The Fatal Crown (9 page)

“If you want my advice, Madam,” Waleran was saying, “do not wear that German bauble before the King lest you offend him. You’re a subject of Normandy now.”

Stung, Maud gave him a cold look. “Thank you, my lord, but I don’t think you fully understand. The crown is not a bauble but an emblem of royalty. I am an empress in my own country and the crown is exactly where it belongs.”

She had spoken more forcefully than she had intended and to her dismay saw the Count of Muelan’s face turn a dark red. Sweet Marie, had she offended him? He did not speak but the glare of enmity in his black eyes was unmistakable.

In the awkward silence that followed, Maud was uncertain what to do. It was beneath her dignity to ask if she had given offense.

“Come, Cousin.”

Stephen stepped smoothly into the breach, offering her his arm to lead her toward the scarlet tent. The others fell in behind.

“Don’t let Waleran’s manner disturb you,” Stephen said under his breath. “He can be prickly as a porcupine if he thinks someone has insulted him. He’ll get over it.”

Remembering the look in Waleran’s eyes Maud was not so sure. She prayed she had not made an enemy her very first day in Normandy. Conscious of the warm pressure of her cousin’s arm against her own, Maud approached the King’s pavilion.

The entrance was flanked by two poles of long wood, each flying a red-and-gold banner. To one side, standing stiffly at attention, were grouped a score of archers in leather hauberks. Surrounding the tent, knights, ‘squires, ladies-in-waiting, richly dressed nobles, and clergymen whispered among themselves as they examined Maud with frank curiosity. Two bishops in gold-embroidered robes came forward; the sun struck sparks from their miters and crosiers. One Maud recognized as the portly Bishop of Salisbury, the King’s chief adviser. Behind them walked an abbot, resplendent in a, black silk habit, a gold cross set with pearls lying on his breast. His face looked oddly familiar. Like Stephen’s, she thought, startled.

“The Bishops of Salisbury and Rouen, and behind them the Abbot of Glastonbury,” Stephen said in her ear.

“The Abbot resembles you,” Maud said.

“Not surprising, since he is my younger brother, Henry. He left the Benedictine monastery at Cluny less than a year ago and is already well on his way to becoming a power in the church.”

Maud cast Stephen a quick look, curious as to why his voice had developed a marked edge when he talked of his brother. Then she smiled at the prelates, inclining her head.

“Benedicte,” the bishops murmured in unison, making the sign of the cross over her head before stepping back.

The Abbot bowed and smiled, a smile, Maud saw that never reached his pale green eyes. Closer, his resemblance to Stephen was less pronounced.

“Welcome to Normandy, Cousin,” he said in a cool voice.

The crowd grew quiet. Maud’s throat went dry; her heart beat so heavily she could hardly breathe. She was aware of a solemn hush, the abrupt absence of Stephen’s arm.

Suddenly the door opened and a man stepped out. Short, dark, with powerful shoulders, a broad chest, and thick bull neck, his heavy black brows almost met over the dark, piercing eyes Maud had never forgotten. He was dressed in a short black mantle fastened at the right shoulder with a gold brooch, over a plain brown tunic. Cuffed black boots encased his bowed muscular legs. Around his thick waist he wore a heavy leather belt studded with jewels. On the top of his round head rested the golden crown he had once given Maud to hold. Although he had aged since she had last seen him, Henry of England still radiated power, menace, and authority.

Maud opened her mouth to greet him but the words refused to come. Some instinct made her fall to her knees. Fighting back tears, Maud found herself staring at her father’s scuffed boots, the gilt spurs secured with brown leather. Iron fingers gripped her shoulders. The King pulled her roughly to her feet.

“Well, well, no need for that. You are a royal princess after all.”

Maud detected a note of satisfaction in his voice as he held her at arm’s length. Instinct had not led her astray when she knelt.

“You have arrived safely, praise God and all His Saints. There is much to be thankful for.”

“An honor to be in your presence, Sire,” she managed to say in a strangled voice she barely recognized.

“And you haven’t forgotten your Norman tongue, I see. Something else to be thankful for.” The King raised an arm high above his head as he shouted: “The Princess Maud speaks the tongue of her Norman ancestors, the tongue of the great William, her grandfather, as well as ever she did the day she left our court.”

Which was not quite true, Maud thought, for now she had a slight accent. Nevertheless, there was a twitter of approval from the waiting crowd. Hooking his thumbs in his belt, Henry slowly walked around her. Finally he nodded his head, apparently satisfied with what he saw.

“Yes, you have become worthy of us, Daughter. Every inch a Norman princess.” He paused. “I see you have even put off mourning to signify the importance of this auspicious occasion.”

Henry continued to walk round her, reminding Maud of a wild beast circling its prey. Finally he came to an abrupt stop. His jaw thrust out, he pointed a stern finger at the Imperial crown. “Why do you wear the crown of a German empress?”

“The crown?”

“Yes, the crown you wear, what else? I did not refer to mine.”

The crowd tittered softly. Maud felt her face turn crimson with shame.

“You are a widow and no longer Empress,” Henry continued. “Why do you wear it?”

Maud moistened her dry lips. “To honor my late husband.”

“I see. I’m sure that would be much appreciated in Germany.”

As Henry fixed her with an unblinking stare Maud wanted to sink into the ground. If only she had listened to Aldyth!

“But you’re in Normandy now. The Emperor is dead; that life is finished. Come, take off the crown.”

“It is mine,” she whispered, her heart hammering.

In desperation, seeking help of any kind, Maud looked around her. All she saw were members of the Norman court, viewing her plight with detached interest.

The King gave her a menacing look. “Take off the crown lest I have someone do it for you.”

Squaring her shoulders, Maud lifted her head proudly. She would show him she was no longer a child to be ordered about as he pleased. Her father’s eyes, hooded and hard as agates, bored into hers. For a moment she challenged him, her intention battling his own. Every part of her tensed, screaming with the desire to defy him. But she was not strong enough. Not yet. His will was like an iron shield, unassailable, and she knew herself overmatched. Once again the King had backed her into a corner leaving her no choice. He had won—as he always had. But Maud knew she would never forget this moment of humiliation and she wanted him to know it, too.

Her face set, gray eyes blazing, Maud slowly lifted her arms and deliberately removed the crown from her head, resisting an overpowering impulse to smash it into her father’s face. As if reading her violent thoughts, he took a backward step. But, to her surprise, he did not look displeased. She turned to give the crown to one of her ladies before she remembered that they had remained in the pavilion across the river. Stephen walked forward.

“Let me help you, Cousin,” he said, taking the crown from her.

Not trusting herself to speak, Maud nodded gratefully. The King grimaced in what she took to be a smile, and clasped her in his arms at last. The familiar scent of sweat, damp leather, and stables was overpowering. The waiting crowd let out a long sigh.

“You will not regret the loss of that trinket,” Henry said in her ear. “You shall know as much honor in England and Normandy, I promise you, as ever you knew in Germany. More.”

He released her so quickly she stumbled backwards, but he caught her arm in a firm grip. “You have much to learn, I think, but you please us well, Daughter.”

“Sire.” She bowed her head, controlling her rage and shame as the magnates of her father’s court came up to greet her.

With a frozen smile on her lips she mouthed polite phrases, her father’s words echoing in her head. Honor indeed! Sweet Marie, what honor was there in shaming her before his court? Without her crown, which she knew she could never again wear with impunity, she felt naked, stripped of pride and identity. It was not to be borne! But for the moment, if she meant to survive in this Norman stronghold, she must bear it. And she intended to survive, she told herself fiercely, survive long enough until somehow she became as powerful as her father.

T
HE LITTER CARRYING MAUD
back to her camp had just come to the bridge, when she heard footsteps running down the hill behind her. Turning, she saw her cousin Stephen, his blue mantle streaming behind him. In one hand he held the Imperial crown.

The litter came to a halt as he approached.

“Cousin, here is your crown,” he said in a breathless voice. “You left so quickly I had no time to return it.” He handed her the gold circlet.

“Thank you,” Maud replied.

When he made no move to leave she became disconcerted.

“Was there something else?” She knew she sounded ungracious but at the moment did not care.

“Let me walk you back to your pavilion,” he said.

“Walk back?”

“Only a short walk, and it’s such a warm day.”

It would be pleasant to walk for a change, Maud decided. She was tired of being carted about in the litter, and missed the daily exercise of riding her mare which she had done regularly in Germany. Still she held back, reluctant without knowing why.

“That’s settled then,” Stephen said, without waiting for an answer. Before she could resist he had taken her hand and the next thing she knew her feet were on the ground.

He waved the litter away; they were alone on the bridge.

“Do you make a habit of enforcing your will on others?” she asked, undecided whether she was offended or amused.

“Never,” he said disarmingly. “Persuasion is so much more effective for it brings me whatever I desire.”

“Indeed?” Maud struggled to keep her expression serious. “You have a high opinion of yourself.”

“I’ve been assured that it is entirely justified.” Stephen’s smile was infectious.

He was impossible to resist and she burst out laughing. They began to walk over the bridge. Halfway across, Stephen took her arm and purposefully led her to the stone railing. His smile faded and he looked directly into her eyes.

“Do not be distressed by the incident with your father,” he said. “He meant you no harm.”

It was the last thing Maud had expected, and she felt her sense of dignity unravel. That he had sensed her distress, that her feelings had been so exposed, was even worse than his having witnessed her humiliation.

She carefully laid the crown on the rail, then forced a laugh. “Why ever should you think I was distressed?”

“There’s no need to keep up appearances with me, Cousin,” Stephen replied. “At one time or another we have all felt crushed by the King’s will and smarted under the lash of his tongue.”

Maud hesitated, still feeling the need to shield her vulnerability. But Stephen’s voice sounded genuinely concerned, and the need to release her pent-up frustration and bitterness would no longer be denied.

“To disgrace me before all his court—” she began, then stopped, swallowing the flood of impending tears.

“To disgrace you was not his intent,” Stephen said.

Maud’s hands balled into fists. “Why else would he treat me so? He did not even think me worthy of a proper reception in Rouen.”

Stephen looked at her in genuine surprise. “But that is easily explained. St. Clair has great significance for the King, for all Normans.” He pointed a finger at the water beneath them. “The banks of the Epte River were the scene of an unprecedented historic event. Over two hundred years ago, on this very ground, the King of France created Rollo the Viking, the first Duke of Normandy. It’s my guess your father meant to do you honor!”

“I did not know that,” she said slowly, then shook her head. “What you say makes no sense. What possible connection can there be between myself and the first Duke of Normandy? How can he hope to do me honor by forcing me to remove my crown?”

“I think, as well, that perhaps he meant to teach you a lesson. The King will not tolerate defiance.” Stephen’s green eyes danced. “And it was to defy him that you wore the crown, was it not?”

“And if it was? Why do you defend that tyrant?”

Stephen took a step back and held up his hands in mock protection. “As God is my witness, I do not defend him. But in years of experience with my uncle, I have found that—”

“You do defend him,” she interjected, cutting him off. “Sweet Marie, when members of his court came up to greet me none could meet my eye, nor could they escape soon enough. As if the King’s displeasure was a catching thing, like a wasting disease.”

Stephen was silent. “What can I say to reassure you?” he finally asked. “Whatever the King does, no matter how cruel—and I don’t deny that he can be cruel—invariably he has the weal of the realm in mind.”

Maud turned away with a despairing gesture. Walking back to the railing, she leaned over the side and stared down into the muddy water of the river. It seemed impossible that this rustic hamlet should ever have been the setting for a great event.

“Oh, what’s the use,” she said, her back to him. “You, who are so greatly admired by the King, loved and accepted by everyone, how could I ever expect you to understand? After occupying a position of authority and prominence, do you know what it’s like to be alone, an outsider, totally at the mercy of a virtual stranger?”

Two strong hands gripped her shoulders and turned her around. There was a look on Stephen’s face, a steely glitter to his eyes, that sent a shiver of surprise through her.

“I not understand? By God’s birth, matters were not always so favorable for me as they are now, let me tell you. My mother, like your father, is a strong woman with a will of iron. She never had a kind word to say about me, and finally sent me from Blois, not with her blessing but with a warning never to return unless I made something of myself. My father, a deserter and coward, died when I was small, and I have lived with that shame for over twenty years. When I came to England no one could have been more alone, more miserable for the first year or two. I had to earn my place in the sun.”