Chapter 211: You Have To Calm Down
"Your Majesty," Geoffrey said carefully, "you have to calm down."
"A splendid suggestion. Have you considered writing it into law?"
"We need to investigate whether the order came from the royal family itself."
"No," Henry said.
Geoffrey stopped speaking. Lionel, who had already turned halfway toward the door, paused as well.
Henry held the seal in his palm and stared down at it. "Send a message through the ambassador...Inform him that there has been an attempt on the life of the King of England. If I do not receive an answer within a month," Henry continued, "we go to war."
Even Lionel looked startled. Stephen’s eyes widened in silent horror.
Geoffrey recovered first. "Your Majesty, we cannot go to war so soon after the royal wedding."
Henry lifted his eyes. "Says who?"
"You will be newly allied with France," Geoffrey said carefully. "The kingdom will be in celebration. Foreign envoys will still be present. The treasury is not prepared for a sudden campaign."
"As far as I am concerned," Henry said, voice hardening, "an attack was made on English soil against the Crown."
"You were not the intended target."
"I do not care who was intended." Henry’s hand closed around the seal. "The assassin fired upon my party, under my protection, within my kingdom. Whether the arrow was meant for me or for Miss Valenti, the insult remains the same. If their response is not satisfactory, if they attempt to hide behind silence, or diplomacy, then we shall have no choice."
Geoffrey sighed. "I suppose...we cannot keep this from the Queen Mother anymore."
Henry’s face closed at once. "She will learn of it when she needs to learn of it." He turned toward the door, still holding the seal, he strolled out of the drawing room.
Geoffrey and Lionel held each other’s gaze. Neither man spoke. There was no need. This did not bode well.
This was bad.
During Henry’s coronation, half the court had whispered that England might finally enjoy a reign of peace. The young king had seemed too gentle for needless bloodshed, too diplomatic to repeat the proud mistakes of kings before him. He had listened where others had shouted. He had negotiated where others had threatened.
Lionel looked toward the door Henry had just left through. "Does he really mean that?"
Geoffrey rubbed a hand over his face. "Yes."
"We will go to war?"
"If they give him cause, yes."
The unpleasant truth stood between them. An attack had been made on English soil. Whether the intended victim was His Majesty or Miss Valenti, the insult had touched the Crown.
Nations had gone to war over less.
Much less.
Both men stood in grim silence.
Geoffrey straightened his coat. "We had better find out precisely which Italian house that seal belongs to."
Lionel nodded once. "I will send men to the ports."
*****
Theodora was at Westminster Abbey to ensure the church was being prepared properly for the royal wedding.
The ceremony had to be flawless. The common people would have their public celebration in the town hall and streets, with music, food and wine. The nobility, however, would be received afterward inside Whitehall’s great hall.
Theodora had seen to nearly everything already. She had just finished speaking with the Archbishop on the church steps when Madeleine approached. Theodora offered her farewells to the Archbishop.
The poor man bowed, murmured the proper blessings, and looked relieved to be returning to the safety of God.
She descended the church steps, her attendants falling into place behind her. The carriage waited at the foot of the steps, polished dark wood and royal crest gleaming beneath the pale afternoon light.
The French princess stood to one side, dressed beautifully. Theodora continued walking. It was important that Madeleine understand her place. Soon enough, the girl would wear England’s crown by marriage, and foolish people might start calling her powerful. "Your Grace," Madeleine called.
Theodora paused with one gloved hand already near the carriage door. Slowly, she turned. "Princess...I almost did not see you there."
Madeleine smiled. "You have made your point, Your Grace."
"Have I?"
"Yes. I accept defeat as gracefully as I can."
Theodora regarded her for a moment. The princess was trying to sound serene. It was rather sweet. "There is nothing graceful about losing, dear," Theodora said. "Only degrees of humiliation. What matters is how elegantly one collapses beneath it."
"And you, my dear, did not lose elegantly. You crashed and burned in the face of true royalty."
"The royal wedding is almost here," Madeleine said. "We are going to be family."
"Yes," Theodora replied. "A tragedy we are all bearing with public dignity."
Madeleine drew in a breath. "Can we please bury the hatchet?"
"What exactly does that mean?" Theodora asked. "Bury the hatchet? Are we supposed to suddenly become friends?"
"Think about it," Madeleine said. "You placed a harlot in the king’s bed," she continued, "because you wanted me humbled."
"You have won the war, Your Grace," Madeleine said. "I accept that. You wished to make me bow, and I am bowing. But what about the battle? Do you realise what you have done?"
Theodora looked briefly amused. "Do not trouble yourself over what I have done. Worry about yourself, dear. You are the one who will suffer." "When the king tires of this one," Theodora continued, "he will find another. And believe me, I shall help him. Whatever my son wants...he gets."
Henry was not merely Theodora’s son; he was her instrument, her legacy, her last remaining claim to the power she had once tasted and never stopped craving.
"As I said," she replied softly, "I am done fighting, Your Grace."
"How wise."
"What is it you want from me?" Madeleine asked.
Theodora tilted her head. "The throne, my dear."
Madeleine laughed. She could not help it. "It would seem rather odd...if the king’s mother were the one to sit beside him."
"I mean the power that comes with the throne," Theodora said.
