Champagne from the French Crown. And he and Philippe were of an age, twenty-three and twenty-four, respectively. But Henri had ridden into Dreux in Richard’s entourage, not Philippe’s, even though he knew the French king would not be pleased by his presence in the enemy camp. Henri was young enough, though, to delight in tweaking the lion’s tail. And he enjoyed his uncle Richard’s company, whereas his idea of Purgatory was more than an hour alone with his uncle Philippe, for they had nothing whatsoever in common as far as Henri could tell.
Like most young men, Henri loved the hunt, tournaments, horses, gambling, troubadour songs, wine, women, and war. Philippe was bored by hunting, had banned tournaments in France, disliked horses and only rode the most docile mounts, never gambled or swore, cared nothing for music, and saw war as the means to an end, not as a way to test his manhood. He did like wine and women, although he’d been wed since he was fifteen, and if he strayed from his queen’s marital bed, he was discreet about it. Moreover, Philippe was of a nervous disposition; he was known to flinch at sudden loud noises and was rarely without bodyguards. Henri much preferred spending time with Richard, who swore like a sailor, loved spirited stallions, wrote both courtly and bawdy poetry, had done his share of youthful carousing, and gloried in the challenges of the battlefield.
Above all, Henri admired Richard for being one of the first to take the cross. Philippe was a reluctant crusader, and that alone was enough to damn him in the eyes of his nephew, for Henri’s own father had taken the cross twice. He’d participated in the disastrous second crusade led by Louis of France, and then made another pilgrimage to the Holy Land with the Count of Flanders; on his way home, he’d been captured and held for ransom, dying soon after his release, his health broken by that stint in a Turkish prison. Henri had been fourteen at the time, and he saw the coming crusade as a sacred quest to honor his father’s memory.
Richard and Philippe were exchanging gritted-teeth smiles, and it looked to Henri as if they’d be at this for the foreseeable future. He was turning away to find a wine bearer when he was waylaid by his uncle Thibault. “It is one thing to go hunting or drinking with Richard, Henri. But when you rode into Dreux at his side, you risked stirring up suspicions about where your true loyalties lie. Please tell me you are not now planning to travel with him to the Holy Land.”
Henri had adored his father, his uncle not so much. But Thibault was the head of the House of Blois and Henri had been raised to respect his elders. So instead of responding as he’d have liked—telling Thibault that he and Philippe could both piss in a leaking pot—he said mildly, “You need not fret, Uncle. I still intend to accompany you and my uncle Etienne and the Count of Clermont.” That had been an easy decision, for they’d be able to depart after Easter, whilst he thought they might see the Second Coming ere Richard and Philippe finally got under way. “I know it is no easy task to transport an army,” he conceded. “Richard told me that he had to order fifty thousand horseshoes from an iron mine in Devon and he expects to bring at least ten thousand horses.” Henri shook his head, marveling at the magnitude of such an undertaking. “Fortunately, it is much easier for us; we need only hire ships in Marseille and, God willing, we’ll reach Tyre ere it falls to the Saracens.”
Henri stopped, seeing that his uncle was not listening. Following Thibault’s gaze, he saw that Philippe was no longer at the table, nowhere in the hall, and the English did not look very happy. What now? he wondered, and headed toward Richard to find out what was going on.
Richard didn’t know much more than Henri, though, saying that Philippe had been called away by the castle steward. “I am guessing a courier has ridden in,” he said, “but I cannot see what would be important enough to interrupt these discussions. Unless we get these matters settled, we’ll have to delay our departure yet again. We’ve lost enough time as it is. It has been over two years since I took the cross, Henri, two years!”
Richard signaled to a wine bearer, and Henri