The Fatal Crown (74 page)

“I’m sure they intend to attack your possessions on the continent, with the intention of dividing among themselves whatever they seize,” she warned Henry, sick at heart at the thought of her second son turning against his brother.

“That may be their intention,” Henry replied grimly, “but it will never come to pass.”

While Maud waited anxiously in Rouen, Henry gathered together a huge force of men and arms to march against the French king. She was relieved to hear that after a few brief, indecisive battles, he had forced Louis to retreat across the border back into France. Henry then marched against his brother Geoffrey, who had barricaded himself in a stronghold on the Loire. Maud, determined to avoid bloodshed between her sons, intervened. She rode to where Geoffrey was established, and persuaded him to agree to Henry’s terms for peace. Eustace, unexpectedly summoned by his father, sailed hurriedly for England. The immediate danger was over almost as soon as it had begun.

For the moment, at least, Henry had been successful, but Maud knew that precious time had been lost. Time that should have been spent preparing to invade England.

Henry traveled to Anjou to reassert his authority in the county, then on to Aquitaine before returning to Normandy. He brought Eleanor, now six months pregnant, back with him, arriving at Rouen in time for the Christmas festivities.

Within a week after Henry’s return to Rouen an urgent message arrived from Brian FitzCount in England: Stephen and Eustace had brought a large force to Wallingford, apparently determined to finally take this stronghold that had stubbornly and successfully resisted the crown for fifteen years. All approaches to Wallingford had been blocked, the supply lines cut off, and Brian feared they could not hold out without help. Henry must come to their aid at once for the whole Angevin cause in England hung in the balance.

“You must go to England, Henry,” Maud told her son, seated across from him in her father’s small stone chamber. “We cannot abandon Brian. The moment we have been waiting for is at hand.”

“I agree, but Louis still remains a threat not only to Normandy but to Aquitaine as well. If I spread my forces too thin I lose on all fronts. And suppose my brother again decides to stir up trouble in Anjou?”

“Sufficient men must remain here so Normandy can be defended should need arise. Geoffrey you may leave safely to me,” Maud said with an iron glint in her eye. “Don’t forget that Eleanor will be here to keep an eye on Aquitaine should Louis seek to cross its borders. The duchy will remain loyal to her. It is now or never, Henry.”

“It’s a risk—”

“The only place without risk is the grave,” Maud retorted. “Go now! Victory will be yours. I know it in my heart.” She sighed. “If only I could go with you!”

Henry laughed. “There speaks the intrepid warrior who sailed to England thirteen years ago to reclaim my throne for me! A true descendent of our Viking forebears.”

For an instant Maud froze. Sudden anger rose like a hot wave within her. “Your throne?
Your
throne?”

For a moment, uncertain, Henry paused. It was clear that her cocky whelp had taken for granted his right to be King of England, assuming she would step down as a matter of course, as she had with Normandy.

“Yes, my throne now,” he challenged. “You know perfectly well that you had your chance—and lost it. Threw it away, by all accounts.”

His words pierced her like a barbed arrow. How dare he remind her of that painful time in such a cavalier manner! Overwhelmed by a sense of failure, Maud became so choked with rage that her fingers curled into a fist. She half lifted her arm to strike him. Storm-gray eyes met storm-gray eyes in a blistering, headlong confrontation. The air throbbed between them like flashes of summer lightning. She saw Henry’s jaw jut out in an arrogant, belligerent manner that was strongly reminiscent of … Stephen? Her father?

In an instant Maud realized that it was neither Stephen nor her father Henry reminded her of, but herself. On the heels of that realization came another: Henry was right. By her own doing, she had thrown away her chance to become queen. Stricken with an aching sense of loss, Maud recognized the bitter truth: She would never be Queen of England.

“Very well. Your throne—but only if you can make it yours,” she managed.

“Fair enough! Fair enough, Madam.” He gave her a long, hard look from beneath unruly brows. “I will go to England, then. All my affairs are in your hands, and I will hold you personally responsible if they do not prosper. In my absence—” He paused, studying her white face and flashing eyes. “In my absence—you will be regent of Normandy.”

“Regent? Officially?” She was incredulous.

“Of course! Officially appointed. Writ plain for all to see. Signed with my seal. That is, if you feel up to dealing with such weighty matters.”

“If I feel up to—oh Henry, Henry—”

At this unexpected acknowledgment of his trust, this attempt to give her back something of what she had lost, Maud struggled to suppress a rush of tears. It was not the same as being Queen of England, but still, a regent, acting in place of an absent monarch or lord, had all the authority and power of the ruler himself. It was a position of honor and responsibility. Maud remembered her father telling her how her grandmother, Duchess Matilda, had ruled as regent in Normandy while her husband was busy earning his title of Conqueror in England. The past had come full circle.

Despite the winter storms that made the channel almost impossible to cross, early in January of the new year, 1153, Henry made ready to sail for England. It would be the third attempt to claim his inheritance. This time, he announced to his wife and mother, this time, the final outcome would be decided.

I
NSIDE THE DUCAL PALACE
at Rouen, Maud stood by the open casement window of her solar; the late afternoon sun bathed the chamber in a golden glow. She closed her eyes for a moment with a silent prayer that when she opened them again a messenger from Henry would be riding into the courtyard. She had heard of his successful march through the Midlands where more and more men had joined him, and enemy castle after enemy castle had surrendered. But since his arrival at Wallingford in August there had been no word. It was now late September and she was sick with worry.

The door opened and one of Eleanor’s ladies hurried in with a message that the Duchess sought her mother-in-law’s advice: Little William, born six weeks ago, was fretting with colic.

“Tell the Duchess to rub a little warmed wine on his gums.” Maud turned away from the window. “Find out if the wet nurse has been eating spiced foods. Give her peas, beans, and gruel to sweeten her milk.”

The woman left. Maud walked over to the straight-backed wooden chair, sat down, then beckoned to the chamberlain who was waiting to go over the accounts with her.

“Why were three yards of blue ribbon ordered?” She tapped a finger against the item.

“That was for the Duchess, my lady,” the chamberlain replied. “For the baby’s christening gown.”

Maud’s heart warmed at the thought of her young grandson, whose father had not yet seen him. At this reminder of Henry, she immediately became anxious again. Had his forces done battle with Stephen? Was Henry wounded? Or Stephen? The thought of anything happening to either of them was unbearable.

She forced herself to finish the accounts, then dismissed the chamberlain with a word of praise for his accuracy. Next she arranged with the steward to judge a dispute between two landowners the following day, and discussed the birth of four new colts with the marshal. Last, she interviewed the master huntsman, who had this morning caught two young poachers in the forest outside the city walls.

“Give them a stern warning this time and let them go.”

The huntsman’s face puckered in disapproval. “The usual punishment is blinding them and cutting off their privates.”

“I understand this goes against custom,” she said, having learned the painful lesson that everything ran more smoothly if people flowed with you rather than against you. “But these lads are so young, not seasoned felons, after all.” She gave him a winning smile. “I’m sure you can make them see the seriousness of their offense.”

He nodded grudgingly and stumped out of the solar.

Maud leaned back in her chair. She had been regent of Normandy for eight months now and there was always more work to be done than she could easily do. Yet she found herself enjoying life as she had not done in years. Each day brought a new challenge to be met and overcome. She had surprised herself—and others as well, she thought wryly—with an unsuspected gift for organization, sound judgment, and a newfound ability to deal pleasantly but firmly with people under difficult circumstances. She no longer enforced her will as in the old days but won the cooperation of those who served her. Even her father and Aldyth, two of her more outspoken critics from the past, would be impressed with her growing gift for diplomacy.

She drowsed in the warm rays of the sun, reflecting on the beginning of her regency. Shortly after her son had sailed for England, Louis of France, as Henry had predicted, broke his truce with Normandy and marched across the border. Maud promptly raised an army and Louis, unprepared for such immediate retaliation, hastily retreated into France. With the exception of occasional skirmishes, there had been no further trouble from the French king.

Her second son, Geoffrey, although complaining bitterly about his elder brother, maintained—under her watchful eye—the peace in Anjou. All in all Maud was not dissatisfied with the way she had managed Henry’s affairs and she hoped he would be pleased with her stewardship. If only she could have word that all was well with him.

The sound of horses in the courtyard startled her. Her heart quickening, she opened her eyes. Perhaps a message from Henry had come at last. She rose and ran to the window. Below she saw the tall figure of Brian FitzCount dismount from his horse. Holy Mother, if Brian had come himself, it must mean—terrified, she would not let herself complete the thought, but turned from the window, flew out the door of the solar, and sped down the winding staircase. Brian was just entering the palace when she reached him.

“Henry is not—Stephen is—nothing has happened … ?” Her eyes wide with fright, she clutched at Brian’s arms.

“No, Henry is not, nor is Stephen. Calm your fears. When I left England the Duke was in a sour mood but perfectly well. Stephen, I suspect, is in a similar condition.”

“God be thanked. I’ve been beside myself with worry. The last word I had was that he was preparing to do battle with Stephen’s forces at Wallingford, and since then nothing.”

She looked closely at Brian, whom she had last seen on the Wareham coast six years earlier. He had aged, she realized in dismay, his crisp black curls totally gray, his face gaunt and tired. The years of defending Wallingford had taken their toll. Years spent selflessly in her service.

“Dearest friend, how happy I am to see you.” She threw her arms around him. When he smiled down at her she saw that the dark blue eyes, ironic but tranquil, had remained the same.

“There’s trouble, isn’t there?”

He nodded. Glancing around her, Maud saw that many of the castle mesnie had come into the palace yard and were watching them with anxious expressions.

“The Duke is well,” she called out. “Do not worry.”

She took Brian’s arm and led him outside. They walked the length of the courtyard until they were out of earshot. “Has there been a battle? Has Henry lost Wallingford?”

“No, no. The problem is that there has been no action of any kind.

Henry and Stephen have had their troops lined up on either bank of the river for the past six weeks, ready to fight, but the barons of both sides, influenced by the Bishop of Winchester and the Archbishop of Canterbury, flatly refuse to engage in battle and between themselves have agreed to a truce.”

Maud was aghast. “But that is treason! They must fight if their liege-lord demands it. Has Stephen’s brother turned on him again?”

“Not this time. The Bishop of Winchester seems to have put aside ambition and honestly sues for peace now. He has proposed a very sound treaty, agreeable to everyone but Stephen and Henry, that would resolve the conflict once and for all: Stephen shall remain king until his death, to be succeeded by Henry, who, everyone now agrees, is the rightful heir.”

Maud did not reply as she carefully examined the proposal in her mind. It sounded a very sensible solution, the Bishop of Winchester at his most statesman-like. At last there would be an end of the bloodshed of the last fifteen years. “Why will neither Stephen nor Henry sign?”

“Stephen, stubborn as only he can be when his mind is made up, insists that his flesh and blood must rule after him. Henry, hotheaded and spoiling for a fight, is equally set that the outcome shall be determined by battle. He has hurled angry words at Stephen across the river, calling him usurper and perjurer, taunting him that he would not trust his signature on a piece of parchment. So there you have it. Stalemate.”

Maud felt her heart sink. She knew only too well what Henry could be like when thwarted. “Can no one reason with them?”

Brian gave her a weary smile. “The hunger for glory overrules reason, I fear. Henry wants the glory of victory; Stephen wants the glory of founding a dynasty—as a justification for his actions.”

“Of course,” Maud said slowly. “Such a treaty would disinherit Eustace. Now I understand. What a coil. Can nothing be done?”

“That is why I have come. To see what you might do to break the deadlock.” He paused. “You’re still so lovely, Maud, almost unchanged since I saw you six years ago.”

The Vespers bell rang and they walked through the gate of the courtyard toward the cathedral.

“What can I do?” How could she be expected to resolve the conflict between Stephen and Henry, between her son and his father. “Did Henry send you to me?”

“No. I have left England and its troubles. I’m on my way to the Holy Land to become a monk or a Templar. I can do no more for your cause, Maud, and in these last remaining years I would follow my own bent. I had hoped for your blessing.”