THE FOLLOWING MORNING, ON the third floor of the White Tower, Stephen lay on the wooden frame bed in his chamber, a bruise above his cheekbone, one arm wrapped in a clean white cloth. With his other hand he sipped from a pewter tankard. Beside him, seated on a cushioned stool, his brother Henry fixed him with a stern eye.
“What happened to you last night?” the Abbot asked. “The truth now.”
Stephen told him how he had spent half the night riding aimlessly through Southwark, then stopped at a bankside tavern and finally ended up in a drunken brawl. “My head aches and my arm is stiff but I’m none the worse for it.”
“Are you able to bear more ill news?” Henry asked.
Stephen gave a bitter laugh. “What could be worse than last night’s apocalypse?”
The Abbot moved his stool closer to the bed, and gave a perfunctory glance around the empty chamber. “I have this straight from the Bishop of Salisbury’s lips: At the homage ceremony, after the peers of the church have sworn, the first lay peer to swear homage to Maud will be the King of Scotland. By all rights, you should swear next. But Robert is to swear before you.”
Stephen stared at his brother, aghast. A cold fury swept through his body. “I take that as a mortal insult to our house and won’t attend the ceremony. I’ll sail for Boulogne before the week is out.”
“The cinque ports are watched by the King’s men. Every noble I’ve spoken with has insisted they won’t swear homage to the German empress and threatened to leave England. Empty words. In the end everyone will do the King’s bidding. No one wants to see the inside of our uncle’s dungeons, have his lands confiscated, or face banishment.”
“But we are his nephews!”
“What is that to a man who had one brother killed and another imprisoned for life?”
Stephen stared at his brother, then looked away. “Yes, I see your point. All right, then I’ll be too ill to attend. What can he do?” Anger and hurt continued to war within him. “Why has he forsaken us, Henry, why?”
“He hasn’t forsaken us.” The Abbot rose to his feet. “There was no insult intended, I feel sure of it. The King is of an age when he feels threatened by his own mortality and the judgment of heaven. Robert is his favorite and he hopes to do him this one last honor. He made Maud his heir because the man is obsessed with founding his own dynasty, one sprung from his own loins. How else can he justify the crimes he has committed—and his father before him? His desire to ensure the continuity of the Norman line has clouded his usually sound judgment. Unless steps are taken to remedy the matter we’ll all live to regret it.”
“It all sounds very complex. The fact remains that he has insulted us and I still refuse to attend.”
The Abbot pursed his lips and fingered the jeweled cross on his breast. “Of course, if you’re willing to jeopardize your position over a simple matter of wounded pride—”
“What position?”
“I speak of your future, blockhead. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. How can you ever become king if you’re in bed nursing your grievances and flaunting the King’s will? How can I hope to help you as the brother of a traitor, for that’s how the King will view your absence. You must remain our uncle’s loyal, devoted servant if you hope to ascend the throne.”
Stephen propped himself up on the pillows. “You’re as mad as he is. Last night I thought you might be of help, but in the cold light of day I see our cause is lost. The magnates will swear a binding oath to put Maud on the throne. Rome would excommunicate them if they were forsworn.”
“Leave Rome to me.” The Abbot gave him a conspiratorial smile. “You don’t imagine the church or the nobles will actually allow a female to rule England and Normandy, whatever they swear to the King’s face.” He sat on the bed beside his brother. “Already, we have much support in high places. And low—there’s no denying that London loves you.”
Stephen studied his brother’s face. “What did you mean, exactly, when you said earlier that we must remedy the matter?”
The Abbot smiled. “Come, don’t act the innocent.”
“Stop playing games with me, Henry. What you imply is not possible!” He dared not let himself hope that his dream might still be fulfilled.
Henry rose to his feet again. “Anything is possible—in the future. While the King lives we can do nothing but comply with his wishes. However, after he dies? Ah, that will be a different matter. Then we’ll need powerful friends in the right places, sufficient determination, and the courage to take advantage of the propitious moment. When the time is ripe—carpe diem, Brother, carpe diem. Trust me. Meanwhile say nothing to anyone. Behave as the King’s loyal subject who accepts his will with good grace. Cultivate our friends, make no enemies.”
“You’re very persuasive, as usual. If I do decide to attend the ceremony—” Stephen sighed and sank back against the pillows, knowing he had already decided. His brother’s words had lifted his spirits. Seize the day, Henry had said, and his heart quickened at the prospect. “But the House of Blois takes second place to no one,” he continued. “I won’t swear after Robert.”
“No one has suggested you should, hothead.” The Abbot looked again at the closed door. “Now, listen carefully, and I’ll tell you exactly what must be done.”
A fortnight later the day of the homage ceremony dawned bright and clear. By the time the abbey bells had rung for Sext, all the King’s magnates were gathered in the great hall of Westminster.
Stephen watched Robert of Gloucester, resplendent in a dark blue mantle and indigo tunic, stride purposefully toward him. He started to turn away but Robert caught his arm.
“Why have you been avoiding me, Stephen? Do you hold it against me that I will swear before you?”
“Careful, that’s my injured arm. Why would I hold it against you?”
“That’s not for me to say. But the order of precedence was none of my doing, you must believe me.”
Stephen knew that Robert was blameless, but still he resented him. “I understand that and hold nothing against you.” He bowed coolly, aware that he had hurt Robert, then walked toward his brother, who had just entered the hall.
The Abbot frowned. “What did Gloucester want?”
“Nothing. A friendly gesture to ensure my nose is not twisted too much out of joint.”
The Abbot glanced at Robert. “He may be less friendly after this day’s work is done. You’re not having second thoughts, I trust.”
“And third and fourth thoughts. It’s a great risk.”
“Naturally, but—ah, there are the heralds. Benedicte, Brother.” He touched Stephen lightly on the shoulder with a richly jeweled finger, and joined the procession of clergymen.
Impressive in scarlet-and-gold costume, the heralds blew on their silver trumpets. The peers of the church lined up in order of precedence, followed by the lay peers, magnificent in their fur-lined court robes and glittering jewels. At their head, towering over everyone else, stood the King of Scotland. Robert walked behind him, then Stephen, followed by the Earl of Chester, the de Beaumont twins, and the remainder of the King’s most important nobles. Lesser lords like Brian FitzCount brought up the rear.
Inside the great hall, Maud, a regal and imposing presence in a gold-embroidered purple mantle, sat on a magnificent carved chair waiting to receive the oath of loyalty from the magnates of England and Normandy. Jewels blazed at her throat, on her fingers, and winked from the gold chaplet she wore over a purple gauze veil. Beside her stood the King, sumptuous in his royal ceremonial robes.
Stephen could not take his eyes off her. Never had she looked so beautiful; never had she seemed so desirable. But—she was occupying the royal chair, his chair.
Since the conversation with his brother the morning after the proclamation, much of Stephen’s old confidence had returned. The prospect of action—any kind of action—never failed to revitalize him, and today he would take an action that would do much to establish him as a potential leader of the realm. Prompted by his brother’s continual encouragement, Stephen could almost believe he had not, irretrievably, lost the crown. As his self-esteem rose he no longer felt consumed by jealousy and resentment. Although Maud was still a rival, she had become much less threatening to his pride, and his feelings for her had started to return. Of course, the conflict was far from resolved: He wanted Maud and he wanted the throne. She gave him a tentative smile now and Stephen smiled in return. He was rewarded by a look of relief that transformed her face, the warmth that suddenly shone in her sparkling gray eyes melting his heart. Perhaps he could win both.
His eyes fell on the jeweled ivory casket resting beside her. Inside lay the holy relics of saints’ bones; it was on this casket that he would be asked to swear homage to Maud. A veil of sweat coated the palms of his hands. Breaking a sworn oath was no light matter, and the thought of it sent ripples of fear coursing through his body. He forced the horrifying thought of excommunication from his mind. His brother had promised to deal with Rome, he reminded himself, and if he could not trust Henry, then whom could he trust?
The ceremony began. The Archbishop of Canterbury swore his homage first, then the bishops and abbots. Just ahead, Stephen saw his brother kneel before Maud; without a tremor he swore homage on the ivory casket. Stephen’s heart beat faster. Next the King of Scotland, first of the lay peers, stiffly bent his giant frame and swore to honor his niece as Queen of England and Duchess of Normandy after the King’s death, in the event there was no male heir.
Without warning, Stephen was attacked by doubts and reservations and his resolve wavered. By God’s birth, he was about to take a fearful hazard. Suppose it did not fall out as his brother had said? Was it worth—the Scottish king was rising; Robert took a step forward. He must make his move or—now!
In one long stride, Stephen pushed ahead of Robert, shouldering him roughly out of the way so that he almost fell. He heard Robert’s sharply indrawn breath, and a concerted gasp of surprise from the nobles. Directly in front of him, Maud’s eyes widened in shock. The King, his face a black cloud, moved closer to her, fixing Stephen with a menacing look. He raised his hand, pointing a finger at his nephew. A host of guards ringing the hall ran toward Stephen, spears at the ready. From behind, Stephen felt Robert try to push him aside, and for a moment the two of them jockeyed for position in the line. Equally matched in strength, neither could displace the other.
The guards were only a few feet away now. Wrenching himself from Robert’s grasp, Stephen, a prayer on his lips, fell to his knees before the King.
“Sire! Sire! Hear me out, I beg of you!”
The King hesitated, then held up his hand. The guards fell back.
“Sire, I deem it a dishonor to the House of Blois, as well as to the House of Normandy, not to swear my oath of loyalty after King David. As God is my witness, and as my peers will testify, I have served you faithfully and well since first I came to your court. Nor am I unmindful of the great affection, wealth, and honors you have bestowed upon me. But even my mother, your beloved sister Adela, daughter of the great Conqueror, would agree that the House of Blois is being slighted. Let me take my rightful position, so that I may be the first among your subjects to honor your daughter as my future liege-lord.”
Stephen carefully avoided any mention of Robert or his illegitimacy. His brother had cautioned that this, above all else, would turn the King against him. At his back, he could hear the swelling murmur of approval from the magnates. All of them held Robert of Gloucester in great esteem, but Stephen, scion of a great house, had been denied pride of place and everyone knew it. The expression on the King’s face told Stephen that his uncle was in a quandary: He knew his nephew was in the right but his heart lay with his son. He glanced first at Robert, then at Stephen. A shadow passed over his face. Still he did not speak.
Robert of Gloucester, pale as death but composed, approached his father. “Sire, I value your wish to honor me, but it is Stephen of Blois who should take precedence over me in swearing homage. I yield my place.”
Father and son gazed at each other for a moment, then the King slowly nodded. The tension in the hall eased. Robert withdrew and Stephen walked up to Maud. It had fallen out exactly as his brother had predicted: The selfless Robert had yielded rather than force the King to choose between them. Stephen felt a stab of pity for Robert, who was dear to him, but he did not regret what he had done.
Triumphant, Stephen knelt before Maud. Placing his hands between hers, he swore his oath of loyalty, sealing it with the ritual kiss upon the mouth. He let his lips linger a second longer than courtesy demanded. Then he laid a hand upon the ivory box of holy relics, noting that his fingers trembled ever so slightly.
In a steady voice that rang throughout the hall, Stephen took his oath: “In the name of the Holy Trinity, and in reverence of these sacred relics, I, Stephen, do swear that I will truly keep the promise which I have taken and will always remain faithful to Maud, my future liege-lord.”
He smiled at his cousin, who had a sparkle of tears in her eyes. Exhilaration flowed through him like strong wine. He had taken a hazardous risk and won, upheld the honor of his family, and established himself as a fearless leader among his peers. It was his first concrete step toward the throne.