The Fatal Crown (62 page)

Maud rose to her feet. “I have no need of excuses, nor have I betrayed you. I deeply regret any ill feeling this may have caused.”

“You’ll have cause to regret more than that before I’m through,” the Bishop hissed, with such a look of hatred that she felt a twinge of fear. He turned on his heel and left.

Maud did not see him again until they met with the group of burghers in the council chambers directly after Vespers. The air between them crackled and she knew she must pacify him as soon as the meeting was over.

Maud had given much thought to this second meeting with the London deputation. She did not need Henry to tell her how desperately she needed their support, well aware that these wealthy merchants and magistrates enjoyed an unusual state of independence and authority in London.

When the deputation arrived, Maud, seated behind the oak table, greeted them cordially, then got right to the heart of the matter. “Have you made a decision about the funds I requested?”

The leader of the deputation spoke. “We have, and deeply regret that we can’t accede to your wishes. Quite simply, we don’t have the resources to do so.”

Maud’s face paled. “You
know
the treasury is virtually depleted?”

The leader nodded his gray head. “By the same civil war that has crippled us as well. If we hadn’t been forced to give our last penny to support King Stephen—”

Maud felt a surge of heat. “How forced! A taste of the lash? Hot irons?”

“After all, he was the king, Madam. And now that the Queen is demanding more money to strengthen her army—” He bit his lip and stopped, as every eye turned toward him in horror.

“The
former
queen has no claim on you, nor any right to ask you for funds,” Maud said, her voice dangerously calm. “Your loyalty is to me, no one else.” The surge became a hot tide of rage rushing through her.

“So—you refuse aid to your rightful sovereign while behind my back you plot and connive with the wife of the man who has all but destroyed England.” She rose to her feet. “The matter is now out of your hands. The London citizens will be taxed. Effective immediately.”

“But King Stephen—”

The last vestige of caution snapped like a frayed rope. “You’re not to speak that usurper’s name in my presence ever again!” Maud shouted, heedless of the effect she created.

The burghers glared at her and she returned their look with equal enmity. Finally the leader bowed his head, and turned. Bishop Henry, with not a look or a word to Maud, followed the deputation out of the chamber.

As Henry and the outraged London burghers walked along the pathway to the abbey, a man approached them through the gathering dusk. He stopped in front of the Bishop holding something wrapped in a linen cloth.

“I beg pardon, Your Grace, but have you seen Domina? She was to meet me here this evening. I be the silversmith who casts the royal seal,” he explained.

“Is there some difficulty?” Henry asked.

The silversmith unwrapped the covering from a lump of wax and read aloud the inscription:
“Matildis Imperatrix Romanorum et Regina Anglaie.”

The London citizens, who had been following the exchange, exclaimed in anger. “By the Rood, that foolish woman has put the Empire first!” said one.

“What kind of queen would forget she was a daughter of the royal Saxon line?” said another.

“Isn’t it obvious? Her loyalties are to Anjou and the Empire, not England or Normandy,” sneered a third.

“The lady admitted it was a mistake,” the silversmith offered grudgingly. “She asked me to change it and put England first. But not till ye pays me, I says. So I’ve come now for me money.”

For a long moment the Bishop stared at the pale oval of the silversmith’s face, barely visible in the lengthening shadows. A pulse worked in his jaw, and his hands were suddenly damp. “You know, I do believe Domina mentioned something about the great seal,” he said slowly. “Yes, now that I think of it, she said she had decided to let the inscription stand as is. ‘Empress’ was a more prestigious title.”

There was a gasp of disbelief from the silversmith. “God’s teeth, she’s gone back on her word!”

“Unfortunately that seems to be the case. Oh, yes, and she refused payment until after the coronation. But I’ll compensate you out of my own pocket.” Henry reached into the scrip at his belt and handed the silversmith a few coins.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the silversmith muttered, surreptitiously biting one of the coins. “Be damned to the lady if this is how she treats us. She be no queen of ours.”

“Angevin bitch,” said one of the Londoners. “First taxes, now insults to the country she intends to rule! If this is how she begins, where will she end, eh?”

There were angry murmurs of assent.

“Not only that, but the evil woman has chained my brother to a dungeon wall,” Henry said, throwing a few more coals onto the fire.

“Shocking, Your Grace, shocking,” murmured one of the burghers. “Is there naught we can do?”

“She’s not yet your queen,” Henry reminded them in a low voice, his eyes sliding up and down the pathway. “If you’re of a mind to act, then now’s the time to do so.”

“How?” the silversmith asked.

“Alone you accomplish nothing, but if you spread the news, tell others what has transpired here this night—the seal, crushing taxes, my brother’s cruel confinement—and I’m sure you will find other grievances—the city can be alerted to the lady’s intentions. That is,” he paused, “if you’ve decided on what you want to do.” There was a tense silence. “For myself, I can no longer submit to the dictates of this unprincipled daughter of Eve.”

The men nodded their heads in agreement. What he had said was only the absolute truth, as God was his witness, Henry thought, with a surge of righteousness.

“So you now favor the cause of our good queen Matilda?” the leader asked.

It was an awkward question. Henry had not planned on this turn of events, merely taken advantage of what the moment offered. He did not want to commit himself to an irrevocable course of action. There was always the possibility that something could go wrong, leaving him neither in one camp nor the other. He had not really thought the matter through, but the men were waiting and he had to say something.

“We should consider supporting Queen Matilda and do all we can to free my poor brother, who must be suffering so pitifully chained to his cell.”

Henry wondered if he had gone too far but the vehement cries of approval from his audience assured him he had not. He had almost forgotten that anything that threatened their beloved Stephen would move these Londoners to action.

“Our dear king at the mercy of the Angevins!” The leader of the deputation signed himself. “We must do what we can to aid him. At all costs the lady must be prevented from being crowned.”

There was a moment of silence while two guards walked by the pathway. A rising moon flickered on their helmets and tall spears.

“Be sure you cast the seal into silver,” Henry told the silversmith in an undertone. “Let it bear mute witness against the Countess of Anjou. Now, there’s little time and much to accomplish. I leave the matter in your hands.”

“You may rely on us. We’ll reach the Queen in Kent and join forces with her army,” said the leader of the deputation. “The Roman Empress will rue the day she set foot in London. Do you wish to be informed of—”

“Of nothing,” Henry interjected firmly. “I return soon to Winchester. We’re all in God’s hands, my friends.”

The Bishop turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness.

With a twinge of uneasiness, he realized that he had set something in motion whose end even he could not foresee. But should matters go seriously awry, Henry reassured himself, he could always deny all knowledge of what had occurred this night.

T
HREE DAYS LATER MAUD
entered the great hall at Westminster with her uncle and Robert in tow. She stopped short in bewilderment: The trestle tables were only a third full, and the high table was empty.

“Why is everyone so late for the evening meal?” Maud asked Robert as she seated herself in the wooden armchair next to her uncle.

“It’s very strange,” Robert said. “Did you notice there were not many at Vespers this evening? Even Bishop Henry was absent. I like it not.”

A procession of serving men entered the hall led by the steward.

“Where is the Bishop of Winchester?” Maud asked him.

The steward looked surprised. “Why, he left early this afternoon, just after Sext it was. Packed up all his belongings and said he was going back to Winchester. Seemed in a great hurry. I assumed he had informed you, Lady.”

“Henry is deserting ye,” David of Scotland said.

Maud was stunned by the steward’s news. “But why? Surely he stands to gain more by remaining loyal to me.”

“Ye ha’ thwarted him too often, lass,” her uncle told her with his usual bluntness.

Maud picked fitfully at the food on her trencher, praying it wasn’t true. “If Henry has temporarily deserted,” she said at last, surprised at how much she minded, “we must make every effort to get him back. If I have to compromise, I’ll do so.”

“It looks as though others besides Henry have deserted ye, Niece,” the King of Scotland remarked, nodding at the half-empty hall.

“So it seems,” she said, with a forced laugh to hide a growing disquiet. “Where is everyone tonight?” she asked the steward.

“Why, most of the nobles have left, Lady, due to the fearful rumors being spread about.”

“What rumors?”

“It is said that you have levied a tax that would take a tenth of every man’s possessions and refused to maintain the liberties London has always been granted—”

Maud jumped to her feet. “These are monstrous lies! How could anyone believe them?”

“I only repeat what is being said, Lady,” the steward replied. “Obviously many nobles believe them.”

Robert put a hand on Maud’s arm and pulled her back down. “I’ve heard these rumors too, Sister, but saw no need to burden you with them. Not only do we torture the former king but our army lays waste the countryside, burning villages, raping women—committing all manner of ungodly crimes. This is one of the reasons I sent Brian and Miles into London and Kent.”

“My guess be that William of Ypres’ Flemings are responsible and our troops blamed,” King David told Maud. “I only wish our forces
were
here and na at Oxford. What else have ye heard?” he asked the steward.

“Folk are leaving in droves so they will not have to attend the coronation. London seethes with unrest.”

“When Brian and Miles return tonight, we’ll soon know the truth of these sorry tales. Meanwhile, the Constable’s men—” Suddenly Robert’s eyes narrowed. “The Constable of London’s troops usually fill up the lower tables—where are they?”

“The Constable himself withdrew them before Vespers, my lord,” the steward said, looking fearfully from Robert to Maud. “He said they were being returned to the Tower.”

“God’s wounds, he has withdrawn all his men?” Robert shouted, jumping to his feet.

Maud felt her stomach lurch. “Brother, what does this mean?”

“It means there are very few guards left to protect us should—”

The sudden ringing of the tocsin interrupted him. Maud’s heart leapt and she sprang to her feet.

“The palace is in grave danger, Sister.” Robert quickly turned to the two squires who served him. “Oswald, Jehan, go to the gates at once and see what is happening. Hurry.” Then, to his small troop of knights: “Arm yourselves and be ready to defend the palace against attack.”

The servitors and the steward looked at one another, then almost as one body ran out of the hall.

Panic washed over Maud, yet she could not grasp the full significance of what was happening.

“It sounds like the palace is about to be sacked.” David rose from his seat. “But Robert and I will protect ye, lass.”

“No, Sire,” Robert said. “Our men are too few to withstand an attack. Our best course is to get Maud away from the palace. My advice is that we leave separately and ride in different directions.” He paused. “You and your Highlanders make your escape through the front gates, where there’ll be much confusion. We’ll try to leave through the postern gate.”

King David nodded reluctantly. “I’ll make for Carlisle.” He gave Maud a gentle kiss on her forehead. “May God protect us all,” he said, and lumbered out of the hall.

A moment later Jehan appeared. “My lord, there do be a great crowd of men with torches, carrying billhooks and axes, beating at the gates of Westminster. Fires can be seen across the river and all the Constable’s troops have vanished. We have only our own men left to fight.”

Even as he spoke, Maud could hear a faint angry roar.

“Saddle up the horses,” Robert instructed. “We’ll meet you at the stables.” He grabbed Maud’s hand.

“No.” Maud stubbornly resisted the pull of his grip. “I’m no coward! I won’t let that rabble frighten me out of my own hall!”

“You have no choice!” Robert cried.

The tumult outside increased. The shouts were closer now and there was the sound of hammering. Through the crackle of splintering wood, Maud began to distinguish isolated words and phrases. “Sack the palace—get rid of the she-dragon—we want no foreigners—bring back King Stephen—kill the Angevin bitch—”

For an instant Maud did not know whom they meant. Then, with a sudden blinding awareness that rocked her to the very core of her being, she realized the mob’s rage and hatred were directed at her. Their vicious taunts rained down like barbed shafts piercing her to the marrow. The pain and shock were so great that all the resistance went out of her. Dazed, she let Robert lead her from the hall, down the passage beside the kitchens, through the back courtyard, and into the stables.

They had just mounted their horses when Brian appeared.

“Thank God you’re both safe,” he said. “The mob smashed the gates with a battering arm and Miles and I managed to ride through by claiming to be Matilda’s knights. Her army has entered the city and are stirring up the populace. Londoners are destroying everything in the palace, and it won’t take them long to reach the stables. We must try to escape by the postern gate and head for Oxford.”