The Fatal Crown (47 page)

“At the moment I cannot go on, much less make plans,” Maud whispered. “Pray excuse me.”

“We will seek vengeance, never fear.” Geoffrey’s hands gripped hers. “By God, that smiling Judas of Blois will pay for this. Upon the head of my son and heir, I swear to see you upon England’s throne!”

“We swear as well,” Robert and Brian replied as one voice.

“By your leave then, Count Geoffrey, I will depart for Rome,” the Bishop of Angers said. “Regardless of the outcome, I must voice my protest to the Holy Father himself.” He turned to Maud with a concerned look. “Is there aught I can do to console you, my lady? Shall we pray together in the chapel?”

Maud forced a grimace that she hoped would be taken for a smile, and shook her head, hoping she would not be sick before she reached the solar. Under the eyes of the concerned men, she walked slowly from the great hall. Once her knees started to buckle, and Robert ran to her aid, but she waved him away. Fearing her emotions would erupt and she would make a total fool of herself, Maud knew she had to seek the safety of her chamber at once. No one must suspect the true nature of the devastating blow she had received.

She half ran up the winding staircase and down the long passage before flinging open the door to the solar. Inside, her ladies and Aldyth worked a tapestry together while a minstrel sang a
joi d’amour
from the Languedoc. Mother of God, she had forgotten they were there.

“By the Rood, what has happened?” Aldyth asked after one look at Maud’s face.

“Leave me, all of you,” Maud choked out. “My Lord of Gloucester will tell you the news, Aldyth. I cannot …”

Twittering like so many sparrows, the ladies left the solar, followed by Aldyth and the minstrel. At the door, Aldyth started to turn back but Maud waved her away with a firm hand. The nail-studded door closed softly behind her.

Alone, Maud bent over a silver basin, swallowing repeatedly until the wave of sickness passed; then she eased herself down on the canopied bed. Nothing she had ever experienced could have begun to prepare her for the crushing anguish now threatening to tear her apart; her whole being was racked with an agony so intense it seemed mortal. It was not possible to survive such pain. How could Stephen do it? How could he have forsworn his oath to her? Betrayed their love? Dishonored her so completely?

Maud repressed a scream, as images from the past rose unbidden to torment her: Stephen frolicking with her in the water at Winchester, kissing her with warm, insistent lips, tenderly holding her in his arms at the lodge near Windsor, taking possession of her body with a passion that matched her own; Stephen in Rouen, begging her to abandon responsibility and duty to come away with him.

She called upon God to aid her suffering in this terrible hour, called upon the Holy Mother to help her withstand the searing, crucifying pain of loss. Maud could feel no response to her cry for help; no whisper of comfort penetrated the depths of her wretchedness. Embalmed in a shroud of despair, she wept, harsh, wrenching sobs that tore at her body like a living animal. By his act of betrayal, Stephen had taken away both the memory of their love, upon which she had fed for sustenance and support, and her throne, the vital purpose that motivated her life. Now there was neither love nor purpose. She had been left with nothing. What was there to live for?

There was an intrusive pounding on the door, and Maud heard Henry’s imperious voice calling to her.

“Maman, Maman!”

Numb to the demands of the outside world, Maud did not respond. When there was no reply Henry began to shout, then pushed open the door and ran into the chamber. She saw his gray eyes flash with impatience when he saw her lying on the bed, his expression almost comical in its intense, purposeful masculinity.

“Maman is resting, my poppet,” Maud managed to whisper. “Go back to Isabelle.”

Always fiercely demanding of his rights, Henry ignored her and climbed up onto the bed, butting his way into her arms like a young kid and nuzzling her neck with his nose.

“Please, my son, let me rest.” Maud kissed the top of his little round head.

Henry sat up and gazed silently down at her, seeming instinctively to understand something was truly wrong. He gave her a wet kiss from his rosebud mouth, then scrambled down and ran out of the chamber, closing the door noisily behind him. Henry. Through the searing pain of loss, something stirred at the very core of her being. A reminder that Stephen had left her with something after all, a living legacy of what they had once meant to each other.

A new onslaught of grief threatened to overwhelm her, but this time Maud fought it down as if it were a vicious adversary, burying it deep within her. What good were tears, she thought, remembering her father’s words to her so long ago: ‘A granddaughter of the Conqueror does not cry.’

I must not succumb, Maud told herself, even if my heart breaks and death would be a welcome release. I owe it to Henry to live. It is his heritage that has been stolen, as well as mine. My father wanted me to be his heir and Henry after me. Then his sons and grandsons to follow. I will not allow Stephen to take what is mine! I will be queen.

The grief froze within her, then encysted into anger; despair hardened into savage determination; agony turned to pride; the wish to die became the need to reclaim her heritage. In a wordless plea from the heart, Maud called upon her blood to help avenge this mortal insult to the House of Normandy. It seemed to her then that a shadowy host of Norman ancestors—the first Duke Rollo, Richard the Fearless, Robert the Magnificent, the great Conqueror and his proud wife, Matilda, the cunning Lion of Justice, her own father—rose up to answer her desperate appeal.

She vowed to avenge herself and her blood on this treacherous cousin of Blois; to pick up the pieces of her shattered life and take back what was rightfully hers. If love—if even the memory of love—was to be denied her, then vengeance must suffice. I will not be beaten, Maud cried. Coldly, she watched the woman she might have become die unmourned within her, to be replaced by the woman who would survive.

S
EPHEN’S REIGN BEGAN MOST
auspiciously. early in the new year, still glowing from the success of his recent coronation, he received, via his brother Henry, a message from the Holy See: Pope Innocent cautiously endorsed the fact that Stephen, chosen king by the will of the people, was already crowned and consecrated.

“My informants at the church council debating the Countess of Anjou’s claims,” the Bishop of Winchester told Stephen, “reported that there was strong opposition among many of the cardinals and a small group of Norman prelates. They called you usurper and Hugh Bigod perjurer.”

Stephen, sitting in the great hall at Westminster, was uncomfortably aware of Matilda, big with child, seated next to him, listening with half an ear. He had never discussed with his wife any of the details of the King’s death, his agreement with Hugh Bigod, or even how he and his brother had long plotted for the throne.

“The fact that Bigod is now Earl of Norfolk was looked upon with grave suspicion,” Henry continued. “The Bishop of Angers, in particular, accused both you and—” At the frown on Stephen’s face and his imperceptible nod in Matilda’s direction, the Bishop paused, then ran a tongue over his lips. “Ah—not that it’s of any importance what false rumors and slanderous innuendo are being spread abroad. What else can one expect from the Angevin contingent? But if the Pope has backed us, the Countess of Anjou’s cause is well and truly lost, no matter what venomous accusations are made.”

Whatever the circumstances, the Pope
had
accepted him. This put the seal on his triumph, Stephen thought, as he made ready to attend his uncle’s funeral at the Abbey of Reading. Maud, he heard, would not be there. Rumor had it that she had threatened never again to set foot in England except to reclaim her throne. Stephen was relieved; he could not have faced her so soon. Instead, Robert of Gloucester had accompanied his father’s body across the channel. Stephen hoped for the eventual support of his old friends Robert and Brian. As one of the most powerful magnates in the realm, Robert’s endorsement was of particular importance. He knew, however, that such recognition might not be immediately forthcoming and was prepared to wait.

At the moment, Stephen was well pleased with what he had accomplished. Of course, there was always the gnawing guilt over what he had done to Maud, and the fact that he still loved her, but these were more than balanced, he persuaded himself, by the glory of being king.

After his uncle’s funeral—where Robert and Brian refused to speak to him and left immediately after it was over—Stephen, accompanied by his brother, rode on to Oxford where a church council had been convened. As many prelates still withheld their approval, the Bishop of Winchester had advised Stephen what subjects he must cover and the promises he should make in order to win them over.

In the great hall of Oxford Castle Stephen addressed the group of black-robed prelates:

“My lord bishops, I give you my solemn promise not to retain vacant Sees in my possession and to allow canonical free election. In addition, I agree to relax the harsher forest laws, and abolish Danegeld.”

Danegeld, the tax originally imposed on the Saxons to provide resources to fight Danish invasions and continued as a land tax when Duke William conquered England, was unpopular with the church but a good source of revenue for the crown. Keeping his own counsel, Stephen was deliberately vague as to when he would repeal the tax.

The peers of the church, however, seemed pleased with what he had to say, although, Stephen noticed, they spent more time fawning over the Bishop of Winchester, as if he were the true king, rather than himself. Henry was becoming a little … overbearing perhaps? Stephen was extremely grateful to his brother for his help in gaining the crown, but he was also beginning to feel very much like a prize bull, greatly admired while it is being led around by a ring through the nose.

When Stephen returned to London and told Matilda of his promises to the church she was jubilant. “I’m so pleased with the changes you will make,” she bubbled. “I always hated those savage hunting laws. And the tax was far too severe for all but the very rich.”

Stephen gave her an indulgent smile. “Let us hope that I’ll be able to keep my promises.”

“Surely you would not promise what you cannot mean to fulfill?” Her voice was aghast.

Stephen sighed. Matilda, bless her, was apt to see all of life in strict terms of black or white.

“How can I explain?” he began carefully. “One always means what one says at the time. But circumstances change. What is politic today might be anathema tomorrow. This is the way of the world.”

Her face immediately cleared. “That sounds like your brother talking, not you. You are a man of honor.”

“Let us hope so,” Stephen replied, not meeting her eyes.

The months went by and Stephen, continuing to ride the crest of the popular wave, felt he could not put a foot wrong. Until one day in late spring when Earl Ranulf of Chester, who, to everyone’s surprise, had supported Stephen rather than Maud, sent urgent word to Westminster that King David of Scotland and a troop of Highlanders had marched across the Scottish border and captured Newcastle. Dumbfounded at the news, Stephen dashed up the winding staircase to Matilda’s solar.

His wife, the new baby, Eustace, in her lap, looked at him in disbelief when he told her what her uncle had done.

“What can have possessed King David?” Stephen asked.

“Perhaps, unlike others, he takes as a serious obligation his oath to support Maud,” she responded, then bit her lip in consternation, obviously fearful she had offended him. “Forgive me,” she added quickly. “I meant no reflection on anyone.”

Despite his carefully worded explanations to her, Stephen was aware that Matilda had been shocked and dismayed at his usurpation of the throne. Not that she would ever reproach him, of course; she was far too loyal for that. But her unvoiced disapproval made Stephen uncomfortable. Living with a saint, no matter how devoted, had its disadvantages.

“If the people had wanted Maud to rule I wouldn’t have been chosen,” he retorted now, nettled by her response. “In any case, David of Scotland will rue the day he crossed my borders. I intend to raise the largest army he has ever set eyes on.”

Shortly thereafter Stephen marched north to Scotland with a huge force of men, the first true army that had been seen in England in thirty-five years. By the time he reached Durham, however, King David, realizing he could not withstand the English numbers, had already sued for peace.

Accompanied by the Earl of Leicester, Stephen met with the Scottish king in the cathedral at Durham.

“I would not have believed this of you, Kinsman,” Stephen said. “Do you forget the Queen of England is your blood niece? You must swear homage to me and promise never in future to take up arms against England.”

David regarded him with guileless blue eyes and a grim smile. “Aye, and the rightful queen is my other blood niece. By St. Andrew, my conscience will na permit me to swear homage to ye, Stephen, for I ha’ worn a prior oath of fealty to Maud.”

Stephen felt himself flush and could not meet David’s unflinching gaze. In the presence of this highly principled monarch, whose integrity was beyond question, he found his confidence ebbing.

“You’ve been guilty, Sire, of an unlawful aggressive act against England,” Robin of Leicester pointed out. “We must exact reprisals and take hostages to ensure your future loyalty.”

“Ye think to frighten me?” David retorted. “Stephen of Blois has na right to the throne and well he knows it. My conscience is na up fer sale like some I could mention.”

“No need to be hasty, Leicester,” Stephen said, as Robin’s hand fell to his sword hilt. “There’s no cause for talk of hostages and the like. Let us come to terms, Kinsman. I understand your reluctance to forswear your oath and will not press you. What do you require from me in order for us to keep the peace?”

Next to him he heard Robin’s sudden indrawn breath. “I strongly protest. Hostages
must
be taken. King David cannot be allowed to think England condones his actions.”