Before Plantagenet - Chapter 130
September 1106 - Melun, France
Restrain yourself.
Geoffrey had to tell himself these words over and over again as he sat in his chambers in the capital. Across from him was the portly old count of Artois, Robert, sipping on his cup of wine. He seemed smug, secure… confident.
With good reason, Geoffrey thought.
He acts as he pleases as if he is a great man of the realm, when he is nothing.
All it would take was Geoffrey to have one conversation with the king. In moments, Artois would be brought low.
He would be nothing… if he kept his life. He’d certainly lose his position in Flanders - those in the duchy who despised him would see him removed as regent.
It would feel good - Geoffrey could imagine the look on his face when Artois was confronted by the king - but it also would not get him what he had worked so hard to gain over these past few years - his dwarf half-sister as the duchess of Flanders.
And so Geoffrey sat, listening to the words leaving Artois’ lips, watching his fat neck jiggle as he spoke, and repeated his internal call of personal restraint over and over again.
“You seem quiet today, Duke Geoffrey,” Artois noted. “Normally you are full of conversation. I would think you pleased to discuss your successes against your cousin. Limousin is quite the tale, from what I have heard.”
Geoffrey did not even think he was worth the effort. “I am proud of our victory. But I am not one to brag about such things.”
“A good thing,” Artois said. “If I hear of Rouen once more in my life it will be too much.”
It was something that would normally get a chuckle from Geoffrey. This time, such a reaction was easy to resist.
“Best to let such things remain in the past,” Artois said. “And look to the future.”
What future for you, you old snake, Geoffrey thought.
“There is but one future I care about when I speak with you Count Robert,” Geoffrey said. “And that is my younger sister’s. What news do you have for me on that front?”
Artois’ lips formed a sly grin. “The young duke grows more amenable to a union. The prospect of both you and your father as friends is tempting.”
“I am glad it has only taken him a
few years to see it,” Geoffrey said.
“Children can be slow to learn,” Artois said.
“Especially if their teachers are poor,” Geoffrey said.
The grin faded from Artois face. He again drank from his cup before looking back at Geoffrey. “Though the boy becomes more amenable, he still hesitates without a firm commitment of friendship and alliance. So we remain as we were before.”
“My son?” Geoffrey asked. “To marry your granddaughter, Helvis daughter?”
“That remains the best way to prove your friendship to Flanders,” Artois said.
“Have you spoken to your daughter?” Geoffrey asked.
“Helvis speaks of your attempts to convince your father,” Artois said. “And while she vouches for them, I do not know if she is merely enraptured by your charm. After all, I would think that you would be able to convince your own father after all this time.”
“My father is stubborn,” Geoffrey said. “You must come to realize that perhaps there is not a union to be had there. If you wish to cost your duke the chance to be a friend of Anjou and Aquitaine… nearly the entire western half of the realm, that is your choice.”
“Is this not
your son, Duke Geoffrey? One would think if you wish for this union, it would happen,” Artois noted.
“It is a little more complicated than that,” Geoffrey said.
Artois now frowned. He placed his wine down and stood up from the table.
“I grow tired of these talks,” Artois said. “Perhaps it is time for us to move on from them, as you and your father do not appear serious.”
“I also grow tired of these talks,” Geoffrey replied. “Though I am quite serious about the desire to see my sister and the young Duke Arnulf joined. However, I do admit my interest in a union between my son and your granddaughter is something I value far less.”
“My stance is unchanged,” Artois said. “If your son is not wed to my granddaughter, then there is nothing to discuss.”
Geoffrey sipped his wine. “Helvis thought quite differently when I saw her last. She was quite concerned over what I had to discuss. I admit it ruined the glow she normally has after I bed her.”
Artois’ face suddenly reddened. “What… did you say?”
“The matter I told her?” Geoffrey asked. “Or that your daughter is my lover?”
Artois lunged forward but Geoffrey quickly maneuvered out of the way, making his way from his stool and a few feet away, all while not spilling his cup of wine.
“You lecherous dog,” Artois said. “She is a married woman!”
“And who are you to talk of married women?!” Geoffrey demanded. “You bed them throughout the realm. But when it is your daughter… suddenly
I am the dog?”
“You think you can taunt me with this?” Artois sneered. “Well, you will not guess who I have had in my bed!”
“The Queen of the Franks,” Geoffrey said.
Artois’ eyes widened. His mouth hung open and his hand was up, finger pointed toward Geoffrey as if he wished to level an accusation or insult… only to find himself caught off guard.
“I know not what you speak of Duke Geoffrey. Is this some sort of desperate play to convince me to back this union?”
“Make no mistake, I would never be so desperate for anything to make such a scandalous charge - unless it were true,” Geoffrey said.
“Your words are deceitful, you snake!” Artois shouted. “I shall let your father know who destroyed these talks as well. I imagine, given your fraught relationship, it will only give him greater cause to look beyond you in succession!”
Artois began to leave the chambers, but Geoffrey simply swirled his wine in the cup, keeping his guest in the corner of his eye.
“You meet her in the larder, after supper,” Geoffrey shouted to him. “She tells you that this is foolish - that she is just the daughter of a knight and should the king find out… but you insist, saying she knows how much she enjoys being with a man who is not stricken with the pox - a man who makes her scream her mother’s name in the throes of passion.”
Artois stopped in his tracks at the door. Slowly he turned back to Geoffrey, who did not look at him while he swirled his wine and approached.
“She is unable to resist,” Geoffrey said. “She gives in, so desperate is she for someone who is not a pathetically limp man in mind and body, that she lets your fat, old, flabby body ravage hers. All the while a child that is not the king’s grows in her belly.”
“You… cannot know…” Artois mumbled.
“I do know,” Geoffrey said. “You did not just use the larder. There was the time in her chambers… oh and that time in my father’s chambers because he was in Anjou and let us not forget using the king’s own bed while he fought bravely in Murcia!”
Artois lunged at Geoffrey again, but the portly old count was not as swift or agile as he. His continued attempts to get him came to an embarrassing halt when he crashed into the small table, his large belly knocking it over and spilling the pitcher of wine on it to the floor.
“If I catch you, I’ll strangle the life from you myself!” Artois threatened from the ground.
Geoffrey walked over to the fallen count and exposed himself. “You have your chance. I won’t resist. But… do you think I am the only one who knows this?”
“Who… who have you told?” Artois demanded.
“I’ve told quite a few people - people who know not to speak of word of it to the king without my order,” Geoffrey said. “An order that will go out automatically in the case of my premature death. Really, did you think I would confront you with this information without having that worked out?”
Artois glared at him, his teeth grinding together as he did so.
“What do you want?” he sneered.
“Arnulf as a husband for my half-sister Ermengarde,” Geoffrey said. “As we have been discussing for years now. As I have said, I’m tired. I wish this matter resolved. If it will not be you, then I may have better hope with the next regent for Arnulf - as he will certainly need a new one after the king is done with you.”
Artois shook his head, a scowl on his face. “Your monstrous half-sister shall be the boy’s wife.”
“Monstrous?” Geoffrey asked. “There is no need for such… hyperbole. My sister is small, but hardly a monster. And you will need to learn to address your future duchess with more respect.”
“Mark my words, you insolent welp, you will learn your place, one day,” Artois swore.
“Count Robert,” Geoffrey began. “I am the Duke of Aquitaine and Poitou. Heir to the Iron Duke of the Franks. Advisor to the king… You are the count of a single county, who, if I catch wind of you moving against me, will see me or someone else relay the truth to the king. You should be grateful I do not send you to your rightful place… which, given your crime, would not be pleasant - but… Helvis pleads for you, so I will listen.”
Artois got to his feet and grunted before he angrily stormed from the chambers. But Geoffrey just smiled. The deed was done.
Servants were called in to clean the mess on the floor. As they did so, Alias slipped in. His focus fell to the servants and the spilled wine before he looked to Geoffrey.
“It went well then?” he asked.
“My sister will wed Arnulf of Flanders, so yes,” Geoffrey said as he raised his cup to his chancellor.
“I saw Artois as he stormed off,” Alias said. “And your wine pitcher is on the ground. Did you taunt him with it?”
Geoffrey smirked and took a sip of his wine. The servants finished their cleaning as he did, and then departed the room. When the door closed, he answered: “That. And I may have let it slip that I have been bedding his daughter.”
Alias glared at Geoffrey and shook his head, to which the duke replied: “You cannot tell me he does not deserve it.”
“And what happens when he speaks of it to others?” Alias demanded.
“He will not,” Geoffrey said. “He would destroy Helvis’ reputation in the process. And make himself look the fool for agreeing to a marriage with my family anyway.”
“I should have remained here with you,” Alias said. “You antagonize him over rumors.”
“That he laid with the queen is hardly rumor,” Geoffrey said.
“It is not
the queen I speak of,” Alias replied.
“My father suspects nothing,” Geoffrey said. “Why should I?”
“‘Why’ is hardly a question when you already do,” Alias replied. “I understand your anger… but Agnes is grown and can make her own decisions. And… you do bed his pig of a daughter. Speaking of which… at least that is finished with.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Geoffrey said. “Given what he did with Agnes, perhaps I should return the favor by putting a bastard in her belly.”
“Focusing on personal squabbles, my lord, may not be the wisest of options,” Alias replied.
Geoffrey knew Alias was right. He had let his restraint fall when dealing with Artois. He shouldn’t have mentioned Helvis.
But he had it on good information that Artois had bedded Agnes, and was the father of her daughter, Helie, that she had born in the winter. His suspicions on Artois and the queen had led him toward seeking out information on the count and he had learned that in more private surroundings, Artois had bragged about bedding Agnes upon his trip to Anjou last year.
As much as it disgusted him to hear it, Geoffrey had little reason to doubt it - Artois had been to Anjou, and he’d heard from his own father that Agnes had practically hosted the count herself.
It mystified Geoffrey that his father did not suspect anything of it, but then Foulques seemed more forgiving to Agnes than he was with anyone else.
Geoffrey would not confront him on that - he did not wish anything negative to happen to Agnes after all. His frustration was over Henri leaving her unfulfilled and the circumstance of it all - if only he had been present in Anjou at that time. Surely she would have found comfort in his arms over a bald, fat, old man.
And he had looked forward to taking out his anger on Artois for this transgression. He knew it was hypocritical. And he knew it was foolish. But he could not resist.
Geoffrey sighed. “You are right, of course. But… I shall continue with Helvis. She is a useful tool. She cares little for her father, and will help us watch him.”
“I think she is not worth the trouble,” Alias said.
“Your concern is noted,” Geoffrey said. “We will see if you are proven correct.”
Alias frowned, but did not protest further. “Shall I send word to your father of your success regarding the marriage of your half sister to Arnulf of Flanders?”
“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “He will be pleased. Perhaps enough to actually recognize my success here?”
He finished off his wine and tossed the cup aside. Then he chuckled. “Probably not.”
“Recognition is nice, but it does not compare to tangible results,” Alias said. “The bond with Duke Arnulf is more valuable than your father’s congratulations. Just as he may think little of your victory over Peronelle, but Angouleme will be a fine consolation.”
“That she continues her fight is frustrating,” Geoffrey said.
“You cannot expect a madwoman to see reason,” Alias said. “But Thouars and Leonard lay siege to her keep in Marsan. And she lacks the strength to move against us, preferring to strike at her rebellious vassals keeps instead. Things go well.”
“Well enough,” Geoffrey said.
A knock on the door prompted Alias to answer it. On the other side was a messenger sent to tell Geoffrey the king requested his presence. Geoffrey told Alias they would continue their discussion later, and then made the walk to the king’s strategy hall.
The king was by himself, looking over a map of the realm. He glanced up at Geoffrey and shook his head.
“You know, Duke Geoffrey, when I came to power, I hoped to put the squabbling and infighting behind us, to forge a strong kingdom of the Franks,” the king said. “And now, while there are no rebellions against my rule, it appears many of my vassals face them. Your cousin Peronelle, my nephew Alphonse, my friend Toulouse… it pains me to see such things.”
It benefits you all the same, Geoffrey thought.
As long as they are looking inward, they cannot focus on you.
Still, he did get the sense the king was being genuine with his concern. Hugues was not an evil or malicious man - just out of his depth.
The king looked at Geoffrey once more. “They should look to you. I hear nary a peep from your vassals. Even your cousin Patricia does not rouse too hard against you.”
“She bides her time, I’m sure,” Geoffrey replied.
“Fair,” the king said with a sly grin.
“What do you need of me, my king,” Geoffrey asked.
“What do you think of Maine?” the king asked.
Hearing it always sent a chill down Geoffrey’s spine. It was the county his father had long desired to reconquer, but it was also where one of Geoffrey’s earliest personal conquests resided.
He was taken some 10 or so years back. It was a visit to Melun at the same time as Leonard de Bage, Count of Maine, and his wife, Countess Azelma, who he was furious with as the result of the countess birthing the bastard of Geoffrey’s cousin, Duke Gilles.
As it turned out, the countess must have liked the look of men with Angevin blood, as she and Geoffrey found their way into each other’s arms, and his bed.
It was a one time thing, but nine months later, a child, Joscelin, was born. It was a child the count believed to be his own - he actually considered him his heir. But there was no doubt of the child’s parentage - the countess had told Geoffrey of the truth when he visited Maine as the king’s chancellor.
Geoffrey always wondered if one day that secret would come to light - and thought it might each time he was asked about Maine out of the blue.
“I think it is a place i should visit again sometime,” Geoffrey said. “Do you have business for me there?”
“No,” the king said. “But your father believes it is rightfully his.”
“That is not news,” Geoffrey said. “He’s thought that since before I was born.”
“And now he demands it,” the king said. “He wishes me to hand over the county of Maine to him.”
Geoffrey’s eyes widened. “Does he?”
“You know nothing of it?” the king asked.
“If I did, I would have been properly preparing you for such a demand,” Geoffrey said. “As you know, I have not.”
That drew a laugh from the king. “Well met, Duke Geoffrey. In any case, your father petitions me that Count Leonard of Maine is rightfully his vassal. Even though the count has been a direct vassal of my family ever since my brother reclaimed Normandy. What do you say to that?”
Geoffrey had to be careful. Anything he said in support of his father could draw the ire of the king. But anything against his father would make its way back to Foulques for sure.
“Maine was a holding of my family from the days of my great uncle,” Geoffrey said. “It, by du jure right, is part of Anjou. But, you are the king. Ultimately how territories under the royal demesne are partitioned falls to your authority, and no one else.”
“You lay out a situation that is known to me,” the king said. “So would you give it to your father or not?”
It appeared the king would not accept a half-answer here. So Geoffrey took a deep breath and replied: “Maine is troublesome. He has not gotten over your firing him from the council so quickly. He will be an annoyance, and his levy is not worth the potential trouble he will bring. I would give my father what he wants to be rid of two problems - Maine and securing my father’s loyalty.”
The king brow rose and he stroked his beard. “Thank you Duke Geoffrey, that is all.”
Geoffrey bowed before the king and made his exit from the hall. The abrupt end to the conversation left him uneasy.
He spoke the truth to the king. Maine likely was not worth the trouble and giving Foulques his long desired county would permanently bind him to the crown, perhaps even tighter than Philippe had.
But Geoffrey was uncertain the king would hear it that way. He might well see it as the son of Foulques advocating for his father - or the future duke of Anjou scheming for another county.
Geoffrey sighed. The die was cast - he would now just have yet another worry about Maine to deal with.