Devil's Brood Read Free Page B

temper take fire. But then Henry laughed. “If your Merlin thought anyone could truly conquer Ireland, lad, he was a poor prophet, indeed!” Adding under his breath to Ranulf as they resumed their progress toward the cathedral, “How do you defeat a people who lack the common sense to know when they’re beaten?”
    Ranulf smiled, knowing that Henry was speaking, too, of the Welsh and his disastrous campaign of six years past. His ambitious plans to bring the rebellious Welsh lords to heel had come to naught, thwarted by the erratic weather, the rugged mountainous terrain, and phantom foes who refused to take the field, preferring hit-and-run raids, evasive maneuvers, and nightfall forays that recognized their weaknesses and played to their strengths. Faced with a rare military defeat, Henry had withdrawn his army back across the border and changed his tactics, forging an alliance with Rhys ap Gruffydd, the most powerful of the Welsh princes. So far this stratagem had proven successful; Wales was more peaceful than it had been in years.
    Glancing over at Henry, Ranulf hoped that his nephew would apply the lessons he’d learned from the Welsh in his current battle with His Holiness the Pope and the mighty Roman Church. But it was just that—a hope—for he of all men knew how dangerously stubborn Henry Fitz Empress could be. There were faint bloodstains upon the tiles in Canterbury Cathedral testifying to that.

C HAPTER T WO

    May 1172
    Savigny Abbey, Normandy

    I T WAS DUSK WHEN the Bishop of Worcester rode through the gatehouse of the Cistercian abbey of Our Lady. Although a prince of the Church, Roger traveled without an entourage—only a servant, his clerk, and four men-at-arms, their presence required on the outlaw-infested roads. He did not think an ostentatious display was appropriate, for he was living in exile, having left England in protest over the English king’s contest of wills with Thomas Becket. Few had emerged unscathed from that cataclysmic conflict between Church and Crown, but Roger’s loyalties had been shredded to the bone. Becket was more than a fellow prelate and the head of the English Church; he was also a close friend. And Henry Fitz Empress was more than Roger’s sovereign; the two men were first cousins and companions since childhood.
    Roger had been one of the few men who’d dared to tell the king the truth in the turbulent aftermath of Becket’s murder: that Henry might not be guilty of the actual deed, but neither was he innocent. But he had also been one of the bishops sent to Rome to plead Henry’s case before the Pope, denying that the archbishop had died at his order. Now he was once more thrust into the role of peacemaker, riding to Savigny’s great abbey to bear witness to this meeting between two papal legates and his cousin the king, knowing full well how high the stakes were for all concerned.
    In addition to the two cardinals, a number of Norman and Breton bishops would also be present. By Roger’s reckoning, at least eight were men who could be expected to support the king. In truth, many of Becket’s fellow bishops had been less than enthusiastic soldiers in the Archbishop of Canterbury’s crusade to vanquish the English king, feeling that he’d been needlessly provocative and acrimonious, always scorning compromise in favor of confrontation. Until his ungodly murder had transformed him from often-irksome zealot to blessed holy martyr, Becket had found his strongest advocates among the bishops of France, his warmest welcome at the court of Louis Capet, the French king. Two of his most steadfast allies had been the Bishop of Rheims, Louis’s brother, and the Archbishop of Sens, who’d laid Henry’s continental lands under Interdict, and whose sister was Louis’s queen.
    It did not surprise Roger that neither of these prelates would be present at the Savigny council, for he knew Pope Alexander wanted—nay, needed—to mend this dangerous rift with the most