The Fatal Crown (19 page)

“Why have you been avoiding me, Stephen? Do you hold it against me that I will swear before you?”

“Careful, that’s my injured arm. Why would I hold it against you?”

“That’s not for me to say. But the order of precedence was none of my doing, you must believe me.”

Stephen knew that Robert was blameless, but still he resented him. “I understand that and hold nothing against you.” He bowed coolly, aware that he had hurt Robert, then walked toward his brother, who had just entered the hall.

The Abbot frowned. “What did Gloucester want?”

“Nothing. A friendly gesture to ensure my nose is not twisted too much out of joint.”

The Abbot glanced at Robert. “He may be less friendly after this day’s work is done. You’re not having second thoughts, I trust.”

“And third and fourth thoughts. It’s a great risk.”

“Naturally, but—ah, there are the heralds. Benedicte, Brother.” He touched Stephen lightly on the shoulder with a richly jeweled finger, and joined the procession of clergymen.

Impressive in scarlet-and-gold costume, the heralds blew on their silver trumpets. The peers of the church lined up in order of precedence, followed by the lay peers, magnificent in their fur-lined court robes and glittering jewels. At their head, towering over everyone else, stood the King of Scotland. Robert walked behind him, then Stephen, followed by the Earl of Chester, the de Beaumont twins, and the remainder of the King’s most important nobles. Lesser lords like Brian FitzCount brought up the rear.

Inside the great hall, Maud, a regal and imposing presence in a gold-embroidered purple mantle, sat on a magnificent carved chair waiting to receive the oath of loyalty from the magnates of England and Normandy. Jewels blazed at her throat, on her fingers, and winked from the gold chaplet she wore over a purple gauze veil. Beside her stood the King, sumptuous in his royal ceremonial robes.

Stephen could not take his eyes off her. Never had she looked so beautiful; never had she seemed so desirable. But—she was occupying the royal chair,
his
chair.

Since the conversation with his brother the morning after the proclamation, much of Stephen’s old confidence had returned. The prospect of action—any kind of action—never failed to revitalize him, and today he would take an action that would do much to establish him as a potential leader of the realm. Prompted by his brother’s continual encouragement, Stephen could almost believe he had not, irretrievably, lost the crown. As his self-esteem rose he no longer felt consumed by jealousy and resentment. Although Maud was still a rival, she had become much less threatening to his pride, and his feelings for her had started to return. Of course, the conflict was far from resolved: He wanted Maud and he wanted the throne. She gave him a tentative smile now and Stephen smiled in return. He was rewarded by a look of relief that transformed her face, the warmth that suddenly shone in her sparkling gray eyes melting his heart. Perhaps he could win both.

His eyes fell on the jeweled ivory casket resting beside her. Inside lay the holy relics of saints’ bones; it was on this casket that he would be asked to swear homage to Maud. A veil of sweat coated the palms of his hands. Breaking a sworn oath was no light matter, and the thought of it sent ripples of fear coursing through his body. He forced the horrifying thought of excommunication from his mind. His brother had promised to deal with Rome, he reminded himself, and if he could not trust Henry, then whom could he trust?

The ceremony began. The Archbishop of Canterbury swore his homage first, then the bishops and abbots. Just ahead, Stephen saw his brother kneel before Maud; without a tremor he swore homage on the ivory casket. Stephen’s heart beat faster. Next the King of Scotland, first of the lay peers, stiffly bent his giant frame and swore to honor his niece as Queen of England and Duchess of Normandy after the King’s death, in the event there was no male heir.

Without warning, Stephen was attacked by doubts and reservations and his resolve wavered. By God’s birth, he was about to take a fearful hazard. Suppose it did not fall out as his brother had said? Was it worth—the Scottish king was rising; Robert took a step forward. He must make his move or—now!

In one long stride, Stephen pushed ahead of Robert, shouldering him roughly out of the way so that he almost fell. He heard Robert’s sharply indrawn breath, and a concerted gasp of surprise from the nobles. Directly in front of him, Maud’s eyes widened in shock. The King, his face a black cloud, moved closer to her, fixing Stephen with a menacing look. He raised his hand, pointing a finger at his nephew. A host of guards ringing the hall ran toward Stephen, spears at the ready. From behind, Stephen felt Robert try to push him aside, and for a moment the two of them jockeyed for position in the line. Equally matched in strength, neither could displace the other.

The guards were only a few feet away now. Wrenching himself from Robert’s grasp, Stephen, a prayer on his lips, fell to his knees before the King.

“Sire! Sire! Hear me out, I beg of you!”

The King hesitated, then held up his hand. The guards fell back.

“Sire, I deem it a dishonor to the House of Blois, as well as to the House of Normandy, not to swear my oath of loyalty after King David. As God is my witness, and as my peers will testify, I have served you faithfully and well since first I came to your court. Nor am I unmindful of the great affection, wealth, and honors you have bestowed upon me. But even my mother, your beloved sister Adela, daughter of the great Conqueror, would agree that the House of Blois is being slighted. Let me take my rightful position, so that I may be the first among your subjects to honor your daughter as my future liege-lord.”

Stephen carefully avoided any mention of Robert or his illegitimacy. His brother had cautioned that this, above all else, would turn the King against him. At his back, he could hear the swelling murmur of approval from the magnates. All of them held Robert of Gloucester in great esteem, but Stephen, scion of a great house, had been denied pride of place and everyone knew it. The expression on the King’s face told Stephen that his uncle was in a quandary: He knew his nephew was in the right but his heart lay with his son. He glanced first at Robert, then at Stephen. A shadow passed over his face. Still he did not speak.

Robert of Gloucester, pale as death but composed, approached his father. “Sire, I value your wish to honor me, but it is Stephen of Blois who should take precedence over me in swearing homage. I yield my place.”

Father and son gazed at each other for a moment, then the King slowly nodded. The tension in the hall eased. Robert withdrew and Stephen walked up to Maud. It had fallen out exactly as his brother had predicted: The selfless Robert had yielded rather than force the King to choose between them. Stephen felt a stab of pity for Robert, who was dear to him, but he did not regret what he had done.

Triumphant, Stephen knelt before Maud. Placing his hands between hers, he swore his oath of loyalty, sealing it with the ritual kiss upon the mouth. He let his lips linger a second longer than courtesy demanded. Then he laid a hand upon the ivory box of holy relics, noting that his fingers trembled ever so slightly.

In a steady voice that rang throughout the hall, Stephen took his oath: “In the name of the Holy Trinity, and in reverence of these sacred relics, I, Stephen, do swear that I will truly keep the promise which I have taken and will always remain faithful to Maud, my future liege-lord.”

He smiled at his cousin, who had a sparkle of tears in her eyes. Exhilaration flowed through him like strong wine. He had taken a hazardous risk and won, upheld the honor of his family, and established himself as a fearless leader among his peers. It was his first concrete step toward the throne.

M
AUD, STUNNED BY STEPHEN’S
rash assertion of his position, the afterglow of his ritual kiss still warm upon her lips, accepted the homage of her half-brother in a distracted state. She did not fully gather her wits together until Ranulf, Earl of Chester, stood before her and delivered yet another surprise blow.

Maud expected him to kneel but instead he addressed the King: “Sire, before I swear homage to your daughter as my liege-lord, I need assurance that the barons of your council will have a say in her choice of husband. After all, it is he who will rule, and therefore must be acceptable to your magnates.”

Ranulf, who ruled the vast palatinate of Chester which bordered both Scotland and Wales, was one of the most powerful and influential magnates in the realm. When he spoke, his peers listened; where he led, others would follow. Now his words swept over the assembled throng like a high wind rustling through a field of grain. After a moment’s pause every noble loudly raised their voices in agreement.

Maud froze in her royal chair, far more shocked by Chester’s ultimatum than she had been by Stephen’s setting aside of her brother. This was an open challenge to the King: Agree to Chester’s terms or suffer the consequences. Although her father had made no mention of a future husband except in the vaguest terms, Maud was realistic enough to know there would have to be one. As she would be queen in her own right, however, she did not know exactly what role a king-consort would play under such unusual circumstances. She had resolved to discuss this with her father at the earliest opportunity.

Now her eyes sought King Henry who, stroking his chin, stared at Chester with open enmity. Maud knew he would carefully weigh his options: There was no question of taking hostile action against the Earl, not with all the nobles supporting him, thus he could not openly refuse Ranulf’s request. How would he elude the trap?

“Naturally, my Lord of Chester,” Henry replied in a soft voice that nonetheless chilled Maud’s blood. “If that is the will of my magnates, I can only agree. No marriage will be made for Maud without the consent of my council.”

“Will you swear to that, Sire, upon these same holy relics?” Chester pointed to the ivory casket.

The King’s face became gorged with blood. Then he forced a smile to his lips and visibly regained control. He snapped his fingers and his steward sprang forward. Henry pointed to the casket of relics; the steward lifted it up and held it before the King. With his hand on the ivory casket, Henry swore his oath not to marry Maud to anyone without the consent of his council.

Maud felt a shiver of apprehension run through her. Every instinct she possessed told her that the King had no intention of consulting his magnates on the subject of her marriage. But the nobles accepted the oath with a murmur of approval. The casket was again laid beside her and Chester bent his knee to swear homage. His face, with its long brown mustache, was flushed with satisfaction.

The rest of the ceremony went smoothly, and there was no overt evidence of the outrage or hostility Maud had glimpsed on Christmas Eve. Perhaps, with God’s grace, she would be accepted after all.

The winter of 1126 passed without incident. January turned into February and February into March. Maud was so busy that she hardly had time to notice the change of seasons. Each day since the homage ceremony she had received intensive instruction from her father on the administrative workings of his realm. Her willingness to learn, her ready intelligence, as well as her vast knowledge of European affairs had earned her father’s respect and approval. Maud knew he was pleased—and surprised. As a result the time she spent with him was unusually agreeable.

Even the King’s magnates appeared to have developed a grudging tolerance of the situation. Maud was profoundly grateful for the overwhelming change in her fortunes, and if Stephen had been in her company more often she would have been totally content. Since the homage ceremony, however, she had barely glimpsed her cousin. Maud wondered if he still smarted as a result of having his ambitions thwarted, even blamed her in some way, and was thus avoiding her. It was a constant worry to her and she had asked Robert if Stephen held a grudge against her.

“It’s not like him to hold on to a grievance,” he had replied slowly. “But, of course, losing his hopes for the crown was a heavy blow. In time Stephen will recover, I doubt not. Be patient. His brother, on the other hand, will have taken the loss very much to heart. He was promised the See of Canterbury when Stephen became king, after the present archbishop dies.”

“No wonder he’s so cool to me,” Maud had said. “But the Abbot is less clever than I thought. After all, what is to prevent me from granting him the same prize—if I’m queen at that time. He would do better to woo my favor than shun me.”

Robert had laughed. “I imagine that currying favors from a female is anathema to him.”

A typical ecclesiastical attitude, she had reflected. Meanwhile, all she could do was wait for Stephen’s wounded pride to heal.

One afternoon in early March, Maud walked across the courtyard at Westminster heading for the small chamber located in the southeastern corner of the castle where she met the King for her daily instruction. Overhead, dark clouds scuttled across a gray sky and a raw wind blew from the north. The courtyard bustled with its usual activity: squires polishing hunting horns and spears, huntsmen exercising shaggy deerhounds, falconers airing their hooded birds.

She was halfway up the narrow stone steps leading to the chamber when the sound of hooves made her turn back. Three riders rode into the courtyard. Maud’s pulse quickened as she recognized Stephen and the de Beaumont twins. Grooms hurried to tend the horses and the riders dismounted. Stephen’s face was flushed from the ride; he threw back his tawny head to laugh at something Robin of Leicester said, then flung a comradely arm over his shoulder. At the sight of his tall, lean body, Maud’s heart turned over.

Stephen noticed her on the steps and with a word to the twins went over to where she stood.

“What good fortune,” he said. “I came to Westminster especially to see you. Matilda and I have been in our estates at Lancaster for the past month or more, which is why I’ve been so neglectful.”

His eyes met hers, and pulled by an invisible thread, Maud found herself at the bottom of the steps, closer to him.