Eleanor listened to all this in shock. End their marriage? But of course, it was the logical thing to do, the coup de grâce, for it was finished already, all but dead from several mortal blows, a mere memory from the past. Yet she had never anticipated that Henry would actually try to divorce her. And why now? The time to have done it would have been when he learned of her fateful disobedience.

She shook her head disbelievingly. “And where do I stand in this?”

The prior took her hand and held it as he did his best to make the unpalatable palatable. “The King will claim that both of you entered into the union in ignorance of any impediments; that being so, your children will continue to be regarded as legitimate, and the succession will not be endangered.”

Eleanor was doing some quick thinking. If Henry was arguing that theirs was no marriage, then he had no claim to her lands—or on her person! Freedom was beckoning …

“If I was never married to the King, then I am not his subject, and cannot be accused of committing treason against him,” she said. “If I give my consent to this divorce, then he will have no grounds for keeping me here, and must free me. Wait, good prior! Let me speak.” She held up her hand to still his objection. “I am sovereign Duchess of Aquitaine. Once I agree to this, my domains must be restored to me, and I must be freed to go back and rule them as an independent prince; and on my death, they will pass to my sons. It will mean the empire being broken up now, but in time all our domains will be reunited.”

“Ah,” enunciated the prior, and in that one syllable managed to make it very plain that things would not be as simple as that. “The King also wishes to object that you have committed adultery, by your own admission.”

“If I am not his wife, how can I have committed adultery?” Eleanor was quick to object.

“It is a technicality, my lady. At the time you rebelled against the King and committed adultery, you believed you were his wife. Anyone who deliberately takes an action that threatens the King’s safety and the weal of his realm is either his enemy or commits treason. By your adultery, you could have impugned the succession.”

“At my age?” she cried.

“Well, maybe not,” Prior Hugh conceded with a faint smile. He did not relish this unpleasant mission. “But the Pope will take a dim view of your conduct, of that there can be no doubt. He may be of the opinion that the King is right to keep you as his prisoner.”

Eleanor was furious. “Henry wants it both ways! He doesn’t want me as a wife anymore, but he’s prepared to play any trick to keep my lands, to which, when our marriage is ended, he can have no lawful claim.”

“He proposes that Duke Richard can continue to rule Aquitaine in your stead, as your heir, as he is doing now. I believe that was what you wanted anyway.”

Richard! Eleanor was overjoyed to hear any news of him, let alone such good news, but the injustice of Henry’s purpose rankled bitterly.

“Richard was to share power with me; thatwas what was agreed, not that he should rule alone. He is but seventeen.”

“Old enough to have reached man’s estate,” Prior Hugh observed. “He has gained renown as a great warrior, but one could wish that he had learned more wisdom. Alas, I fear he has brought nothing but strife to that untamed land of yours. I should not be telling you this, but the people erupted in anger when they learned that you were not coming back, and Richard has been exacting a terrible vengeance to bring them to heel and establish his rule.”

This was not what she had expected to hear. Richard had been brought up to have all the knightly virtues: to strive to be valorous, to protect the poor, the weak, and the innocent; he was a well-educated young man, a troubadour reared and nurtured as a true son of the South; and she had done her very best to instill in him a great love of his heritage.

“What has he done?” she asked tremulously, forgetting for a moment the proposed divorce and her grievances against Henry.

Prior Hugh looked pained. “You could not say he has been inefficient, for Aquitaine is quiet now, and in subjection to him. Yet it is small wonder, as he has been ravaging the land with great savagery, reducing castle after castle, and sparing not man, woman, or child. The details of the atrocities committed by his men do not bear repetition.”

“Tell me!” Eleanor urged, unable to believe what she was hearing. Richard was her son—she could not credit that he had done these things. Surely he had done them at the command of his father—he could not, of himself, have inflicted these wrongs on the domains he had claimed to love, or on its people. They were her people. She wanted to weep for them, and for the land of her birth; they had, after all, been fighting for the return of their duchess, and protesting at the imposition of an overlord who had no right to usurp her place entirely. If they had borne these cruelties, then she could bear the telling of them.

Hugh’s fine-boned face betrayed great emotion as he spoke. “Those who opposed the duke were mutilated: some had their eyes gouged out, others had their hands cut off. It is said that their women were raped—forgive me, my lady—by Richard and his soldiers. By all reports, he was merciless. Aquitaine has been ruthlesly quelled, and now lies under his iron gauntlet.”

And this was my own son, my beloved, Eleanor thought, unable to speak. “May God forgive him—and comfort the afflicted,” she murmured at length, deeply moved. She could not come to terms with the idea of her Richard as tyrant, torturer, rapist … This could only be Henry’s doing. She had to believe that.

“You realize, Father Prior, this makes me even more determined to fight for my rights,” she declared. “Aquitaine needs me, and I should be there.”

“You must do as your conscience dictates, my lady,” Hugh replied gravely. “I have conveyed the King’s wishes to you, as I was bound to do, and told you my opinion. I might add that you will have a battle on your hands, for he is determined to keep you here. The last thing he wants is for you to return to Aquitaine. He says he cannot have you free to plot more mischief against him with your sons and your vassals. He fears that you might remarry—and to a lord hostile to him.”

“So he seeks a way to set me aside without any loss to himself,” Eleanor fumed. “But if it will prove so difficult to divorce me, why is he doing it?”

“I do not like to tell you this, but he wishes to remarry,” Hugh of Avalon said gently, although his words came like a slap in the face. It was too much to take in; it had all been too much to take in, after months of quiet, uninterrupted monotony.

“Who?” she asked, thinking of Rosamund. Was Henry really going to marry his mistress, the daughter of a mere knight? He must have lost his wits completely!

“The Princess Alys of France,” the prior said, his mouth turned down in disapproval.

“But she is Richard’s betrothed!”

“Aye, but betrothals can be broken as well as marriages,” Hugh reminded her. “Already, the King has sent to Pope Alexander, asking him to dispatch a legate to England to hear his case against you. The matter is being kept secret, of course, and the King insists specially on your discretion, since annulling your union is a serious step and may have far-reaching consequences.”

“And I suppose that if I try to proclaim my objections to the world, although there’s little chance of my being heard, then he will withdraw my privileges!” Eleanor said scornfully.

“He has not said so, and I should hope that he would never go so far,” Hugh replied as he got up and made to leave.

“Father Prior,” Eleanor said quickly, “you are a wise man, known for your integrity. What would you counsel me to do? If I agree to this divorce, might things go better for me?”