MAUD RACED THROUGH THE grass carrying her shoes, stockings and cloak. Still tingling from the impact of her heady encounter in the reeds, she ran full tilt into Aldyth who was waiting for her at the door of the pavilion.
“Where have you been? By the Rood, you have no shoes on and your face is scarlet! If you’ve caught a fever—” She put an anxious hand on Maud’s forehead.
“I’m fine. Don’t chastise.” It was ridiculous how out of breath she felt.
Aldyth, looking like a suspicious pouter pigeon in her white wimple, rumpled gray gown and tunic, held open the door and Maud, with a quick glance over her shoulder at the riverbank, walked into the tent. Unprepared for the wild disorder confronting her, she looked in dismay at the feather bed lying in a heap on the floor, coverlets and linen sheets spilling out of an open oak chest, stools, a small table, silver basins, ewers, and ivory caskets scattered everywhere. Two female attendants from Germany, Truda and Gisela, were busy shaking out gowns and tunics, then hanging them on wooden hooks fastened to the tent walls. In the middle of the floor stood a large wooden tub half filled with water.
“I don’t understand why we couldn’t have gone into Rouen as planned,” Maud said. “This … backwater seems an unlikely place to meet my father.” Nor did it bode well for her reception at her father’s court, she thought.
After removing her tunic, gown, and shift, and stepping into the tub of water, Maud’s attention returned to the man she had seen rise from the reeds like some mythic god. She had almost expected to see nymphs and satyrs prancing about him. But she had immediately recognized her cousin, Stephen of Blois, whom she had not seen for fourteen years. Those unforgettable eyes, deep green flecked with gold, had reminded her of the day she left Windsor. What irony that her cousin was the first person she should encounter on the day of her return.
“The King has his reasons for meeting you here, whatever they may be,” Aldyth was saying now, interrupting her reverie. “If you want to get along with him, best not to question what he does.”
She began to scrub Maud’s body with a damp cloth, then rubbed oil scented with rose petals into the smooth skin of her slender neck, rounded arms, narrow waist, and long straight legs. The soreness and fatigue of the long journey eased under Aldyth’s skillful fingers.
“Well, I intend to question everything. After all, I’m no longer a child. The King cannot do merely as he wants with me,” Maud said, stepping out of the tub as Aldyth wrapped her in a long, thick towel.
“You’re as much a chattel now as you were at nine years of age, make no mistake about that.” Aldyth lowered her voice. “As I’ve told you, King Henry needs you, just as he did when he married you off to the Emperor, just as he needed your Saxon mother, may God rest her soul, to grease his way to the throne.” She sighed. “I always said your late husband spoiled you, Lady, in shielding you from the ways of this world. But you’ll learn.”
Maud, having heard this diatribe many times before on the long journey across Europe, knew there was no point in arguing.
“Mark my words,” Aldyth continued, “there’s another advantageous marriage to be made, a new alliance—that’s the purpose of eligible widows.”
“Not this widow.” Maud reached for a white silk bandeau that lay across a stool. Despite her defiant words, she could not dismiss Aldyth’s warnings. Why else would King Henry have brought her back but to be used again?
“Not the bandeau,” Aldyth hissed. “The Bishop of Mainz proclaimed such vanities an abomination, the devil’s handiwork!”
Gisela and Truda signed themselves, their round eyes reminding Maud of two fearful sheep.
“What nonsense!” Maud lifted her arms while Aldyth reluctantly wound the white silk bandeau over her full breasts. Uncomfortable with this abundant evidence of her womanhood, the bandeau made Maud feel less conspicuous.
Truda slipped the shift over Maud’s head while Gisela held up the black mourning gown and tunic.
“No,” Maud said, giving way to a sudden impulse. “I will no longer wear that.”
“But you’re in mourning,” Aldyth said, shocked. “You must dress in black for a year. That is the custom.”
“Let me see some other tunics and gowns,” Maud said to Truda, ignoring Aldyth.
“Sweet Saint Ethelburga, what has gotten into you?” Aldyth began to wring her hands. “What will people say?”
“They can say what they like,” Maud replied.
In truth she did not know why she felt so stubborn, so compelled to flout custom. It would certainly cause a stir, even offense. But at least she would not feel so much the hapless widow, a pawn to be moved about at her father’s whim.
She finally decided on an ivory gown and linen tunic with hanging sleeves, circled by a broad girdle of pale gold. Maud sat down on a stool and Truda and Gisela began to rub her cinnamon-colored hair with pumice which would give it greater shine.
“Mulish. Headstrong. No good will come of it,” Aldyth muttered, slipping gold leather shoes onto Maud’s feet.
There was a noise outside the pavilion. A voice called out in formal tones: “Henry, King of England and Duke of Normandy, awaits the arrival of his daughter, the Princess Maud. The litter is ready.”
The four women looked at each other in consternation, their differences forgotten. An air of tension pervaded the tent. Truda’s fingers shook as she plaited Maud’s long hair, then coiled it around her ears while Gisela placed a purple mantle, embroidered with eagles and vine leaves in gold thread, over her shoulders. Last, Aldyth handed her the silver mirror.
Huge pewter-colored eyes fringed by thick black lashes stared back at Maud from a face the color of ivory. Her earlier flush had vanished. That would never do.
“Get me the crushed pomegranate,” Maud said.
“Merciful heavens, you cannot paint your face, it’s a sin,” Aldyth wailed.
“I won’t meet my father looking like a corpse. No one will know it’s paint.”
“A little pallor becomes a grieving woman,” Aldyth continued. “What will people say?”
“Sweet Marie, I’ve told you I don’t care,” Maud retorted, with more bravado than she felt.
She took the small stone jar from Truda and rubbed a little of the rosy ointment into her high cheekbones. She glanced again in the mirror. Still not right. Something was lacking. Of course. The Imperial crown. Just what was needed to add the final touch of splendor. To remind the King and everyone else that she was not just her father’s daughter, an eligible widow, but a former empress, a person in her own right. Her heart quickened.
“Gisela—the Imperial crown is wrapped in red silk at the bottom of the oak chest. Do you find it for me.” The crown, made for her by the Emperor, had been left in her keeping and she had decided that this entitled her to take it with her to England.
Aldyth’s face grew ashen. “Child, now you go too far. The bandeau cannot be seen, the paint may go unnoticed, the way you’re dressed is inexcusable, but as for the crown—to wear it might be taken as a direct insult to the King and his entire court. Do not tempt fate.”
“Don’t be foolish. Why would the King object? He sent me to the Empire, remember? Gisela, the crown, if you please.” The thought of defying her father was both frightening and exhilarating.
“‘When the old cock crows, the young cock should listen,’” Aldyth said in a resigned voice. “But some people must learn through trial and error. Sound advice is wasted on them.”
Gisela looked from Maud to Aldyth, then scurried to the oak chest. She pulled out an object wrapped in red silk and carried it over to Maud. Unwrapping it carefully, Maud held to her breast the gold plates set with pearls and sapphires. Sighing, she remembered the many state occasions when she had worn this emblem of her former power. Truda placed an ivory veil over her head, Maud laid the crown on top of it, then picked up the silver mirror. Yes, just what was needed. The crown lent a regal air to her bearing that was right for the occasion.
She placed a conciliatory kiss on Aldyth’s withered cheek. “Don’t worry. All will go well.” She gave her a half smile. “But your prayers would not come amiss.” Instinctively she found herself touching the silver ring through her garments. A reassuring talisman, she was never without it.
Aldyth’s eyes became moist. “Remember, ‘a silent mouth is sweet to hear.’”
Maud left the pavilion. Outside a groom helped her into a waiting litter led by an escort of knights. She squared her shoulders, lifting her head proudly as the litter started to move toward the river. She had every right to wear the crown, she assured herself, every right to dress as she pleased, to establish herself in front of her father’s court.
Yet—she was assailed by doubts, recognizing the paint, the bandeau, her defiant garb, even the crown, for what they were: petty assertions of an independent spirit under siege. The litter crossed the stone bridge. Fear spread like wildfire through her body. Ahead lay the scarlet pavilion and the meeting with her redoubtable father.