Before Plantagenet - Chapter 149
March 1111 - Bordeaux, France
As Geoffrey sat in his ducal chair, he did his best to resist a smile.
The main hall in Bordeaux was packed. It was not quite as filled as when King Hugues or King Thoræd were present, as today there was no royal visiting.
But people will always come to see punishment meted out, Geoffrey thought.
Especially if it is someone of stature - a good fall always makes for a show.
And the show was about to begin.
Herve and Foulques, dressed in their full armor, marched into the hall at a the head of a small group of knights and guardsmen. They flanked their prisoner, who was marched along in irons. Geoffrey imagined the prisoner would have preferred to get this over quickly, but Foulques and Herve deliberately took their time. The pace was slow, so that the insults, cursing and mockery from the crowd gathered could be properly taken in.
When they reached the base of the dais, Foulques stepped forward.
“Father,” he said. “I bring you a gift.”
One of the knights shoved Patricia de Poitou forward. Despite the irons, she did not appear in poor shape - her clothes were intact, her face and hair clean. That was not surprising - she had surrendered herself not far outside of Bordeaux after agreeing to terms… terms that her daughter would allowed to remain in Peronelle’s court unmolested.
And the Countess of Saintonge and Poitou held her head high as she was forced forward. A jab of the butt end of a spear forced her to her knees, but she did not make much more than a small grunt on its impact, despite the jeers from the hall.
Geoffrey raised his hands and the hall fell silent.
“My dear cousin,” Geoffrey began. “I am glad you have finally answered my summon!”
That joke drew a laugh from many in the hall, though it failed to reach raucous levels. Still, he saw smirks on both Foulques and Herve’s face. Even Marguerite, seated beside him, had a sly smile.
“Cousin, do you know your charge?” Geoffrey asked.
“Yes,” Patricia said, her head down.
“Look at me when you answer,” Geoffrey ordered.
Patricia’s head snapped up, her eyes shooting daggers with her glare. “Yes.”
“You plotted against my life,” Geoffrey said. “When I offered you forgiveness, you took up arms against me. What do you say to that?”
“I did not actively plot against you,” Patricia said as she continued to glare at him. “I heard of Gerolt’s plan. I did not tell you of it. But I did not raise a hand against you either.”
“So you say,” Geoffrey said. “But why should I trust the word of a woman who breaks her vassal oaths, and refused an audience, to take up arms when I offered forgiveness?”
“It was a mistake, clearly,” Patricia admitted.
“Yes, especially since Gerolt is dead,” Geoffrey said. “God has punished him. And now, he has punished you.”
If Patricia wished, she could have hurled an accusation of Geoffrey’s adultery which sparked Gerolt’s spark in the first place. But Geoffrey banked on his cousin wishing to secure the most lenient punishment possible, which would make her wary of being too defiant or insulting.
Sure enough, Patricia remained silent.
“You have broken your oaths in the most heinous way possible,” Geoffrey said. “What is a fitting punishment? I ask all of you, what is a fitting punishment for a traitor to our lands?!”
The crowd shouted a cacophony of things. There were plenty of calls to kill her, in a variety of ways - burning her, hanging her, beheading her… others said to strip her of her lands and there were calls of banishment.
“You want blood?!” Geoffrey shouted back at the hall. “Wife, does your aunt deserve death, or mercy?”
Marguerite, now practically bursting with child, shifted in her seat, perhaps as uncomfortable with the question as her full-term pregnancy made her feel.
“We are not kinslayers, my lord husband,” Marguerite said. “I think stipping her lands is punishment enough - she broke her oaths, so she should not be allowed to serve as your vassal.”
There were some cheers from hall, but many more boos and jeers. Geoffrey let the noise grow to a fevered pitch before again raising his hands to quiet the crowd.
“I have made my decision!” Geoffrey said. “Cousin, you have violated your oaths, and there can be no forgiveness.”
His eyes met Patricia’s. He could see the defiance was gone - replaced now by fear.
“Your lands are forfeit,” Geoffrey announced. “You are no longer Countess of Saintonge or Poitiers.”
There was no change in Patricia’s expression. She had to know that was coming. What came next would be ultimately what she dreaded.
“My wife… the lady may be perhaps too lenient,” Geoffrey said. “Too forgiving. But she is correct - House d’Anjou are not kinslayers. So you shall keep your life cousin.”
Patricia exhaled.
“But you cannot be trusted with your freedom,” Geoffrey said. “You will spend your days as a prisoner in this keep, until I see fit to release you.”
Patricia’s eyes widened as she began to shake her head. “My lord, no please! Let me leave, I swear upon my life… the life of my daughter I shall never plot against you!”
“Your word means nothing,” Geoffrey said. “As you have already broken your oaths. Take her away!”
Patricia screamed as the guards grabbed her, pleading with first Marguerite, who watched her unmoved, and then Adhemar, yelling that their mother would never let this happen to her beloved little sister.
Geoffrey noticed Adhemar, standing off to the side, lowered his head and frowned. It may well have affected him.
But Marguerite was stone faced. And Geoffrey knew what she was thinking… Aines de Poitou would not have pitied her sister - she may well have killed her outright for moving against her family.
The sounds of Patricia were drowned out quickly by the noise of the crowd, again a mix of cheers and jeers from those who were angry they did not get an execution. Her cries grew even fainter as she was dragged from the hall and led to the dungeons.
Geoffrey then stood up, and again motioned for the hall to fall silent.
“My father… the great Iron Duke Foulques of the Franks, the one thing defeat he suffered, was the loss of Saintonge,” Geoffrey said. “It was the one land, he never completely reclaimed. Today, I stand proudly to say, Father, I have completed your mission!”
That drew cheers from the crowd and applause from the councilors. Even Agnes nodded along.
“But!” Geoffrey said. “But I did not take this land, for myself. While I am happy to have fulfilled my father’s dream, it is not the way I wished it. And as such, I will not keep these lands for myself.”
He paused to take a glance toward Marguerite, who answered with a slight nod and smile.
“Foulques d’Anjou, my son, step forward,” Geoffrey instructed.
The teen fought hard to avoid showing too much joy as he moved again to the foot of the dais. Geoffrey descended to the step above, and Foulques dropped to a knee.
“My son, I believe you are ready,” Geoffrey said. “You have learned under my father, your grandfather. And you have spent the last year with me. Do you believe yourself ready to serve the people of Saintonge and Poitiers as their lord?”
“I am father,” Foulques said. “I mean, I do believe myself ready.”
Geoffrey smiled. “Then take my hand. And swear to me your oaths, remembering that our cousin serves as an example as to those who do not take those sacred vows seriously.”
…..
Not long after, Geoffrey and Marguerite stood alone in the strategy hall.
The pair awaited their son and his wife for a private audience. Geoffrey planned to deliver some advice to Foulques on what to expect when ruling. Marguerite also wished to impart on Æthelræda the importance of her support and loyalty for her husband.
Hypocritical a demand as it was in Geoffrey’s point of view, he had little desire to see his son suffer a similar fate to him when it came to wives.
But he did have one current concern of Marguerite - one that came to fore one more as Marguerite grimaced before leaning her hand on the large table in the center of the hall and gripping her belly.
“Are you alright?” Geoffrey asked.
“The child comes,” Marguerite said. “Soon, I think.”
Geoffrey’s brow rose. “Then we must alert the midwife.”
“I had Anne already instruct her,” Marguerite said. “They prepare my chambers now.”
“Then perhaps we should conduct this meeting there,” Geoffrey said.
“No, they prepare it for my labors,” Marguerite said. “This is to be a private conversation between ourselves, our son and his wife. I do not want others to overhear.”
“I do not wish you to risk yourself or the child,” Geoffrey said.
“My waters have not broken yet husband,” Marguerite said. “This child will not come before then.”
It did a little to put Geoffrey’s mind at ease, though it did not last long as another grunt escaped Marguerite’s lips. He could order her away, but deferred to the fact she had birthed three children before. This is woman’s work, after all, he mused.
Foulques and Æthelræda soon arrived, neither bothering to hide their joy over what had just transpired. Geoffrey had told them before he held court, but now that the deed had actually been done, it no doubt created a new feeling of euphoria.
“We apologize for making you wait, father, mother,” Foulques said. “So many interrupted us along our way here to give us their congratulations.”
“They would not miss the chance to get in the good graces of an important man,” Geoffrey said. “You were that before, but now you rise even further. One of the most powerful men in Aquitaine, Poitou and Anjou.”
Foulques gulped but maintained his smile, though his quivering lips betrayed his nerves.
“I shall not fail you father,” Foulques swore.
“If I thought you would, you would not have been raised,” Geoffrey said as he patted him on the back. “However, you are young. And your grandfather’s focus was on your future as a knight. So you must keep certain things in mind now that you rule over others as a count.
“It is important that they know you have power. But power wielded indiscriminately loses its effectiveness, whereas power exercised at certain times increases its potency.
“An example today - I emphasized I had offered forgiveness to my cousin. When she refused it, I had to be swift, and forceful. It reminds those present that I have the power, and will use if necessary, but that if they act accordingly, they have no need to fear it.”
“Thank you for that, father,” Foulques said.
“There are other things,” Geoffrey said. “Which you shall no doubt learn in time. Do not hesitate to ask of me if you have questions. And if I am with the king and cannot be reached, then Alias or your aunt Agnes are fine mentors as well. Both have served powerful men, ruled in their stead, and done so with great success.”
Foulques nodded. “I will father. I…”
“What is it?” Geoffrey asked.
“Thank you. I did not know if you would truly think me ready,” Foulques said. “But I know you never received such a thing from grandfather - that you had to take your birthright yourself. It means much for you to entrust me with this.”
Geoffrey smiled and again patted his son on the back.
“You are ready,” Geoffrey said. “Ready does not mean you will not make mistakes. But ready does mean you are prepared to learn from them.”
As sniffle drew their eyes to Marguerite, who wiped her eyes.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I notice I am much more prone to tears when carrying a child.”
“It is nothing to be forgiven for,” Geoffrey said.
Marguerite smiled and looked to Æthelræda. “Princess, and now countess, you too have responsibility. Your husband will bear much of the brunt of what is to follow - as both a knight, commander and now lord. And that is where you must take your role.
“You must be a wife who supports and understands. You must step forth when he needs you, to fill what he cannot. It is a duty that takes no rest.”
On cue, Marguerite grunted as another pain caused her to grip the table as well as her belly, causing Æthelræda to reach out and try to aid her. But in a few moments, Marguerite smiled at her daughter by law. “As you see with me now, quite heavy with child, I stand beside my husband to give him what he needs of me… and so too my son.”
Æthelræda nodded, though her face did appear somewhat fearful. Her inexperienced mind likely raced with possibilities and concerns. Marguerite must have realized it too, as she left her position leaning against the table to place her hand on the back of Æthelræda.
“You will need to learn him, if you have not already, to know how and best to do that,” Marguerite instructed. “It will take time. But I have no doubt that if you are a willing, loyal wife, it will come.”
She can be warm when she wishes to be, Geoffrey thought. But his attention was soon taken from her words and to the skirt of her dress, which he noticed now appeared to have gotten wet. He did not notice they had spilled any wine.
“I will endeavor to live up to your standard, my lady,” Æthelræda said.
Marguerite blushed. “You need to do better than that my dear. I am hardly a standard worth aspiring to.”
Æthelræda appeared confused, and Geoffrey realized the girl might not fully understand the history of his and Marguerite’s marriage. The worst of it happened when she was just a babe in England after all - and she may well not have been well versed in Frankish gossip.
But there would be no explanation as Marguerite grimaced again, and this time, the grimace did not fade. Instead her eyes bulged, she screamed and she was brought to her knees as Æthelræda quickly moved to hold her the best she could. Small and slight, the princess could not keep Marguerite from sinking all the way to the ground.
“Mother!” Foulques shouted as he rushed to her side.
“I am fine,” Marguerite said through rapid breaths. “Your sibling comes, is all.”
“Get the midwife!” Foulques ordered Æthelræda. “Send her to her chambers!”
“She is already there,” Geoffrey said. “Is that not right, wife?”
Marguerite nodded. “She is. I told her my time was nearly here and they are preparing my chambers now. Just tell her we are on our way.”
Æthelræda nodded before running off. Then Geoffrey and Foulques got Marguerite to her feet and slowly helped her toward the exit of the hall with Geoffrey reassuring himself that these things took time.
But Marguerite screeched at the top of her lungs, grabbed her belly and sank out of their grasp and to the ground. And it had been not long since her last cry of pain.
“It comes quickly,” she warned as she gritted her teeth. “I do not know that I shall make it to my chambers.”
“You shall mother, just be strong,” Foulques insisted.
It drew a glare from her. “I have birthed three children, yourself included, and stood here while my labors begin to impart wisdom upon you and your wife. I think I know strength, my son.
Foulques lowered his head, but then he and Geoffrey helped her to her feet. They had not yet made it to the door of the hall before Marguerite had ended up nearly falling once more, and crying out as she dug her fingers into the arms both her husband and son.
“Did you not have until your waters break?” Geoffrey asked.
“They broke while I spoke with Æthelræda,” Marguerite said.
Geoffrey’s eyes widened. He realized now the wetness he spotted on her dress.
Another cry and Marguerite fell to the floor. This time she came to rest on her rear, leaning forward to grip her belly while tears streamed down her shut eyes.
When she opened them, she gave Geoffrey a fearful look and simply shook her head.
“Enough,” Geoffrey said. “Son, go to your mother’s chambers and tell them to prepare here instead.”
Foulques looked uncertain, as if he did not wish to leave his mother. But she waved him off and the teen hurried from the hall. As he left, she grimaced again, gripping Geoffrey’s hand so tightly it hurt him.
“This child does not wish to wait,” she said between breaths. “Do not tell this to our eldest, but I think it wishes to steal his day.”
Geoffrey could not resist a chuckle at his wife’s humor. “Incredible that you remain in good spirits.”
“I do not jest husband,” Marguerite said, her lips forming no trace of a smile. “This child… I am certain now that it is a boy. And that he shall make for his brother’s lands in time.”
She screamed again as another pain coursed through her.
“He comes now,” she moaned. “I have done this three times before and this is how I felt just before the nun Adalmode told me to push. I do not know how much longer I can wait.”
Geoffrey did not know what to do. This was women’s business through and through. Women attended to an expectant mother. Woman waited on her needs. And a woman delivered the child.
And yet he was perhaps moments away from having to do all of those things… without the slightest idea on how to do it.
“I should not have sent Æthelræda away…” Geoffrey said. “She could have aided you.”
“What would she do?” Marguerite demanded. “She is a princess who, perhaps, has watched her mother birth a child before. She knows nothing.”
“But I know even less,” Geoffrey said. “I have never seen a woman birth a child. When your pains came with Foulques, you went with Adalmode and that was it. I was not even with you when it happened.”
Marguerite grunted and let loose a muffled scream before glaring at Geoffrey. “I do not think your son cares for your worry at the moment. Help me to the table, husband, please.”
His heart was racing so quickly, Geoffrey felt as if it might burst from his chest. But he did his best to steady himself as he guided Marguerite as she struggled to make her way back to the center of the strategy hall.
But just before they reached the table, the door opened and the midwife, along with Æthelræda, Princess Anne and Ness entered, carrying blankets. Foulques did as well, carrying the birthing chair.
The teen rushed forward and placed by his mother, who thanked him as he and Geoffrey lowered her onto it.
The midwife was forward quickly and examined Marguerite, with Geoffrey grabbing Foulques and forcibly turning his back from the proceedings.
“The duchess is right,” the midwife said. “This child does not wait. It will be here soon. We shall do this here, as Duke Geoffrey has generously allowed.”
“I trust you need little more of me, or my son,” Geoffrey said, his back still turned. He was going to call her by her name, but realized he did not know it.
“We shall take it from here, my lord,” the midwife said. “You may not wish to go far, however. I do not think it shall be long.”
Geoffrey then ushered Foulques from the hall and closed the door behind. By this point there were quite a few gathered the entrance to the hall, including Agnes, Alias and Adhemar. But Geoffrey instructed them all to depart, save for the councilors and his sister.
“What has happened?” Alias asked. “Word already spreads the duchess collapsed and is in great danger.”
“She is not,” Geoffrey said, though he was not certain his words were truthful. “The child comes much quicker than we expected. So she was not able to return to her chambers for the birth.”
“So it happens in there?” Agnes wondered.
“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “Would you like to enter, sister? Your expertise may well be valuable.”
Agnes pointed herself, as if surprised at the request. But she shook her head.
“I shall not intervene,” Agnes said. “That is the midwife’s domain. And I am not one of the duchess’ ladies.”
“How did my sister fare when you left her?” Adhemar asked.
“She was brave, she
is brave,” Geoffrey corrected himself. “There is no panic in her, even as she deals with the unexpected. It is… admirable.”
There was nothing but truth in his compliment. He never felt more respect toward Marguerite than he did at the moment, when she had a far more level head than he, even as she suffered through tremendous pain and uncertainty.
“Leave us,” Geoffrey said. “My son and I shall await the news. You shall all hear shortly.”
The three did as they were told, leaving father and son alone. Foulques rubbed his hands together and paced, looking back at the door. Though it was closed, he could hear muffled cries on the other side.
“Do you think mother is in danger?” he asked. “This is not how it is supposed to go.”
“The speed may be a good thing,” Geoffrey said. “I have heard stories of women who have difficult labors, struggle for days to birth the child. It often causes problems. That your brother wishes to come so quickly… I think it will bode well.”
“Brother?” Foulques asked.
“Forgive me,” Geoffrey said. “Your mother is convinced it will be a boy. But we shall see.”
And that’s all Geoffrey would mention of that talk. There was no need to poison the siblings to one another before one had even entered the world.
There was not much time to wait on that however, as the midwife’s analysis proved accurate. Geoffrey and Foulques soon heard the sound of a cry in the hall, but one that was not that of a woman’s.
The door soon opened with Anne poking her head out.
“My lord! It is a boy!” she said, wide smile on her face.
Geoffrey and Foulques took a glance at one another before the entered the hall. The midwife was just handing the child to Marguerite, who was sweating and still in her dress. However, Geoffrey noticed the skirt had been cut away, leaving her lower half exposed.
Geoffrey quickly spun Foulques around again so that he could not see his mother so… indecently.
“Forgive me,” Geoffrey said. “I suppose we were anxious to see that everything had turned out well.”
“The birth has,” the midwife said. “But there is still more to follow.”
“Twins?” Foulques asked.
“No,” the midwife said. “The afterbirth. I would suggest, my lord, that you make this short, and then leave us once more. Also, a litter, if possible, so that the duchess may be carried to her chambers.”
Geoffrey snapped his fingers. He should have thought of that before!
“Of course,” Geoffrey said. “We will leave you to your work.”
He leaned in quickly and kissed Marguerite on the forehead. “I do not know what to say.”
She managed a smile. “You did enough husband, I thank you. And you as well, my son.”
Foulques lowered his head but did not turn back to his mother. Geoffrey could see he blushed.
The two then left the hall and closed the door behind. Geoffrey instructed his son to inform his aunt, uncle and Alias of the news, which the teen did without the delay.
The duke turned back toward the now closed hall. As he heard the cry of the boy once more, Geoffrey breathed a sigh of relief.
