ALMOST FIVE YEARS later Maud was a widow, in May 1125 the Emperor died, and with his passing her glorious years of prestige and authority came to an abrupt end. As Maud had borne no children, the Imperial throne passed to a cousin of the Emperor’s house, who, along with many other important German nobles, assured her that everyone would be honored if she continued to make Germany her home.
Stunned by her husband’s death, a week after the obsequies were over Maud retired to a remote castle in Bavaria which had been bestowed upon her at the time of her marriage. Here, surrounded by her women and a small household staff, she nursed her grief. Morning after morning Maud would don her gloves, the fingertips removed, and set out her needles and silken thread. Then she would pull up her cushioned stool against the open casement window, take up a square of linen to embroider, and gaze upon the white-tipped peaks sharply outlined against a curve of bright blue sky.
Unable to do more than pick at her food, she soon became listless and pale. She slept poorly, lying awake night after night, unable to think of anything but her wonderful life with Heinrich.
In June Maud was invited to attend the new Emperor’s coronation, but she declined. She was surprised at how much she minded being relegated to the background and wondered if she would ever totally adjust to her diminished circumstances. She had always enjoyed being involved in great events, pleased that the mantle of her husband’s power had covered her as well. The realization that she was no longer a participant but merely a spectator doubled her sense of loss. At twenty-three her life was virtually over, she told Aldyth.
“I never heard such nonsense. Think of how fortunate you are,” Aldyth reminded her. “The Emperor has left you wealth and property in your own right; the Germans honor and respect you. No one pines forever. In time, perhaps, a suitable marriage—”
“Never,” Maud stopped her. “Who could I possibly marry after the Emperor?”
“There’s finer fish in the sea than have ever been caught,” Aldyth replied firmly.
Maud was too melancholy to argue.
A short while later Maud received a formal message of condolence from her father with an unexpected summons to return at once to his domains. Henceforth, he wrote, the Norman realm would be her home; he had always been devoted to her, and now sorely missed the only daughter of his late queen. He longed to have her by his side in his declining years.
“Devoted to me? I never saw any evidence of it,” Maud said, surprised. “I wonder what lies behind this offer.”
“When the fox preacheth keep an eye on your geese,” Aldyth muttered darkly. As a Saxon, she had never entirely trusted the Norman king, all her love and loyalty having been lavished on Maud’s mother.
But Maud was inclined to agree with her. She had not seen her father since leaving England fourteen years earlier. Their infrequent letters dealt only with matters of unusual interest: her father’s remarriage almost four years ago; her half-brother Robert’s accession to the earldom of Gloucester, his marriage and the birth of his sons.
However, despite her pleasant memories of England, the only relative whom she remembered warmly was Robert. Maud had little desire to visit her native land now, much less make it her home.
She thanked her father for his offer, explaining that she did not want to leave Germany, nor could she see any valid reason for doing so. The King quickly replied, insisting that it was imperative she return at once, but refusing to tell her why. As tactfully as possible, Maud again firmly refused. She wrote that the Germans did not wish her to leave and she was comfortably settled. She assumed that would be the end of it.
A month later, in early August, a troop of Norman knights and archers clanked into the small courtyard of her Bavarian retreat.
“We have come to escort you to Normandy,” announced the captain of the escort, handing Maud a roll of parchment.
It was a formal message from her father, reminding her that as a childless widow she now fell under the control of her nearest male relative, in this case, himself. The law was clearly on his side, King Henry went on to say, and no German official, not even the new emperor, would dare to interfere with his orders. She was to leave for Normandy at once.
Completely shocked, Maud let the scroll drop from her hands onto the tiled floor of the courtyard. She was well aware of the law regarding widows. It had simply never crossed her mind that her father would invoke it against her.
“But I’m still in mourning for my dead husband,” she protested. “My father has no right to intrude upon my privacy in this unseemly fashion. Suppose I were to refuse?”
Unmoved, the captain said, “I’ve been instructed to tell you that should you refuse King Henry’s summons he has ordered me to remove you by force.” He paused. “But I’m sure the situation won’t come to that, Madam.”
Maud was aghast. Remove her by force? Her head began to throb as she fought to maintain her dignity before her father’s minion. But inside she was filled with a helpless rage. It made no difference to the King that her heart lay in Germany, or that if she left she must forfeit all the wealth and property that the Emperor had bestowed on her. The image of herself being trussed up like a goose for market and stuffed into a litter was even worse than the knowledge that she would now be wholly dependent upon her father. As in all her past dealings with King Henry there seemed to be no choice but to obey. By evening her head ached so badly that she could not sleep and had to be dosed with white poppy.
“However you may feel at the moment, this might be the best thing that could happen,” said Aldyth the next day, pleased to be returning to her native land. She gave Maud a sly glance as she packed boxes and stuffed saddlebags. “Certainly you’ve come up out of the doldrums, quick enough!”
Maud glared at her because what Aldyth said was true. Her sense of grief and loss had given way to anger and a resurgence of life as she imagined ways to get back at her father.
In mid-August, accompanied by her father’s escort, women attendants, grooms, servants, as well as all her personal possessions, Maud left her adopted country. Surrounded by two score knights and archers, she felt more like a prisoner than a daughter returning to the bosom of her family. As her procession traveled through Germany, people came out in droves to express their affinity and mourn her departure. They would never forget her, they cried, their good and virtuous little empress. Maud was moved to tears. Her bitterness against her father increased.
The journey across Europe took a month. In early September they crossed the Norman border, stopped at an inn with a nearby church in time for Vespers, and started up again when the bells rang for Matins. With any luck they would reach Rouen before the following night, the captain of the escort told Maud. She then fell asleep to the rocking motion of the litter.
Slowly Maud opened her eyes. For some time now she had been trying to ignore the sounds of hammering, carts being unloaded, and horses stamping their hooves against the earth. How could they have arrived in Rouen so quickly? she wondered. Yawning, Maud stretched her arms, arched her spine like a cat, then opened the leather curtains, curious to see Normandy’s capital. She gazed out upon a pink September dawn, just visible through a fragile curtain of mist, unprepared for the sight that met her eyes.
The procession of carts, litters, and sumpter horses was scattered over a wild overgrown meadow bordered on one side by an apple orchard. A warm wind swept through the fruit-laden boughs, carpeting the meadow floor with a profusion of apples, some red as blood, others a soft rose color.
As the captain of the escort rode by on a chestnut stallion, she hailed him: “Why have we stopped to set up camp? Surely this cannot be Rouen.”
“No, Madam. While you slept a herald met us on the road, turned the procession aside and led us to this village—St. Clair. Your pavilion has just been erected and the women are already unloading your belongings.”
A short distance away, surrounded by carts and pack horses, Maud saw a familiar green tent. Two servitors lifted wooden boxes and roped bundles from the carts and carried them into the tent, followed by two others who staggered under the weight of a wooden tub of water. Through the open door of the pavilion, Maud could hear the voices of Aldyth and her German women.
“The King is here?” she asked, incredulous.
“Across the river, Madam,” the captain told her.
Maud slowly descended from the litter. Yes, there was the King’s camp, a huge cluster of pavilions backed by a squat stone church and a cluster of thatch-roofed huts. Despite the morning’s warmth she shivered.
“If you will excuse me, Madam, I have much to attend to,” said the captain. He bowed his head and rode off.
She had been expecting a ceremonial entry into Rouen; instead she found herself in the midst of a wilderness. Simply one more humiliation to add to the others she had endured. Bitterness twisted like an adder inside her.
Two grooms passed by leading four horses to the river. One of them gave her a friendly smile. “Welcome to Normandy, Madam,” he said in Norman French.
“She cannot understand you, Pierre,” said the other. “I imagine she only speaks German.”
“Well, she had better learn our language again if she intends to stay,” retorted the first groom.
They passed out of earshot. Maud wanted to explain she still spoke their language as well as ever but did not have the heart to call them back. The realization that she was little better than a captive in her father’s domains was a heavy weight pressing against her chest.
“Lady?” Aldyth’s round face, soft and creased as a dried apple, poked through the door of the tent. “I was about to wake you. Come, the bath is poured. You must be ready when the King sends for you.” She withdrew her head.
Maud could not bring herself to go inside the pavilion but continued to loiter outside, wanting to extend these treasured moments of freedom for as long as possible. The reeds that grew beside the river trembled, as if someone moved behind them. She began to walk toward the riverbank.
Stephen of Blois, Count of Mortain, suddenly opened his eyes, awakened by an indefinable sense of danger. He threw off the gray blanket of unwashed wool, then, like a great golden cat, slowly uncoiled his supple limbs and silently rose to his feet. Now, crouched naked on his pallet, he looked carefully around the tent he shared with his two closest friends, Earl Robert of Gloucester, the King’s bastard son, and Brian FitzCount, Lord of Wallingford, one of his uncle’s trusted advisers.
He could see nothing out of the ordinary in the familiar shambles of crumpled tunics, swords, shields, ivory dice, wooden cups, and an empty henap of wine scattered over the floor. Wrinkling his nose, for the pavilion smelled like a vintner’s stall, Stephen stretched his lean body, then ran his fingers through a tangle of honey-brown hair.
Still the sense of danger persisted. It must be coming from outside. Careful not to disturb his sleeping companions, Stephen pulled on a white linen shirt that fell to mid-thigh, unsheathed a knife from the embossed silver scabbard attached to his leather belt lying on the floor, and tiptoed out of the pavilion.
Outside it was still early; over the brow of the hill the King’s camp was just beginning to stir. A heavy dew had fallen overnight, drenching the meadow grasses and gnarled apple trees heavy with fruit. Stephen looked to his left but saw only the familiar red-and-gold banners of the King’s tent and the outline of village huts and church spire beyond. On his right, wreaths of smoke from the cooking fires rose lazily in the air; a light breeze carried the spicy odor of game roasting over an applewood fire.
There was certainly nothing unusual in this familiar scene, yet the feeling of alarm persisted. Over the years Stephen had learned to trust his instincts, as finely honed, he prided himself, as any forest creature’s. From across the river he heard the sound of hammering, and immediately walked through the meadow grasses down to the riverbank. Putting down his knife while he removed his shirt, he waded into the river which swirled in brown circles around the golden pelt of his chest. The shock of the cold water against his skin was invigorating. On the opposite bank he parted the clusters of pale green reeds and climbed soundlessly onto the moist earth. Now, surely, the source of the danger, if such existed, would be revealed.
Through the reeds Stephen could see servitors unloading carts and erecting pavilions. Several grooms were leading pack horses and mules down the riverbank to drink.
The sense of danger abruptly vanished as a woman dressed all in black came into view. Although he could not see her features clearly, Stephen was aware of a graceful neck supporting a flushed ivory face tilted slightly backward, and a luxuriant fall of russet hair that cascaded down her back. She slipped off her black cloak to reveal an elegant carriage, slender body, and swelling bosom.
When she began to walk toward the river, something about the woman’s face and the color of her hair seemed vaguely familiar, although he could not place her. Who could she be? he wondered, before suddenly connecting the raised pavilion, the carts, and why he was here. This could only be his cousin Maud, widow of the Imperial Emperor. She had grown into a heart-stopping beauty, more than fulfilling the early promise of the lovely teary-eyed maiden he had seen, and never totally forgotten, the day he arrived at Windsor fourteen years ago.
The sudden sound of hooves pounding across the stone bridge that spanned the river made Stephen sink to his knees in the reeds. A party of nobles trotted past; among them Stephen recognized two of his companions, the de Beaumont twins, riding from Muelan into the tiny village of St. Clair to meet the King’s daughter.
The church bells rang for Prime and Stephen turned back to feast his eyes upon Maud once more. Suddenly a voice in his ear startled him.
“What holds you in such thrall? I made enough noise to wake the dead yet you heard nothing.”
Caught by surprise, Stephen whipped around to find the saturnine face and ironic blue eyes of Brian FitzCount, who had slipped silently into the water to join him. Brian, bastard son of the Count of Brittany, had arrived in England at about the same time as himself and they had been brought up together at the King’s court.
Silently Stephen parted the reeds so that Brian could observe the new arrival.
“Jesu,” Brian murmured, “yes, I see. Now I understand the reason for your concentration. Can that breathtaking creature really be the German widow?”
“What did you expect?”
“A dumpy German Frau like as not.” Brian paused, a frown creasing his brow. “Still a mystery why the King has summoned her back.” He stretched his arms then ducked his head of tight black curls under the water.
“No mystery to me,” Stephen said lazily, his eyes riveted to Maud who had suddenly bent to remove her shoes and a pair of black stockings. “The King has a new alliance to be made and his daughter is now an available widow.”
“If that was all there was to it why not say so? Why keep the matter secret? Normandy is at peace with both France and Anjou now, pray God it lasts. With whom does the King need an alliance? Much more sensible to have left the lady in Germany where she could be of use to him. No, there’s more to this than meets the eye.”
Stephen shrugged. “There are always alliances to be made. Perhaps the King wishes to see the only remaining child of his late queen. There could be a hundred reasons.”
Brian lay on his back in the water and gently kicked his legs. “In all the years I’ve lived at court I’ve never witnessed King Henry take any action that did not first serve the interests of the realm.”
“Must there always be a political reason for everything?” Stephen said, impatience in his voice. “You’re as bad as my devoted brother, Henry, who scents intrigue as my brachet scents game.” He drew his breath in sharply as Maud lifted up the skirts of her black gown and tunic, affording him a tantalizing glimpse of a delicately shaped ankle. She then proceeded to run through the grass directly toward his hiding place.
Brian laughed. “If your brother’s keen nose hasn’t uncovered the King’s secret no one can.”
“As far as I’m concerned,” Stephen continued, “my cousin is here. Now. And I intend to make the most of it before she is shipped off to another husband.”
“God’s face, I hope that doesn’t mean what it usually does. Such talk from you invariably spells trouble—for the damsel in question. Listen to me, Stephen, it’s one thing to pursue a lady of questionable virtue or a tavern wench, but the King’s daughter, who is also your own cousin? Remember what happened with that baron’s wife last year? You only just escaped her husband’s vengeance by fleeing through the kitchens.”
Stephen chuckled. “With boots, hose, and cloak left behind as evidence! Will I ever forget? If you hadn’t been waiting with the horses—” He gave a mock shudder, his eyes intently watching Maud.
“Exactly. Be warned.”
“Don’t be tiresome. If I required a sermon, I would go to my brother. Henry’s recent appointment as Abbot of Glastonbury has made him more insufferable than ever. You should hear him on the subject of lechery and lust.”
Brian laughed. “I can imagine.”
Stephen turned to grin at his companion. “My cousin will be lonely and need consolation after her recent loss. I have a most excellent remedy for pining widows.”
“By my faith, now I’m really worried for the lady’s safety. You’re incorrigible.”
Stephen did not reply. For a moment Maud had vanished from his sight and he poked out his head from between the reeds to see where she had gone. Not ten feet from his hiding place a pair of startled smoke-gray eyes met his. For the space of a heartbeat their eyes held. There was an odd, sharp little ache in Stephen’s chest, and a sensation in his belly as if he had just fallen from a great height. Before he could speak, Maud’s face turned pink, and she quickly ran through the grass back to the camp.
“Look, Stephen, did you ever see such a sorry sight?” Brian asked, laughing.
“What?” Dazed, Stephen tore his gaze away from Maud to see his cousin, Robert of Gloucester, standing across the narrow river, a blanket wrapped around him. Small but strongly built, with a shock of thick brown hair cut straight across his forehead in the Norman fashion, he resembled a hardy pony from the Welsh hills.
“Why do you wear a blanket?” Brian asked, swimming toward Robert. “Come join us.”
Robert thrust his foot in the water, then drew back. “By the Mass, the water is cold.” A chord of Welsh music ran through his voice, reflecting the heritage of his mother who had been the daughter of a Welsh chieftain when King Henry had captured her during his first campaign in Wales. “Others are abroad and I have no wish to offend by my nakedness.”
“Such modesty would do credit to a nun,” Brian said, with a wink at Stephen.
Shaking off the effects of his encounter with Maud, Stephen swam through the water after Brian, climbed onto the opposite shore, and before Robert could stop him, pulled off the blanket. Shouting with laughter, Stephen took his arms, Brian his legs, and, ignoring Robert’s curses and protests, together they lifted him high then dropped him into the cold water. He emerged, shaking himself like an angry dog, then came after Stephen. Together they wrestled in the water, each trying to throw the other off balance. Stephen was the taller but Robert the more solidly built; neither could best the other.
That had always been the case even as youths, Stephen thought, trying to get a firm grip on his cousin’s slippery body. Despite the fact that they were the best of companions, equally favored by the King—he had married them to wealthy heiresses and showered them with land, power, and influence—the two had always been rivals as well. He and Robert competed for the King’s affection and attention, for prowess in hunting, skill at arms, and success on the battlefield. But since Robert, as a bastard, could not even be considered to inherit the throne, both he and Stephen knew who would ultimately triumph.
“Ah, now we see what it is that endears him to his wife,” Stephen cried. “You shouldn’t hide your light under a blanket. Would he not put a stallion to shame, Brian?”
“Indeed, the prowess of the Welsh is well known,” Brian replied, “for they breed like hares. Listen, my friend, I have a mare that wants servicing—”
Robert let go of Stephen to leap at Brian and they both disappeared under the water in a flurry of thrashing limbs.
“My lords?”
Stephen turned to see his squire, Gervase, approaching at a rapid pace through the grass.
“The King is calling for you, my lords. His daughter is across the river and he’s anxious you attend him before she arrives in his camp.”
“We caught a glimpse of her. Tell him we’ll dress and be there at once,” Stephen said.
“My sister has arrived?” Robert asked, emerging from the water. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He hastily climbed onto the bank and wrapped himself in the blanket. “Dearest Maud. Do you realize it’s been fourteen years? I cannot wait to see her.” He ran up the hill.
Stephen and Brian climbed onto the bank, pulled on their long shirts, and followed at a leisurely pace. The mist was rapidly burning off now, revealing clear blue skies. It promised to be a day of brilliant sunshine, Stephen observed, a day of good omen.
“Tread carefully with your beauteous cousin,” Brian advised him in a serious undertone. “You have sufficient conquests to testify to your manliness a hundred times over.”
“Now that is arguable.” Stephen bent to pick up a grass straw and slipped it between his lips. “Like glory or riches, can one ever have sufficient?”
Brian smiled. “You’re beyond redemption, I fear. There will come a day of retribution, mind.”
“By God, you can be tedious. I only jest. Do you think me such a fool as to go against my own interests?” Stephen grimaced. “I’ll be the very model of chivalry, have no fear. Unfortunately, the lady is as safe with me as in a cloister.”
Which was God’s own truth, Stephen thought regretfully. He would sooner poke at a wild boar with a short stick than incur his uncle’s displeasure. Besides, there was something about that brief, wordless exchange with Maud that did not suggest an easy conquest, a moment’s sport easily forgotten. But he had no intention of revealing that to Brian.
Flinging an arm over his friend’s shoulders, he gave him a rough squeeze. “I wonder you never took holy orders. You’re wasted away from the pulpit.”
They reached the pavilion. Before entering Stephen paused, suddenly remembering the sense of danger he had experienced earlier. He had never uncovered the source of that feeling, he realized. Odd, it was the first time he could remember that his instinct in such matters had played him false.