The receiver of Fulk’s famous letter had gone before him to the grave; Louis From-over-sea, the grandson of Eadward the Elder, the last Karolingian worthy of his race, had died in 954. His death brought the house of France a step nearer to the throne; but it was still only one step. Lothar, the son of Louis, was crowned in his father’s stead; two years later the king-maker followed the king; and thenceforth his son, the new duke of the French, Hugh Capet, steadily prepared to exchange his ducal cap for a crown which nevertheless he was too prudent to seize before the time. In the face of countless difficulties, Louis in his eighteen years’ reign had contrived to restore the monarchy of Laon to a very real kingship. His greatest support in this task had been his wife’s brother, the Emperor Otto the Great. The two brothers-in-law, who had come to their thrones in the same year, were fast friends in life and death; and Otto remained the faithful guardian of his widowed sister and her son. So long as he lived, Hugh’s best policy was peace; and while Hugh remained quiet, there was little scope for military or political action on the part of his adherent Geoffrey of Anjou. In 973, however, the great Emperor died; and soon after he was gone the alliance between the Eastern and Western Franks began to shew signs of breaking. Lothar and Otto II. were brothers-in-law as well as cousins, but they were not friends as their fathers had been. In an evil hour Lothar was seized with a wild longing to regain the land which bore his name,—that fragment of the old “Middle Kingdom,” known as the duchy of Lotharingia or Lorraine, which after long fluctuating between its attachment to the imperial crown and its loyalty to the Karolingian house had finally cast in its lot with the Empire, with the full assent of Louis From-over-sea. Lothar brooded over its loss till in 978, when Otto and his queen were holding their court at Aachen, his jealousy could no longer endure the sight of his rival so near the border, and he summoned the nobles of his realm to an expedition into Lorraine.[268] Nothing could better fall in with the plans of Hugh Capet than a breach between Lothar and Otto; the call to arms was readily answered by the duke and his followers, and the grey tunic of the Angevin count was conspicuous at the muster.[269] The suddenness of Lothar’s march compelled Otto to make a hasty retreat from Aachen; but all that the West-Franks gained was a mass of plunder, and the vain glory of turning the great bronze eagle on the palace of Charles the Great towards the east instead of the west.[270] While they were plundering Aachen Otto was preparing a counter-invasion.[271] Bursting upon the western realm, he drove the king to cross the Seine and seek help of the duke, and before Hugh could gather troops enough to stop him he had made his way to the gates of Paris. For a while the French and the Germans lay encamped on opposite banks of the river, the duke waiting till his troops came up, and beguiling the time with skirmishes and trials of individual valour.[272] But as soon as Otto perceived that his adversaries were becoming dangerous he struck his tents and marched rapidly homewards, satisfied with having inflicted on his rash cousin a far greater alarm and more serious damage than he had himself suffered from Lothar’s wild raid.[273]

From that time forth, at least, Geoffrey Greygown’s life was a busy and a stirring one. It seems to have been in the year of the Lotharingian raid that he married his second wife, Adela, countess in her own right of Chalon-sur-Saône, and now the widow of Count Lambert of Autun.[274] By his first marriage, with another Adela, he seems to have had only a daughter, Hermengard, who had been married as early as 970[275] to Conan the Crooked, count of Rennes. There can be little doubt that this marriage was a stroke of policy on Geoffrey’s part, intended to pave the way for Angevin intervention in the affairs of Britanny. The claims of Fulk the Good to the overlordship of Nantes had of course expired with him; whatever rights the widow of Duke Alan might carry to her second husband, they could not pass to her stepson. Still Geoffrey could hardly fail to cherish designs upon, at least, the debateable ground which lay between the Mayenne and the original county of Nantes. Meanwhile the house of Rennes had managed to establish, by the right of the stronger, its claim to the dukedom of Britanny. Hoel, a son of Alan Barbetorte, remained count of Nantes for nearly twenty years after Fulk’s death; his career was ended at last by the hand of an assassin;[276] and as his only child was an infant, his brother Guerech, already bishop of Nantes, was called upon to succeed him, as the only surviving descendant of Alan who was capable of defending the state. Guerech was far better fitted for a secular than for an ecclesiastical ruler; as bishop, his chief care was to restore or rebuild his cathedral, and for this object he was so eager in collecting contributions that he made a journey to the court of Lothar to ask help of the king in person. His way home lay directly through Anjou. Geoffrey felt that his opportunity had come; and he set the first example of a mode of action which thenceforth became a settled practice of the Angevin counts. He laid traps in all directions to catch the unwary traveller, took him captive, and only let him go after extorting homage not merely for the debateable land, but also for Nantes itself; in a word, for all that part of Britanny which had been held or claimed by Fulk as Drogo’s guardian.[277]

Geoffrey had gained his hold over Nantes; but in so doing he had brought upon himself the wrath of his son-in-law. Conan, as duke of Britanny, claimed for himself the overlordship of Nantes, and regarded Guerech’s enforced homage to Geoffrey as an infringement of his own rights. His elder sons set out to attack their step-mother’s father, made a raid upon Anjou, and were only turned back from the very gates of Angers by a vigorous sally of Geoffrey himself.[278] Conan next turned his vengeance upon the unlucky count-bishop of Nantes. The Angevin and his unwilling vassal made common cause against their common enemy, who marched against their united forces, bringing with him a contingent of the old ravagers of Nantes—the Normans.[279] The rivals met not far from Nantes, on the lande of Conquereux, one of those soft, boggy heaths so common in Britanny; and the issue of the fight was recorded in an Angevin proverb—“Like the battle of Conquereux, where the crooked overcame the straight.”[280] Conan was, however, severely wounded, and does not appear to have followed up his victory; and the Nantes question was left to be fought out ten years later, on the very same ground, by Geoffrey’s youthful successor.

The death of Lothar, early in March 986, brought Hugh Capet within one step of the throne. The king’s last years had been spent in endeavouring to secure the succession to his son by obtaining for him the homage of the princes of Aquitaine and the support of the duke of the French—two objects not very easy to combine, for the great duchies north and south of the Loire were divided by an irreconcileable antipathy. In 956 William “Tête-d’Etoupe,” or the “Shockhead,” strong in his triple power as count of Poitou, count of Auvergne and duke of Aquitaine—strong, too, in his alliance with Normandy, for he had married a sister of his namesake of the Long Sword—had bidden defiance not unsuccessfully to Lothar and Hugh the Great both at once.[281] In 961 Lothar granted the county of Poitiers to Hugh;[282] but all he could give was an empty title; when William Shockhead died in 963,[283] his son William Fierabras stepped into his place as count of Poitou, duke of Aquitaine, and leader of the opposition to Hugh Capet.

It was now evident that the line of Charles the Great was about to expire in a worthless boy. While the young King Louis, as the chroniclers say, “did nothing,”[284] the duke of the French and his followers were almost openly preparing for the last step of all. The count of Anjou, following as ever closely in the wake of his overlord, now ventured on a bold aggression. Half by force, half by fraud, he had already carried his power beyond the Mayenne; he now crossed the Loire and attacked his southern neighbour the count of Poitou. Marching boldly down the road which led from Angers to Poitiers, he took Loudun, and was met at Les Roches by William Fierabras, whom he defeated in a pitched battle and pursued as far as a place which in the next generation was marked by the castle of Mirebeau. Of the subsequent details of the war we know nothing; it ended however in a compromise; Geoffrey kept the lands which he had won, but he kept them as the “man” of Duke William.[285] They seem to have consisted of a series of small fiefs scattered along the valleys of the little rivers Layon, Argenton, Thouet and Dive, which furrow the surface of northern Poitou.[286] The most important was Loudun, a little town some eighteen miles north-west of Poitiers. Even to-day its gloomy, crooked, rough-paved streets, its curious old houses, its quaintly-attired people, have a strangely old-world look; lines within lines of broken wall wind round the hill on whose slope the town is built, and in their midst stands a great square keep, the work of Geoffrey’s successors. He had won a footing in Poitou; they learned to use it for ends of which, perhaps, he could as yet scarcely dream. Loudun looked southward to Poitiers, but it looked northward and eastward too, up the valley of the Thouet which led straight up to Saumur, the border-fortress of Touraine and Anjou, and across the valley of the Vienne which led from the Angevin frontier into the heart of southern Touraine. Precious as it might be in itself, Loudun was soon to be far more precious as a point of vantage not so much against the lord of Poitiers as against the lord of Chinon, Saumur and Tours.