The Fatal Crown (35 page)

Maud knew she was helplessly in love, miserable when Stephen was out of her sight, ecstatic when she was with him.

They broke the journey at Guildford. Surrounded by their entire entourage it was impossible for them to be alone for even a moment and they spent the night in separate rooms. They arrived in Winchester the following day as the bells rang for Sext.

Maud looked with interest at this rapidly expanding, city which afforded easy access to the coast and was close by the New Forest, which provided the best hunting in England. The town was so ancient that none knew its origins, but fable had it that Winchester had first been settled by the ancient Britons, then the Romans, before the Saxons arrived to make it the capital of West Saxony. Although London was now England’s capital, Winchester housed the treasury and the mint, and was the seat of King Henry’s administration. One day it would all be hers, she reminded herself.

They rode through the bustling town, past the white stone walls of the great cathedral, across Jewry Street where saffron-robed Semites did a thriving trade, until they came to the River Itchen. Across the narrow water lay Wolvesey Castle, headquarters of the Bishop of Winchester.

“Will your brother be here?” Maud asked.

“I hope not,” Stephen replied in a low voice. “Henry has eyes in the back of his head. If we are not on constant guard, he will be sure to guess the truth.”

“We must take great care that does not happen,” Maud said. Aware of the great influence Henry exercised on his older brother, Maud refrained from telling Stephen she was always on guard in the Bishop of Winchester’s presence.

As it turned out, the Bishop was absent, having left the day before for his See of Glastonbury.

“We are in luck,” Stephen said, clearly relieved.

That night at the great hall, as they ate freshly caught bream from the river, Stephen said, “I have thought of a plan that will enable us to spend a day or so alone.”

“A whole day? How wondrous! Where? How will you manage—” Maud began, unable to conceal her excitement.

“Trust me,” Stephen said with a wink. “When the arrangements are complete I will tell you.”

For the next two days Maud familiarized herself with the intricacies of the exchequer, and studied firsthand the workings of her father’s administration. She attended Mass in the great cathedral, and acquainted herself with the foremost merchants of the town, all the while asking questions and seeking information.

“I’m impressed with the astuteness of your questions, Cousin,” Stephen told her as they walked along Jewry Street. “It’s rare for a woman to be so knowledgeable in matters of finance and trade.”

Maud smiled with pleasure at his praise. “I have the Emperor to thank for that, as well as the many discussions I’ve had with my father. When I come to the throne I intend to be thoroughly familiar with all aspects of the kingdom. What did the great Alfred say? ‘Unlettered king, crowned ass.’”

To her surprise Stephen’s face closed in on itself, as if a shutter had been drawn,

“Is something amiss?” she asked.

“What could be amiss?” After a moment his face resumed its usual open expression and she began to wonder if she had imagined the sudden chill.

Looking about to ensure no one was within earshot, Stephen whispered: “The plans are made. I will leave Winchester well before Prime tomorrow with all our retinue and propose a day’s hunting at the King’s lodge in the New Forest. You must say that you feel unwell, and have decided to remain here for a day or so. Leave the rest to me.”

Her heart beating quickly, Maud nodded. “You will come back for me, then?”

“Gervase will return for you and escort you to where I intend to be.”

Matters fell out as Stephen arranged, and by late morning the following day, Maud and Gervase rode out the gates of Winchester in the direction of the New Forest, six leagues distant. On the way Gervase explained that while the rest of their party were quartered at the King’s hunting lodge deep in the forest, she would be staying at a gamekeeper’s cot, located at the edge of the woods.

“They think my lord has returned to Winchester, and will not expect either of you until we join up tomorrow.”

“It sounds well in hand,” Maud said, uncomfortable at discussing the details with a squire. It was frightening to think that her entire reputation depended upon Gervase’s discretion.

It was dusk by the time they reached the isolated cot that stood beside a narrow, rushing stream backed by green woods.

As Maud dismounted, Stephen opened the door, greeting her with a joyous smile. Gervase tethered her horse and brought the saddlebags inside.

“I will be back for you by mid-afternoon tomorrow, my lord,” the squire said, then left them and rode off into the night.

“At last!” Stephen said, taking her hand to lead her inside.

A fire burned in the hearth, an iron kettle bubbled on a blackened trivet, fresh green rushes covered the floor, and several candles set in iron holders cast a welcoming light over the wooden bed and oak chest. A small table was set with wooden bowls, cups, and a tankard of mead. A white cloth half covered a cold roast fowl, round white cheese, and a loaf of dark wheaten bread.

“Are you hungry?” Stephen asked.

“Famished. It’s a long journey from Winchester.”

“You must wait, I fear,” he said with a wicked smile, as he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. “Other hungers must be satisfied first.”

He kissed her with warm, lingering lips and Maud instantly responded to his touch. They made love several times during the night, until, satiated, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. When they woke to the sound of birdsong outside, Maud and Stephen broke their fast, devouring half of the fowl and most of the bread and cheese. Holding hands, they ventured outside into the warm morning air, radiant with sunshine, and decided to bathe in the rushing stream, alive with darting silver fish, the banks abounding in dark green lady ferns and pale ivory waterlilies.

“It’s like ice,” she gasped, dipping a foot into the water and hastily withdrawing it.

“It will take only a moment to get used to the cold.” Stephen waded in, the water swirling about his knees. He held out his hand. “Bracing!”

As Maud hesitated, he grabbed her foot and pulled her into the water. Gasping at the sudden shock, she righted herself, then threw water in Stephen’s face. He ducked her in turn and they began to play and splash and shout like truant children.

“You look like one of those fishtail maids out of the old legends,” Stephen teased, his eyes on her breasts bobbing like round fish through the floating curtain of russet hair. “But you do not feel like one.” He reached between her thighs.

Maud jumped back, and climbed onto the bank. Stephen followed, grabbing at her wet body, but she twisted away, lithe and slippery as an eel. Finally he wrested her down to the soft earth of the stream bank. Laughing, their bodies streaked with mud, they lay still, catching their breath.

After a moment Stephen rolled over on his back and pulled Maud on top of him so that her breasts rested against his face. Nuzzling between them, he playfully kissed each full globe in turn, then each rosy nipple. A spasm of desire swept over Maud, and she reached down to seek Stephen’s manhood, wet and flaccid from the cold stream.

“How forward, Madam,” Stephen murmured. “Have you no shame?” His eyes closed as she began to stroke him with loving fingers. “Hmm, do not stop, sweet Jesu, but you are as artful as any strumpet in Southwark. Where did you learn such witchery?”

“From you, my lord,” Maud whispered.

Intoxicated by the effect she was creating, Maud continued with her caresses until Stephen began to buck and groan beneath her.

“Hurry, hurry,” he gasped, “else I cannot wait for you.”

Her own desire having kept pace with his, Maud quickly guided him inside her.

“Dear God, if ever a sheath was forged to fit my sword,” Stephen whispered, as they lay still for a moment, savoring anew the exquisite molding of flesh matched to flesh.

Then, almost with reluctance, they began to move slowly in unison, almost as a single body. For as long as possible they tried to postpone the moment of release, but, overcome by ecstasy, they reached fulfillment together, lying on a bed of reeds, their bodies slick with rivulets of water, the sound of the bubbling stream like a choir in their ears.

The rest of the day they spent inside the cot, continuing their exploration of each other. Maud delighted in adventuring with Stephen down any path he led, matching herself against him with the fierce intensity of her own ardor. They constantly astonished themselves by the willingness with which each opened to the other. It was a voyage of discovery for Maud as she found within herself a capacity for giving and receiving love she had not known existed.

“How is it possible that Geoffrey was impotent with you,” Stephen remarked lazily as they lay naked on the bed together, “when I am in a constant state of desire? And the more I have of you the more I want.”

“He was very young, and much of what went wrong was my own ignorance, I see now,” Maud explained. Determined to hold nothing back, she told Stephen the distasteful details of her marriage.

Stephen made a wry face. “Although Geoffrey is hardly a rival, I still cannot bear to think of you in his arms, or in anyone else’s for that matter—”

Maud put a loving finger against his lips. He had broken a tacit agreement between them: The future was never to be discussed, neither Geoffrey nor Matilda ever mentioned unless absolutely necessary. Their mutual time was limited and precious, neither knowing if this day might not be their last alone together.

But today Stephen could not seem to stay away from the subject. “Does the King speak of your return to Anjou?” he asked, playing with the gleaming strands of hair that fell over her breasts.

“He speaks of it, of course, but has fixed no time for my return. He prefers to wait until his council agrees to let me go back. At the same time he fobs Geoffrey off with lies and excuses.” As it coincided with her own intentions, Maud was able to smile at her father’s duplicity. “One day, I know, he must act, but, Sweet Marie, may that day be far into the future.”

“Indeed,” said Stephen, his fingers trailing idly across the slope of her breasts, circling their rosy peaks.

“Meanwhile,” Maud continued with a luxuriant sigh, as a delicious languor consumed her limbs, “in addition to the vast education you are giving me, I’m learning more and more about the realm. When the time comes I shall know how to rule exactly as my father would have wished—with one or two changes, of course. But then every new broom must sweep something away.”

The hand cupping her breast was suddenly still. “Being queen—this means much to you?”

She turned her head to look at him in astonishment, then raised herself up on one elbow. “Why, it means everything to me. After all, what happiness I have now will vanish when I return to Anjou. Being queen is my life’s work, something that will compensate for being tied to Geoffrey until death do us part.” A slight frown creased her brow. “I sometimes forget—the crown must have meant a great deal to you as well, so you, of all people, should understand.”

“And I do. Of course, I’m reconciled to the loss of the throne now.” Stephen paused. “I wonder, sometimes, what our lives would have been like if we had been able to marry. Do you ever dwell on such matters?”

Maud reached over to touch his face with a tender finger. “Of course. But not often. It’s far too painful, dwelling on what I can never have. No purpose is served. These stolen moments are all we will ever have together and I must live out the rest of my life on their memory.”

Stephen also propped himself up on one elbow. “How like your father you are sometimes, concerned only with what is real and practical. But then that is the Norman way of things.”

“You make it sound as if you’re different. Are you not also Norman then?” she asked with a smile.

“Part of me, yes. But I’m also my father’s son, and the Count of Blois was everything the Normans are not: a dreamer—a coward, too—but a gentle, kindly man for all that, who wished only to live out his days in peace and tranquility. I have always been ashamed of him.” His eyes stared, unseeing, into the distance. “God rest the poor man’s soul, he was entirely unsuited to the life my mother forced him to lead.”

“But you’re not like him, Stephen. How can you compare yourself to such a man?”

“How do you know what I’m really like? How can one ever probe the depths of another’s soul?” He was more serious than she had ever seen him, his green eyes intent on hers. “A wise man trusts no one.”

“But you have opened your heart to me, as I have opened mine to you. Surely we can trust each other,” Maud protested, puzzled at the slightly sinister turn the conversation had taken.

Stephen was silent for a moment, staring at her as if she were a stranger. Then his face cleared. “Of course we can,” he said lightly, becoming in the instant his old charming self. “Pay no attention to my meanderings.” He bent to brush her lips with his. “Did I tell you what the barons have recently said about you?” he began, abruptly changing the subject.

“No. What do they say?”

“That you’ve become gentler, more womanly, more approachable. The wild virago has been tamed, they say.” His finger slid down her belly and twined themselves in the copper-colored curls covering her sex.

“Wild virago!” she cried. “Tamed! I suppose you’re vain enough to think you are the cause of this so-called taming.”

He gave her a wolfish grin. “It had crossed my mind.”

“Well, you peacock, I’m not tamed, no, nor shall I ever be.” She stayed his hand. “Do not think to sway me in this fashion.”

“We both know I can.” He threw himself upon her and began to kiss her with insistent lips until she lay limp and breathless. “Admit that with me you are as helpless as a haystack in a high wind.”

“I admit nothing. My Lord, you are insatiable,” she murmured against his warm mouth, “randy as a he-goat.”

“As to which of us is the more insatiable, let us not put it to the test,” he breathed, his lips trailing down the valley of her breasts, his fingers playing her body like a master troubadour playing his viol, knowing exactly what string to pluck to evoke the most stirring sounds.