As a work of fiction, however, it is a mess. I have to praise Penman for her thorough research and the way she brought twelfth-century France and England to life as a historical novel, When Christ and his Saints Slept succeeds. I do not know where to begin in describing how utterly disappointed I am in this book, the first in Penman’s trilogy about Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. “Thank you,” she said, “for winning back my throne.” Maude reached out, taking his hand in hers. Her entrance went almost unnoticed in the confusion, and it was several moments before Robert disentangled himself from Amabel’s arms and shoved his way through to her side. Everywhere she looked, she saw unbound hair, bare feet, husbands and wives entwined in joyful, welcoming embraces. The other women had not been as punctilious about propriety as Maude, and had hastened downstairs in various stages of undress.
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