Author's Note: This story was written to answer a complaint I have long had about the play/film The Lion in Winter: that they don't mention the fact that Christmas Eve was Prince John's birthday. It's also an opportunity to spend a little time with my favorite character from the play and that time period, Geoffrey of Brittany.
The Lion in Winter makes no particular pretension to historical accuracy, so I have followed its lead in that. For instance, I haven't made any effort to learn the ways that property transferred hands in the Angevin Empire in the 1180s, nor do I have any idea whether there even were Benedictines in the County of Richmond at the time. However, this story is a combination of my ideas based on The Lion in Winter and my ideas about the historical characters themselves.
Needless to say, I'm not making any money off of this; any ideas original to The Lion in Winter are the property of James Goldman, and the characters are the property of history …
The Mention that I Miss
A Lion in Winter Fanfiction
It isn't power that I feel deprived of; it's the mention that I miss.
-- Geoffrey of Brittany, The Lion in Winter
"Go on. I'm done, I'm done. I'm finished with you. Never come again."
John was the first of them to obey their father's order. For one last moment he hesitated, looking from one of his brothers to the other. Then he broke into a run. He crossed the cellar floor in a few steps, then started racing up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
As John's footsteps faded, Geoffrey looked at Richard.
Both of us want to be the last to leave, Geoffrey thought. But Richard will never accept leaving before I do. If I stay here and try to wait him out, we'll be standing in the cellar 'till Epiphany.
Geoffrey shrugged and started across the cellar, keeping his pace to a steady walk.
The walk up the stairs seemed interminable, as he listened to hear how long it would take until Richard followed him. Finally he heard his brother's heavy footsteps starting up the staircase behind him.
Upstairs in the corridor, Geoffrey stopped, leaning against the wall beside the cellar door. Richard stormed past him a moment later, never pausing to give him a glance.
Geoffrey watched until the Count of Aquitaine was out of sight. Then he glanced back at the open door, imagining his mother and father still down there and wondering if they were speaking to each other yet.
I could sneak back down and listen to them, Geoffrey thought. But why bother? It's a safe bet they won't say anything about me. They'll probably just kiss and make up – as much as you can make up with your wife when you're sending her back into captivity – and I can really do without hearing that.
Instead he started down the corridor in the direction taken by Richard, toward the wing of the castle occupied by King Henry's sons and King Philip of France.
Geoffrey eyed the door to Philip's chamber as he passed it, wondering if Richard were in there. But he wasn't going to try eavesdropping to find that out, either. I've got more important things to do right now, he thought. And I've seen enough of that room for one night. If I never see that miserable tapestry again, it will be too damned soon.
He made a brief stop in his own chamber to collect his cloak and the leathern document box from his baggage. Then he headed on to his brother John's chamber.
"John?" he called quietly as he knocked on the door. "Johnny, are you in there?"
Silence answered him. He tried the door and it opened at his touch.
Clothing, dirty goblets and plates were scattered about the room in John's usual chaotic style, but there was no sign of his brother. Geoffrey picked up John's fur-lined cloak from where it lay heaped on the floor, then started out once more, on the route to the castle's battlements.
The sharp bite of the outside air on his face felt glorious after the night he had just spent. The sun was still low in the sky, and he shuddered as he squinted into it, thinking of how certain he had been a few hours ago that he would never see daylight again.
As he had expected, John stood leaning on one of the embrasures, staring down toward the river far below. Geoffrey crossed to his side and gently draped John's cloak across the young man's shoulders.
John turned to look at him, face red from the cold and wet with tears.
"It's all over for now," Geoffrey told him. "We won't have to do this again for another few months, anyway."
"I know," John said, his voice hoarse. "That's not what I'm crying about."
Geoffrey waited for him to continue.
"I really thought … I know it was stupid of me, Geoff. I really thought somebody would remember."
"About your birthday?" Geoffrey asked softly.
John nodded, turning to stare at the river again, and snuffling. "I kept waiting for someone to say something. All day and all night. I know everybody was busy, but – how hard can it be for a person to say 'Happy Birthday, John?'"
"I'm sorry, Johnny."
"I even tried to remind Father about it, to see if he'd remember. I talked to him about the hunting trip he said he'd give me for my birthday; I thought maybe that would remind him to say something, but oh, no. Why should I think he'd remember his own son's birthday?"
Geoffrey said, "I can't remember the last time he wished me a happy birthday."
In fact, he remembered it precisely. But he was not going to share that fact with John, and admit that it bothered him enough for him to remember.
John was going on miserably, "I mean, I know my birthday isn't the important one this time of year. It's not like I expect everyone to be falling over themselves giving me their felicitations, with that kind of competition! I just – I just wish somebody would say something – "
Geoffrey's thoughts had wandered for a moment into his own bitter birthday memories. "What?" he asked. "Sorry, John. What competition?"
John stared at him. "Christ," he said flatly.
"Oh. Him." Suddenly, Geoffrey grinned. "Well, you don't need to worry about that. It isn't really His birthday, you know. Probably not even this time of year; certainly not today. The Church made it up. People already celebrated Pagan holidays this time of year, and the Fathers of the Church wanted to pretend that everyone was Christian. So there you go, Johnny, you've got one up on Him. Yesterday really was your birthday, and today isn't His."
John's eyes had gone wide. "It isn't?"
"Not a bit of it. Actually, it's Mithras's birthday."
"Who's Mithras?"
"The old god of the Roman legions. His birthday was the 25th of December, so some old Church Father thought it'd be a good idea to steal that date and give it to Jesus." He added, "I'm sure the Church Fathers would tell us they borrowed it."
John was gazing at him in fascination. "How do you know these things, Geoff?" he wondered.
I read, Geoffrey's thoughts automatically replied. I read and I think about what I've read. But he held himself back from saying that. He told himself, I am trying to make Johnny feel better, not to join the queue to cut him down.
So instead he joked, "I'm a priest of Mithras. Didn't you know? I've revived the old religion in Brittany. When everyone else is at Mass, I'm down in the wine cellar slitting bull's throats. The Bishop doesn't care for it much, but it keeps me out of his hair. So long as I'm busy sacrificing bulls, I'm not out robbing shrines to pay my troops."
Geoffrey's brother stared at him a moment longer, then burst out laughing.
"Can I be a priest of Mithras, too?" John asked, when he had finally calmed down enough to talk and had wiped the tears from his eyes.
"Of course; the more the merrier. I'll initiate you the next time you come to visit."
John's smile seemed to turn a bit uneasy. "Do you think we'll be damned for talking like this?" he asked.
"I should imagine we're damned already. But talking of visiting, Johnny, why don't you come visit us soon? It would do you good to get away from Father for a bit."
His brother's smile was now its old sunny self once more. "I'd like to do that," he said eagerly. "It'd be great to see Constance again …"
At that comment, Geoffrey mentally cursed.
For an intelligent fellow, Geoff, he thought, you can really be remarkably stupid.
Until John said those words, Geoffrey had entirely forgotten what had happened last Christmas – when Constance swore that John undressed her with his eyes every time he looked at her, and she informed Geoffrey in no uncertain terms that the next time his little brother came to visit, she would refuse to see him.
He couldn't permit that, of course. He could not allow his wife to refuse to greet her own brother-in-law. But he also knew he would never hear the end of it, if Johnny visited again and was still behaving that way – as he undoubtedly would be.
Geoffrey speculated, Maybe Johnny doesn't like pregnant women. But the thought didn't hold much hope. From what he had seen so far, Johnny liked any kind of woman, so long as she wasn't yet quite old enough to be his great-grandmother.
At least the pregnancy might provide something of an excuse. "Constance may not be up to receiving guests for some time," he said, "she's pretty far along with the child. And once the child's here, God knows what she may be like then. Women can get a bit odd when there are babies about."
While Geoffrey had been attempting to avert a brother-and-wife crisis, it appeared that John had been thinking some troubling thoughts of his own. Frowning a little, John said, "Maybe I shouldn't visit you for a while, anyway, Geoff. Father – well, you know what Father's like, he'd just think we were plotting something. And … and I really shouldn't be away from him for long, I don't think … or he might stop thinking of me as his favourite, he might pick someone else …"
Poor Johnny, Geoffrey thought. We would be plotting something. And that's exactly why I want you to visit, because if I can make him think you've turned against him, and he stops fawning over you, then I'm one of the someones else he might pick …
But it was true, all the same; it would be good for John to get away.Geoffrey thought, He's never going to grow up at all, if Father's allowed to just keep on babying him.
"You're probably right, John," he said. "They do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it's never made him any fonder of me. Father must be the exception."
Geoffrey had been holding the document case in his left hand, beneath his cloak, where John wouldn't see it. Now he held it out and handed it to his brother.
He said, "I'm sorry I didn't give this to you yesterday. I meant to, but things got a little out of hand."
John took the document box and gave him a startled look. "Thanks, Geoff. What is it?"
"Open it," Geoffrey urged.
With a bemused smile, John started to obey. Geoffrey leaned against the embrasure and forced himself not to tense up, as he watched to see what reaction his gift would bring.
Damnation, it had been difficult finding the right present for Johnny. Everything he'd thought of seemed saddled with some unfortunate implication, that John might take as an insult, an attempt to put pressure upon him, or both.
A falcon or dogs or anything else to do with hunting was no good. It was common talk that John spent too much time hunting, so he might think the gift was a reference to that. A warhorse or any kind of weapon, he'd probably think was a jab at him for not being as accomplished a warrior as his elder brothers. Wine, goblets, or anything of that sort was just as bad, for courtiers and poets were spreading tales about how much young Prince John drank, and he'd be sure to read that criticism into any such gift. Any book would of course be an accusation that he didn't read enough. Geoffrey couldn't even arrange for a mistress or courtesan for him, for the kid would take it as implying that Geoff didn't think he could make such arrangements on his own.
Geoffrey thought, alas for the days when I could give him a marzipan pig and he would be happy with it!
Ironically, considering her attitude to her brother-in-law, it was Constance who'd thought of the gift he had settled on – although she had said it as a joke. She had observed, when she grew tired of her husband enumerating potential problem presents, "They call him 'Lackland,' don't they?"
John looked more startled than before when he found the rolled-up parchment inside the box, with all the official trappings of a charter from the Count of Brittany. When he opened the parchment and commenced to read, he was positively dumbfounded.
"Is this what it looks like it is?" he asked.
"An estate," Geoffrey confirmed, "in Richmond. The last owner died without heir and left it to the Benedictines, so I bought it from them."
It suddenly seemed very important to him that Johnny should know he hadn't just seized the estate. Not that he thought it would trouble John, if he had seized it. But he wanted John to know that Geoffrey cared enough to spend money on him – since it seemed that no one else in the family did.
"It's got some fine woods," he went on, "that ought to give excellent hunting. The castle's not bad; a bit small, but it should serve you well as a hunting lodge – or just an escape, when you need to get away from Father! And you can always build onto it later, if you want to. The rents will provide a little spending money – nothing much, but it's always nice to have something you don't have to ask Father to give you. And since I'm not in Richmond that often, you'll be able to go to your estate without Father thinking you and I are plotting together."
John's face still bore an odd, disbelieving expression, and Geoffrey was beginning to think this present had been as ill-advised as all the other possibilities.
"It's not much, I know," Geoffrey said, trying to sound off-hand about it. "You can always sell it on again, if you'd rather just have the money –"
"No, it's perfect," John broke in. His voice wavered a little. Very quietly he repeated, "It's perfect, Geoff. It's what I didn't have."
The two brothers leaned against the parapet, watching as the climbing sun painted the river in jeweled hues. They were still watching a few minutes later, when a man and woman strolled arm-in-arm along the pier far below, toward the barge that waited to return Queen Eleanor to England, and captivity.
"She's leaving," Geoffrey said. He was not quite certain what the emotion was that he heard in his own voice.
"Thank God," John answered.
Geoffrey wasn't sure if he shared his little brother's sentiment on that or not. But he was suddenly very glad indeed that he would soon be on his way home to Brittany. Back to a province where he was the ruler, even if it were only through his wife's inheritance and his father's military might. Back to the land where he was Count Geoffrey, with the powers of justice and of life and death in his hands – instead of being the extra prince.
"And God be thanked," Geoffrey murmured, "we don't have to do this again 'till Easter."
The brothers smiled at each other. And for a moment, years seemed rolled away. For that moment Geoffrey could imagine that he was still best friend to a little brother who adored him – that this one relationship, out of all their stupidly complicated lives, was still simple.
"Happy Birthday, Johnny," he said.
"Happy Christmas, Geoff," said Johnny.