The Fatal Crown (30 page)

The women fell all over themselves in their haste to leave the chamber.

Despite the humiliation of being thrown out of Anjou, Maud felt curiously relieved. The fact that Geoffrey had thrown her out placed the burden of responsibility on him, although she was too honest with herself to pretend he had not been driven to the deed.

While Maud and her ladies packed boxes and saddlebags, Geoffrey appeared at the door from time to time to ensure, he said, that she took only what belonged to her, for he did not trust her to behave with honor.

Maud ignored him. “Take only what we brought with us,” she admonished Aldyth and her women. “Anything acquired in Anjou leave behind. I want nothing that was bought with the Count’s money.”

Her eyes fell on the leather boots she had bought for Stephen, and the magnificent ebony chess set. For a moment she hesitated. No, she decided firmly, nothing. She would leave exactly as she came.

The bells rang for Sext just as Maud and her exhausted women finished their packing. Geoffrey, having found in his room a carved ivory box, a wedding present to Maud from Matilda of Anjou, now a nun, who had been married to her late twin, William, followed her to the wide door leading to the courtyard. Under the horrified eyes of Bishop Ulgar and the couple from Champagne, he threw the box after her as she walked down the steps of the keep in a pelting rain.

“You’ve forgotten this, Madam,” he called with a sneer.

The box hit her in the small of her back. She staggered on the wet stone step but did not fall. Turning in a fury, she saw Geoffrey standing at the top of the stairs, a hand over his mouth, obviously frightened that he had hurt her. For a moment they stared wordlessly at each other over a gulf as wide as the channel, then she picked up the box, flung it contemptuously aside, and walked proudly down the steps into a waiting litter. With all her heart, Maud hoped that she had seen the last of Angers Castle and the Count of Anjou.

O
N A COOL MORNING
in early November, king henry was at Winchester, in the stone and timber castle that housed the royal treasury.

He was in a particularly mellow frame of mind, having just paid a visit to the vaults with his clerks and the barons of the exchequer. The harvest had been unusually good this year, revenues were up over the last three months, and the treasury bulged with coffers of silver, gold, and jewels. In addition, the rumor that his nephew and rival claimant for Normandy, William Clito, was dead of a wound, had been confirmed. The last remaining element of unrest in the duchy was now fortuitously removed. If Maud would only send word that she was with child, he thought, everything he had set out to accomplish would be fulfilled.

The steward’s horn sounded, summoning him to the mid-morning meal. He felt so well today, Henry decided he might even taste a bite or two of stewed lampreys, despite the fact the dish had been forbidden him by his physicians.

“There’s a messenger arrived from Normandy, Sire,” Brian Fitz-Count said, as the King entered the great hall.

King Henry frowned. “Not trouble, I hope.”

“I cannot say as he will speak to no one but you.” Brian paused. “I gather, however, that he comes from your daughter.”

“From Maud? Then he comes from Angers.”

“No, Sire. From Normandy.”

Henry’s heart thudded, and he felt the familiar pressure beginning to build in his head and chest, the same pressure the physicians had warned him about. Avoid all strain, all undue excitement they were constantly telling him. By God’s splendor, how was he supposed to do that and run a kingdom split between two continents? The next thing they would be telling him was to avoid undue breathing.

“I took the liberty of seating the fellow at the lower end of the hall. Whenever you are ready to see him, Sire—”

“I will eat first,” the King said, with a sense of foreboding, his pleasant mood dissipating. “Trouble, Brian. Without a doubt, trouble. And trouble always sits better on a full stomach, eh?”

After the King ate, Brian brought in the messenger.

“Why is my daughter in Normandy?” the King asked without preamble.

The messenger swallowed. “The Empress sends you greetings, Sire, and trusts that you are in good health—”

“Never mind the formalities, get to the point,” the King interrupted testily.

“The Empress wishes me to inform you that her life with the Count of Anjou has become unbearable; she’s been subjected to unspeakable abuse. Matters reached such a pitch that the Count physically threw her out of Angers and forbid her to remain within the borders of Anjou and Maine. She’s now in Normandy and seeks permission to return to England. The rest, she says, will wait upon her seeing you, for it is too horrifying to be told in a message. The Empress adds that she feels sure you won’t deny her sanctuary.”

Half rising, the King’s face became gorged with blood, the veins in his neck standing out in thick ridges. “She has abandoned her lawfully wedded husband,” he roared, “and dares to seek my aid, my agreement? If there’s been any abuse suffered I’ll wager I know who caused it!” For a moment his mouth worked but no words came. “Tell that she-wolf that she may rot in Normandy until hell freezes over, or go back to her husband where she belongs. By God’s splendor, when I think of the scandal, the shame!” He staggered, holding his heart, and Brian, hovering by his side, threw an arm around him, fearful he might fall.

“That woman will be the death of me,” Henry gasped. “How could I have sired such a … such a virago!”

Brian gestured to the steward. “Call the physicians. The King will have to be bled. Be quick about it. Bishop Henry, Bishop Roger, do you help me.”

The bishops and several barons hurried to the King’s aid. Supported on all sides, the stricken king was half carried from the hall.

“For the moment I’d make myself scarce if I were you,” Brian said in an aside to the messenger. “Later, I’ll give you a private message for your mistress.”

When the King had been bled by his physicians and was finally asleep in the royal bedchamber, Stephen’s brother Henry, newly appointed to the See of Winchester, took Brian aside in a corner of the great hall. Tall and elegant in his episcopal robes, he wore the silver pectoral cross and ornate ring of his office with undisguised pride.

“What unlikely tale is this?” the Bishop asked Brian with raised brows. “Are we honestly expected to believe the Count of Anjou cast his wife aside and threw away his chance to be king-consort of England? I think it much more likely the Countess left on her own account. For months the court has been rife with unsavory rumors of their marital battles.”

Brian shrugged. “You know what gossip is, my lord bishop. Who can know the truth of these matters?”

“Is it not true my cousin Maud was opposed to the match from the start?” the Bishop persisted. “I understand she made no secret of her feelings.”

“And if she did oppose the match, who can blame her? The entire realm opposed it. Besides, never were two people more unsuited to each other,” Brian said, determined to defend Maud.

“How many who marry are suited, my lord? That is hardly relevant. I’m no supporter of Anjou, but for a woman to desert the marriage bed is a most serious step. It shows dereliction of duty, flouting of custom, an unstable element that does not bode well for one who will be the future Queen of England. Exactly what one may expect of the distaff, people will say. She’ll never produce an heir at this rate.” He gave Brian a searching look. “Assuming she is even capable of producing one.”

Brian kept his face impassive, restraining an impulse to turn his back on the supercilious figure before him. “There’s a bright spot in all this, however,” he said.

The Bishop glanced at him sharply. “Indeed? I cannot think of one.”

“The barons have never reconciled to the marriage,” Brian said, as he started to walk across the hall.

“Nor a female ruler,” Henry added, keeping pace with him. His eyes continually roved the great hall, noting who came and went. “The marriage merely added insult to injury.”

“I was about to say that eventually King Henry will be forced to take her back into his good graces,” Brian said, “since public opinion may well be on her side. In fact, leaving Anjou may gain her more popularity with the Norman nobles than she knew before—whatever it does to her reputation across Europe.”

“Gain her popularity?” the Bishop repeated with a frown.

Brian stopped at the entrance to the hall and turned to face the Bishop: “The thought dismays you?”

“No, no,” the Bishop said hastily. “The possibility is one I hadn’t considered.”

“Indeed? I had assumed that nothing that has occurred to me would not have occurred to you first.”

The Bishop arched his brows, indicating the remark was not worth a reply.

“When do you leave for Rome?” Brian asked, pleased to have put the Bishop off balance.

“Within the week, the King’s health permitting.”

“A safe journey, Your Grace,” Brian said.

They left the palace and stood in the courtyard.

The Bishop gave Brian a frosty smile and left. Brian watched his tall figure disappear. Henry’s remarks had struck him as more insidious than a prelate’s natural disapproval over a woman’s defection from her husband. His words had been designed to discredit Maud as future queen. Obviously the Bishop had not totally abandoned the idea that his brother, Stephen, might still become king. A forlorn hope, yet—he would bear watching, Brian decided.

Bishop Henry of Winchester traveled through Paris on his way to Rome. As in London, the scandal of Maud and Geoffrey was the talk of the city, with much speculation on the possible outcome. The most popular theory was that Geoffrey would try to incarcerate her in a convent to meditate upon the error of her ways and if that came about, King Henry might be forced to put her aside and name another heir. If such an unlikely event came to pass, thought Henry with a sigh, all his difficulties would be solved. Still, it was heartening to know that people in Europe were thinking along such lines.

A month later the Bishop arrived in the Holy City. On this, his first visit to Rome, he found himself impressed. His eyes were full of wonder as he walked through the cobbled streets, marveling at the stately ruins on the seven hills, the churches without number, the ancient catacombs. Reverently, he knelt before the altars dedicated to the Apostles, and made generous offerings at the Stations of the Martyrs. The church of St. Peter left him breathless, and he was equally awed when shown such treasures as Our Lady’s shift and Our Lord’s swaddling bands.

After a donation of princely gifts and a week of waiting in the papal anterooms, the Bishop was finally granted an audience with Pope Innocent.

“How may I help you, my son?” asked the Pope, clad in shimmering white, and surrounded by several cardinals in glowing scarlet robes.

Henry knelt and kissed the Pope’s ring. “Holy Father, as you know, I have just been appointed Bishop of Winchester. My uncle, King Henry, said I might also keep my abbacy in Glastonbury as well, if Your Holiness agrees.”

“If that is King Henry’s wish,” the Pope said with a smile.

“You mean to be bishop and abbot both?” asked a heavyset cardinal whom Henry did not know. “Glastonbury and Winchester are both very wealthy Sees. That would make you the most powerful prelate in England, next to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and almost as affluent as the King himself.”

Henry felt his face flush. “I had not viewed it in that light, Your Eminence. I seek nothing for myself, of course, for I’m a devoted son of Holy Church, thinking only to increase its glory.”

“You object, Umberto?” the Pope asked with a frown.

“It is not for me to object, Holy Father, but the Bishop is young, only a few years out of the monastery.”

“King Henry is the Bishop’s uncle, Umberto, after all, and if the King found him worthy to administer two Sees, it behooves us to follow his wishes.”

“Of course, Your Holiness.”

The Pope gave Henry a benign smile. “You may tell King Henry we have no objection.”

“Thank you, Holy Father.” Henry paused, then cleared his throat. “You’re aware of King Henry’s intention to have his daughter crowned after his death?”

“Who is not aware of it?” one cardinal said.

“And now she has left her husband, the Count of Anjou—” Henry began, then stopped as the Pope held up his hand.

“We understand the situation, my lord bishop, but there are some questions better left unasked. You may rest assured that the Holy See follows the events of Normandy and England very closely indeed.”

“Believe me, my lord bishop,” said another of the cardinals. “We are in full sympathy with your plight. Who would be ruled by a creature subject to the tides of the moon? A woman who abandons her husband and has become the talk of Europe.”

“Giovanni!” The Pope wagged a warning finger before turning to Henry. “His Eminence has an impetuous tongue. Forgive him his little outburst. At another time, perhaps, we will speak of these matters. It is a bit premature, yes? After all, what is done today can be undone tomorrow. When the time comes God will show us the way.”

Hiding a smile, Henry bowed himself out of the chamber. He had learned what he needed to know: The Holy See was not in favor of Maud succeeding to the throne but preferred to play a waiting game.

“The English bishop labors well in his own vineyards,” said Cardinal Umberto in a sardonic voice. “He opposes his uncle’s wishes regarding the succession and hopes to see his brother, Stephen, on the throne, if I’m any judge.”

“And himself Archbishop of Canterbury,” added the Pope.

“He wears ambition like a diadem!”

“Hmm.” The Pope reflectively stroked his chin. “They say he leads his elder brother like a shepherd his flock. That would be no bad thing for Rome. When King Henry dies we will be interested to see how the Bishop handles the delicate matter of the Countess of Anjou. Should he be successful we will give him our support. Should he fail—”

The Pope and the cardinals smiled at one another in perfect understanding.