The Fatal Crown (42 page)

“Is that your answer?” he asked, watching the gulf widen between them. “You turn your back on happiness?”

She faltered. “Not willingly! But what choice do we have? The deepest joy I have ever known has been with you. Do you think I haven’t thought of the barren years that lie ahead? Of the emptiness in my heart that can never be filled?” She took his face in her hands, looking at him as if she would engrave his image on her soul. “I’m not destined for happiness, only duty.”

“Duty,” he repeated in a lifeless voice. He had been prepared to give up everything for her, and she had rejected him. The reasons, however valid, did not matter. The door that had opened now closed soundlessly.

Stephen rubbed his eyes and looked around, suddenly wide awake to his surroundings. Everything looked exactly the same, yet different. What was the matter with him? He had come perilously close to—he could give it no name, but the experience had passed and the memory of it was already fading into unreality.

“Of course, you’re right, ma belle,” he said with a forced smile. “It was madness to even consider such a course.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Best we return, before someone wakes and misses us.”

Her face was a mask of anguish, tears pouring down her cheeks, but he felt helpless to comfort her. She had made the fateful decision and they must both live with it for the rest of their time on earth.

Her words, “when I’m queen I will depend on you,” came back to him now. A stab of resentment pierced him. Did Maud honestly think he would be a tame confidant, a safe shoulder to lean on, like Robert of Gloucester? Could she really expect him to be content with that? Stephen’s pride rebelled. He had never sought to be her master but he was no woman’s slave.

“I must tell you something,” she whispered.

“What is it?”

But she did not speak. Curiously detached, he watched the tears running down her cheeks like a misty waterfall.

“Do not weep, sweet Cousin,” he said at last. Taking her by the shoulders, Stephen turned her around so she faced the keep, and gave her a gentle shove. “Fare well. Know that my heart goes with you.” He watched as she walked away from him, her shoulders shaking, her head bent like a penitent. Numb with the blow of his great loss, Stephen waited by the mews until she had vanished into the darkness.

“I don’t trust the Norman barons,” said Geoffrey of Anjou into the shocked silence of the King’s chamber. “Particularly the Count of Mortain. If ever a man was capable of treachery, he is that man.”

It was early afternoon, several days after the homage ceremony. Maud stared at her husband in disbelief. The Bishop of Salisbury’s face twitched with apprehension as he gazed at the Count of Anjou. Brian FitzCount looked thoughtful. Robert of Gloucester let his hand fall to the hilt of his sword. King Henry, sitting in a carved chair, his legs propped up on a stool padded with cushions, put a restraining hand on his son’s arm.

“Stephen is our loyal cousin and true friend,” Robert said in icy tones. “How dare you accuse him of treachery.”

Ignoring him, Geoffrey turned to the King. “I suspect that Stephen of Blois would be the barons’ choice to succeed you, Sire. I seriously question whether they will ever accept your daughter as queen or an Angevin husband as her king-consort.”

“You have lost all sense of reason,” Maud said, the blood rushing into her face. “At one time it was thought that Stephen might succeed my father, but that was before the Emperor died.”

“Anyone with eyes in his head can see that the barons still want Stephen of Blois, and well he knows it. It would not surprise me to hear that he and that silver-tongued brother of his have already made plans and wait only upon the King’s death before executing them,” Geoffrey persisted.

There was a sharp intake of breath and those in the room hastily crossed themselves.

Robert took a menacing step toward Geoffrey. “Only a coward would accuse Stephen and his brother, who have left Rouen this very day, when they are not here to defend themselves.”

“It is unthinkable to accuse my cousins of treachery,” Maud said, wondering what in the name of heaven Geoffrey was up to.

“Under the right circumstances, who can say what a man might be capable of,” the King remarked, observing Geoffrey through narrowed eyes. “If he wants something desperately enough …”

Bishop Roger coughed and shifted on his stool.

“But Stephen and Henry are your well-beloved nephews, Sire,” protested Robert, aghast. “They owe you everything. You are the father they never knew. As Maud says, it is unthinkable.”

The King frowned. “Nothing is unthinkable where power is concerned.” He turned to the Bishop of Salisbury. “Well, Roger, your finger is upon the pulse of the kingdom. What do you say to the Count’s accusation? Do the barons still want my nephew? I know they did in the past, but now?”

“If that were once the case, Sire, it is so no longer,” Bishop Roger said, glaring at Geoffrey. “It has been many years since such a suggestion was made. Of course the barons will abide by your wishes. Have they not sworn a sacred oath?”

Everyone began to talk at once. Maud knew there was more to Geoffrey’s accusations, his attack on Stephen, than met the eye, she would swear to it. Did he suspect—no, that was not possible. But the furor her husband was creating hid a purpose, although she could not imagine what it was.

“Geoffrey,” she began in a quiet voice, “Stephen and the barons, as well as the Bishop of Winchester and the other prelates, have sworn three oaths to uphold me as future queen. This time they swore fealty to our son as well. We have all heard your suspicions, but where are the facts to support them?”

The King smiled approvingly. “Well said, Daughter. We are waiting for proof, Son-in-law.”

Geoffrey flushed, setting his jaw in the stubborn manner Maud knew only too well. “There has not been time to gather any facts. I haven’t seen the Norman baronage assembled since my wedding.” He looked at the faces surrounding him. “They were not happy about the marriage then, if you will remember, and I find nothing has changed over the years. If I had not seen the hostility with my own eyes, I would not have believed it.”

Robert gave him an incredulous look. “You think that sufficient? I don’t claim the barons love you, but that is a far cry from dishonoring their oath to the King and my sister.”

Geoffrey’s lips tightened. Angrily he turned his back on the others and approached King Henry. “It is my opinion, Sire, that the fate of the succession is far from assured. Thus I cannot count on your agreements with me being honored. Therefore—” He paused to take a deep breath. “Therefore I must insist that you grant me the rights agreed to in the marriage contract.”

Now we come to the heart of the matter, Maud thought. She was furious with her husband for his high-handed manner, his absurd accusations—and for not consulting her before making such a foolhardy display of greed and temper.

“To what rights do you refer?” the King asked in a deceptively mild voice.

“Those castles and lands that were promised me in the marriage contract. Writ plain for all to see.”

“Count Geoffrey must refer to those castles on the Maine border, Sire,” said the Bishop of Salisbury.

“Ah! Of course. But they come to you only after my death,” the King explained to a scowling Geoffrey. “When you are Duke of Normandy.” He smiled unpleasantly. “I am far from dead, however, and one house cannot have two masters.”

“If I don’t get them now I will never get them at all!” Geoffrey shouted, losing all control. The veins in his neck stood out like iron bars. His face was bright red. “That is what you all refuse to understand. If my wife is not crowned queen I will get nothing!”

“You’ve gone mad,” Maud cried. “Of course I will be crowned queen!”

Ignoring Maud, Geoffrey knelt on one knee before the King. “I ask you for the last time, Sire, will you give me what is rightfully mine?”

King Henry kicked the stool away and rose unsteadily to his feet. “No, I will not. And this unseemly display of the famous Angevin temper leaves me unmoved. Indeed, I had not deemed you so avaricious, Son-in-law. You will come into your possessions soon enough when I’m dead.”

“Then I will never get them.” Geoffrey stood, his eyes blazing like blue fire. “Unless I take what is mine now.” There was no mistaking the menace in his voice. He bowed to the King. “I return to Anjou tomorrow.” He surveyed the chamber with a contemptuous glance and strode briskly to the door. “Wife?”

Maud hesitated, uncertain whether to follow Geoffrey’s exit or stay and placate her father, who, by the look of him, would need to be bled tonight. Then she heard him say to Robert, “So the Count accuses my nephews to serve his own ends. Fortify the garrisons in our castles on the Maine border without delay.”

Robert looked at his father in horror. “You cannot think Geoffrey seriously means to lay siege to your castles?”

The King gave him a grim smile. “Always wiser to take a man at his word. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. That is the first law of survival, my son.”

Hearing this, Maud quickly left the chamber.

When she returned to her own quarters, Geoffrey was already stuffing his belongings into a leather saddlebag. Maud dismissed the nurses and attendants; she walked over to the carved wooden cradle where Henry lay asleep.

“What was the purpose of that ridiculous scene?” she asked, not bothering to conceal her scorn. “Did you really think my father would give away his possessions? All you have accomplished is to turn him against you.”

“Every word I spoke was the truth, only you are all too blind to see it. At the moment nothing is to be gained by further discourse. We leave tomorrow for Anjou.”

“You cannot expect me to leave with you,” Maud protested. “I must stay and undo the damage you have done here. My father is furious with you and will be with me if I attempt to take his grandson away so soon.”

Geoffrey walked over to where she stood by the cradle; his eyes rested on the peaceful countenance of the sleeping baby. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, turning Henry’s hair a dark copper hue. Geoffrey slid an arm around Maud’s waist and roughly pulled her to him.

“Your father needs many grandsons,” he said, his hands roving over her breasts.

Maud stood rigid under his touch, then, as he tried to lift up the skirts of her gray tunic and amber-colored gown, she pulled his hands away. “I agree. But this is not the time.”

There was a tense silence. “Very well. But do not remain in Rouen too long, Wife.” He gave her breasts a final squeeze but kept his arm about her waist.

Grateful for Geoffrey’s grudging acquiescence, Maud forced herself not to recoil from his loveless embrace.

“Thank you. It will mean much to my father to have young Henry about.” A sudden suspicion crossed her mind. “You go straight back to Angers?”

“Of course. Where else would I go?”

To attack the Maine border, she barely refrained from saying. Their eyes locked. With a mock bow he walked out of the chamber.

The baby woke. Maud picked up Henry and held him so tightly against her breast that he began to struggle in protest. Soothing him, she walked over to the nurse’s chair and sat down, then began to rock him back and forth in her arms.

Alone for the first time, Maud was now able to release the anguish she had been forced to hold back all day. Stephen had left for Mortain at dawn this morning. Her cousin was gone from her life, and although it was entirely her own doing, Maud felt she could never be reconciled to the overwhelming misery of her loss. She wondered, as she had almost constantly ever since she had rejected his wild, unrealistic offer, if she had made the right choice. Reason told her she had, but her heart and body rebelled, and she was assailed by doubts and regrets. Unable to control her grief, she sobbed softly against her baby’s fuzzy head. Holding him in her arms was all of Stephen she would ever have. Young Henry must compensate her for all the lonely years that lay ahead.

She wondered why she had not been able to tell Stephen of his paternity. It had been on the tip of her tongue to speak when they were leaving the falcon mews, but an instinctive warning signal rising up from the depths of her being had restrained her. Just as it had when she first discovered she was with child. Now it was too late. The decisive moment had passed and she knew she would never tell him.

At last her tears subsided. Yet still she sat there, Henry in her arms, through the Vespers bell and the steward’s horn calling the palace to supper, until twilight shadows covered the chamber.

The following spring Maud was still in Normandy. Each time she made ready to return to Anjou, the King, enraptured with his grandson, prevailed upon her to stay a little longer. Geoffrey had visited her four months ago, reiterating once again his demand for the castles on the Maine border. The King’s reply had been the same: While he lived, he would make no one his equal in his own duchy.

As his health continued to deteriorate, King Henry, no longer physically able to make the rough channel crossing, remained in Normandy with his court while his chief administrator, the Bishop of Salisbury, ruled England in his name. Robert and Brian regularly traveled back and forth across the channel, but Stephen remained in England. Maud knew he was deliberately staying away, and was alternately relieved and disappointed. She desperately wanted to see him again, but recognized that for her peace of mind it was far better he did not come to Normandy.

On this morning in early May, Maud, three and a half months pregnant since Geoffrey’s last visit, sat in a chair in the solar. Indifferent to his ardor, she had allowed Geoffrey access to her body, hardly noticing his attentions, and had been greatly surprised to find herself with child. Henry played at her feet while her women worked on a tapestry and the chaplain read aloud from a Book of Hours. She was only half aware of horses riding into the courtyard, and consequently was startled, a quarter of an hour later, when Robert burst into the solar.

“Geoffrey has launched an attack on several towns and castles on the Norman-Maine border,” he cried. “The King is beside himself with fury.”