The Fatal Crown (8 page)

“Mark my words,” Aldyth continued, “there’s another advantageous marriage to be made, a new alliance—that’s the purpose of eligible widows.”

“Not this widow.” Maud reached for a white silk bandeau that lay across a stool. Despite her defiant words, she could not dismiss Aldyth’s warnings. Why else would King Henry have brought her back but to be used again?

“Not the bandeau,” Aldyth hissed. “The Bishop of Mainz proclaimed such vanities an abomination, the devil’s handiwork!”

Gisela and Truda signed themselves, their round eyes reminding Maud of two fearful sheep.

“What nonsense!” Maud lifted her arms while Aldyth reluctantly wound the white silk bandeau over her full breasts. Uncomfortable with this abundant evidence of her womanhood, the bandeau made Maud feel less conspicuous.

Truda slipped the shift over Maud’s head while Gisela held up the black mourning gown and tunic.

“No,” Maud said, giving way to a sudden impulse. “I will no longer wear that.”

“But you’re in mourning,” Aldyth said, shocked. “You must dress in black for a year. That is the custom.”

“Let me see some other tunics and gowns,” Maud said to Truda, ignoring Aldyth.

“Sweet Saint Ethelburga, what has gotten into you?” Aldyth began to wring her hands. “What will people say?”

“They can say what they like,” Maud replied.

In truth she did not know why she felt so stubborn, so compelled to flout custom. It would certainly cause a stir, even offense. But at least she would not feel so much the hapless widow, a pawn to be moved about at her father’s whim.

She finally decided on an ivory gown and linen tunic with hanging sleeves, circled by a broad girdle of pale gold. Maud sat down on a stool and Truda and Gisela began to rub her cinnamon-colored hair with pumice which would give it greater shine.

“Mulish. Headstrong. No good will come of it,” Aldyth muttered, slipping gold leather shoes onto Maud’s feet.

There was a noise outside the pavilion. A voice called out in formal tones: “Henry, King of England and Duke of Normandy, awaits the arrival of his daughter, the Princess Maud. The litter is ready.”

The four women looked at each other in consternation, their differences forgotten. An air of tension pervaded the tent. Truda’s fingers shook as she plaited Maud’s long hair, then coiled it around her ears while Gisela placed a purple mantle, embroidered with eagles and vine leaves in gold thread, over her shoulders. Last, Aldyth handed her the silver mirror.

Huge pewter-colored eyes fringed by thick black lashes stared back at Maud from a face the color of ivory. Her earlier flush had vanished. That would never do.

“Get me the crushed pomegranate,” Maud said.

“Merciful heavens, you cannot paint your face, it’s a sin,” Aldyth wailed.

“I won’t meet my father looking like a corpse. No one will know it’s paint.”

“A little pallor becomes a grieving woman,” Aldyth continued. “What will people say?”

“Sweet Marie, I’ve told you I don’t care,” Maud retorted, with more bravado than she felt.

She took the small stone jar from Truda and rubbed a little of the rosy ointment into her high cheekbones. She glanced again in the mirror. Still not right. Something was lacking. Of course. The Imperial crown. Just what was needed to add the final touch of splendor. To remind the King and everyone else that she was not just her father’s daughter, an eligible widow, but a former empress, a person in her own right. Her heart quickened.

“Gisela—the Imperial crown is wrapped in red silk at the bottom of the oak chest. Do you find it for me.” The crown, made for her by the Emperor, had been left in her keeping and she had decided that this entitled her to take it with her to England.

Aldyth’s face grew ashen. “Child, now you go too far. The bandeau cannot be seen, the paint may go unnoticed, the way you’re dressed is inexcusable, but as for the crown—to wear it might be taken as a direct insult to the King and his entire court. Do not tempt fate.”

“Don’t be foolish. Why would the King object? He sent me to the Empire, remember? Gisela, the crown, if you please.” The thought of defying her father was both frightening and exhilarating.

“‘When the old cock crows, the young cock should listen,’” Aldyth said in a resigned voice. “But some people must learn through trial and error. Sound advice is wasted on them.”

Gisela looked from Maud to Aldyth, then scurried to the oak chest. She pulled out an object wrapped in red silk and carried it over to Maud. Unwrapping it carefully, Maud held to her breast the gold plates set with pearls and sapphires. Sighing, she remembered the many state occasions when she had worn this emblem of her former power. Truda placed an ivory veil over her head, Maud laid the crown on top of it, then picked up the silver mirror. Yes, just what was needed. The crown lent a regal air to her bearing that was right for the occasion.

She placed a conciliatory kiss on Aldyth’s withered cheek. “Don’t worry. All will go well.” She gave her a half smile. “But your prayers would not come amiss.” Instinctively she found herself touching the silver ring through her garments. A reassuring talisman, she was never without it.

Aldyth’s eyes became moist. “Remember, ‘a silent mouth is sweet to hear.’”

Maud left the pavilion. Outside a groom helped her into a waiting litter led by an escort of knights. She squared her shoulders, lifting her head proudly as the litter started to move toward the river. She had every right to wear the crown, she assured herself, every right to dress as she pleased, to establish herself in front of her father’s court.

Yet—she was assailed by doubts, recognizing the paint, the bandeau, her defiant garb, even the crown, for what they were: petty assertions of an independent spirit under siege. The litter crossed the stone bridge. Fear spread like wildfire through her body. Ahead lay the scarlet pavilion and the meeting with her redoubtable father.

T
HE PROCESSION CAME TO
a halt in the king’s camp just as the sun climbed into a cloudless blue sky. Raising her hand to ward off the bright glare, Maud saw a group of horsemen against a background of golden light. Behind them she glimpsed a crowd of people, then the royal tent where the unseen figure of her father waited, his invisible presence casting a giant shadow over the entire area. One of the horsemen, astride a red Flanders mare, detached himself from the others and trotted up to her litter. His honey-brown hair was brushed with fire in the morning sun, a blue silk mantle, fastened at one shoulder with a gold clasp, fluttering gaily behind him in the breeze.

Dazzled, Maud could only stare at him in breathless wonder. Handing the reins to a waiting squire, the rider sprang gracefully from his horse. At first Maud was aware only of a flow of energy emanating from the figure striding toward her. As he came closer she could see a tall, lean man with wide shoulders, dressed in a long blue tunic embroidered in red and gold thread at the hem and cuffs, and wearing tan boots of soft Spanish leather. His face broke into a smile as green-gold eyes stared down at her in a long, searching look of recognition.

“Well met, Cousin,” the man said, his voice surprisingly soft, as he half lifted her out of the litter. “I am Stephen of Blois, Count of Mortain, and we first saw each other a long time ago. Do you remember?”

“Indeed.” He still resembled the boy in the scarlet cap who had smiled at her in much the same way he was smiling now. “The day I left England is not one I would be likely to forget,” she said. “Surely you are the boy with the cat’s eyes riding into Windsor as I rode out.”

Stephen laughed delightedly. “Cat’s eyes! No one has ever compared me to a feline before.” His face grew sober. “The day one leaves home marks a turning point, does it not?” He gave her an understanding look. “And the day one returns, another.”

Filled with a rush of emotion, Maud looked quickly away, unprepared to find such ready empathy from this unknown cousin. She wondered why neither of them mentioned the incident by the river.

“I thought you the most beautiful maiden I had ever seen,” Stephen continued, “but so unhappy. Time has made you even more fair. I hope it brought you happiness as well, before your tragic loss, of course.” He signed himself.

Maud felt tongue-tied, ill at ease with the admiration she saw reflected in his eyes, the warmth in his voice. Aware of his large hands still holding hers, Maud tried to pull away, but he held her fast. A spark traveled from his palm to hers; the air seemed to pulse between them. The feeling was so new, so intense, and so unexpected that she felt close to panic.

“You cannot keep her all to yourself, Stephen.” A small, stocky man, his brown hair shaved at the back and sides, walked up to them. “Sister!”

As Stephen finally released her hands, the man hugged Maud affectionately, kissing her on both cheeks. “I’m so pleased to see you again. You cannot know how I’ve missed you all these years.”

The Welsh lilt to his voice, the deep-set dark eyes were all familiar. In a wave of relief, Maud threw her arms around her half-brother. Robert was as warm and friendly as she had remembered him. The crown shifted on her veil and she reached up to steady it.

“By Our Lady, you wear a king’s ransom on your head, Cousin,” Stephen said, apparently noticing her crown for the first time. He could not seem to take his eyes off the gem-encrusted gold plates winking in the morning sun.

“It’s the Imperial crown, given to me by the Emperor,” Maud said, a hint of pride in her voice.

There was a moment of silence. The two men exchanged quick glances, and Maud sensed their unspoken disapproval.

“Yes, well, you will hardly need it here,” said Robert.

“You’re in Normandy now where beauty is the only crown a woman wears,” Stephen added. “Yours is more dazzling than any diadem.”

Light repartee of this kind had not existed at the stiff German court, with its formal etiquette. Maud did not know how to take this unfamiliar banter. Obviously, as Aldyth had warned, it had been a mistake to wear the crown, but she had no intention of removing it now.

They waited a moment as if expecting her to remove it but as she made no move to do so Robert said, “Come, Sister, the others wish to greet you as well.”

Robert led Maud to the group of horsemen who had dismounted. One, a hunchback, dressed all in green, had dark brown hair framing a comely, sensitive face.

“Here are the de Beaumont twins.” Robert pointed to the hunchback. “Robert, Earl of Leicester in England, whom we call Robin. His twin brother Waleran, Count of Muelan in the Vexin.” He nodded at a large man, resplendent in red and black, with a brooding face and a nose beaked like a hawk. He turned toward a third man. “Brian FitzCount, Lord of Wallingford.”

This man was almost as tall as Stephen, with a sinewy frame and cropped black curls growing over his head like lamb’s wool. Something flickered in his dark blue eyes as they stared straight at Maud.

“Perhaps you will remember they arrived on the day you left for Germany,” Robert continued. “Not that you would be expected to recognize them as the sniveling rats they then were.”

The men’s names were not unknown to her, of course, for the Emperor had insisted she familiarize herself with the most powerful lords at her father’s court. The twins were the sons of the late Count of Muelan, King Henry’s oldest friend. She gave them a warm smile.

Eyeing her with cool speculation, the three strangers murmured polite greetings. Impossible to believe these grown, self-assured nobles were the frightened children she vaguely recalled meeting so long ago.

“A pleasure to see you again,” Maud said.

There was a faint murmured response in return.

“I regret that I do not recall meeting you, Madam,” said the Count of Muelan in a blunt, no-nonsense voice. “Do you recall meeting her, Brother?”

“By my faith, I remember nothing of the time I arrived in England,” Robin of Leicester replied. “I was miserable and wanted my mother.”

Brian laughed. “All I recall is how terrified I was when I met King Henry. A sniveling little rat, just as Robert says.”

“And stinking. By God’s face, will I ever forget that!” Waleran smote his thigh. “You had pissed in your drawers and when the King came to greet us, he held his nose and said that this one stinks like a dung heap, someone clean him up!”

They began to laugh uproariously, joined by Stephen, each chiming in with his own version of what had happened that day.

It was obvious to Maud they had forgotten her.

And why not? She was the outsider, excluded by experience and gender from their tight little circle. How could she contribute to their memories? Shading her eyes with an unsteady hand, she turned her back on them to gaze at the far horizon. The smudged purple line of hills melted into the deep blue of the sky. Green and yellow fields, cut through by the old Roman road on which she had just traveled, shimmered in the sun. If only she could will herself back on that road heading toward Germany.

“It is the King’s pleasure to see the Princess Maud,” piped the voice of a page just behind her.

One hand went to her throat and her heart leapt in fear. Then she stiffened, realizing it was the second time she had been called Princess. An oversight, surely, but one she must correct at once.

She smiled at the page. “In Germany I am referred to as Empress,” she said.

The page looked puzzled, then bowed and ran off. The men stared at her in surprise. She returned their look in dismay. Had she done something wrong?

“Whoever you may be in Germany, Madam, here you are the King’s daughter,” said Waleran of Muelan. “And honor enough I would have thought.”

The others nodded and murmured assent.

Obviously these men could know nothing of her background, she realized, the respect and importance with which she was regarded in Germany, the decisions the Emperor had entrusted to her care. With a sudden sinking sensation in her stomach, it now dawned on Maud that perhaps no one knew; perhaps this was the response she could expect from everyone. Even worse, her triumphs in the Empire would probably mean nothing to her father’s people, even if they did know. England and Normandy comprised the whole world for these Norman barons. How would she ever fit in to their narrow sphere!