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From the Inside Flap In When Christ and His Saints Slept , acclaimed historical novelist Sharon Kay Penman portrayed all the deceit, danger, and drama of Henry II?s ascension to the throne. Now, in Time and Chance, she continues the ever-more-captivating tale.It was medieval England?s immortal marriage?Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II, bound by passion and ambition, certain to leave a legacy of greatness. But while lust would divide them, it was friendship?and ultimately faith?that brought bloodshed into their midst. It began with Thomas Becket, Henry?s closest confidant, and his elevation to be Archbishop of Canterbury. It ended with a perceived betrayal that made a royal murder seem inevitable. Along the way were enough scheming, seductions, and scandals to topple any kingdom but their own. . . .Only Sharon Kay Penman can re-create this truly tumultuous time?and capture the couple who loved power as much as each other . . . and a man who loved God most of all. "In "When Christ and His Saints Slept, acclaimed historical novelist Sharon Kay Penman portrayed all the deceit, danger, and drama of Henry II's ascension to the throne. Now, in "Time and Chance, she continues the ever-more-captivating tale. It was medieval England's immortal marriage--Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II, bound by passion and ambition, certain to leave a legacy of greatness. But while lust would divide them, it was friendship--and ultimately faith--that brought bloodshed into their midst. It began with Thomas Becket, Henry's closest confidant, and his elevation to be Archbishop of Canterbury. It ended with a perceived betrayal that made a royal murder seem inevitable. Along the way were enough scheming, seductions, and scandals to topple any kingdom but their own. . . . Only Sharon Kay Penman can re-create this truly tumultuous time--and capture the couple who loved power as much as each other . . . and a man who loved God most of all. " Sharon Kay Penman is the author of the historical novels A King’s Ransom, The Sunne in Splendour, Here Be Dragons, Falls the Shadow, The Reckoning, When Christ and His Saints Slept, Time and Chance, Devil’s Brood , and Lionheart . Additionally, she has written four medieval mysteries: The Queen’s Man, Cruel as the Grave, Dragon’s Lair, and Prince of Darkness . She lives in Mays Landing, New Jersey. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. July 1156Chinon CastleTouraine, FranceAs the King of England crossed the inner bailey ofChinon Castle, his brother watched from an upper-storywindow and wished fervently that God would smite him dead.Geoffrey understood perfectly why Cain had slain Abel, the firstborn, thebest-beloved. Harry was the firstborn, too. There were just fifteen monthsbetween them, fifteen miserable months, but because of them, Harry hadgotten it all--England and Anjou and Normandy--and Geoffrey hadnaught but regrets and resentments and three wretched castles, castles hewas now about to forfeit.He'd rebelled again, and again he'd failed. He was here at Chinon tosubmit to his brother, but he was not contrite, nor was he cowed. Hisheart sore, his spirit still rebellious, he began to stalk the chamber, feelingmore wronged with every stride. Why should Harry have the whole loafand he only crumbs? What had Harry ever been denied? Duke of Normandyat seventeen, Count of Anjou upon their father's sudden death thefollowing year, King of England at one and twenty, and, as if that werenot more than enough for any mortal man, he was wed to a celebratedbeauty, the Duchess of Aquitaine and former Queen of France.Had any other woman ever worn the crowns of both England andFrance? History had never interested Geoffrey much, but he doubted it.Eleanor always seemed to be defying the natural boundaries of womanhood,a royal rebel who was too clever by half and as willful as any man.But her vast domains and her seductive smile more than made up for anydefects of character, and after her divorce from the French king, Geoffreyhad attempted to claim this glittering prize, laying an ambush for her asshe journeyed back to Aquitaine. It was not uncommon to abduct anheiress, then force her into marriage, and Geoffrey had been confident ofsuccess, sure, too, that he'd be able to tame her wild nature and make herinto a proper wife, dutiful and submissive.It was not to be. Eleanor had evaded his ambush, reached safety in herown lands, and soon thereafter, shocked all of Christendom by marryingGeoffrey's brother. Geoffrey had been bitterly disappointed by his failureto capture a queen. But it well nigh drove him crazy to think of her belongingto his brother, sharing her bed and her wealth with Harry--andof her own free will. Where was the justice or fairness in that?Geoffrey was more uneasy about facing his brother than he'd ever admit,and he spun around at the sound of the opening door. But it was notHarry. Their younger brother, Will, entered, followed by Thomas Becket,the king's elegant shadow.Geoffrey frowned at the sight of them. As far back as he could remember,Will had been Harry's lapdog, always taking his side. As forBecket, Geoffrey saw him as an outright enemy, the king's chancellor andclosest confidant. He could expect no support from them, and well heknew it. "I suppose you're here to gloat, Will, as Harry rubs my nose in it.""No, I'm here to do you a favor--if you've the wits to heed me." Themost cursory of glances revealed their kinship; all three brothers had thesame high coloring and sturdy, muscular build. Will's hair was redder andhe had far more freckles, but otherwise, he and Geoffrey were mirror imagesof each other. Even their scowls were the same. "Harry's nerves areon the raw these days, and he's in no mood to put up with your blustering.So for your own sake, Geoff, watch your tongue--""Poor Harry, my heart bleeds for his 'raw nerves,' in truth, it does! Doyou never tire of licking his arse, Little Brother? Or have you acquired ataste for it by now?"Color seared Will's face. "You're enough to make me believe thosetales of babes switched at birth, for how could we ever have come fromthe same womb?""Let him be, lad." Thomas Becket was regarding Geoffrey with chilldistaste. "'As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly.'""You stay out of this, priest! But then," Geoffrey said with a sneer,"you are not a priest, are you? You hold the chancellorship, yet you balkat taking your holy vows ...now why is that?""I serve both my God and my king," Becket said evenly, "with all myheart. But you, Geoffrey Fitz Empress, serve only Satan, even if you knowit not."Geoffrey had no chance to retort, for the door was opening again. Aforeigner unfamiliar with England would not have taken the man in thedoorway for the English king, for he scorned the trappings of kingship,the rich silks and gemstones and furred mantles that set men of rank apartfrom their less fortunate brethren. Henry Fitz Empress preferred comfortto style: simple, unadorned tunics and high cowhide boots and mantles soshort that he'd earned himself the nickname "Curtmantle." Equally indifferentto fashion's dictates and the opinions of others, Henry dressed toplease himself, and usually looked more like the king's chief huntsmanthan the king.To Geoffrey, who spent huge sums on his clothes, this peculiarity ofhis brother's was just further proof of his unfitness to be king. Henrylooked even more rumpled than usual today, his short, copper-coloredhair tousled and windblown, his eyes slate-dark, hollowed and bloodshot.Mayhap there was something to Will's blathering about Harry's "rawnerves" after all, Geoffrey conceded. Not that he cared what was weighingHarry down. A pity it was not an anchor.What did trouble Geoffrey, though, was his brother's silence. Theyoung king was notorious for his scorching temper, but those who knewHenry best knew, too, that these spectacular fits of royal rage were morecalculated than most people suspected, deliberately daunting. His angerwas far more dangerous when it was iced over, cold and controlled andunforgiving, and Geoffrey was soon squirming under that unblinking, implacablegaze. When he could stand the suspense no longer, he snapped,"What are you waiting for? Let's get it over with, Harry!""You have no idea what your rebellion has cost me," Henry said,much too dispassionately, "or you'd be treading with great care.""Need I remind you that you won, Harry? It seems odd indeed foryou to bemoan your losses when I'm the one who is yielding up mycastles.""You think I care about your accursed castles?" Henry moved forwardinto the chamber so swiftly that Geoffrey took an instinctive backwardstep. "Had I not been forced to lay siege to them, I'd have been back inEngland months ago, long ere Eleanor's lying in was nigh."Geoffrey knew Eleanor was pregnant again, for Henry had announcedit at their Christmas court. Divorced by the French king for herfailure to give him a male heir, Eleanor had then borne Henry two sonsin their first three years of marriage. To Geoffrey, her latest pregnancy hadbeen another drop of poison in an already noxious drink, and he couldmuster up no sympathy now for Henry's complaint."What of it? You'd not have been allowed in the birthing chamber,for men never are.""No...but I'd have been there to bury my son."Geoffrey's mouth dropped open. "Your son?""He died on Whitsunday," Henry said, softly and precisely, the measuredcadence of his tones utterly at variance with what Geoffrey couldread in his eyes. "Eleanor kept vigil by his bedside as the doctors andpriests tried to save him. She stayed with him until he died, and then shemade the funeral arrangements, accompanied his body to Reading forburial. He was not yet three, Geoff, for his birthday was not till August,the seventeenth, it would have been--""Harry, I ...I am sorry about your son. But it was not my fault!Blame God if you must, not me!""But I do blame you, Geoff. I blame you for your treachery, your betrayals,your willingness to ally yourself with my enemies . . . again andagain. I blame you for my wife's ordeal, which she need not have facedalone. And I blame you for denying me the chance to be at my son'sdeathbed.""What do you want me to say? It was not my fault! You cannot blameme because the boy was sickly--" Geoffrey's breath caught in his throat asHenry lunged forward. Twisting his fist in the neck of his brother's tunic,Henry shoved him roughly against the wall."The boy has a name, damn you--William! I suppose you'd forgotten,for blood-kin means nothing to you, does it? Well, you might rememberhis name better once you have time and solitude to think upon it!"Geoffrey blanched. "You ...you cannot mean to imprison me?"Henry slowly unclenched his fist, stepped back. "There are men waitingoutside the door to escort you to a chamber in the tower.""Harry, what are you going to do? Tell me!"Henry turned aside without answering, moved to the door, andjerked it open. Geoffrey stiffened, eyes darting in disbelief from the men-at-arms to this stranger in his brother's skin. Clutching at the shreds of hispride, he stumbled across the chamber, determined not to plead, but betrayinghimself, nonetheless, by a panicked, involuntary glance of entreatyas the door closed.Will untangled himself from the settle, ambled over to the door, andslid the bolt into place. "Harry . . . do you truly mean to imprison him?God knows, he deserves it . . ." He trailed off uncertainly, for his was anopen, affable nature, uncomfortable with shadings or ambiguities, and ittroubled him that his feelings for his brother could not be clear-cut anduncomplicated.Henry crossed to the settle and took the seat Will had vacated. "If Ihad my way, I'd cast him into Chinon's deepest dungeon, leave him theretill he rotted.""But you will not," Becket predicted, smiling faintly as he rose topour them all cups of wine."No," Henry admitted, accepting his cup with a wry smile of hisown. "There would be two prisoners in that dungeon--Geoff and ourmother. She says he deserves whatever punishment I choose to mete out,but that is her head talking, not her heart." After two swallows, he setthe cup aside, for he drank as sparingly as he ate; Henry's hungers of theflesh were not for food or wine. "I'm going to try to scare some sense intoGeoff. But since he has less sense than God gave a sheep, I do not havehigh hopes of success.""Just do not give him his castles back this time," Will chided, in a tact-essreminder of Henry's earlier, misplaced leniency. "It would serve himright if he had to beg his bread by the roadside.""Sorry, lad, but Scriptures forbid it. Thomas can doubtless cite youchapter and verse," Henry gibed, "but I am sure it says somewhere thatbrothers of kings cannot be beggars.""I thought it said that brothers of beggars cannot be kings." Beckettasted the wine, then grimaced. "Are your servants trying to poison youwith this swill, Harry? Someone ought to tell them that hemlock wouldbe quicker and more merciful.""This is why men would rather dine with my lord chancellor thanwith me," Henry told Will. "He'd drink blood ere he quaffed Englishwine. Whereas for me, it is enough if it is wet!" Becket's riposte was cutoff by a sudden knock. Henry, the closest to the door, got to his feet; hewas never one to stand on ceremony. But his amusement faded when aweary, travel-stained messenger was ushered into the chamber, for theman's disheveled appearance conveyed a message of its own: that his newswas urgent.Snatching up the proffered letter, Henry stared at the familiar seal,then looked over at Will. "It is from our mother," he said, moving towardthe nearest lamp. Will and Becket were both on their feet by now, watchingintently as he read. "I have to go to Rouen," he said, "straightaway."Will paled. "Not Mama ...?""No, lad, no. She is not ailing. She has written to let me know thatEleanor is in Rouen." Read more
Features & Highlights
- In
- When Christ and His Saints Slept
- , acclaimed historical novelist Sharon Kay Penman portrayed all the deceit, danger, and drama of Henry II’s ascension to the throne. Now, in
- Time and Chance,
- she continues the ever-more-captivating tale.It was medieval England’s immortal marriage—Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II, bound by passion and ambition, certain to leave a legacy of greatness. But while lust would divide them, it was friendship—and ultimately faith—that brought bloodshed into their midst. It began with Thomas Becket, Henry’s closest confidant, and his elevation to be Archbishop of Canterbury. It ended with a perceived betrayal that made a royal murder seem inevitable. Along the way were enough scheming, seductions, and scandals to topple any kingdom but their own. . . .Only Sharon Kay Penman can re-create this truly tumultuous time—and capture the couple who loved power as much as each other . . . and a man who loved God most of all.
