The Fatal Crown (63 page)

“My uncle—what has happened to my uncle?” Maud asked through numb lips.

“King David is unharmed,” Brian told her. “He and his Highlanders raced through the gates just as the rabble poured in. In all the confusion no one recognized him. Our own knights were less fortunate, I fear. They fought on foot and the mob cut them down like sheaves of wheat.”

“Brave men,” said Robert. “May God give them rest.”

“The seal,” Maud cried. “The silversmith was to deliver the seal tonight! I can’t leave it behind to fall into the mob’s hands.” She tried to dismount.

Robert gave her mare a sharp rap on the hindquarters. “By God and all His Saints, of what use will the seal be to you now?”

The mare bolted forward and Maud’s party raced toward the postern gate and the Oxford road.

Maud’s heart kept pace with the steady beat of her mare’s hooves as her party galloped toward Oxford. Every few moments she turned her head to see if they were being pursued, but the road was deserted. All that was visible against the night sky was an eerie red glow that grew fainter and fainter as each league took her further away from London—and the throne.

Maud’s thoughts were in turmoil. One moment she had been Queen-elect of England, less than a week away from her coronation; now she was shorn of everything, fleeing for her life. The crushing blow to her pride, the pain of loss, mingled with an overwhelming bitterness when she thought of the treacherous Bishop of Winchester, as well as those nobles who had fled Westminster at the first sign of trouble.

How could she have been so blind to the storm brewing around her? Although she had not been popular before she ever set foot in London, what, apart from the vicious rumors spread by others, had she done to precipitate the attack? If her father had taken the same stern measures as herself would he have provoked an uprising? The grim answer stared her in the face.

Uncle David never tired of pointing out to her that what was acceptable in a man, ill became a female. Woman was the weaker vessel. Inferior. Subordinate. Someone who obeyed orders from her male superiors. Maud’s spirit had always rebelled against this attitude—despite the fact that everyone shared it.

If matters had progressed normally, peacefully, as her father had intended, she might have succeeded. If Stephen had not stepped in to destroy her chance of success. For a moment she was so choked with hatred and frustration that she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. But then she began to weep silently as the anguish of love betrayed, suppressed, denied, pierced her body like sword thrusts.

After a time, drained of all feeling, Maud saw the first signs of a pink dawn. As the sun rose, Maud could see the spires and towers of a city emerging from the dawn mist. Ahead lay Oxford—and an uncertain future.

M
AUD HAD BEEN AT
Oxford three weeks. One hot July morning a herald arrived from Bristol, sent by Robert’s son, William of Gloucester.

“The message is written by the chaplain at William’s behest,” Robert read aloud, his eyes running down the parchment. “He says there are rumors of Ypres’s Flemings in the area, and he fears there may be an attempt to besiege Bristol and free Stephen.” He swore under his breath. “William has doubled the guard and taken other precautions, but he remains uneasy and seeks our advice.”

“There’s little cause for alarm in my opinion,” growled Ranulf of Chester who, along with King David of Scotland, had joined Maud at Oxford. “Bristol lies in the west and that part of England has always remained loyal to the Empress and yourself. Stephen’s supporters wouldn’t dare lay siege to your stronghold.”

“After the attack on Westminster anything is possible,” Brian FitzCount pointed out. “As a precaution, we must send some of our men to reinforce William.”

“If we do, then we’ll be short-handed should we need to defend ourselves or mount an attack of our own,” Miles replied.

Maud listened carefully as they argued back and forth. At the possibility of enemy troops in the vicinity of Bristol, her heart turned to ice. Stephen was her security; despite the attack on Westminster, and the resulting ebb in her fortunes, Maud was convinced that as long as he was in her power she would still have the upper hand.

“We must spare some of our men,” she said. “If there’s even the slightest possibility of trouble—”

“By God’s face, I’ve just thought of an even better solution,” interjected the Earl of Chester. “If we move Stephen to a safer place, it won’t be so easy to free him.”

Robert frowned. “There is no safer place than Bristol, Kinsman.”

“No need to move him from Bristol,” Ranulf explained. “Merely give Stephen a taste of your dungeons, Robert, wrists and ankles fettered.” He sat back on his stool with a pleased expression on his face. “Should an enemy succeed in gaining entry to the castle—unlikely as that is to occur—Stephen will be so carefully hidden none could easily find him.”

“Why such extreme measures?” Robert asked. “Confine him to a smaller chamber surrounded with guards, by all means, but remember that he’s still an anointed king.”

“You grow squeamish, Gloucester,” Miles said. “It’s high time Stephen stopped being cosseted like a pampered child. Let him be treated like the felon he is.”

“Stricter measures should be taken since the attack on Westminster,” agreed David of Scotland. “It will na hurt Stephen of Blois to get a taste of what he gave poor Roger of Salisbury, and others, may they rest in peace. Ranulf ha made a good suggestion.”

The Earl of Chester and the King of Scotland, two of Maud’s most powerful supporters, were traditional enemies for their lands marched side by side along the border of England and Scotland, and there were constant skirmishes over disputed territory. Chester’s original quarrel with Stephen, whom he had initially supported, had been over land belonging to him that had been granted to the Scottish king. Maud noted that their agreement in the matter of Stephen’s confinement was lost on no one present. With the exception of Robert, every man in the hall voiced his support of Chester’s plan.

Robert shrugged dismissively. “If that is everyone’s wish, so be it. But it remains my sister’s decision.”

“I doubt she shares your reluctance,” Chester said.

Stephen in fetters like a common criminal? Maud felt her heart drop like a stone. But how could she possibly deny the advantages of Ranulf’s suggestion? Her spirit cried out in silent protest as she shrank from the horrifying picture in her mind. The men were watching her; Maud knew what she must say if she wanted to keep their respect. The slightest show of reluctance or softening on her part would be taken as a sign of weakness. Just like a woman, would be the verdict.

“An excellent suggestion,” she forced herself to say. “Brian, will you journey to Bristol and see these orders carried out?”

“You may leave the matter safely in my hands, Lady,” Brian assured her.

“That’s settled then. Now,” Maud continued, “I’ve decided how we must deal with the Bishop of Winchester.”

“You mean to make peace with that treacherous prelate?” Chester asked. “After the despicable way he abandoned you to that savage mob of Londoners?”

Maud rose from her seat at the table. “How can I afford not to make peace with him? We must not be blind to our own best interests, Ranulf. To regain our lost ground, we need the support of the Bishop. If there were any other course open to me, I would gladly follow it.”

There were murmurs of agreement from all present.

“First I’ll dispatch Robert to persuade him to return. If he refuses to do so, then we’ll march on Winchester as a show of strength.”

“Attack Winchester? That would be most unwise,” Miles said. “My advice—”

“When I want your advice, Miles, I’ll ask for it,” Maud stopped him. “I’ve told you what I intend to do; the matter is not open to discussion.” She turned briskly to her half-brother. “Robert, can you arrange to leave for Winchester today?” When he nodded, she smiled. “Excellent. I feel sure you can manage Henry, if anyone can.”

The men looked at each other, obviously nettled at her peremptory behavior, and displeased that she had not sought their counsel. Maud watched them, unmoved. Since Westminster, she had wrapped a protective shield of numbness around herself. In truth, she no longer had faith in her supporters who, she had discovered, might be with her today and just as easily gone tomorrow. There had been too many betrayals, too many broken oaths; in the end she had only herself to depend on.

STEPHEN WAS SITTING DOWN
to a solitary meal in his chamber at Bristol when the door burst open and Brian FitzCount entered, accompanied by four guards and Robert’s sons, William and Phillip. He stood up, reaching instinctively for his sword, before remembering he had no weapons. At the grim look on Brian’s face he backed away in alarm.

“Brian, what do you here?”

“You’re going to be taken to the dungeons and held there for your own safety,” Brian said.

“Why?” Stephen protested, his throat suddenly dry, and his heart thudding.

“I’ve just told you. Cause no trouble and you will come to no harm.”

The guards pointed their spears at him and marched him down to the bowels of the castle. William unlocked a rusted iron gate and he was led along a chill stone passage. The walls on either side were covered with green slime; the air was fetid and damp with mold. They had passed numerous empty cells when they came to what Stephen thought must be the end of the passage. Then the guards abruptly turned a corner and stopped at a small cell filled with fresh straw. It was separated from the other cells, and anyone looking down the passage would not even suspect its existence.

The cell contained a straw pallet, a coarse gray blanket of unwashed wool, one empty wooden bucket and one filled with water. A chipped earthen cup lay by the water bucket. Age and dampness had mildewed the massive stone walls, and the place stank of old excrement and countless years of unwashed bodies. The stench was so bad Stephen wanted to gag. A narrow shaft set into one wall admitted a ray of smoky light.

“Shall I fetter him, my lord?” asked one of the guards, holding up a pair of iron anklets.

Stephen felt the blood drain from his face as he examined the dismal surroundings, and saw the iron clamps.

“Brian, why is this being done to me?” he whispered.

“Domina’s orders,” Brian said, without looking at him. “Yes, fetter him,” he told the guard, who fastened the heavy iron clamps over Stephen’s ankles. “No, leave his hands free,” he added, as the guard started to fasten iron clamps to Stephen’s wrists.

“Domina,” Stephen repeated. “Then Maud is not yet crowned. Why not?”

“Because the Londoners—” Phillip started to say.

“Hold your tongue, Phillip,” Brian cut him off.

Stephen looked from Phillip to Brian. What in heaven’s name had happened? Trouble. As he had predicted, Maud had run into serious trouble. “I don’t believe these are the lady’s orders,” he said. “Why is Robert not here? This is his castle, it’s for him to say how I’ll be treated.”

“Believe what you wish. What does it matter who originated the orders? Both Robert and the lady agreed to Chester’s—” Brian stopped short, and Stephen knew he had not meant to say so much.

An icy chill ran through him at the mention of the treacherous earl. Jesu! So this was Chester’s idea. But why? What had happened to precipitate such harsh treatment?

“There’s to be a guard by the cell at all times, and four more outside the gate to the dungeons, William,” Brian said to Robert’s eldest son. “The prisoner must be treated as befits his rank, and fed in a manner that will not injure his health, but under no circumstances is he to be allowed out of this cell or freed from his chains.”

“It’s senseless cruelty,” cried Phillip, “the kind of vicious behavior one may expect from the Angevins.” Tears glistened in his dark eyes. “Stephen is not a common criminal, he’s King of England! This is my Aunt Maud’s doing, and I hate her for it!”

“If there’s one more word out of you, Phillip, I’ll take a rod to you this minute, and, by Christ, you won’t soon forget the beating you’ll get,” Brian shouted, raising a menacing arm.

This outburst was so unlike the cool, even-tempered Lord of Wallingford that Stephen did not know what to think. It slowly dawned on him that Brian might not be in full agreement with his orders, and that if Chester himself had come he now would be chained by wrists as well as ankles, perhaps subjected to torture as well. In his own way, without violating his instructions, Brian was attempting to ease the strain of his confinement. Thank you, old friend, Stephen thought, knowing that if he attempted to express his gratitude, Brian would hotly deny any show of compassion.

“You cannot tell me what has prompted this action?” he pleaded.

Brian, still avoiding Stephen’s eyes, shook his head. Stephen sighed his frustration. Ever since last spring, when he had given permission for the Archbishop of Canterbury to support Maud, he had been starved for news. No one told him what was happening in the outside world, not even the Countess of Gloucester. At least now he knew Maud had not been crowned and must be having difficulties.

The four guards, Brian, and Robert’s two sons left the cell. The door banged shut behind them; the iron key grated in the lock. There was the sound of footsteps retreating down the passage, and a cough as one of the guards took up his position outside the cell.

Stephen had never felt so alone in his life. For the first time since he had left Blois, he could not see a future ahead. What would happen to him? Did his enemies eventually intend to kill him? Was that why he had been put in this dismal place? Maud would never give such an order, but would others do it without her knowledge? It hardly seemed likely, but how could he be sure? Perhaps he would be kept hidden away for the rest of his life? Quite suddenly Stephen remembered that his uncle, King Henry, had kept his older brother, Duke Robert of Normandy, imprisoned in a Welsh fortress for twenty-eight years.

Without warning, his body began to shake as if he had a fever. Twenty-eight years! Merciful God! The thought was unbearable; he would prefer to die. Rather than shame himself in the guard’s hearing, Stephen stuffed his fist into his mouth to keep from crying his anguish aloud. Signing himself, he dropped to his knees and prayed.