The Fatal Crown (58 page)

Maud released him when she saw Henry approaching with a complacent smile on his face. “I flatter myself that we may have made some slight progress.”

Maud clapped her hands together. “You were absolutely magnificent, Cousin. How can I ever thank you?”

Impulsively she tried to throw her arms around his rigid body.

“By heaven, you forget yourself, Madam,” he said, his face red as he quickly took a step backward, well out of her reach. But she could tell he was not as displeased as he pretended.

The following day in the marketplace Henry announced to the assembled throng: “We invite you all to swear allegiance to Domina, Lady of England.”

Maud was surprised and elated, for the title Domina was given only to a queen-elect before she was crowned. She had moved several paces nearer her goal.

The Bishop continued: “As Domina is the rightful heir, sentence of excommunication will be passed upon those who oppose her and absolution given to those who support her.”

The barons and clergymen made haste to swear formal allegiance to her. Directly after the ceremony, her Uncle David, King of Scotland, made an unexpected appearance, marching into the square accompanied by a troop of his Highlanders dressed in animal skins and grinning savagely.

David lifted her up in his huge arms as if she were a child and squeezed her until she gasped for breath. Delighted to see him, she kissed his hairy cheeks.

“I came as soon as I received news of the usurper’s defeat, lass,” he said, his soft blue eyes radiating affection. “To think o’ my sister’s wee bairn a queen at last. God be praised.” He insisted on swearing his homage to her at once in a loud voice throbbing with fervor, the words barely intelligible.

David had just finished when out of the corner of her eye Maud saw a man dressed in official court robes approach the Bishop of Winchester. A black-robed cleric walked behind him carrying a carved ivory box. He was flanked by half a dozen men-at-arms. When the official reached the Bishop he unlocked the box with a key and opened the lid. Maud watched the Bishop carefully withdraw an object wrapped in crumbling red silk. With a solemn look on his face, Henry walked toward her, the men-at-arms following close behind.

An expectant silence fell upon the marketplace. Maud’s heart pounded as Henry placed the royal crown made for William the Conqueror into her hands. The last time she had touched these gold plates had been when her father gave her the crown to hold on the day she had left England. His words came back to her as clearly as if she had heard them only yesterday: “Your grandfather won this crown amidst much bloodshed and suffering. It represents power, wealth, and respect.” And now it was hers.

As she had done so many years before, Maud reverently turned the glittering jeweled circlet over and over in her hands. She felt alternately humble and proud to be holding within her grasp this symbol of the mighty realm she would soon be ruling. Hovering silently about her, Maud sensed a vast approving presence, the shades of the first three Norman kings: her grandfather, the formidable William; her uncle, the bluff and hearty William Rufus; and her cunning father, Henry. She made them a silent vow: I will be worthy of the heritage you have left me.

As Maud clasped the crown to her breast, she became aware of the Bishop’s benevolent gaze, her uncle’s freckled paw on her shoulder, the delighted expressions of Miles, Robert, and Brian, the curious faces of the Winchester citizenry, and the tentative smiles of the clergymen and barons.

As she shared with all of them this moment of supreme and unalloyed joy, Maud’s heart was so full she felt it would burst. It was the epiphany of her life; a sense of destiny fulfilled at last.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING AFTER
tierce, Henry appeared at the castle to conduct Maud to the treasury. As they walked out of the great hall the Bishop recited a litany of instructions for her:

“You must send a courier to Geoffrey of Anjou requesting that he send your son to England immediately—although the Count himself must not be encouraged to come. Whenever possible, Madam, it would behoove you to appear as a wife and mother—as the former Queen Matilda has done with so much success. Always bear in mind that no one wants to see a woman in the guise of a man.”

Maud stiffened in protest. Robert gave her arm a warning squeeze. “I’ve already sent to Geoffrey with the same request, but there has been no response,” she said, suppressing her irritation. As if she needed reminding of her womanhood! Sweet Marie, did he imagine she was going to don hauberk and helmet?

“You need not worry about Geoffrey turning up at the coronation, Bishop,” Robert said. “He still has his hands full subduing Normandy, and there can be no question of a journey to England.”

Maud kept silent. As the Normans hated the Angevins, she had no intention of letting Geoffrey set foot on English soil for a long time to come—if ever. Not if she had anything to say about it.

“I’ve also invited a deputation of London citizens to attend us,” Henry continued. “Their goodwill is vital for your acceptance in the capital. I understand they have a special request to make—they did not elaborate—but I trust you will be able to grant it.”

“Certainly I will do all I can to accommodate them,” Maud agreed as they arrived at the entrance to the vaults which housed the treasury.

Four guards with flaring torches led the way down a flight of crumbling stone steps to where the treasurer waited in front of a worn oaken door. At a nod from the Bishop he inserted a scrolled iron key into the ancient lock. With a grating sound the lock turned and the door opened to reveal a large chamber. Mildew stained the lichened stone walls; the air was filled with the odor of damp wood and moldering leather. An oak table, laden with scrolls of parchment, stood against a wall. A massive chequered board marked off in squares, like a chessboard, lay on another table. Clerks perched on wooden stools waited with tablet and pen in hand.

As Maud accustomed herself to the dim light, she heard Robert’s sharp intake of breath.

“By God and all His Saints,” he cried, “what has happened to my father’s treasure?”

In the flickering torchlight Maud could now see the stacks of empty coffers, their lids gaping open like hungry mouths, and the piles of empty leather sacks collapsed upon the floor. The last time she had been here was ten years ago, but she would never forget the awe-inspiring sight of wooden chests, piled one upon the other to the ceiling, brimming with gold and silver, or the row upon row of leather sacks bulging with jewels, silver-gilt goblets, and gold plate. Now there were only a few closed chests and one or two half-filled leather sacks.

Maud’s shock was so great that when she tried to speak she found that her voice had failed.

“You must have known the true state of affairs here,” Robert said to the Bishop in an accusing tone.

“I was aware of Stephen’s mismanagement,” he admitted reluctantly, “but not the full extent of the damage.” He turned to Maud and signed himself. “As God is my witness, again and again Stephen was warned of the dire consequences of his lavish indulgence, his uncontrolled extravagance. Not only by me but by Matilda and the Bishop of Salisbury as well. But he ignored our advice and listened instead to the evil counsel of Waleran of Muelan and the Fleming, William of Ypres.”

“But where has it all gone?” Maud whispered, completely shaken.

The treasurer answered: “Where indeed, Madam. Foreign mercenaries, greedy barons, disastrous campaigns, costly gifts—few who asked went away empty-handed.”

“Some of the expenditure was no doubt necessary,” Henry said with a defensive look. “The first lesson a sovereign must learn is that the way to keep loyalty in a man’s heart is to keep money in his purse or land in his domains. As you shall shortly discover.”

Maud barely heard him; she felt as if the bottom had suddenly dropped out of her world. Despite what the treasurer had told her, it did not seem possible that so little remained of her father’s vast store, accumulated at such cost, so carefully hoarded all the years of his reign in order to leave his heirs a rich and powerful legacy.

From both the Emperor and her father, Maud had learned that wealth is power. Without it her task would be enormously difficult. At the thought of her treacherous cousin taking his ease at Bristol, while she must rebuild the wreckage he had wrought, something curled and shriveled within her. The glorious taste of victory became like ashes in her mouth.

“Be good enough to have clerks draw up an accounting of what reserves we have left, what reliefs are due, the scutage pending, and what credits are late in arriving,” Maud told the treasurer. “In other words, all possible sources of income for the crown. Then draw me a list of absolutely necessary expenditures.” She gave him a sharp look. “From this moment on, expenditures will never exceed revenues. Never. You understand?”

Even in the dim light Maud could see the look of amazement on the treasurer’s face, a look that was mirrored in Henry’s expression. Even Robert was surprised.

The treasurer swallowed. “I understand, Madam.”

She saw the three men exchange quick glances and knew she had made her point: Not a farthing would be spent without her knowledge.

As she walked up the steps, Maud made a silent but implacable decision: Everything Stephen had done she would undo. Insofar as was possible, she would obliterate all evidence that he had existed as king.

At the door a servitor waited to see her. “The Archbishop of Canterbury has arrived, Madam,” he said.

He was the last person she wanted to see. Her attention was entirely caught up in how she was going to run the kingdom in the light of what she had just discovered. “Have him wait—”

“And say we will see him shortly,” the Bishop interjected. “Bring him to an antechamber and see that the steward attends to his wants.” The servitor disappeared.

“I can hardly keep my wits about me after this shock,” Maud protested. “Is it necessary to see him now?” Inwardly she seethed at Henry’s interference.

“I would not delay if I were you. If he’s going to cause trouble let us find out immediately.”

Maud frowned. “Trouble? Sweet Marie, Theobald is a simple, good-hearted man, without ambition or cunning.”

“You may know as much of finance as a moneylender, Madam, but when it comes to Holy Church I flatter myself I have more experience and knowledge than you. That Theobald
is
without ambition is exactly why he may cause trouble.”

Sometimes she was unable to follow the tortuous byways of the Bishop’s mind, Maud thought, but deferred to his judgment and agreed to see the Archbishop.

She entered the great hall, seated herself in a carved ivory-inlaid chair on a raised dais, and waited for the Archbishop to be brought to her. Leaning on a wooden staff, Theobald of Bee hobbled into the hall dressed in a simple black traveling cloak. Maud stepped down from the dais to kneel and kiss the ring of his office while he blessed her in quavering tones.

“How nice to see you again, Your Grace,” Maud said, summoning warmth and enthusiasm into her voice.

“And you, Madam, and you,” the Archbishop replied.

“I look forward to a harmonious union between us,” Maud said, “just as there was between my father and the late Archbishop.” She hoped the meeting would not drag on. The problem of the empty treasury weighed heavily upon her mind and she found it difficult to put her attention on anything else. All that was really required was for Theobald to agree to swear fealty to her.

Despite Henry’s warning, she was completely unprepared for his next words.

“But I cannot commit to any union between us, Madam, without the agreement of King Stephen.”

Maud could hardly credit what he said and thought she must have misheard him. One look at the Bishop of Winchester’s just-as-I-feared expression told her otherwise. Completely shaken, Maud walked back to the dais and resumed her seat. She gripped the wooden arms so hard her knuckles showed white.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Surely Your Grace believes I have a right to the throne? Stephen usurped that right, against the express orders of my late father and his own sworn oath.”

“I do not question your right to be sovereign, Madam,” Theobald replied. “But that is not the issue here. I never swore an oath to crown you queen. My only oath of fealty is to King Stephen. Unless he releases me from my oath there is naught I can do.”

“But that is—ridiculous!” Maud sprang to her feet, two spots of color flaming in her cheeks. “Stephen is my captive, shorn of all power. Why do you not follow the example of the Bishop of Winchester and the other clergymen?”

As she spoke, Stephen’s words echoed mockingly in her ears: “I am still sovereign and will remain so until the Archbishop of Canterbury crowns you—if he ever does.” And now here was this stubborn old man with the guileless eyes of a saint refusing to do just that!

Theobald looked at her, his innocent round face cracked by deep wrinkles. “My fellow brethren must follow the dictates of their conscience, as I follow mine.”

Henry stepped forward. “We understand, Your Grace.” He came up to the dais and spoke to Maud in an urgent whisper: “I feared this might happen. You must let him go to Stephen without further argument.”

“What! Can you not reason with him?”

“You can see the answer to that for yourself. I know Theobald. For all his mildness he is stiff-necked as a mule. Nothing will change his mind. Do as he wishes or suffer the consequences of having no one to crown you.”

As Maud hesitated Henry leaned closer. “In my opinion Stephen will not refuse him.” His lip curled. “It would be unchivalrous. In addition, the church will look kindly on your benevolence. Such a generous act will inspire trust and confidence.”

Maud nodded reluctantly, recognizing the wisdom of his words. Nonetheless it galled her that acceptance by the Archbishop depended upon Stephen’s whim.

“Good, Madam.” Henry stepped away from the dais. “You’re willing to be guided by me and that is an excellent omen for the future.”

“Very well, Your Grace,” Maud said to the Archbishop, wishing Henry would not treat her like a girl fresh from convent school, “you have my leave to go to Bristol.”