Here Be Dragons - 1

been generous in the past, will be sure to give you something after."She hesitated. "But in all honesty, his temper's like to be on the raw. God knows, he has reason and more, with his father ailing, with Richard and theFrench King encamped outside Tours, just a day's
36march from here. Richard has much to answer for, in truth. To war upon his own father . . ." She shook her head. "At least John is loyal."HENRY moaned, turned his face into the pillow. His shirt was soaked with sweat; so, too, were the sheets, damp and darkly splotched. A servant had removed his shoes and chausses, and his legs looked absurdly white and frail, utterly incongruous supports for that barrel chest, those massive shoulders.But even that once-mighty chest seemed somehow shrunken, diminished. It was impossible for John to recognize in this bedridden invalid the father who'd cast so colossal a shadow, larger than life, omnipotent: King of England, Lord of Ireland and Wales, Duke of Normandy and Gascony, Count of Anjou, Touraine, and Maine, liege lord of Brittany, Auvergne, and Toulouse.Henry was breathing through his mouth, gulping air as if each breath might be his last. Saliva had begun to dribble down his chin, but John could not bring himself to wipe it away, shrank from touching that wasted flesh. He was profoundly shocked that in a mere fortnight his father's illness should have made such lethal inroads; until this moment he'd not acknowledged that the illness might be mortal."John? Thank God you've come. He's done little but fret over you. Could you not have sent word that you'd gotten away safe from Le Mans?"Two weeks ago the town of Le Mans had fallen to the forces of John's brotherRichard and Philip, the young French King. Henry and his followers had escaped the burning city just as the French army moved in, and in the confusion John had gotten separated from the others, had passed some harrowing days himself, in consequence. But he was not about to explain that now to the speaker, his illegitimate halfbrother Geoffrey. Like all of his brothers, Geoffrey was much older than John, well into his thirties, a tall, powerfully built man with sandy hair, Henry's flint-grey eyes, and an acerbic tongue. John did not feel for Geoffrey the consuming, corrosive jealousy that he did for Richard, but he had no more liking for this Geoffrey than he'd had for the dead brother who'd borne the same name. Ignoring the accusatory, querulous tone of the other's question, he said, "Christ, but he looks bad. Is he in much pain?"Geoffrey nodded. "All the time," he said bleakly, and then turned toward the bed as Henry stirred.The grey eyes opened, focused on John. "At last," he said huskily, held out his hand. "You did give me some bad moments this past week, lad."John was much relieved at the hot, dry feel of the hand in his, hav-
37ing steeled himself for a touch cold and clammy. "You need not have vvorried, Papa. Are you not the one who always said I had more lives than a cat? Or was that the morals of a cat?" he added, coaxing from his father a grimacing smile, a cough masquerading as a chuckle."Johnny ... I had William de Mandeville and William Fitz Ralph swear to me . .. swear that should any evil befall me, they'll surrender my castles to you, and to you alone. Not to Richard, God rot him, not to Richard ..."To John, that sounded more like a concession of defeat than a declaration of trust. "Surely you do not expect it to come to that, Papa?"There was a wine flagon on the bedside table, and Henry gestured, waited tillJohn poured out a cupful. "Of course not, lad. You'll never see the day dawn when I let them get the better of me," he said, with a bravado that might have been more convincing had John not needed to help him up in order to drink. "LeMans was not the first town I've lost in my life, will not be the last. . ."He drank deeply, signaled for John to lower him back against the pillows."Johnny . . . listen, lad. I have not forgotten my promise to you. I do mean to give you the earldom of Mortain, give you the revenues from Cornwall ..."John's mouth twisted. For how many years had he been hearing this? Promises he had in plenty, but little else. His brother Henry had been the heir apparent, Geoffrey had been Duke of Brittany, and Richard was Duke of Aquitaine, Count of Poitou. But him? John Lackland. He'd been betrothed since age nine to his cousin Avisa, a bride to bring him the rich earldom of Gloucester, but that, too, was proving to be an empty expectation; the very least that could be said of a twelve-year-old betrothal was that his father was in no tearing hurry to have him tie so lucrative a nuptial knot. It was John's private suspicion that his father denied him incomes of his own for the same reason he'd refused to name Richard as his heir, to keep them close, puppet Princes who'd dance to his tune only."I think you should rest now, Papa," he said, and Henry nodded; sweat was breaking out again on his forehead, trickling into his beard."The fever is worse at night," he mumbled. "Stay with me till I sleep."The chamber was heavy with the fetid odors of illness, with stifling summer heat. John soon began to sweat, too, began to yearn for a lungful of the cooling night air so fatal to the sickroom. At last Henry found relief in sleep; his hold slackened, fingers no longer clutched. John gently disengaged his hand, wiped his palm against the sheet, and came to his feet.
38He stood for some moments looking down at his father, until joined byGeoffrey."He's dying, is he not?""Yes." Geoffrey gave John a thoughtful look. "You surprise me, John; you sound