The Fatal Crown (13 page)

“I cannot stop thinking of that oath we swore to protect my half-sister,” Robert wondered aloud. “I would stand by her, oath or no, should she need my aid.” A warm smile hovered about his lips. “I loved her when we were children. You never saw anyone with so much spirit, far more than William ever had, God rest his soul. She has grown into a lovely, impressive woman, don’t you think?” He yawned.

“Indeed. Go to sleep, I’ll join you anon.”

As Robert entered the pavilion his eyes fell on Stephen’s sleeping face. A wave of affection rushed through him. Despite their amicable rivalry and his occasional twinges of envy, he and Stephen were part of the same Norman family tree, root and branch, nourished by the same sap. It was unworthy of him to begrudge Stephen the crown. After all, how many bastards were as well-favored as himself? Indeed, how many men could boast of loyal companions, fruitful estates, a castle full of sons, and a devoted wife? Life was good to him; he wanted for nothing, and he owed it all to his father.

Before allowing himself the luxury of sleep, Robert knelt by his straw pallet, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands in prayer. From the fullness of his heart, he offered up his thanks to God for all the blessings showered on him, praying to be kept free of the driving spur of ambition, asking only to be made worthy of his great good fortune.

Outside the pavilion Brian FitzCount, wide awake, gazed up at the harvest moon. He wondered what Robert would say if he told him that he thought Maud the loveliest woman he had ever set eyes on, and that she stirred his blood and piqued his interest as no woman ever had. Cool and detached, Brian was aware that he had rarely given his wholehearted affection to anyone other than the King, Robert, and Stephen, and never his heart.

Unlike Robert, he did not look forward to returning to England, to his dull wife and his childless castle at Wallingford. But his duty lay with the King and where the King went, Brian followed. Brian was a bastard son of the King’s old friend, Count Alan of Brittany, and Henry had taken Brian in as a child, educated him, married him to a Saxon heiress, and made him castellan of Wallingford Castle. Brian knew how much he owed his benefactor, and never begrudged the King his years of selfless service.

He sat down on the ground, his back against a tree, his lute propped between his knees. As Brian’s fingers idly plucked the strings his thoughts returned to the oath he and Robert had sworn and to the King’s strange ramblings. When the most likely explanation finally came to him, he was stunned: Jesu, the King, despairing of ever having a legitimate son, meant to make his daughter his heir! Instantly Brian rejected the thought. It was impossible; without precedent, unheard of. In England no woman had ever inherited the throne, not even in Saxon times. The King could not intend such folly. On the other hand, that would explain the oaths. It would certainly explain why Maud, her husband barely cold in his grave, had been recalled so hastily from Germany. Instinct told Brian that if what he suspected was true, Maud was as ignorant of her father’s plans as everyone else.

A guard walked by and raised a hand in greeting. What would the man say, Brian wondered, if he told him his suspicions? Laugh, no doubt, and claim Brian the worse for wine. He could not imagine either the commonfolk or the magnates allowing the King to go through with such a scheme. And yet, in all his years with King Henry, Brian had never seen him fail in his purpose, nor falter in his intent. Whatever the cost, he was relentless in pursuing his goals. Well before Brian’s time there were incidents to chill the blood. He let his thoughts rove backwards in time, remembering the tales he had heard, not spoken of openly, but whispered in dark corners.

At the death of William the Conqueror, thirty-eight years ago, Henry’s eldest brother, Robert, became Duke of Normandy. His second brother, William Rufus, became King of England. Henry, the youngest, was bequeathed silver but no land. In 1100, thirteen years later, King William Rufus was killed, hit by a chance arrow while hunting in the New Forest. His timely death—then or now no one believed it an accident—had proved most expedient for his younger brother. Whether Henry’s hand had drawn the bow or he had arranged for another to do it, the result was the same: King William Rufus was dead; Henry was able to seize the throne without opposition.

Six years later he had crossed the channel, attacked his brother, Duke Robert of Normandy, defeated him in battle, then took the duchy for himself. But he had not killed his eldest brother, choosing instead to imprison the former duke in a Welsh fortress, where the unfortunate wretch remained to this day. Thus both Normandy and England were again united under the control of a single ruler, as they had been in the Conqueror’s time.

These were but two in a long life crowded with similar incidents, which made King Henry neither better nor worse than many another monarch in Europe, but gave every indication that, by one means or another, what he wanted he would have.

If the King did indeed mean to force his daughter on an unsuspecting nobility, then he was making a grave error, Brian thought, one that would cost the land dear after his death. However, it would take a braver man than himself to tell that to his sovereign. He wondered what Maud’s reaction would be when she found out what lay in store for her, and Stephen’s response when he discovered that he would be supplanted by the woman he found so appealing.

A
WEEK LATER, SURROUNDED
by a dense fog, Maud stood at the ship’s rail eagerly awaiting her first glimpse of land. As the ship bobbed in the swells, she suddenly pitched forward, clutching the rail for support. From behind her a hand reached out to grasp her shoulder.

“Careful,” said Stephen’s voice in her ear, his hand steadying her.

A green wave reared up to shower her with spray and she gave a little shriek, then wiped the fine mist from her face. “Oh, thank you.”

“I was hoping to find you alone for a moment,” Stephen said. “Do I imagine it or have you been avoiding me since our last discourse on the bridge?”

“My time has really not been my own,” Maud said, which was certainly true, as her father and Robert had claimed almost all her attention on the leisurely ride to the coast.

But in truth she had also tried to avoid being alone with her cousin, uncomfortable at her immediate response to his physical presence, as well as distrustful of him since Aldyth’s reminder that he was married. She had no intention of being an easy conquest for this man who, Aldyth had warned her, need only crook his little finger for a woman to do his bidding.

“I understand,” Stephen replied. “As long as I have done nothing to offend you.”

Maud realized that he had not removed his hand from her shoulder and that she had no wish for him to do so.

“On the contrary, you have been most kind and thoughtful.” She looked up to see Stephen regarding her with an expression of amusement. So he knew perfectly well that she had been avoiding him.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “We’re together and soon you’ll see your first sight of England in fourteen years. The fog should break any moment.”

The ship rode the swells like an unbridled colt and Maud was rocked back on her heels. When Stephen caught her in his arms she resisted for a moment, glancing quickly around to see if anyone observed them. But the dawn mist had wrapped them in a soft gray cocoon, and they were isolated from prying eyes. Maud could hear the crew running up and down the deck, their disembodied voices calling to one another, the flap of the ship’s sails being furled, and the boom creaking. But she could see nothing.

A brisk wind sprang up. The hood of Maud’s brown cloak flew back from her head and russet strands of hair lashed at her cheeks and forehead. Stephen tightened his arms around her and she let herself relax against him. His face touched the side of her head, and Maud could feel his breath warm and quick against her temple. A sweet surge of excitement swept through her body; her eyes dropped to his hands clasped around her waist. They were large, with strong, square fingers, covered with a fine brush of honey-colored hair. She had a sudden shocking impulse to move them up to her breasts, then flushed to the roots of her hair, stunned that she should even think of such a thing, for no one had ever touched her there before. Mortified, she pushed away his hands and leaned against the rail. She would rather be buffeted by the turmoil of wind and wave than by the turmoil of his touch.

“Look,” he whispered.

As the wind blew away patches of mist, Maud caught a sudden glimpse of towering white cliffs surmounted by a manned fortress. Within moments she and Stephen were surrounded by members of her party, pointing their fingers and exclaiming at their first sight of England. Aldyth wept unashamedly to see her native land once more.

Maud wished her German ladies could have made the voyage with her, for she had told them so much about her homeland, but the King had insisted they were unsuitable and packed them off to Germany. In England she would be provided with Norman ladies, he assured her, as befitted her new station in life. Intrigued, she had asked her father what that might be and received only an enigmatic smile in return.

The vessel surged forward on an incoming tide and Dover harbor came into view.

“Welcome home, Cousin,” Stephen said with a smile.

As her heart leapt in response, Maud realized she was no longer the despondent woman who had resisted coming to England only six weeks ago. Now, despite her uncertainty about the future, she felt poised on the threshold of a new adventure.

After resting in Dover for twenty-four hours, the King’s entourage left for Windsor the following morning. Flanked by Stephen on one side and Robert on the other, Maud felt expectant as a child. The royal procession made its way down Watling Street, the old Roman road that ran all the way through Canterbury and London as far north as Chester. The road wound through narrow cobbled streets lined with wooden houses, past fortified walls and well-tended yellow fields where villeins gathered in the harvest. In the distance she could see the green curve of wooden downs.

Everywhere Maud looked there was evidence of peace and prosperity. From time to time they passed other travelers: a group of black-robed clerics on foot making a pilgrimage to Canterbury, a shepherd driving a flock of sheep, a line of carts headed in the direction of the coast carrying a load of wool for export to Flanders. Then a party of women riding alone to market caught her attention. Their pannier baskets were piled high with squawking trussed chickens, bunches of wine-colored beets, balls of pale green lettuce, and stalks of green and white scallions.

The procession came to a halt while the King greeted the women, questioned them in detail about their produce, tested the chickens for plumpness and, with a pinch on the rump of the prettiest girl, sent them giggling on their way.

“These women ride unguarded?” Maud asked in surprise.

“The roads are safe,” Robert replied, “since our father enforces the peace with harsh laws. Robbery and violence are punishable by mutilation and blinding. Wait,” he cautioned at the look of revulsion on Maud’s face. “Do not be so quick to judge. It’s the King’s boast that in his land a maid carrying a bag of gold can walk the whole day through in perfect safety. How else would that be possible?”

Maud could not think of a suitable rejoinder, though she felt there must be a less cruel way to maintain law and order. In silence she watched Stephen point out castles and great estates held by the King’s barons, acres of fertile meadows, well-stocked pastures, and orchards heavy with fruit. Every so often the King would stop and greet a landowner overseeing the work in his fields.

“My father is truly interested in this man’s fief?” Maud asked Stephen, watching a burly Norman answering her father’s questions.

The King listened attentively, nodded his head, then summoned one of his clerks to note down the man’s words on his wax tablet.

“Of course,” Stephen replied. “I’ll wager my uncle can tell you how many pigs this man has running loose in his fields, if his herd of goats increased since last year, and whether his field of barley failed or prospered.”

“I’ve never seen a ruler behave thus,” Maud said, amazed. “The Empire was rarely at peace. The Emperor was either warring with the Pope or putting down one insurrection after another. He never had the time to talk to his subjects in this manner.”

“Our father dearly loves order and would rather keep the peace than make war,” Robert told her. “That’s why his kingdom prospers.”

This was a revelation to Maud. She had always, even as a child, considered her father a tyrant, but what she was witnessing this morning hardly fit that image. Apparently there was another side to him. Whatever personal animosity she felt, it was evident she must respect him as a king.

The remainder of the day passed all too swiftly.

Dusk was approaching, the blue sky streaked with rose and purple shadows.

“Our journey’s end,” Stephen said. “Unfortunately.”

He gave her a lingering look that sent a shiver through Maud’s entire body. Reluctantly, she forced her eyes away.

A Norman castle, set high on the west bank of the Thames, rose slowly out of the river mist. Windsor. Maud leaned forward in the saddle.

“Does it look familiar?” Robert asked.

Her heart full of memories, Maud nodded. The outer walls were just ahead now and the procession slowed. There was a crowd of well-wishers outside come to greet the King. For one unguarded moment Maud found herself looking for her mother. Suddenly, without a word, Stephen spurred his horse forward and rode on ahead. A woman in a white tunic and blue mantle, a coronet of flaxen braids crowning her head, appeared out of the crowd. She smiled and waved. Maud caught her breath. Sweet Marie, it was not possible—a scream was torn from her throat, she dropped the reins, and quickly covered her mouth with her hands.

“What in God’s name—” Alarmed, Robert’s hand gripped the sword swinging by his side. His eyes quickly scanned the crowd.