserable.
Misery was not something he had expected when they all had returned to Anjou to winter after the successful summer campaign. Following the victory at Bayeux, the Bretons, despite Agustin’s death, or perhaps because of it, had regrouped into a cohesive fighting force.
Of course, that may have been ill-advised - it just made them easier to destroy The Angevin forces had again come upon them at Paimpol and dispatched them with ease. Spies reported to Geoffrey the Bretons had been reduced to under 500 - a force which might be able to raid, but do little else. They certainly could not threaten the Angevin army, nor could they make any progress in Normandy.
Granted, it had not all been good news. Despite the rise of young Padric as the new King of the Bretons, his allies had not abandoned him. While they made no promises of the future, the Irish counts and the King of Navarre claimed they would continue to assist him against Geoffrey - for whatever that was worth since the Irish remained across the channel and Navarre were still fighting in Iberia.
Still, when the spring came, Geoffrey was confident the renewed push would finish off this conflict. It would be mostly siege work - bringing Cornouaille and possibly the king’s keep in Leon under their control - but the hard work was hopefully complete.
All of which allowed Geoffrey to enjoy himself in the keep of his birth. The large number of knights and important soldiers present gave it a livelier feel than it had in some time. That was both good and bad - as his father’s life faded into the past, Geoffrey felt less of a desire to see Angers appear inferior to Bordeaux. In fact, seeing it like this reminded him of the good times of his childhood - before his mother Beatritz died. Before he learned of his father’s ills. Before it all turned bitter.
The bad was the servant girls… he suspected there would be many bastards born in the summer and fall as the result of this visit.
That was to say nothing of the potential bastard he might sire in Haldora during his stay, though, as it was with Agnes, given her age, Geoffrey did not think it was likely.
The former duchess probably did not mind - one less trouble to concern herself with in the future. Indeed, the lady of the keep appeared to be in fine spirits as she acted as if she were the duchess, often by Geoffrey’s side, including during meals.
It was something that had been uncommon during the later years of his father’s reign - Haldora being seated by his side as his wife and duchess. And though she certainly was not a duchess today, while Geoffrey remained in Angers, Haldora was his wife in all but name.
Given that his affair with her was no secret, Geoffrey felt little need to be discrete about things. She held his hand during their time together, they often shared a bed.
It was not in everything - she did not sit beside him when he held court for matters relating to the county as that would look especially poor on Marguerite - but it was enough to leave Haldora pleased with her current lot.
And that, in turn, left Geoffrey pleased. While his former stepmother did not excite him like Agnes did, she proved herself comparable to Marguerite, and, unlike his wife at times, appeared eager for his company and touch.
But there was a problem - a problem which had reared its bearded head in Geoffrey’s chambers days before.
“Do you have need of something?” Geoffrey had asked after his brother had barged into the chamber with a short knock, barely worth a courtesy.
“My mother,” Foulquesson replied.
“You have need of her?” Geoffrey asked. “An odd request to make to me, but I am sure she is available.”
“It is just, she is so often with you these days,” Foulquesson said. “I thought I might find her here.”
The duke’s reply was a long, silent gaze at his younger half-brother, followed by a slow, rhythmic tapping with his fingers on the table.
He had wondered if this conversation would come from either of Haldora’s sons. Philippe, Geoffrey suspected, would not challenge him, even if he wished it. But Foulquesson… he was feeling bold these days.
“So… you are your blunt self, with this matter,” Geoffrey said as he stared Foulquesson down. “Your language is inappropriate, especially in regards to your own mother.”
“She is
your mother too, you realize,” Foulquesson said.
“No, she is
only your mother,” Geoffrey said. “When the lady became father’s wife, I was already a man grown, with a wife of my own.”
“A wife you forsake,” Foulquesson said.
“Be that as it may,” Geoffrey continued. “The lady is hardly my mother. I never viewed her as such.”
“It is still a sin to lay with your father’s wife, is it not?” Foulquesson demanded.
“It would be, if father still lived,” Geoffrey said. “Or if I had been with her while he did. But I was not. Your mother is unmarried, lonely and pleased with our… dealings. She is no child, and neither are you. There is nothing to concern yourself with.”
“It is my mother,” Foulquesson said. “I think there is plenty for me to be concerned about.”
“And what is it that concerns you?” Geoffrey demanded.
“You take advantage of her,” Foulquesson said. “Sully her good name by turning her into a harlot. A mistress… a…”
“A duchess,” Geoffrey said. “At least here in Angers, where I gave her free reign of the keep to oversee. I take no advantage of her - she would not allow such a thing. You should know that, if you know her.”
But that was just it - Foulquesson probably didn’t know her that well. Geoffrey knew his father had kept his two sons separated from their mother quite a bit as husband and wife grew more estranged. He was merely disgusted by the idea his brother and mother were having an affair.
“I want it to stop,” Foulquesson said.
Geoffrey eyed him. “Remember who you speak to - I am your brother, yes. But I am your liege lord, first and foremost. It is not you who gives commands to me.”
Foulquesson’s reddish hue in his cheeks, something he had inherited from his mother, grew brighter. “She is my mother!” he shouted. “Not some harlot who you can use when you see fit!”
“She is my lover!” Geoffrey replied. “By her choice, and mine!”
He closed his eyes took a deep breath to regain his composure. Then when he opened them, he gave Foulquesson another long look.
“I will hear no more of this,” Geoffrey said. “What the Lady Haldora and I do is our business, and not yours. It will never be your business.”
“My brother and I cannot stand here and…”
“You
will stand there,” Geoffrey said. “And you will accept my judgment in this matter. That is final.”
“So I am your servant, and not your brother?” Foulquesson demanded.
“Take it up with her,” Geoffrey said. “I do not force her. If you wish for her to stop, then request she do so. I do not think you will like her reply, however.”
Foulquesson glared at him. “I shall speak with her. And we shall see what she says.”
“I look forward to her response,” Geoffrey said.
And with that there was little else to be said. Foulquesson stormed from the chamber and Geoffrey sank back into his chair, taking a long drink of wine, then pouring himself another cup.
He may have wondered when this was coming, but it certain did not make dealing with it any easier.
Geoffrey did wonder if Haldora would be pushed to stop by her son. But that evening, she offered no hesitation, only eagerness, as she told him: “I may be a north woman, but it is cold enough in these winter months where I could do with a warm body beside me.”
Geoffrey was more on top than beside, but the point was taken all the same. And after their coupling had finished, she gripped him tightly, refusing to leave much gap between their bodies. It left Geoffrey smirking.
“Is something funny?” Haldora wondered.
“I… well it is nothing,” Geoffrey said. “I was just thinking of how someone told me they would do something today, and I do not think they did.”
“Something?” Haldora asked. “Who?”
“Foulquesson,” Geoffrey said.
“Oh, that,” Haldora replied.
“What? What did he tell you?” Geoffrey demanded.
“That I stop coupling with you,” Haldora said. “I told him it was none of his business. He did not like that… but he has no say here. So he stomped off, as he does.”
It was somewhat surprising how glibly she referred to it. Foulquesson was an intimidating figure… and Haldora seemed to brush him off, as if he were a child.
Then again, he was
her child, so that likely was the cause of it.
“You have spirit,” Geoffrey said. “Not many would tell him ‘no’ so easily - not after he took a Prince of the Franks’ hand.”
“He is my son,” Haldora said. “I birthed him. I nursed him… for a time anyway. Besides, I spoke far harsher to his father - who could have done much worse to me than my son can.”
“He can still do plenty bad,” Geoffrey lamented. “And now that I think on it, I think Philippe has been awkward around me. As if he is bothered by it all.”
“I am not surprised,” Haldora said. “They ignore it while they are away. But these last few weeks, they have been confronted by the reality of it. I imagine it is unnerving.”
Geoffrey arched a brow. “So you agree with them?”
“I did not say that,” Haldora said before pressing herself against him harder. “They may be frustrated by what they have witnessed, but it is not their concern. I do not live in their keep… I live in yours.”
“Do you do this because you feel required?” Geoffrey wondered.
“No,” Haldora replied. “I do it because I enjoy it… more than I ever was able to with your father.”
“Your reputation has suffered,” Geoffrey said. “That matters, does it not?”
“I was unhappy before,” Haldora said. “And my reputation was that of a limp fish, unable to satisfy your father. Now? At least I get some happiness when you come. It may be less often than I like, but it is more enjoyable than my life before.”
She kissed him on the neck, but he did not reciprocate. His brother’s anger remained with him.
“If it troubles you so,” Haldora began, “perhaps talk to their half-brother?”
Geoffrey paused for a moment, as he realized she could not have been referring to him. “Guilhem?”
“Yes,” Haldora said. “He is annoying instigator, much like his shrew of a mother. They think themselves more than they are - she thought herself a duchess, and he thinks himself equal to you or my sons, even though he is a bastard.”
Well, he is legitimized, Geoffrey thought.
“I care not that your father gave him inheritance rights,” Haldora said. “He will never escape what he is.”
Geoffrey’s brow arched - as it was almost as if she read his mind.
“What has Guilhem done?” he wondered.
“I have seen him make mention of us to both my sons,” Haldora said. “Especially to young Philippe, pointing us out as we speak to one another at supper. He antagonizes them, I am sure of it.”
Geoffrey grunted. He had not noticed it himself, but what Haldora spoke of made sense. Guilhem’s desire to surpass his brother likely involved more than just plots and backstabbing - any type of psychological warfare would do. And this would drive a wedge between Geoffrey, Foulquesson and Philippe - positioning Guilhem to benefit.
“He likely does,” Geoffrey admitted. “I will speak to him.”
“Good,” Haldora said. “I get so little time with you. It is a pity if you spend most of it spoiling your handsome face with lines of worry.”
They had returned to their love-making after that, and while Haldora fell asleep with a wide grin on her face, Geoffrey endured a restless night. That frustration continued through the early morning, until Guilhem was finally summoned to Geoffrey’s chambers.
“No wine?” Guilhem asked as he entered.
There was a smile on Guilhem’s face. But Geoffrey did not reciprocate, replying with a harsh “sit.”
Guilhem’s brow rose, and he fell silent as he did as he was told. Geoffrey leaned forward, his fingers forming a triangle under his chin.
“What have you been telling our brothers in regards to their mother?” Geoffrey demanded.
“You mean Foulquesson and Philippe?” Guilhem asked. “I do not… have anything to really say about the Lady Haldora. She has been a fine host to us. Why, is there a problem with her?”
“No problem with her,” Geoffrey said. “Just the problem you help create with her children… and the comments you make to them about her relationship with me.”
Guilhem lowered his eyes. “Oh… those.”
“Yes, those,” Geoffrey said. “Why do you insist on antagonizing them?! Especially Foulquesson… given his temper.”
“It was a gentle ribbing,” Guilhem said. “Nothing more. It is hardly my fault he took it too far.”
“Nothing you do is gentle,” Geoffrey said. “You two are alike in that way.”
“I assure you, we are quite different,” Guilhem said. “It is his way. He can’t overcome his Norse blood. We on the other hand… the descendants of Rome, as you’ve pointed out.”
While it was true - Ness’ children were of Occitan descent after all - Geoffrey could not help but see this as a rather obvious attempt to appeal to his vanity.
“When I look at Foulquesson… I do not see a viking from the old tales,” Geoffrey said. “I see a man who lives up to his name. He is father’s son. And father often held grudges over insults, real and merely perceived. So now you do us both harm - your insult draws me into this mess.”
“You… do not fear him… do you?” Guilhem asked.
“No,” Geoffrey replied flatly. “I fear that either of you will push me toward having to take action against you. I have little desire to come down hard on family, especially my brothers. But I have my limits. And the two of you seem intent on testing them on this campaign!”
Guilhem frowned. “It is not my fault he is a murdering brute! Or that his mother openly lays with a married man.”
“You should mind your words,” Geoffrey said. “Need I remind you that your mother did the same - the very act responsible for you and your brother. And, let us not forget that your mother has been accused of violating her own vows with her current husband.”
Guilhem lowered his head. “Those are rumors…”
“That she was my father’s mistress?” Geoffrey asked. “I think you prove that those rumors are very much fact.”
“No, I meant the other talk,” Guilhem said. “The talk of the late Count of Narbonne.”
“I have it on good word that it is true,” Geoffrey said. “So I would not cast stones, if I were you.”
The word was that of both Marguerite and Agnes - two women who rarely agreed on anything. So Geoffrey had no doubt of the validity.
Never mind the fact that Ness had previously thrown herself at him. No… had he chosen differently, this might be Guilhem in Foulquesson and Philippe’s position.
“I… I will avoid mocking them in the future,” Guilhem said.
“Good,” Geoffrey said. “Let us hope the damage is not already done.”
Unfortunately, Geoffrey soon got the sense it might be. His conversations with both Foulquesson and Philippe proved short in the days that followed. At supper, he could feel their eyes upon him as he sat with Haldora. So too did he see their stares… or their averted gaze… when they came upon him in the morning, knowing he had been with their mother the night prior.
It was awkward for them, and Geoffrey could see based on how quickly they moved past him, how cold their greetings and words were, that it was infuriating as well.
They would be in Angers for just another few weeks, he thought. If I can wait this out, it will fade from memory - time heals such wounds.
But it didn’t alleviate his stress. In a year’s time, Foulquesson may well have two counties at his disposal. And while Philippe would only be a consort to the Countess Sarrazine of Thouars, he might still be able to wield considerable influence. Even if he didn’t… Sarrazine may not look to favorably upon Geoffrey, given he had fired her father as marshal for his extortion of the peasantry…
If, if, if, he thought.
So many ifs. I worry over nothing, most likely.
Most likely… most likely Foulques the Younger was not going to be wounded in a fight where they held a tremendous advantage in Iberia. And yet...
Those thoughts weighed on Geoffrey’s mind as he again sat in his father’s old chambers, this time with his father’s widow. They were not in bed, as was often the case, but instead seated across from one another at the table, each with cup of wine in hand, though Geoffrey had yet to drink from his.
“What troubles you?” Haldora wondered.
He looked at her and was taken back to years before… when he thought her pretty enough when she first arrived. Cute, naive young girl, his age, to marry his boor of a father.
She was still pretty enough, but she was far from young or naive anymore - if she ever was on the latter. But he cared for her, or he believed he did.
Yet, he knew it was time to speak the words he dreaded to say.
“I do not think my brothers have been sated by my attempts to mediate the situation,” Geoffrey said.
Haldora rolled her eyes. “Did you truly expect them to?”
“I had hoped to soothe the situation,” Geoffrey admitted.
“Time and distance shall do that,” Haldora said. “Soon my eldest will be focusing on ruling his new lands, while Philippe sees to a new wife and new responsibility. It will fade soon enough.”
“No, not soon enough,” Geoffrey said. “In the meantime, the wound deepens - and it will leave scars. It cannot be allowed to happen, for such scars could outlive us. It could affect my son.”
Haldora narrowed her gaze. “What are you saying?”
Geoffrey sighed. “I believe we need consider the nature of our relationship.”
Haldora’s brow furrowed further. “You are ending things between us?”
“Most things shall not change,” Geoffrey explained. “You will maintain your authority here in Anjou while I am away.”
“Most things… but something will,” Haldora said.
“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “We can no longer carry on this affair.”
“So I am to be sacrificed?” Haldora asked. “Because you fear my sons will be… angry?”
“I court disaster,” Geoffrey said. “I do not need to give them incentive to plot against me, and both may end up in position to do so. I can handle such things… but can my son?”
“If you raise him well enough,” Haldora replied.
“I could raise him perfectly,” Geoffrey said. “There are things that one can only learn through experience. And it is experience he will not have.”
Haldora simply shook her head. “Excuses.”
“I am sorry,” Geoffrey said. “I truly am. You have suffered much at the hands of my family. None of it deserved - not for a woman of your grace and beauty.”
“Your words may be sweet, but their message bitter,” Haldora noted.
“I know,” Geoffrey said. “And while you may not believe it… it pains me to do this as well. I have said it before, but I often wonder a world where you were made my wife and not my father’s. Where would we be now? Happy, with a large family? I think…”
“I think your fanciful thoughts are not worth entertaining,” Haldora replied. “I am not your wife, and never have been. We cannot tear out the past and place something new in its stead. If you wish for me to remain your lover, I shall. But do not try to get me to mourn something that never was, so that I might forget your deeds tonight.”
Geoffrey nodded. “Then I shall leave it there. But I do offer you whatever you wish to make it right. I can find a husband from my court if you wish to end your loneliness.”
“Whatever you wish,” Haldora said. “I am but your humble servant, my lord.”
“There is no need for that,” Geoffrey said. “I simply wish to do right by you.”
“Have you considered there is no way to do right by me?” Haldora asked. “That what I wish… what I have come to enjoy… is the rare times we have been together? That I have finally discovered what passion and affection finally are after all these years, and you cannot simply replace that?”
“Someone else may be able to provide you with that.” Geoffrey said.
“No,” Haldora said. “You may wish to console yourself with some pithy replacement. But I do not care for it.”
She stood up and turned to leave.
“Haldora, please do not make this harder than it is,” Geoffrey told her.
She stopped in her tracks, and paused for a moment before turning to face him.
“My apologies, my lord,” she said as she bowed. “I should remember your needs come first, above all else’s. Then perhaps my sons’, and their bastard half-brothers. Eventually, something will fall to me. And I am grateful for it.”
“That… is not true,” Geoffrey said.
Haldora smirked and then spun around, departing the chamber and slamming the door behind her.
….
“It is done,” Geoffrey said late that afternoon.
He stood with his eldest half-brother on the ramparts of Anjou with only a pair of guards present - a spot Geoffrey knew their father loved. It provided a lovely view of the countryside - something Geoffrey himself could appreciate.
Of course, today it was rather uncomfortable. A bitter January wind swirled underneath an overcast sky. Even Foulquesson, Norse blood and all, shivered under his furs, though he mustered a smile upon hearing the news.
“I am grateful for that,” Foulquesson said. “It is good you listen to reason.”
“I accept that it was a delicate matter,” Geoffrey said. “She is your mother after all… and you are blood.”
“You are wise brother,” Foulquesson said.
Geoffrey could see Foulquesson turning his head toward him from the periphery of his vision, but the duke did not reciprocate.
“You will also need to be wise in the future,” Geoffrey said. “For while I allowed this special circumstance, I will not going forward. Do you understand?”
“Of course, brother,” Foulquesson said.
“I do not think you do,” Geoffrey said, still not facing him. “You are not to question my personal affairs. If you dare do so again, there will be no conversation, no debate… no warning…”
Geoffrey pushed his brother forward, causing Foulquesson to lose his balance and stumble toward the edge of the ramparts.
In an instant, the rising Count of Vannes will be nothing but a bloody stain on the earth below, Geoffrey mused.
But at the last moment, Geoffrey yanked him back, sending his brawny younger brother to the stone on his rear, but still on the ramparts.
Before Foulquesson could get back to his feet, the guards stood beside Geoffrey, their spears at the ready.
“What is this?!” Foulquesson demanded.
“A reminder,” Geoffrey said. “Mind your place in the future, and that is all it shall be.”
The duke said nothing further as he turned and returned to the keep proper, leaving his stunned brother on his rear, in silence.
Very interesting and imaginative way to play an otherwise simple battle death - sounds like it is leading on to (or part of) a deeper game. Is there a lurking puppet master pulling Foulquesson’s string here, or is it indeed inborn rat cunning?
