The Fatal Crown (3 page)

“I would not bring disgrace upon our house,” she said, feeling more alone than she had ever felt in her life.

“There speaks the true Norman princess! I knew you wouldn’t fail me.” With a smile of quiet satisfaction, Henry stood up, then reached for the crown.

Reluctantly, for the gold plates had started to have a reassuring pressure against her hands, Maud gave it back to him. Henry placed the crown on his head, then held out his hand to help her up.

By midday, as the church bells tolled for Sext, Maud stood in the courtyard, surrounded by her family and members of the court. The mild April morning had turned chill; the sky, heavy with dark clouds threatening rain, reflected her inner despair. She noticed three new children of noble birth, two of them twins, who had just arrived from Brittany and Muelan to be brought up at the court of the English king. Another boy, Maud’s first cousin, Stephen, son of her father’s sister, was also due to arrive today from across the channel. The look of abject misery on the faces of the three young strangers as they huddled together filled Maud with compassion. Her heart went out to them but a similar ordeal awaited her in Germany and she could offer no solace.

“It has cost this land dear to dower you properly, Daughter,” her father said, weighing the enormous procession of carts, men, and beasts assembled before him.

Maud’s eyes followed his. A goodly number of sumpter horses and carts carrying bolts of silk and wool, pelts of fox and ermine, jewels and ivory caskets, stood massed together while Norman and German knights, restive on their huge chargers, paraded up and down the courtyard. An array of waiting litters already held Norman ladies-in-waiting as well as her nurse Aldyth, clergymen, servants, and the Emperor’s ambassador, Graf von Hennstien, with his entourage. Two men-at-arms rode in the cart carrying a wooden chest with Maud’s dowry of thousands of silver coins.

Suddenly Henry looked round him with a scowl. “Jesu, where is the Queen? Go to the chapel and bring her here at once,” he ordered a servant.

A short while later Queen Matilda appeared, out of breath, her face white as alabaster. She was accompanied by her confessor and several priests. Gaunt, almost wasted from long hours of fasting, the Queen was dressed in a plain white wool gown. A simple wooden crucifix adorned her neck and thick flaxen braids formed a coronet around her head. As was usual for her mother during Lent, she had gone to chapel with bare feet, and Maud knew she would be wearing a hair shirt next to her skin.

“
Mea culpa
,” she said, with an apprehensive glance at her husband, as she knelt to take Maud in her arms. “Forgive me. I was in the midst of kissing the feet of the blessed poor and did not realize you were ready to leave.”

Having often seen the ulcerous and bleeding feet of the beggars that came to the castle gates, Maud hastily turned her lips away so that her mother’s kiss fell on the side of her head.

“May our Blessed Lady send you safe to Germany.” She pressed a crude wooden rosary into Maud’s damp palm.

“Fare well, Sister,” Robert said, holding Maud’s puppy in his arms. “I’ll miss you.” He leaned forward to kiss her hot cheek. “I’ll take good care of Beau.”

She saw that his eyes were unnaturally bright. Why, he’s the only one who really cares that I’m leaving, Maud thought. She cast a longing glance at the small dog, wishing she could take him with her.

William stuck out his tongue, then ran off without a backward look.

“The Graf is ready,” King Henry said, as he lifted Maud into the immense gilded litter hitched between two roan mares.

For a moment he stared at her, then reached into the leather purse at his belt. “This was my mother’s.” He held up a plain silver ring suspended from a finely wrought chain, then slipped the chain around her neck. He patted her cheek with an awkward gesture. “Try to be worthy of your Norman heritage,” he added in a gruff voice, then abruptly turned away.

As the long procession wound its way across the outer bailey of Windsor Castle, through the open gates, and started down the road, Maud looked longingly over her shoulder. Numb with suppressed grief, she felt as if she were going into a long exile from which she would never return. The brutal wrench of this parting was unbearable. She reached over to clutch Aldyth’s hand. The horses turned a corner; the castle was no longer in sight. Far down the road she could just make out five riders and a sumpter horse laden with packs approaching the litter.

“That must be Maurice, returning with your cousin, young Stephen of Blois,” Aldyth said, giving Maud’s hand a reassuring squeeze as she looked ahead. “I hear the lad has caused so much trouble at home his mother had to send him away to your father’s court. They say that—”

Maud closed her eyes, unable to listen to her nurse’s steady stream of gossip. Yet something Aldyth said struck a responsive note. Both she and Stephen of Blois were leaving their native lands at the same time. It was like a bond between them.

Stephen of Blois saw a cloud of dust ahead that signaled a large procession. His heart jumped a beat.

“Who is raising all that dust?” he asked the grizzled knight, Maurice, who, along with two men-at-arms, had met Stephen and his squire, Gervase, at the port of Dover yesterday morning.

“That must be young Princess Maud,” the knight replied, a note of pride in his voice. “Due to leave for Germany today for her betrothal to the Holy Roman Emperor.”

Stephen recalled his mother, Countess Adela of Blois, reminding him of his twin cousins, Maud and William, before he left for England. She had probably mentioned the impending betrothal as well but he had forgotten it among the host of instructions she had given him. At the thought of the Countess, Stephen’s belly tightened into a hard knot. His mind returned to that fateful morning, barely a month ago, when matters had come to a head between his mother and himself. But for the events of that day, he would not be in England now.

It had been a cold Sunday in March during the Feast of Annunciation, which coincided with his younger brother Henry’s departure for the Benedictine monastery at Cluny. Arriving long after the meal started, Stephen had slipped quietly into a seat at the end of the table, hoping not to be noticed.

“Where have you been?” his mother asked with an accusing glance, spotting him immediately. “As your brother leaves for Cluny tomorrow, you might have had the courtesy to attend the feast on time.”

“I was in the stables,” he mumbled, “tending to my stallion. He—he lost a shoe.” Without much hope, for she continued to regard him with suspicion, Stephen prayed his mother would let it go at that.

The Countess, formidable in black and crimson, presided at the high table flanked by her sons Theobald and Henry, her daughter Cicily, and a handful of guests. A tree trunk burned in the vast hearth, filling the cavernous hall with warmth against the chill March wind whistling through the cracks in the tapestry-covered walls.

Ten-year-old Henry repressed a smile as he threw a piece of fish to the hounds sniffing and yelping hungrily in the rushes under the table. Tearing a chunk from the wheaten loaf on the table, Stephen gave his brother a warning look from green-gold eyes.

The Countess, catching the brief exchange, turned on her youngest son with the swiftness of a cat pouncing upon a mouse. “Aha! Why was Stephen late, Henry? What has he been up to?”

Two years younger than his brother, Henry had light brown hair and pale green eyes that carefully avoided his mother’s relentless gaze. “Ah, nothing, Madam,” he murmured.

Adela, about to attack a boiled carp covered in a thick white sauce, paused to give both boys a speculative look. “I can always tell when you are protecting him, Henry. What has the rascal done now?”

Henry swallowed, a bright flush appearing on his cheeks. “I—that is to say—what has he done?” He stammered, giving his brother a guilty look.

“You heard me. Out with it, my son. No harm will come to you if you speak the truth.”

Henry gave a sigh of capitulation. “Stephen was in the stables—playing with the steward’s daughter. I saw them. Stephen was—” He glanced at his elder sister, Cicily, who was following his words with breathless interest.

“Traitor!” Stephen’s eyes blazed with green fire. “You promised!”

Adela pushed her trencher of bread aside. “What was he doing? Speak up.”

“Her skirts were up over her head, his hose was down, and he was—you know—” Henry colored even more deeply. “Touching her here.” He touched his chest with a look of disgust. “And down there.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of his feet, then turned toward his brother with an air of righteous innocence. “I’m sorry, Stephen, but I cannot lie for you all the time.”

His face scarlet, Stephen rose from the table and leapt at his brother, knocking him from the bench into the rushes, disturbing two hounds quarreling over the fish. Cicily began to shriek.

“Telltale!” Stephen began to pummel his brother with clenched fists. “Rotten little piece of horse dung.”

“Stephen, I’ve warned you over and over to stay away from the steward’s daughter!” Adela was on her feet now, gray eyes snapping in a face white with anger. “Her father has promised the wench to a knight and if you have tampered with her maidenhead it will be the worse for you! Twelve years of age and lecherous as a stag in rut! Why I haven’t cut your stones and member off before now—By God’s splendor, Theo, do something!”

Henry, unperturbed despite a bloody nose, was finally extricated from a tangle of snapping dogs and Stephen’s blows by his eldest brother, the stolid and dutiful Theobald, newly knighted Count of Blois. Adela, whose temper was on a short rein at the best of times, walked around the table to where Stephen stood brushing wisps of dried grass from his green tunic. She began to cuff him about the head and ears.

“Lustful young hothead,” she shouted. “Troublemaker. What is to be done with you? Disobedient, picking quarrels! Is that any way for a grandson of the Conqueror to behave?”

“Then send me away,” Stephen shouted back, trying to duck her blows. “You don’t want me at Blois. You’ve always hated me!”

Adela curled her fingers into a fist and hit him with all her strength. Stephen reeled, putting a hand to the livid red welt that marred the high arch of his cheekbone.

“May God strike you dumb for saying such a monstrous thing about your own mother!” Her face purple with rage, Adela drew back her arm for another blow.

“It’s true, you know it’s true!” Tears of anger and frustration welled up in Stephen’s eyes. “Just because I look like my father. Is that my fault?”

The moment the words were out, Stephen was aghast at his folly. What madness had prompted him to remind his mother of her late husband? During the crusade, Count Stephen of Blois, in the midst of a battle with the Turks in the Holy Land, had deserted his men and fled back to his country. Forced by his indomitable countess to return, he had eventually died a respectable death, but it was the earlier cowardice everyone remembered. His name was never mentioned in Adela’s presence. Now there was absolute silence in the great hall as the servants, the steward, members of the castle mesnie, the guests, and Stephen’s brothers and sister stared at him in horror.

“How dare you remind me of that spineless coward!” Adela screamed, looking wildly about the room. “Someone get me the horsewhip from the stables. At once!”

Half the servants and the steward ran to do her bidding, almost falling over themselves in their haste to get out of the hall.

The Countess glowered at Stephen, her bosom heaving, her eyes reflecting the familiar look of grim hostility that he had come to realize was probably directed at the memory of his weak father, for Stephen closely resembled the Count and bore his name. But whatever its cause, he alone of all her children carried the brunt of his mother’s savage antagonism.

Still wiping the blood from his nose and face, Henry approached his mother. “If Stephen wants to leave Blois, then send him away as he asks. Let him go to our uncle in England.”

Theo and Cicily turned to stare at their brother. Adela’s face slowly returned to its normal color as she looked at her youngest son.

“Why would I wish to inflict this monster upon my brother Henry?”

“As a punishment, Madam, of course,” he replied. “He deserves to be banished. Surely our uncle would teach Stephen manners, courtesy, discipline, all those things you so rightly complain about. He would learn respect and obedience at the King of England’s court.”

Unable to believe his good fortune, Stephen looked from his mother to his brother. “England? You would send me to England?” He could not keep a note of elation from his voice.

“You don’t mean to say you want to go?” his mother asked in a steely voice, her eyes narrowing. “In that case—”

“Of course he doesn’t want to go, do you, Stephen?” Henry interjected hastily, shooting him a warning look. “He would really hate to leave Blois, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” he mumbled.

His mother’s face cleared. “Well, then, I think it an excellent idea. But this will be your last chance, Stephen. If you don’t make something of yourself at my brother’s court, I wash my hands of you. You won’t be welcome in Blois again.”

Dismissing him, Adela turned to Henry. “A good thought, my son. Always so clever.” She patted him absently on the head. “I shall inform King Henry this very day.”

A servant came running into the hall carrying a whip.

“What is that for? Take it back to the stables.” She stalked majestically out of the great hall followed by Theo and Cicily.

England, Stephen repeated to himself, I’m to go to England. Infinitely relieved at the prospect of leaving Blois and his violent-tempered mother, who clearly preferred his brothers to himself, he looked wonderingly at Henry, the cause of this unexpected reprieve.

“Thank you, Brother,” he said. “You’ve done me a good service this day.”

His brother gave him an affectionate smile. “I hope you’ll remember it. When I complete my studies at the monastery I expect to join you in England. By then you must see to it that our uncle has arranged a good position for me in the church.”