The Fatal Crown (11 page)

Maud shook her head, wanting to close her ears to this unforgivable violation of her mother’s privacy, but her father seemed to have no sense of decorum.

“You cannot afford to be squeamish with me, Daughter. Modesty must be overcome. The matter is too important. Why didn’t he honor your bed?”

“In truth, Sire, I never knew.” Now the shameful secret was out. She had never understood the reason for her husband’s indifference to her body, but wondered if it might be due, in part, to some fault of her own, some lack of feminine appeal, although she had no way of knowing. “I don’t think he was greatly interested in matters of the flesh.”

Knowing the King’s notorious reputation with women, the numerous bastards he had fathered, Maud could almost have laughed at the look of incredulity on his face.

“Did other women lure him from you?” A prurient gleam appeared in his eyes. “He would not be the first man who took his pleasures where he found them, but that is hardly an excuse for failing in his conjugal duty.” He paused, his face suddenly like a thundercloud. “Boys? Was he a sodomite?”

“I’m sure he was not.” Maud looked down at her hands laced tightly in her lap. “There was no evidence of such—such leanings. Or of other women.”

“I see.” Henry looked far from satisfied. “He did break your maidenhead? He wasn’t impotent?”

“He broke it, but,” she swallowed, forcing out the words, “but he could not always—in fact he was barely able to—”

“Perform his matrimonial duties,” he finished for her. “Yes, I begin to understand now. How old were you when he first came to your bed?”

“Sixteen.” Maud rose, so she would not have to face him, and began to walk back and forth across the pavilion.

Her father looked dumbfounded. “Sixteen? He did nothing before that? Never fondled you? Looked at you? Nothing?”

As she shook her head, an image of the Emperor, dressed in the familiar nightshirt, appeared in Maud’s mind. In all the years of their marriage, following the dictum of Holy Church, he had never seen or touched any part of her body, with the exception of a paternal embrace or affectionate kiss on the cheek. His only contact with her had been through the hole in his nightshirt. Although she was aware that her mind fascinated and challenged him, Maud assumed her physical aspect—perhaps any woman’s—left him indifferent.

How much of her husband’s ascetic behavior was due to his own bias, and how much to the influence of the church—which proclaimed all desires of the flesh to be sinful, even within marriage—Maud had never been able to determine. Nor had she dared discuss the matter with anyone except Aldyth who, being a virgin, was as mystified as herself.

The one time—prodded by Aldyth—she had tentatively brought the matter up to her confessor, Father Sebastion, he had given her a severe penance for even thinking about fornication. Such thoughts were forbidden, he warned her, while at the same time asking the most intimate questions about what exactly the Emperor did when he came to her bed. Did he touch her body? Her breasts? Her female parts? If so, for how long? Did he kiss her in these places? Did he scrutinize her naked body? What positions did he use to copulate with her? She found herself repelled and shocked by the zeal with which Father Sebastion interrogated her, his voice quite breathless as he asked if the Emperor had ever entered her “more canino.” The idea of her austere and aging husband mounting her like a dog was so farfetched as to be almost laughable.

“So, you have never known love’s pleasures.” Henry’s voice intruded on her thoughts and the Emperor’s picture faded.

Pleasures? Remembering her rigid submission to the Emperor’s joyless fumblings, Maud could not imagine anything less pleasurable.

“By God’s splendor, the Holy Roman Emperor impotent,” he continued. “More priest than man, by what you say.” He walked over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I understand now that which was not clear to me earlier. God forgive me, Daughter, I did you a great wrong when I married you to this unnatural man, thinking only to bring honor to our house by such an alliance. Who could have known he would disgrace you in this manner.”

“Sire, he did not disgrace me,” she began hotly, but he silenced her with a look.

“Of course he did, of course he did.” His voice was harsh and implacable as he stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. “Did you know that all Europe, ignorant of where the true fault lies, assumes you to be a barren woman? Is that not disgraceful? And what disgraces you, Madam, disgraces the House of Normandy.”

Her lack of children had seemed a personal matter, concerning only the Emperor and herself. Was it possible that the world sniggered behind her back, making crude jests at her expense? In despair, Maud watched her father work himself up into a state of righteous indignation. How could she ever explain to this man, who apparently looked upon all her gender as either brood mares, instruments of pleasure, or pawns to be used for political advantage, that she had had great affection for her husband, and he for her. Despite his failure to give her children, the Emperor had opened up her mind, filling it with new ideas, encouraging her to learn and think for herself, giving her opportunities to test her abilities.

“You’re upset, I see. Who can blame you? I promise that this insult to our house will be removed; people will soon be singing a different tune.” Henry, his good humor restored, smiled at her. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am, Daughter, what a great weight has been taken from my mind.” He took her arm and opened the tent door. “I will walk you to your litter.” They walked outside into the dusk. “Tomorrow we leave for the coast to set sail for England.”

She nodded, and felt emboldened to take advantage of his changed mood. “Have you a new marriage in mind for me, Sire?” she asked. “Is that what all these questions mean? To determine if I would be a suitable breeder? Is this the ‘desperate situation’ you spoke of earlier?”

To her surprise he did not appear offended. “You’ll know soon enough. Soon enough.” He patted her hand. “Do not question me further.”

“There is something else, Sire,” she burst out before she could stop herself. “Why did you force me to take off the Imperial crown? Why did you humiliate me before your entire court?”

“Humiliate you?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “What I did was only for your own good. I have plans for you, Daughter, and to further these plans, the Imperial connection must be broken once and for all. No one must be reminded of that former life.” He patted her hand again. “Trust me to act in your best interests.”

“And yours,” Maud said under her breath.

“Of course mine. Our interests are the same, make no mistake,” he said as he helped her into the litter.

“If there are plans being made for me, surely I have the right to know what they are?”

“You have only the rights I allow you,” Henry told her. “Remember that.” His eyes narrowed. “You must learn to discipline your tongue, Madam, and curb your spleen. If the Emperor taught you the virtues of obedience, patience, and diplomacy I have yet to see evidence of them. A few feminine wiles would not come amiss. Submission, Madam, submission.”

Maud bit her underlip and did not answer. Again and again, the Emperor had warned her to curb her impetuous temper or one day it would lead to serious trouble. Still, she could not rid herself of the idea that her father was not really displeased.

The King leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks. “I said you shall have honor here, Daughter, and so you shall. More than you have ever dreamed. Trust me.”

Trust him? What had he ever done to warrant her trust, Maud asked herself, as the litter moved off into the darkness.

As soon as Maud left, King Henry sent for his chief administrator, Roger, Bishop of Salisbury. When the Bishop entered the pavilion, he found the King scanning a parchment map spread out on the oak table.

“The meeting went well, Sire?”

“Remarkably well, Roger, Maud will do splendidly. Better than I had hoped. She made a favorable impression this morning, didn’t you think?”

Wheezing slightly, the Bishop eased his fat body slowly onto a stool. “Ah—as far as I could tell she did. A most personable woman. The accent is a little strange, of course.”

“People will get used to it, and in time the accent will fade.”

“No doubt. What did you discover, Sire?”

“My friend, you will hardly credit the tale I’ve just been told,” Henry said, turning from the table. “I married my daughter to a man unable to honor her bed. Virtually impotent.” He dropped his voice. “And worse.”

“Worse?”

“A suspected sodomite.”

“No!”

“Yes. I could hardly believe it myself.”

“Impious,” muttered the Bishop, crossing himself. “May God assoil the poor man.” He paused. “So one may then assume that the Princess Maud is not barren?”

“Far from it, far from it.” Henry rubbed his hands together. “The lady is basically untouched, innocent as a nun. For all practical purposes,
virgo intacta.”

“I’m relieved to hear that, Sire. So you mean to go through with your plan then?”

“Of course, of course. Now that I know there is no impediment I’m determined to see the matter through. My daughter is well educated, intelligent, strong-willed, and no stranger to the responsibilities of a crown. A woman of character and spirit, my mother all over again. A little too ready with her tongue, but that can be remedied.”

Henry began to pace the tent, hands clasped behind him. “Have I ever told you how well my mother ruled Normandy while my father was away conquering England?”

“Many times, Sire. Although I never tire of hearing about it,” Roger added hastily. “A most stirring tale to be sure.” Roger followed the King’s movements with his eyes. “What will you do in the event Maud does not wish for the great honor you intend to bestow on her?”

“Not wish to be queen?” Henry stopped in his tracks, astonished by the idea. “Of course she will want to be queen. Maud is a daughter of Normandy, therefore ambitious.” He thought for a moment. “Although she may not know it as yet. But I do.” He wagged his finger at Roger. “Do you remember how I always said Maud should have been the boy? Already she tries to control her fate and take matters into her own hands.”

Roger nodded glumly. “I remember, Sire, but that was a long time ago. Her lack of knowledge of England will tell against her should she be called upon to assume the throne at short notice.”

“I have many more years of life ahead of me,” Henry said with a dark look at the Bishop. “Time to teach Maud all she needs to know. And she will be surrounded by able advisors, of course.” He strode restlessly to the table and began drumming his fingers against the wood.

“There will be problems, naturally,” he continued. “She is impetuous, headstrong. The Emperor spoiled her and everything has come a little too easily for her, but she will have her mettle tested soon enough, by God’s splendor. I shall mold her myself. She will rule in my image.”

Roger gave a discreet cough. “As I have already warned you, Sire, there will be difficulties with Stephen and his supporters. Not to mention the other magnates.”

Henry began to pace again. “Yes, yes, I know. You remind me often enough. Well, circumstances change; Stephen must adapt like everyone else. I’ve great affection for my nephew, and have always treated him like my own son. He has never been stinted of wealth, honors, titles. There is no cause for complaint from that quarter.” He paused. “When we mentioned Stephen as a possible candidate for the throne, the Emperor was not yet dead, remember. I had no idea Maud would be available. No promises were made, mind. I’ve never even discussed the issue with him.”

“True, but he expects to be the heir should Queen Adelicia not bear you a son. Everyone assumes he will be; everyone wants him to be. Perhaps a word in his ear would not come amiss. To soften the blow.”

Henry gave the Bishop a sharp look. “Not one word, do you understand? Not one word. I want no one stirring up trouble before the fact. Stephen will hear the news when everyone else does. When the time is ripe. Meanwhile, God may still answer our prayers: The Queen may still conceive a son.” He lifted his wine cup. “Now, are you through playing devil’s advocate?”

The Bishop reluctantly nodded.

“I know you’re against this, Roger, but you will support me despite your misgivings?” His hooded eyes watched the Bishop’s face over the rim of his wooden cup.

“As always, Sire,” the Bishop responded with an oily smile that showed his rotting teeth. “But this will be such a violent break with custom. There is simply no precedent for leaving the kingdom to a woman. Even in Saxon times no one would have dared—”

“Enough!” Henry interrupted, banging his cup on the table. “The matter is settled. The magnates will bend to my will.” He smiled and pointed a confident finger at Roger. “In truth, Maud will make an admirable queen, eh? Admit it. When have I ever been wrong?”

S
TEPHEN’S BROTHER HENRY, ABBOT
of Glastonbury, had witnessed the encounter between the King and his daughter with intense interest. When the King arranged to see his daughter alone, followed immediately by a visit from the Bishop of Salisbury, he suspected something was afoot. After Vespers, an impromptu visit to Bishop Roger was in order. The Bishop would tell him about the second meeting, and also allay his growing concern about his brother’s future as heir apparent, a concern he had not voiced to Stephen. A light wind ruffled the pale brown hair around his tonsure and flattened his black habit against his thin shanks.

As the Abbot bowed his head to enter the cramped interior of the church, the stench of unwashed bodies rose to meet him. He wrinkled his arched nose in distaste. Looking about him with cool green eyes, the Abbot realized that almost no one from the King’s camp had attended the service. Not surprising, he thought, in such an ugly, unassuming house of worship. A church should be glorified with beautiful things in tasteful surroundings, not like this filthy place. Impatiently, his eyes sought out the altar. There was no water clock, not even an hourglass. He thought longingly of his own comfortable, well-appointed church in Glastonbury.