The Fatal Crown (76 page)

What did Stephen see, Maud wondered, fearful of what she might find in his gaze. After all, she was only a few years his junior. But the familiar eyes with their golden specks mirrored only her own admiration, her own realization that neither time nor war, betrayal nor revenge, had managed to sever the ties between them.

She took a deep breath and collected herself. “Let me explain why I am here,” she began.

At her words a mask shuttered his face and the affinity in his eyes abruptly cooled. “I know well enough why you are here,” he said with an impatient gesture. “You hope to persuade me to sign my brother’s treaty. Did Duke Henry send you? An odd choice of emissary, I would have thought.”

“Henry does not even know I’m in England, much less in your camp. I left Normandy in great haste and secrecy.”

Stephen gave an incredulous laugh. “If not Henry, then Brian FitzCount sent you. I heard that Brian had left Wallingford. Did he persuade you to this fruitless errand?”

“He didn’t have to persuade me. Once I heard the terms of the treaty, and that neither you nor Henry would sign it, I knew something had to be done.”

Stephen took a swallow of wine. “And you thought me the easier mark than your flint-hearted son?”

Maud flushed, for he was not far off the truth. “It’s a sound treaty and would put an end to this terrible conflict.”

Stephen’s whole body grew rigid. “Naturally you would approve since your son inherits and mine does not.”

“You would remain king for the rest of your life with no loss of honor. The barons want peace, Stephen, they recognize that Henry is the future. Come, be reasonable.”

“What the barons want is no longer important to me,” he countered in a bitter voice. “And the rest of my life is not so long as it once was.” He grimaced, as if in pain, and put a hand to his side.

“What does that mean?” she asked, hearing the tremor in her voice. “Are you unwell?”

“Something I ate. Naught to worry about,” he said, brushing off her concern. “What I meant was that the years of conflict have taken their toll. I’m sick unto death of the whole sorry business.”

“And I. The war has afflicted us all. It killed Robert.”

Stephen sighed. “Yes, I was sorry to hear that. There was a time when I claimed no better friend than Robert of Gloucester.” His voice softened as he reached down and lifted her chin. “The years have dealt gently with you, Cousin. You are as lovely in maturity as you were in youth. How my eyes have longed for the sight of you all these years. My blood warms just being in your presence.” He abruptly removed his hand from her chin. “But this in no way disposes me to sign a treaty that disinherits my son. My mind is made up.”

Maud heard the note of finality in his voice. She wondered if she should let the matter rest there; admit she had failed and return to Normandy. The alternative carried tremendous risk: She had trusted Stephen before and he had betrayed her. Why should she imagine he had changed? Reason told her to leave; her heart dictated otherwise.

“There is something I have not told you,” she said in a choked voice.

“If it concerns the treaty—”

“Please, hear me out,” she interjected.

“Nothing is to be gained by further argument. Never will I disavow my own son.”

“You do not have to,” she said in a strangled whisper.

With a perplexed look he sat down on the stool opposite her. “How is that possible?”

Abruptly Maud rose to her feet and began to pace the pavilion, agitatedly clasping and unclasping her hands.

“Against all reason, all past experience, I’ve decided to trust you, for what I’m about to confide can be used to destroy me and everything I’ve worked for,” she began, then stopped.

“Don’t trust me, for I promise nothing.” His eyes turned a glittering green. “Be warned that if what you tell me aids my cause I will not hesitate to use it. It would hurt me to inflict more pain upon you, but still I would use it.” He signed himself. “May God forgive me but that is my nature.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, recognizing the truth and accepting it. “I know that now.” She resumed her seat on the stool. “I don’t ask for promises, Stephen, just understanding.”

“What is of so powerful a nature that you fear it to be a weapon in my hands?”

Her eyes met his and held them. “You want your son to inherit the throne. Sign the treaty and your son will rule after you, far better than you have done, yes, even better than I could have done had I … had I been given the chance. Your son, Stephen—and mine.”

His puzzled frown gradually gave way to a look of incredulity as comprehension dawned. “You suggest that Henry is
my
son?” he gasped. “No, it’s not possible. You say this merely as a ploy to force me to sign the treaty that will put Henry on the throne.” His eyes blazed with hostility. “I would not have believed you capable of such wanton trickery!”

Stephen rose up so abruptly that his stool fell over. “If this outrageous tale were true you would have spoken. How could you keep such a secret from me? No, no, it is too much to expect me to swallow such a blatant falsehood.”

Maud also rose, her heart pounding. She had tried to predict Stephen’s reaction to her news, never imagining that he would not believe her. What could she say to convince him?

“Listen to me,” she said, seizing his hands in hers. “Why would I lie? Think what you can do with such scandalous knowledge: Tell everyone that I am an adulteress, that Henry Plantagenet is not Geoffrey of Anjou’s son but a bastard. A bastard cannot inherit. You could spread enough filth to cause the magnates to doubt and question my son’s paternity.”

“Who would believe me?” He twisted his hands free.

“Some might remember how hurriedly I left England, with no explanation, and without the council’s permission, to return to a husband I had said I would never live with again. Others might recall that my son was born a month early yet thrived.”

“Jesu! I remember that,” Stephen said in a strangled voice. “It was rumored that he was large for such an early birth, and I wondered at the time, was it possible that he was mine—but it was said that he was the image of Geoffrey, so I put it from my mind.”

“The image of—who told you that?” she asked.

“Let me see—” Stephen began to walk backwards and forwards, running his hands through his hair. “It was—King Henry. Yes, I’m sure of it.”

“My father was an ally in this matter,” Maud said. “I never told him I carried your child, but I’m sure he knew. He would have said anything to put you off the scent.”

Stephen’s shocked eyes intently searched her face, trying to discern the truth. “I still can’t believe you could have been so deceitful.”

“You accuse
me
of deceit? Have you not just warned me that I cannot trust you? That you would use, for your own ends, whatever I tell you? Can you swear to me, here and now, that had I told you the truth you would not have used it to speed your path to the throne? With such a weapon you would hardly have needed perjury, would you?”

A dark red flush spread over Stephen’s face and he lowered his eyes. “How can I be certain now what I would have done then? But no, I cannot swear to you.” He took a deep breath. “How could Geoffrey of Anjou allow another man’s son to be his heir? Surely a man of his pride would have condemned you the length and breadth of Europe.”

Maud kept her voice steady though the blood was drumming in her head. “If ambition and pride war with one another, who can say which will be victorious? Geoffrey may have suspected, but, greedy for Normandy and England, he would never have proclaimed himself a cuckold. We will never know what Geoffrey believed, but while he lived he was a true father to Henry.”

Dazed now, Stephen sank back down onto his stool. “I’m unable to accept this,” he said brokenly. “The Duke of Normandy—my sworn enemy—is really my son? You, whom I loved above all others, behaving with such guile and deceit? My whole world has tumbled apart.” He covered his face with his hands.

With a compassionate sigh Maud sat down. “Can we not have done with mutual recriminations? I would never have told you if there weren’t so much at stake. We are both equally culpable, Stephen, for all that has happened. Can we not forgive each other and make a new start?”

He dropped his hands from his face and she could see the bitterness reflected in his eyes. “So now you think you have the means to persuade me to sign the treaty. It is easy for you to talk of forgiveness and a new start, but I swore an oath to Matilda that I would not rest until Eustace’s accession was assured. Do I betray my sworn word yet again?”

For a moment Maud let the silence lengthen between them. “We have much to atone for, Stephen. Our ambition, my desire for vengeance—between us we have almost destroyed England. I prayed that if you knew the truth you would help end the conflict and bring about peace. You know Henry will make a far better king than Eustace.”

Stephen rose again and, opening the tent a crack, gazed outside.

“Matilda and I were never friends but her character was not unknown to me,” Maud continued. “If she knew that your brother’s proposed treaty would lead to peace and restore England to what it was in my father’s day, how would she counsel you?”

He turned to her. “As usual you are relentless.”

Maud could see he was making an effort at banter, but from his drawn face, the haunted look in his eyes, it was evident that he was besieged by a terrible inner conflict.

She held her breath while the battle raged, then his shoulders sagged, his face crumpled, and tears glazed his eyes. Maud rose, held out her arms and he walked into them, dissolving the last barrier between them. He clutched her so tightly she could hardly draw breath; his body trembled violently in her embrace and she realized that he was sobbing.

At last Stephen drew back, took a last shuddering breath, and wiped his eyes with the corner of his sleeve. “So that stubborn, hotheaded young rogue is my son,” he said. “Now that I look back, the sequence of events becomes much clearer. To think of you living alone with that fearful secret all these years.” He shook his head in wonder.

“Well, Aldyth knew, and my father. Brian must have suspected.” She told him what Brian had said to her and he smiled.

“Yes, Brian, bless him, was always the wisest among us. I wish him well in the Holy Land.”

He bent and gently kissed her lips, the kiss growing longer and deeper. As always Maud felt an instant response, yet there was a difference. The warm sweetness between them was still there, and the aching tenderness, but the hot obsessive urgency, the agony of being consumed by a passion so intense it must be fulfilled regardless of the cost, no longer held them in thrall. Stephen lifted his head and smiled down into her eyes. A tide of love flowed through Maud, giving her a new, wondrous sense of completion.

“Will you return to Normandy now?” he asked.

“At once. Neither Henry nor anyone else must know I have been here, so I dare not linger. When I left Rouen I let it be thought I was going to Anjou.”

Stephen released her and, walking over to the oak table, poured himself another cup of wine. “As soon as you are well on the road, the Duke of Normandy will be sent an unexpected message.” He thought for a moment. “King Stephen wishes to meet with the Bishop of Winchester, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Duke of Normandy. He agrees to sign the treaty and hopes that Henry of Anjou will do the same.”

Tears of joy coursed down Maud’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered, “thank you, thank you, my dearest love.” A sudden thought chilled her. “Eustace? What will you do about him?”

A shadow passed across Stephen’s face and he sighed. “At the moment I don’t know, but he is my cross to bear and I will deal with him.”

From a nearby church came the sound of the Vespers bell tolling the hour of service.

“Do you attend Vespers, Sire?” The squire’s voice came from outside the pavilion.

“Do you go,” Maud said. “While everyone attends the service I will slip away. My two knights await outside the camp and they will grow anxious if I don’t return.”

Stephen embraced her for the last time, then walked her to the door.

“In all probability we will never see each other again,” he stated.

“No,” she agreed. “But our son will sit on England’s throne. We must be content with that.”

“Our son,” he repeated, as if testing the words upon his lips. “Our son.”

Maud noted that the lines of strain in his face had eased and he looked much more tranquil. Having come to terms with her, he had also come to terms with himself. For both of them it was a transcendent moment of profound peace.

Fearful she would not have the strength to leave, Maud exchanged with him a silent look of love, pulled up the hood of her cloak, then hurried from the pavilion.

Before a bend in the road took her out of sight of the camp, she turned to see Stephen still standing motionless in the doorway of his pavilion. The path turned and he was gone from view. The past had finally been laid to rest, she thought, tears running down her cheeks. Only the future remained.

O
N THE NINETEENTH DAY
of December, 1154, Maud, sumptuously dressed in cloth-of-gold and purple silk, her neck, wrists, and fingers sparkling with jewels, stood in a place of honor at Westminster Abbey. A thousand white tapers cast their flickering light across the vaulted roof and leaded windows, over the choir of monks gathered near the high altar. As the Archbishop of Canterbury intoned the solemn Latin words that consecrated a king, Maud found her thoughts turning to the momentous events that had occurred over the last fourteen months.

On the heels of her departure for Normandy, Prince Eustace had suffered a sudden and timely death from natural causes that had been attributed to divine intervention. After the treaty had been signed, Stephen, to Maud’s joy, had suggested that Henry spend some time in England learning the workings of his administration so that when the time came there would be a smooth transition from one reign to another. Already there was a vast improvement of conditions in England.