The Fatal Crown (53 page)

“Only the shrewdest head in the realm, Your Grace, as everyone knows.” Maud repressed a smile at the gratified expression that crossed his face. “In Stephen’s boots I would have followed your advice.”

He gave her a quick glance to see if she mocked him, but when he saw she did not, inclined his head. “You surprise me, Madam,” the Bishop said slowly. “I hadn’t expected to find a champion in you or have my modest abilities appreciated.”

Maud’s heart began to beat faster. Was the Bishop sending her a message? It seemed the perfect opening, yet his grave profile revealed nothing. Uncertain of how to proceed, she let the silence lengthen between them.

Maud realized there was little she could offer the Bishop. Canterbury was unavailable and he already occupied a powerful position as Bishop of Winchester as well as Papal Legate. She knew that Henry had pledged his word to the prelates that, if given the crown, his brother would honor the rights of the church and maintain the laws of the land. Thus far Stephen had done neither. Surely, she mused, it was an awkward and humiliating position for the proud Bishop to be in. This, coupled with Stephen’s personal betrayal of him, should make Henry more approachable. There was only one way to find out.

Maud took a deep breath. “I was much distressed, Your Grace, to hear of your brother’s shameful behavior toward you. It’s common knowledge that Stephen could not have been crowned without your help. Of course he treated me in exactly the same manner; thus we are fellow victims, so to speak.”

Henry’s narrow face turned a deep red and he stared straight ahead with a fixed look. By mentioning Stephen’s treachery, Maud knew she had touched an open wound but it also formed a bond between them. She pressed her advantage.

“I’ve always felt it vital to honor one’s promises and obligations to Holy Church, and ensure she maintains all her rights and privileges,” Maud continued.

“So say all those who wish to rule and need the church’s goodwill to gain the crown,” the Bishop said in a cold voice. “Once seated on the throne it seems to become another matter.”

“Indeed. But not all who rule need prove faithless,” Maud said, with what she hoped was a persuasive smile. “I’ve had much experience with Holy Church, Cousin. After all, I was married to the Holy Roman Emperor. From him I learned to be steadfast, loyal, and to honor my word.”

“Did you indeed?” The Bishop turned his head slowly and their eyes met. “At another time, perhaps, we will speak again of these matters.”

“I’m always at your disposal,” Maud said softly. She had made a veiled offer. It had not been accepted, but neither had it been refused. A good sign. For the moment she had done all she could.

Pleased with her progress, Maud now looked around the countryside with renewed interest. They were riding past yellow fields ready for harvest but with only a handful of villeins at work. Some fields lay entirely idle. Where were the scores of laborers she was accustomed to seeing? From time to time they passed dead cattle lying across the road, scavenger birds already at work on the bloated carcasses. But where were all the people?

When she had first come to England fourteen years ago, Maud recalled, the roads were clogged with respectable travelers: farmers and their wives jogging to market, bands of pilgrims, young people alone. The few folk they passed today had been vagabonds, men with surly faces and ragged clothing who looked as if they would slit a throat for pleasure.

“Is there famine on the land? Or some disease afflicting the beasts?” Maud asked the Bishop.

“I’m aware of none. Why do you ask?”

“The countryside is so … so desolate. No travelers to speak of. Deserted fields. Cattle lying dead. Far different from what it was in my father’s day.”

“As God is my witness, I can vouch for that,” Henry muttered.

They trotted around a sharp bend in the road. Ahead their party slowed as they came in sight of a small village.

“I will tell the Lord of Muelan to stop here so that we may refresh ourselves,” the Bishop told her.

The village, backed by a blue-green forest, looked deserted as they rode down the main street. The smell of smoke and burning wood hung like a gray pall in the air. No villagers appeared to watch them ride by; no children played by the side of the road. At the edge of the village a small church surrounded by yew trees stood dark and empty, its door yawning open. Several slaughtered sheep lay scattered nearby, vultures pecking at the bloody entrails.

To the west of the village, Maud could now see sheaves of stacked corn, still smoldering in the ruined stubble of a burned-out field. Beyond the field the sails of a windmill flapped crazily in the wind as smoke poured from a gaping hole in the building’s side. There was a sinister air about the place that reminded Maud of Normandy after Geoffrey’s men had passed through it.

Up ahead, Maud saw Waleran and his men dismount and begin knocking on the doors of the cots that had not been torched. No one came to greet them. Finally, one of the knights kicked open a door and entered. He returned in a moment and spoke to Waleran.

“Bishop,” Waleran called.

Henry rode up to the cot; Maud followed, fearful of what she would find.

“There has been a bloodbath here,” Waleran said after Henry and Maud dismounted. “Much of the village appears to have been destroyed.”

As Maud watched, several men pushed open the doors of the remaining cots, while others entered the church.

“All dead so far,” one of them called.

A penetrating scream came from the interior of the church as a knight half carried, half dragged a young woman with a small child outside and set them down on the grass. The woman’s gown was in shreds, her face streaked with blood. She alternately screamed or babbled incoherently. The child, who did not appear to be physically hurt, clung to its mother, struck dumb with terror. Another knight dragged several more bodies from the church.

“These men are also dead—tortured, by the look of them,” the knight said, prodding one of the slashed bodies with his booted foot. “There are women in there who have been brutally ravished. Only this one has survived.”

Sickened by the sight of the savagely mutilated bodies and the all-pervading smell of death, Maud turned her head away, fighting down a wave of faintness. This was worse than anything she had seen in Normandy.

“Who can have been responsible for this butchery?” Maud asked in an unsteady voice.

Waleran looked at the woman on the ground. Maud could see a bruised shoulder showing through the tears in her bodice. Her skirts were torn and rumpled, stained with blood.

“There are lawless bands roaming the country. It could have been any one of them,” Waleran said.

Sickened by the pitiful sight, Maud flung open the saddlebag tied to her horse and rifled through its contents, her fingers closing round a gray wool shawl. She approached the woman, whose screams had turned to sobs when she realized she would not be harmed.

“This will keep you warm,” Maud said gently, wiping the blood from the woman’s face, then draping the soft folds over her body.

“Let me see what sense can be gotten from this poor unfortunate,” Henry said.

“My lord,” one of Waleran’s men called out, “what shall we do with these bodies?”

“The dead must be buried and Masses said for their souls,” the Bishop ordered.

“If you are going to pray for all of England’s dead, my lord bishop, you will have time for naught else,” Waleran sneered.

While Waleran’s men dug a mass grave, the Bishop questioned the woman.

“She claims that a band of men—rogues and brigands—rode through the village not long ago,” Bishop Henry reported to Maud and Waleran. “They were looking for food and hidden wealth, but when the men of the village gave the knaves all their stores and what animals they could spare, insisting they were penniless, they were set upon, tortured, and then killed. Then these marauders burned the fields and some of the cots, set fire to the windmill, and desecrated the church, stealing its few valuables.” The Bishop wiped his brow. “This woman confirms that she and others were raped or killed if they resisted. She was left for dead and the boy spared because he hid behind the altar. She thinks the village priest and a few of the villagers may have escaped to the forest with their beasts.”

“This looks like the work of the King’s Flemish mercenaries,” one of Waleran’s men said. “They be no better than Godless savages.”

“Aye, they even be worse than the Scots,” agreed another. “I fought in Cumberland against the clans but saw nothing like this day’s work.”

“Eh, by God’s wounds, this be as bad as the Angevin devils. I were in Normandy a year ago and—” The man was quickly hushed and there was a strained silence.

Pretending not to hear, Maud turned away, her face burning with shame.

A short time later the bodies of the dead were thrown into the mass grave while prayers were said for their souls. The woman and child disappeared into the woods, returning shortly with a few haunted-looking men and ragged women driving a small herd of goats before them. They were accompanied by an old priest who leaned heavily on a wooden staff. Maud listened as the Bishop questioned them.

“Were these landless men, outlaws and the like?” Henry asked.

One of the men shook his head in mute denial and pointed at several of Waleran’s knights.

Waleran frowned. “Men like us?”

“Aye,” an old man with a gaunt face nodded. “Carrying red and yellow colors. Like this.” He sketched circles in the air and two angles.

“Sounds like Gloucester’s arms to me,” Waleran said, with a sly look at Maud.

“Do you dare imply that Robert or his men were responsible for this massacre?” Maud retorted as a chill ran through her. “Impossible.”

“Impossible?” Waleran gave a harsh laugh. “What kind of men do you think flock to the cause of a rebel like Gloucester? Traitors and such scum, those with grievances, men who have forfeited the protection of the law and now have nothing to lose! Such renegades have been roaming the country for a good six months now.”

“Because Stephen is incapable of maintaining order in his realm, that is why these atrocities occur,” Maud countered scornfully, inwardly trembling with outrage but determined not to let Waleran have the satisfaction of seeing it. To even suggest her half-brother would rape and torture was unthinkable!

“Enough!” The Bishop’s voice cut through their hostility. “Nothing will be gained by meaningless accusations!” He looked at Maud with hard green eyes. “Let me remind you, Madam, that your recent arrival in England was the signal for renewed warfare between your supporters and King Stephen’s. Whether this butchery is the work of Gloucester’s men or the King’s, it matters not. To these poor downtrodden souls, there is little to distinguish between you.”

“How can you say that!” Maud cried, her control broken at last.

Henry silenced her by pointing at the desecrated church, the open grave of dead bodies, the burned fields and empty cots. His finger lingered on the ashen face of the raped woman, the broken men with their beasts, and the dumb, terrorized child.

“Look well upon this day’s work, Cousin, for it is only the beginning.”

Maud caught her breath, her eyes riveted to the child.

“What did you think would happen when you landed on these shores? If you have no stomach for this you would do better to return to Anjou,” Waleran told her.

“If Stephen had not usurped my throne none of this would have happened,” she said between clenched teeth.

“Or if you had stayed in Angers,” Waleran retorted, “as any decent wife would have done. It is your return that will lead the realm into disaster! Go back to your devil’s brood, woman, no one wants you here!”

“None of you are wanted, if truth be told.” It was the quivering voice of the old village priest. “These poor children of God, whose lives are spent working the land and tending their flocks, do not care who sits on the throne as long as they are left in peace.”

There was an abashed silence. Maud and Waleran avoided looking at each other.

“I had hoped to make Southampton before dark and we have not yet reached Portchester!” Henry squinted up at the fading afternoon sunlight. “Come, let us be on our way. We can do no more here.” He blessed the old priest and the villagers and walked toward his horse.

Maud reached into the leather purse at her belt and pulled out five silver coins which she pressed into the clawed hand of the village priest. Dazed, he looked down at the pile of silver.

“Christ, a few copper pennies would have been ample,” Waleran grumbled. “That’s more wealth than these folk have seen in the whole of their lives! It does no good to spoil them.”

With a defiant look, Maud then added five more coins. From the corner of her eye she saw the suggestion of a smile soften the Bishop of Winchester’s ascetic lips, and she knew that her gesture had won from him a degree of approval she would never have gained by words alone. This day she had glimpsed another aspect of the ambitious, cunning prelate whom she had always regarded as her enemy and Stephen’s nemesis. Under his cool, disdainful exterior lay a heart touched with compassion for the misfortunes of the oppressed and needy. It made him appear almost human.

Waleran’s eyes fairly popped with anger as he leapt onto his horse and rode furiously down the road, waving his knights after him.

Henry helped Maud mount her palfrey; once again the party took to the dusty road. As they trotted westward following the sun, Maud reassured herself that she was not responsible for the destruction of the village. Injustice, cruelty, wanton destruction, wasted lives—these were the unfortunate hazards of war. Just this morning she had thought of Stephen with aching tenderness, but what she had seen reminded her anew that he had stolen what was rightfully hers;
he
had brought about the desecration of the land, not she. When the crown was safely on her head, then she would heal the wounds of the realm, and repair the damage her people had suffered. Order and peace would be restored, as in her father’s time; she would be the Lion of Justice come again.