{"product_id":"time-and-chance-isbn-9780345396723","title":"Time and Chance","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eIn \u003ci\u003eWhen Christ and His Saints Slept\u003c\/i\u003e, acclaimed historical novelist Sharon Kay Penman portrayed all the deceit, danger, and drama of Henry II’s ascension to the throne. Now, in \u003ci\u003eTime and Chance,\u003c\/i\u003e she continues the ever-more-captivating tale.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt 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. . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOnly 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.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eSharon Kay Penman\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of the historical novels \u003ci\u003eA King’s Ransom,\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eThe Sunne in Splendour, Here Be Dragons, Falls the Shadow, The Reckoning, When Christ and His Saints Slept, Time and Chance, Devil’s Brood\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eLionheart\u003c\/i\u003e. Additionally, she has written four medieval mysteries: \u003ci\u003eThe Queen’s Man, Cruel as the Grave, Dragon’s Lair, \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e Prince of Darkness\u003c\/i\u003e. She lives in Mays Landing, New Jersey.July 1156\u003cbr\u003eChinon Castle\u003cbr\u003eTouraine, France\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs the King of England crossed the inner bailey of\u003cbr\u003eChinon Castle, his brother watched from an upper-story\u003cbr\u003ewindow and wished fervently that God would smite him dead.\u003cbr\u003eGeoffrey understood perfectly why Cain had slain Abel, the firstborn, the\u003cbr\u003ebest-beloved. Harry was the firstborn, too. There were just fifteen months\u003cbr\u003ebetween them, fifteen miserable months, but because of them, Harry had\u003cbr\u003egotten it all--England and Anjou and Normandy--and Geoffrey had\u003cbr\u003enaught but regrets and resentments and three wretched castles, castles he\u003cbr\u003ewas now about to forfeit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe'd rebelled again, and again he'd failed. He was here at Chinon to\u003cbr\u003esubmit to his brother, but he was not contrite, nor was he cowed. His\u003cbr\u003eheart sore, his spirit still rebellious, he began to stalk the chamber, feeling\u003cbr\u003emore wronged with every stride. Why should Harry have the whole loaf\u003cbr\u003eand he only crumbs? What had Harry ever been denied? Duke of Normandy\u003cbr\u003eat seventeen, Count of Anjou upon their father's sudden death the\u003cbr\u003efollowing year, King of England at one and twenty, and, as if that were\u003cbr\u003enot more than enough for any mortal man, he was wed to a celebrated\u003cbr\u003ebeauty, the Duchess of Aquitaine and former Queen of France.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHad any other woman ever worn the crowns of both England and\u003cbr\u003eFrance? History had never interested Geoffrey much, but he doubted it.\u003cbr\u003eEleanor always seemed to be defying the natural boundaries of womanhood,\u003cbr\u003ea royal rebel who was too clever by half and as willful as any man.\u003cbr\u003eBut her vast domains and her seductive smile more than made up for any\u003cbr\u003edefects of character, and after her divorce from the French king, Geoffrey\u003cbr\u003ehad attempted to claim this glittering prize, laying an ambush for her as\u003cbr\u003eshe journeyed back to Aquitaine. It was not uncommon to abduct an\u003cbr\u003eheiress, then force her into marriage, and Geoffrey had been confident of\u003cbr\u003esuccess, sure, too, that he'd be able to tame her wild nature and make her\u003cbr\u003einto a proper wife, dutiful and submissive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was not to be. Eleanor had evaded his ambush, reached safety in her\u003cbr\u003eown lands, and soon thereafter, shocked all of Christendom by marrying\u003cbr\u003eGeoffrey's brother. Geoffrey had been bitterly disappointed by his failure\u003cbr\u003eto capture a queen. But it well nigh drove him crazy to think of her belonging\u003cbr\u003eto his brother, sharing her bed and her wealth with Harry--and\u003cbr\u003eof her own free will. Where was the justice or fairness in that?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGeoffrey was more uneasy about facing his brother than he'd ever admit,\u003cbr\u003eand he spun around at the sound of the opening door. But it was not\u003cbr\u003eHarry. Their younger brother, Will, entered, followed by Thomas Becket,\u003cbr\u003ethe king's elegant shadow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGeoffrey frowned at the sight of them. As far back as he could remember,\u003cbr\u003eWill had been Harry's lapdog, always taking his side. As for\u003cbr\u003eBecket, Geoffrey saw him as an outright enemy, the king's chancellor and\u003cbr\u003eclosest confidant. He could expect no support from them, and well he\u003cbr\u003eknew it. \"I suppose you're here to gloat, Will, as Harry rubs my nose in it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No, I'm here to do you a favor--if you've the wits to heed me.\" The\u003cbr\u003emost cursory of glances revealed their kinship; all three brothers had the\u003cbr\u003esame high coloring and sturdy, muscular build. Will's hair was redder and\u003cbr\u003ehe had far more freckles, but otherwise, he and Geoffrey were mirror images\u003cbr\u003eof each other. Even their scowls were the same. \"Harry's nerves are\u003cbr\u003eon the raw these days, and he's in no mood to put up with your blustering.\u003cbr\u003eSo for your own sake, Geoff, watch your tongue--\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Poor Harry, my heart bleeds for his 'raw nerves,' in truth, it does! Do\u003cbr\u003eyou never tire of licking his arse, Little Brother? Or have you acquired a\u003cbr\u003etaste for it by now?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eColor seared Will's face. \"You're enough to make me believe those\u003cbr\u003etales of babes switched at birth, for how could we ever have come from\u003cbr\u003ethe same womb?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Let him be, lad.\" Thomas Becket was regarding Geoffrey with chill\u003cbr\u003edistaste. \"'As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly.'\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You stay out of this, priest! But then,\" Geoffrey said with a sneer,\u003cbr\u003e\"you are not a priest, are you? You hold the chancellorship, yet you balk\u003cbr\u003eat taking your holy vows ...now why is that?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I serve both my God and my king,\" Becket said evenly, \"with all my\u003cbr\u003eheart. But you, Geoffrey Fitz Empress, serve only Satan, even if you know\u003cbr\u003eit not.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGeoffrey had no chance to retort, for the door was opening again. A\u003cbr\u003eforeigner unfamiliar with England would not have taken the man in the\u003cbr\u003edoorway for the English king, for he scorned the trappings of kingship,\u003cbr\u003ethe rich silks and gemstones and furred mantles that set men of rank apart\u003cbr\u003efrom their less fortunate brethren. Henry Fitz Empress preferred comfort\u003cbr\u003eto style: simple, unadorned tunics and high cowhide boots and mantles so\u003cbr\u003eshort that he'd earned himself the nickname \"Curtmantle.\" Equally indifferent\u003cbr\u003eto fashion's dictates and the opinions of others, Henry dressed to\u003cbr\u003eplease himself, and usually looked more like the king's chief huntsman\u003cbr\u003ethan the king.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo Geoffrey, who spent huge sums on his clothes, this peculiarity of\u003cbr\u003ehis brother's was just further proof of his unfitness to be king. Henry\u003cbr\u003elooked even more rumpled than usual today, his short, copper-colored\u003cbr\u003ehair tousled and windblown, his eyes slate-dark, hollowed and bloodshot.\u003cbr\u003eMayhap there was something to Will's blathering about Harry's \"raw\u003cbr\u003enerves\" after all, Geoffrey conceded. Not that he cared what was weighing\u003cbr\u003eHarry down. A pity it was not an anchor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat did trouble Geoffrey, though, was his brother's silence. The\u003cbr\u003eyoung king was notorious for his scorching temper, but those who knew\u003cbr\u003eHenry best knew, too, that these spectacular fits of royal rage were more\u003cbr\u003ecalculated than most people suspected, deliberately daunting. His anger\u003cbr\u003ewas far more dangerous when it was iced over, cold and controlled and\u003cbr\u003eunforgiving, and Geoffrey was soon squirming under that unblinking, implacable\u003cbr\u003egaze. When he could stand the suspense no longer, he snapped,\u003cbr\u003e\"What are you waiting for? Let's get it over with, Harry!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You have no idea what your rebellion has cost me,\" Henry said,\u003cbr\u003emuch too dispassionately, \"or you'd be treading with great care.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Need I remind you that you won, Harry? It seems odd indeed for\u003cbr\u003eyou to bemoan your losses when I'm the one who is yielding up my\u003cbr\u003ecastles.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You think I care about your accursed castles?\" Henry moved forward\u003cbr\u003einto the chamber so swiftly that Geoffrey took an instinctive backward\u003cbr\u003estep. \"Had I not been forced to lay siege to them, I'd have been back in\u003cbr\u003eEngland months ago, long ere Eleanor's lying in was nigh.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGeoffrey knew Eleanor was pregnant again, for Henry had announced\u003cbr\u003eit at their Christmas court. Divorced by the French king for her\u003cbr\u003efailure to give him a male heir, Eleanor had then borne Henry two sons\u003cbr\u003ein their first three years of marriage. To Geoffrey, her latest pregnancy had\u003cbr\u003ebeen another drop of poison in an already noxious drink, and he could\u003cbr\u003emuster up no sympathy now for Henry's complaint.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What of it? You'd not have been allowed in the birthing chamber,\u003cbr\u003efor men never are.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No...but I'd have been there to bury my son.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGeoffrey's mouth dropped open. \"Your son?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"He died on Whitsunday,\" Henry said, softly and precisely, the measured\u003cbr\u003ecadence of his tones utterly at variance with what Geoffrey could\u003cbr\u003eread in his eyes. \"Eleanor kept vigil by his bedside as the doctors and\u003cbr\u003epriests tried to save him. She stayed with him until he died, and then she\u003cbr\u003emade the funeral arrangements, accompanied his body to Reading for\u003cbr\u003eburial. He was not yet three, Geoff, for his birthday was not till August,\u003cbr\u003ethe seventeenth, it would have been--\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Harry, I ...I am sorry about your son. But it was not my fault!\u003cbr\u003eBlame God if you must, not me!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"But I do blame you, Geoff. I blame you for your treachery, your betrayals,\u003cbr\u003eyour willingness to ally yourself with my enemies . . . again and\u003cbr\u003eagain. I blame you for my wife's ordeal, which she need not have faced\u003cbr\u003ealone. And I blame you for denying me the chance to be at my son's\u003cbr\u003edeathbed.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What do you want me to say? It was not my fault! You cannot blame\u003cbr\u003eme because the boy was sickly--\" Geoffrey's breath caught in his throat as\u003cbr\u003eHenry lunged forward. Twisting his fist in the neck of his brother's tunic,\u003cbr\u003eHenry shoved him roughly against the wall.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The boy has a name, damn you--William! I suppose you'd forgotten,\u003cbr\u003efor blood-kin means nothing to you, does it? Well, you might remember\u003cbr\u003ehis name better once you have time and solitude to think upon it!\"\u003cbr\u003eGeoffrey blanched. \"You ...you cannot mean to imprison me?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHenry slowly unclenched his fist, stepped back. \"There are men waiting\u003cbr\u003eoutside the door to escort you to a chamber in the tower.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Harry, what are you going to do? Tell me!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHenry turned aside without answering, moved to the door, and\u003cbr\u003ejerked it open. Geoffrey stiffened, eyes darting in disbelief from the men-at-\u003cbr\u003earms to this stranger in his brother's skin. Clutching at the shreds of his\u003cbr\u003epride, he stumbled across the chamber, determined not to plead, but betraying\u003cbr\u003ehimself, nonetheless, by a panicked, involuntary glance of entreaty\u003cbr\u003eas the door closed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWill untangled himself from the settle, ambled over to the door, and\u003cbr\u003eslid the bolt into place. \"Harry . . . do you truly mean to imprison him?\u003cbr\u003eGod knows, he deserves it . . .\" He trailed off uncertainly, for his was an\u003cbr\u003eopen, affable nature, uncomfortable with shadings or ambiguities, and it\u003cbr\u003etroubled him that his feelings for his brother could not be clear-cut and\u003cbr\u003euncomplicated.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHenry crossed to the settle and took the seat Will had vacated. \"If I\u003cbr\u003ehad my way, I'd cast him into Chinon's deepest dungeon, leave him there\u003cbr\u003etill he rotted.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"But you will not,\" Becket predicted, smiling faintly as he rose to\u003cbr\u003epour them all cups of wine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No,\" Henry admitted, accepting his cup with a wry smile of his\u003cbr\u003eown. \"There would be two prisoners in that dungeon--Geoff and our\u003cbr\u003emother. She says he deserves whatever punishment I choose to mete out,\u003cbr\u003ebut that is her head talking, not her heart.\" After two swallows, he set\u003cbr\u003ethe cup aside, for he drank as sparingly as he ate; Henry's hungers of the\u003cbr\u003eflesh were not for food or wine. \"I'm going to try to scare some sense into\u003cbr\u003eGeoff. But since he has less sense than God gave a sheep, I do not have\u003cbr\u003ehigh hopes of success.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Just do not give him his castles back this time,\" Will chided, in a tact-ess\u003cbr\u003ereminder of Henry's earlier, misplaced leniency. \"It would serve him\u003cbr\u003eright if he had to beg his bread by the roadside.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sorry, lad, but Scriptures forbid it. Thomas can doubtless cite you\u003cbr\u003echapter and verse,\" Henry gibed, \"but I am sure it says somewhere that\u003cbr\u003ebrothers of kings cannot be beggars.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I thought it said that brothers of beggars cannot be kings.\" Becket\u003cbr\u003etasted the wine, then grimaced. \"Are your servants trying to poison you\u003cbr\u003ewith this swill, Harry? Someone ought to tell them that hemlock would\u003cbr\u003ebe quicker and more merciful.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This is why men would rather dine with my lord chancellor than\u003cbr\u003ewith me,\" Henry told Will. \"He'd drink blood ere he quaffed English\u003cbr\u003ewine. Whereas for me, it is enough if it is wet!\" Becket's riposte was cut\u003cbr\u003eoff by a sudden knock. Henry, the closest to the door, got to his feet; he\u003cbr\u003ewas never one to stand on ceremony. But his amusement faded when a\u003cbr\u003eweary, travel-stained messenger was ushered into the chamber, for the\u003cbr\u003eman's disheveled appearance conveyed a message of its own: that his news\u003cbr\u003ewas urgent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSnatching up the proffered letter, Henry stared at the familiar seal,\u003cbr\u003ethen looked over at Will. \"It is from our mother,\" he said, moving toward\u003cbr\u003ethe nearest lamp. Will and Becket were both on their feet by now, watching\u003cbr\u003eintently as he read. \"I have to go to Rouen,\" he said, \"straightaway.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWill paled. \"Not Mama ...?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No, lad, no. She is not ailing. She has written to let me know that\u003cbr\u003eEleanor is in Rouen.\"New York Times bestselling author of Devil's Brood; An unforgettable novel of Henry II, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and the historic clash","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299724710117,"sku":"NP9780345396723","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345396723.jpg?v=1767742640","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/time-and-chance-isbn-9780345396723","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}