The Fatal Crown (37 page)

“May I see you alone, Sire?” she asked.

The King frowned. “Why? Roger is in our confidence, as you know.”

“I do know, Sire. But I would prefer to see you alone, nonetheless. It is of the utmost importance.”

He gave a testy sigh. “If you insist. Attend me later, Roger,” he told the Bishop, who rose heavily from his chair, and, giving Maud a baleful look, limped out of the chamber.

“Well, Daughter?”

Maud could think of no graceful way to break the news. Better to take the plunge and have the matter over and done with at once.

“I have decided to return to Anjou,” she blurted out.

“Return to Anjou? To Geoffrey?” King Henry looked as if she had gone mad. “Surely I did not hear you aright!”

“I feel—yes, I feel that I’ve been very remiss in my duty—as you pointed out to me when I left my husband.” Blessed Lady, how she hated to humble herself before him, Maud thought, writhing inside. She forced herself to continue before she lost courage. “You were right—as usual, Sire. It’s time I rectified the matter by returning to him at once.”

The King’s jaw dropped. “But not a fortnight since, when I informed you I had received yet another message from the Count, as well as Fulk in Jerusalem,
and
the Holy Father in Rome, all begging me to send you back to Anjou, you were adamant. ‘I pray for a miracle that I may never have to return’ were your very words!” He thrust his jaw forward. “By God’s death, I don’t understand!”

His reaction was entirely predictable, and Maud did not know how to counter it. Her sudden turnabout
was
incomprehensible.

“Yes, Sire,” she stammered, “I realize how it must seem to you, but I have thought deeply on the matter these last two weeks, consulting my confessor and examining my own conscience. God can only look upon me as a faithless wife, and I feel it’s time to make amends. Please, Sire, let me go back to Anjou at once.”

“Faithless wife? Faithless wife?” He pounced on the words with alacrity. “What do you mean, pray?”

Holy Mother, what had made her choose those words! “I only meant that I should have never left Anjou at all. My place is with my husband.”

“Did I not tell you that when you first fled to Normandy? Did I not beseech you to return? God spare me from the vagaries of womankind,” the King grumbled. “If this is an example of how you will govern my realm—” He threw up his hands. “Well, your sudden zeal to remedy the marriage is commendable but it won’t be possible to send you back to Anjou immediately.”

“Why not?” The blood froze in her veins.

“My council now insists they must approve your return to Count Geoffrey, you know that, and they would be quite satisfied never to have an Angevin king.” He shrugged. “It will take time to convince them otherwise. Give me another two or three months, and I will have persuaded them. After all, there is no vital need to rush back to Anjou. Why such haste?”

“I feel the need to make amends at once,” she cried, frantic.

Henry raised his brows. “What difference will a few months make?”

“It will be too late,” she almost screamed.

“Too late for what?” he shot back.

Speechless, numb with terror, Maud stared at him, her face like death, her eyes glazed with unshed tears. She felt like a vixen she had once seen caught in a gamekeeper’s trap in the forest. The more the fox struggled to be free, the more securely did the trap tighten its hold.

“You behave as one demented. I don’t for the life of me understand this wild urgency—” The King stopped abruptly.

Rising slowly to his feet, his brows met across his forehead; his eyes darkened with menace as he held her gaze for a long moment. He raised one arm in a gesture so threatening that Maud shrank back in terror.

“Have you shamed our house?” he croaked, looking like a black raven about to strike. “By God’s splendor, Madam, have you dared to shame our house?”

“No, Sire,” she cried, signing herself. “I have not! I swear it.”

Her father’s face expressed rage and disbelief. His fingers reached for the pommel of his sword as he took a step forward. For the barest instant, Maud saw murder in his eyes. Then, putting himself under restraint, he stepped back, passed a shaking hand over his eyes, and sat down again. Reaching for the tankard of mulled wine on the table, he downed its contents in a single gulp.

“I swear it, Sire,” she repeated. “I have brought no shame on our house.”

The King made no response, his eyes unreadable. There was nothing for it, she thought in despair; she would have to tell him the complete truth. “Sire—let me explain—”

Before Maud could get the words out the King virtually leapt to his feet—she was amazed he could still move so quickly—and held up both his hands to silence her.

“I don’t wish to hear any more. There’s nothing to explain,” he said with grim finality. “You have seen the error of your ways and duty compels you to return to your husband. That is sufficient.” He paused, breathing heavily. “Under the circumstances I see no need for delay. By tomorrow morning you must be ready to leave.”

Maud’s heart pounded in relief. Thank you, Holy Mother, she prayed, thank you. He is going to let me go.

“You will set out well before Prime, and tell no one of your plans.” King Henry gave her a sharp look. “No one.”

She felt herself flush. “But the council—”

“Leave the council to me.” Holding her arm he walked her to the door. “Take only what you need. The rest can be sent later. Aldyth, of course, must go with you, a few of your most trusted women, and an escort. I will send a messenger to Angers at once so Geoffrey will expect your arrival. Everything must appear—natural and in order.” He paused before the oak door of the chamber. “You have thought this matter through, Daughter? It will not be easy to manage and there must be no—mistakes.”

“I know,” she said, her voice steady. “I’m prepared.”

Their eyes met. King Henry thoughtfully stroked his stubbled chin, then opened the oak door. “Well, well, sometimes God works in mysterious ways. We are all in His hand, after all.”

Less than twenty-four hours later, Maud stood shivering in the cold, gray dawn. A heavy mist shrouded the nearly deserted courtyard, almost obscuring the loaded sumpter horses, the armed escort, and the waiting litters carrying Aldyth and three of her women. Beside her, a white palfrey stood saddled, ready to be mounted. In front of her was a man-at-arms dressed in ducal livery.

Maud looked cautiously around, ensuring no one observed her actions, grateful for the swirling channel fog that made visibility difficult.

“You will go to the silk stall in the marketplace just after Sext,” she told the man-at-arms, “and give this message into the hands of Gervase, the Count of Mortain’s squire. No one else.” She handed him a rolled parchment sealed with red wax. “You understand? No one else but Gervase.”

The man-at-arms thrust the parchment inside his hauberk. “Yes, my lady. No one but Gervase. I understand the instructions.”

Maud pressed some coins into his hand, then stepped back and watched until he disappeared from sight into the mist. How she had agonized over whether or not to send Stephen a message. Her heart was filled with pain at having to leave him so abruptly, yet she must be very careful now, avoiding any shadow of suspicion that might reach Geoffrey’s ears. But she could not bring herself to leave him without an explanation. Nothing could prepare him for the shock of her sudden departure, but the message, at least, explained matters so that he would understand.

The King had suddenly ordered her back to Anjou, she had written, without the knowledge of his council, whom he hoped to convince of the wisdom of his decision after she had already gone. There had been no choice, she emphasized, and her father had demanded absolute secrecy. She begged her cousin never to forget her last words to him.

Should anyone else read the message, Maud reasoned, she would not be compromised, yet Stephen would understand.

Grief-stricken, her heart like a stone in her breast, Maud allowed the groom to help her mount her horse.

“Wait!”

She looked up, startled, to see her father emerge from the mist only a few feet away, having been hidden from view by the fog and sumpter horses. How long had he been standing there, she wondered uneasily, hoping he had not seen her exchange with the man-at-arms.

“I didn’t expect to see you, Sire,” she said, having already said her farewell to him last night.

“I daresay you didn’t,” he replied with an enigmatic smile. “But it’s most fortunate I’m here. Far too hazardous to ride this mare. Anjou is a six-day journey away. The beast could cast a shoe, something might startle her, causing an accident. Anything is possible.” He helped Maud dismount and led her to the litter. “You must take better care of her,” he admonished Aldyth, who, speechless for once, nodded her agreement.

“You will keep me informed of how … matters progress,” the King said to Maud, lifting her gently into the litter.

Deeply moved, Maud impulsively pulled the King’s head down, kissing his bristly cheek. “Thank you, Father,” she whispered in his ear, amazed at her own audacity. She had never made such a gesture to him in her life, nor ever, not even as a child, called him anything but “Sire.”

“Well, well,” he said in a gruff voice, “there’s no need for such an unseemly display.” He stepped back from the litter. “Do not concern yourself with anything except reestablishing relations with your husband. The future of our realm depends on it. I will tend to matters here. A safe journey, Maud.”

King Henry watched until the procession had disappeared from the courtyard, then strolled back into the ducal palace. Entering the great hall, he stepped carefully over the rows of sleeping bodies until he found the marshal on his straw pallet before the fire. He prodded the man with the toe of his black boot.

The marshal rolled over, looked up into the King’s face, then hastily jumped to his feet, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Sire?”

“There was a man-at-arms in the courtyard a few moments ago, tall, stoutly built, dark hair, dressed in ducal livery. Find him for me.”

The marshal, who was responsible for the men-at-arms, bowed and left the hall, soon returning with the man in question.

“You sent for me, Sire?”

“What is your name?”

“Jean de Guiot, Sire.”

“You were given something by the Countess of Anjou?”

The man paled. “Yes, Sire. A roll of parchment.”

“Who was the message for?”

Beads of sweat appeared on the man’s upper lip. “I don’t know for certain. It was to be given to the Count of Mortain’s squire, Gervase,” he stammered.

“Where?”

“In the marketplace at noon. I was only doing the Countess of Anjou’s bidding, Sire,” he whined.

“Of course you were.” The King pursed his lips. “There is nothing to fear.” He held out his hand.

The man reached quickly beneath his hauberk, withdrew the rolled parchment and handed it to the King.

“Speak of this to no one. You may return to your duties.”

When he had left the hall, the King called for the marshal. “Send Jean de Guiot out of Rouen at once. Let him see active service on the Vexin border. Put him in the midst of the heaviest skirmishes. Do not let him return in a hurry—if he returns at all.”

“I understand, Sire.” The marshal withdrew.

The King looked at the crisp parchment and tapped it against his open palm. He started to crack the red seal, then thought better of it. Hesitating for a moment, he held the message over the dying embers, then threw the parchment into the fire, and watched while it vanished in a sudden burst of flame.

Through the rapidly thinning mist, the small procession of horses and litters moved out of the city gates of Rouen to start the long journey to Anjou. Maud did not look back. She spared an anxious thought for the man who would deliver her letter to Stephen, trying to envision her cousin’s reaction, anticipating his sense of loss, already sharing his pain. With a sigh she settled back into the litter, realizing she had done all she could; the rest was out of her hands. Forcing the thought of Stephen from her mind, she turned her attention to the vital matter that lay before her, the matter upon which her very survival depended: how to convince the cold and impotent youth she had married that she carried his child.

S
TEPHEN WAVED FAREWELL TO
the de Beaumont twins on the edge of Lyons-la-Forêt, favorite hunting ground of the Dukes of Normandy, and headed toward Rouen. The air was cool, the sky overcast by a gray channel fog. A perfect day for hunting. Early this morning, after a long and exhausting chase, Stephen had bagged a red buck whose spread of antlers counted ten branches. It had been an exciting chase, one he would long remember, he thought with satisfaction.

As he approached the city the bells began to toll for Sext. Noon already. He must hurry or he would be late. Spurring his horse, he turned left just before the iron gates of Rouen, and rode down a narrow country lane, overgrown with grass, and bordered by hedgerows. There was the sweet scent of apple blossom on the damp wind, and within a few moments Stephen came upon a small wooden house backed by a huge apple orchard.

With the exception of several serfs working in a far corner of the orchard, the place looked deserted. Dismounting, Stephen tied his mare to a gnarled apple tree, and went inside the house. The large room was simply furnished with rough-hewn furniture made of stout oak. On a table stood a pitcher of mead and two wooden cups. In the bedchamber, a wide oak bed spread with a coarse red wool blanket looked inviting.

Tired from the morning’s exertions, Stephen lay down, smiling to himself as he stretched his arms above his head. Any moment now he would hear the sound of hooves outside and soon Maud would be lying in his arms. By God’s birth, it had been a month since he had seen her alone—except for the few moments day before yesterday—and he was in a fever of impatience.

Yawning, his lids closed, Stephen lost himself in a dream of Maud so sensual that his manhood throbbing painfully against his drawers brought him suddenly awake.