WHEN THE FANFARE TURNED out to be merely an advance warning, a banneret of knights come to announce Geoffrey of Anjou’s arrival the following day, Maud was so relieved she immediately began to recover her strength. For the remainder of the day she alternated between fury and self-pity. When she thought about Stephen she wanted to weep; when she thought about her father she was consumed with rage.
Next morning dawned fair. A pale sun shone through a faded blue sky streaked with ragged white clouds. A brisk channel wind blew from the north, and Maud shivered as she huddled deeper into her squirrel-lined cloak. Still somewhat weak from the effects of the wine, she stood with Robert and Brian on the steps of the ducal palace awaiting a glimpse of Count Geoffrey’s official entry into Rouen.
“I appreciate your cooperation, Sister,” Robert said to Maud. “If you had not been willing to greet the Count, the House of Anjou would have taken it as a mortal insult and our father would have been in a towering rage.”
Maud gave him a wan smile. What choice did she have? As her father must have shrewdly guessed, faced with the reality of the situation, she would never disgrace the House of Normandy.
Brian took her arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Do not pull such a long face, Lady. What we imagine is always worse than what actually exists. With God’s grace you may even grow to care for Geoffrey—in time.”
With a shake of her head, Maud scanned the spires and turrets of St. Mary of Rouen, the narrow cobbled streets and low wooden houses visible through the open gates of the courtyard. How she longed to say: But my heart is given elsewhere; I will never care for anyone except Stephen.
Horns sounded, then Maud saw a long cavalcade of Angevin soldiers approach the palace.
“We weren’t told he would bring an army,” Robert said in surprise.
“A most unwelcome sight for the Normans,” Maud observed. “What will they think to see Angevin soldiers marching through Rouen like conquerors? One would have thought this paragon might have realized that?”
Robert and Brian exchanged a quick glance.
“I imagine he wants us to know he comes as an equal,” Brian said. “After all, he’s only a youth. Let us go down to meet him.”
The courtyard teemed with servants, seneschals and grooms, all ready to minister to the needs of the Angevin visitors. In preparation for the feast to be held that day, scullions, carrying large buckets of water, ran back and forth from the well to the kitchen; servitors staggered under the weight of huge logs for the palace fires.
Having left his army camped outside the palace walls, Geoffrey, followed by his immediate entourage, rode into the courtyard and drew rein. A score of grooms ran forward to hold his horse as he dismounted.
“By the Mass, I would never have taken him for fourteen,” Brian said. “What an engaging youth he is. Geoffrey the Handsome, well named.”
Even Maud could not deny the Count’s beauty, his graceful elegance, or the pride with which he carried himself. Geoffrey of Anjou was of medium height, with a slender, wiry build, reminding Maud of a sleek greyhound. He had blue eyes fringed by impossibly long lashes. Red-gold curls ringed his face and fell softly onto his neck. His milky skin, covered by a soft peach down over his upper lip, cheeks and chin, was without blemish. Impeccably garbed, he wore a blue linen tunic richly adorned with bands and flowers worked in gold thread. Over this he wore a green silk bliaud also decorated with the same gold bands and flowers. The mantle, fastened on the right shoulder with a jeweled clasp, was lined in squirrel fur; his shoes, dark blue leather over green hose. The blue cap on his head, embossed with a gold lion, passant, was ornamented by a yellow flower.
“Fair indeed, and well he knows it,” Maud murmured to Brian. “He preens like a peacock. What is that flower he wears?”
“Ask him.”
“What is the flower you wear, my lord?” Maud asked Geoffrey sometime later after they had exchanged stilted greetings and cautiously taken each other’s measure.
Eyeing each other warily, the Norman and Angevin entourages milled about the great hall of the ducal palace waiting for more tables to be erected in order to accommodate all of Geoffrey’s following. In addition to his soldiers, the Count had brought with him the chief barons of his county and a score of high-born youths.
“The planta genesta?” Geoffrey asked in a voice that hovered somewhere between a man’s and a boy’s. He touched the yellow sprig with tapering fingers that sparkled with rings. “Grâce à Dieu, Lady, it is the broom flower that makes the open country of Anjou and Maine a carpet of gold in the spring.” He paused to observe the effect of this poetic image on Maud. “I have adapted it as my emblem.” He pointed a proud finger at the golden flowers embroidered on his clothing.
“So I see.”
“I’d thought of having it emblazoned on my shield when I’m knighted by your father, but decided against it in favor of four gold lions, rampant. After all, everyone knows that the lion is the symbol of Anjou, whereas the significance of the planta genesta is not yet known.”
“And what does it signify?” Maud asked pointedly.
His eyes suddenly reflected the cold disdain she was to know so well in the months ahead. “As I said, the broom flower is my emblem. In time it will need no other significance.”
There was a tense silence as Geoffrey, his nostrils flaring slightly, looked carefully around the great hall. “Where is King Henry? I expected him to greet me when I arrived.”
“The King suffers from a minor ailment and sends his deepest regrets,” Brian replied. “He hopes to travel within the week.”
“That is unfortunate for I expected to be knighted right away, along with my companions. And betrothed directly afterwards.” His white skin turned a deep rose as he tried to conceal his annoyance. “My father will be most distressed to hear of this delay.”
“It’s only a matter of a few days, my lord,” Brian said in a soothing voice. “The King hoped you and Maud would get to know each other in the interim.”
Geoffrey stole an uncertain glance at Maud. “Oh! Well then, it will be my pleasure to wait.” He bowed graciously. “I must inform my companions. You will excuse me?”
“He’s not of a meek spirit,” Brian remarked, amused, as he watched Geoffrey rejoin his companions. “A true Angevin, if I’m any judge.” He smiled at Maud. “The two of you remind me of a pair of wary cats cautiously circling one another, unable to decide whether friend or foe.”
Watching the sprig of broom bob up and down on Geoffrey’s cap, Maud feared she knew the answer.
As the days passed it became obvious that neither she nor Geoffrey had taken to each other, although even Maud had to admit that Geoffrey tried harder to establish cordial relations between them.
“Would you like to go riding, Madam?” Geoffrey asked one morning a week after he had arrived.
The King was still in England and the Count was growing restive, but doing his best to curb his impatience. He had just presented Maud with a little leather riding crop as his latest gift. Anxious to impress, Geoffrey attempted to surprise Maud every day with a small gift: an exquisitely enameled box from Limoges that reminded her of the one Stephen had given her in London; a leather-bound book of Latin verse by Catullus, very rare and costly; a bolt of precious amber silk, threaded with gold and silver, said to have traveled by caravan from the faraway East.
“I have already ridden this morning,” Maud replied. “Perhaps later.” She was sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard under the branches of a huge chestnut tree, her face turned to the rays of pale sunlight filtering through the budding green leaves.
“Yes, well—I fear there is not much to do in Rouen.”
“No,” she murmured, “it’s nothing like London.”
“Or Anjou,” Geoffrey said immediately. “Now, Angers—that is my capital—is a place you will enjoy. In addition to an excellent stable and superb hunting, we have one of the finest libraries in Europe. With your scholarly tastes, I know you will be impressed by it.”
“What do you know about my tastes?” she asked, intrigued.
“Grâce à Dieu, what do I not know, Madam. For instance: I know you’re an excellent horsewoman, competent at chess, and fluent in Latin.” He cast his eyes down modestly. “Subjects I’ve already mastered, of course.”
“I’m truly impressed,” Maud said sincerely, rewarding him with a benign smile.
In truth, she was awed by Geoffrey’s precocious abilities: Highly intelligent, well informed about current affairs in Europe, he had a scholar’s interest in literature and history.
From Robert, who shared his tastes, Maud had learned that the young Count was not inexperienced on the battlefield, and had had the running of his father’s estates while Fulk was in the Holy Land. She had observed him competing with Robert and Brian at the butts and quintain, noting that he acquitted himself well. Each time the Norman and Angevin parties had gone hunting, he bagged more game than anyone except Robert. Every evening in the great hall Geoffrey played the lute and sang to her in a sweet, true voice, songs of his own composing that would not have shamed the finest minstrels at her father’s court.
It was impossible not to respect his prodigious capabilities, but try as she would Maud could not warm up to Geoffrey, much less accept him as her future king-consort and the father of her children. Not with Stephen ever present in her heart.
“When you are Countess of Anjou we will lead a very lively life in Angers,” Geoffrey was saying now. He reached over to lay a damp palm on the back of her hand.
“Countess of Anjou,” she repeated dully, forcing herself to endure the touch of his fingers. “I hope to retain my title of empress, even after we—after we’re married.”
He stiffened, withdrawing his hand. “Why? The title of Countess of Anjou is an old and honorable one.”
“Of course it is,” Maud agreed quickly. “I did not mean to suggest otherwise.”
“When I’m King of England I don’t ever intend to forget my origins as Count of Anjou. I’m proud to be an Angevin—whatever the upstart Normans may think of us.”
As Geoffrey’s eyes looked icily into hers, Maud could see the beguiling mask had slipped, briefly revealing another person. But before she could make a judgment, the mask was back in place, and she wondered if she had imagined that fleeting glimpse.
“I will talk to King Henry about the Imperial title,” Geoffrey continued, “as it’s a matter for men to decide, after all.” He smiled, his ease of manner restored. “I understand you are something of an expert at falconry.”
“Hardly that,” Maud replied, bristling. A matter for men to decide, indeed. She had no doubt as to what her father would say.
“I rather fancy the sport myself, and have something of a reputation in Angers.” He rose to his feet, extending his hand to her. “Let us go hawking. Perhaps I can teach you a few fine points. My gyrfalcon, Melusine, is with me, of course.”
“You brought your falcon from Anjou?”
“Naturally. I go nowhere without her.”
“By all means let’s go hawking then,” Maud said, giving him her hand. “Directly after we’ve eaten.”
When the mid-morning meal was over, Geoffrey vanished. He reappeared, freshly bathed, in a different set of clothes. Maud had never seen anyone with such a dazzling variety of tunics, bliauds, and jewels.
“But you’re wearing the same clothes,” he said in astonishment. “Before I go hawking I always bathe and change my garments lest I vex Melusine with an unpleasant odor.”
“I only wash my hands,” Maud replied, “and ensure that what I’ve eaten does not exude a strong scent.”
“To cleanse the hands is not sufficient,” Geoffrey sniffed. “The Norman habits are every bit as barbaric as I had been told. There will be much to teach you in Anjou.”
Maud compressed her lips, biting back a quick retort. Really, he was becoming insufferable.
Together, she and Geoffrey visited the grassy courtyard next to the falcon mews, where the castle hawks sat on their wooden blocks enjoying the sun. Preening even more than usual, the Count carried his snow-white gyrfalcon on a black-gauntleted wrist. A high-bred bird from Norway, Melusine’s hood was adorned with blue feathers, gold thread, and seed pearls; fine leather jesses trailed from the gold rings encircling her legs. The golden bells attached to her feet were engraved with Geoffrey’s name and flower emblem. She was easily the most impressive-looking bird Maud had ever seen.
Accompanied by the falconer, a stooped old man with a brown, seamed face and shaggy white hair, and his two apprentices, Maud walked slowly down the row of hawks looking carefully at each one. Finally she stopped before a dark gray peregrine with a striped breast and black-tipped wings.
“What a beauty,” she said admiringly.
“Aye, she be special,” said the falconer, unhooding the hawk. “King Henry sent her to us a year ago. Bred in the cliffs above the south coast of Wales she was, but we had the training of her in Normandy.”
The bird had fierce black eyes and a cruel, sharp beak. Plain silver bells engraved with the crest of the Dukes of Normandy ringed her feet. When Maud stroked her, she puffed and swelled her feathers, turning her head in an amiable manner.
“I would like to fly her, with your permission.” She gave the falconer a deferential smile. As a very young boy the old man had been apprenticed to the falconer who trained the Conqueror’s hawks for him, thus everyone treated him with respect and awe.
“Aye, my lady, as long as I come along to keep an eye on her.”
“She’s smaller than mine,” Geoffrey said, with a proud glance at his bird. “Is this the best you can do in Normandy, import your falcons from Wales? The finest birds come from Iceland and Norway.” A condescending smile lingered at the corners of his mouth.
Maud exchanged a look with the falconer, who kept his face impassive as he rehooded the bird before setting it on her wrist. For a moment the hawk perched uneasily on Maud’s brown gauntlet, then settled down. Clearly, Geoffrey was not familiar with the falcons bred on the Welsh cliffs, she thought with an inward smile.
Outside the ducal palace they joined Robert, Brian, and several of Geoffrey’s companions. In addition to a host of grooms and squires, also present were the head huntsman and the keeper of hounds with the fewterers, who led small black and tan dogs coupled together on long leads. Geoffrey’s friends carried tiercels, the male hawks, smaller than the female peregrine. These were to be set against lesser prey, while Maud and Geoffrey hoped to bag bigger game such as a crane or, with luck, a heron.
It was a fine afternoon for hawking; gray clouds now obscured the sun and the wind had died.
They mounted their horses. A groom adjusted the girth on Maud’s palfrey, Geoffrey blew the ivory horn that hung from his neck, and the whole gathering trotted toward the city gates.
Outside Rouen, Maud gave the mare her head, letting her race over fences, fields and brooks, through woods, until they came to a marshy meadow. Here the dogs were unleashed and sent into the tall grasses to flush out any birds. Finally a large crane flew out of the underbrush, its wings beating the air as it rose majestically upwind.
“I will enter Melusine against the crane,” Geoffrey said, unhooding his falcon. He threw up his arm and the bird flew off. The gyrfalcon was a beautiful sight as she ringed wide circles in the air.
“I fear your Welsh peregrine has no chance against such a large bird,” Geoffrey remarked complacently. “Now you will see the art of falconry at its finest.”
The last shred of caution frayed and snapped. Maud glanced at the head falconer hovering by her side. He gave an imperceptible nod. Without a word, Maud unhooded her gray falcon and with a flick of the wrist sent her into the air, the mighty talons lifting as her wings spread out like a smoky sail.
Geoffrey frowned, then shrugged. “Melusine is not used to hunting with another bird. No matter. The crane will be dead before your bird comes within striking distance.”
“Oh, but the Welsh—” Robert started to say when Maud interrupted him.
“Robert! Geoffrey is not interested in our Welsh birds.”
The falconer repressed a smile; Robert colored, biting back his words as he moved his horse closer to Maud’s.
“Is this wise, Sister?” he asked in an undertone, watching Geoffrey’s bird mount upward.
“Is what wise?” she responded with an air of innocence, her gaze fixed expectantly on the two hawks and the crane.
Accompanied by the chime of her golden bells, Geoffrey’s bird soared into the air above the crane. Slower at first, the Welsh falcon hovered above the group, then began to circle higher and higher, until Maud thought she had flown straight into the clouds.
“She stoops,” Geoffrey cried, as the white bird reached her pinnacle and began her downward plunge toward the crane.
Maud looked anxiously at her peregrine, who must have reached her full pitch by now. Suddenly the sky was cleaved by a charcoal streak. With a tinkling of bells, Maud’s falcon shot straight down like an arrow in flight, overtaking the gyrfalcon, digging her talons into the luckless crane, and bringing it to earth seconds before Melusine had completed her stoop. The hounds raced to the hawk’s assistance.
Dumbfounded, Geoffrey stared in disbelief as his gyrfalcon, cheated of its kill and confused, lighted a few feet away from the crane, hissing angrily. Geoffrey blew upon a silver whistle and she sulkily returned to his wrist. He murmured to her, stroked the white breast, then took a dead pigeon from the pouch at his waist and threw it on the ground. The bird flew to its meat, attacking it with a flurry of feathers.
He turned to Maud, his face scarlet. “You have made me look a fool, Madam,” he said accusingly. “Why didn’t you tell me of the prowess of the Welsh bird?”
“How could I have known it would prove superior to yours, my lord?” Maud said, trying to conceal her intense feeling of satisfaction. “Didn’t you say that Norse gyrfalcons are far superior to any other?”
Geoffrey gave her a look of such cold fury she recoiled. He called his bird to him, hooded it, and rode off with his followers without another word.
After Maud’s falcon had gorged on her reward—the heart of the crane cut out by the falconer—and the crane had been tied to the back of one of the horses, Maud, Brian, and Robert returned to Rouen.
“That was very wicked, Maud,” Robert said, as they rode through the woods on the outskirts of Rouen. “You should have warned Geoffrey of the reputation of our Welsh hawks. No more noble bird exists.”
“He is insufferable,” Maud said, tossing her head, “and badly needed to be taught a lesson.”
“But not by his future wife. That is hardly the way to win his heart,” Brian pointed out. “He’s still very young, remember, and his pride is easily bruised.”
“The Angevins do not take kindly to public humiliation,” Robert added, with a reproving glance at Maud. “You behaved like a virago and must apologize to Geoffrey at once.”
“Apologize?” she almost choked.
“You heard aright. He was much offended and we must cool the boy’s ire before the King arrives tomorrow.”
Her heart sank, the minor victory forgotten, at this reminder of her father’s imminent arrival and all that would follow: First the King would knight Geoffrey, then the betrothal ceremony would take place. Sometime thereafter the wedding would be held in Anjou. When she thought about her future with Geoffrey, she was filled with despair. Although Maud knew he was as much a victim in this business as she, unreasonably she held him, as well as her father, responsible for the unwelcome marriage.
“For all his youthful posturing, Geoffrey of Anjou has the makings of a remarkable man,” Brian said to her as they approached the gates of Rouen. “Most women would be delighted with this comely youth.”
Most women had not fallen deeply in love with Stephen of Blois, she wanted to respond. In truth, she realized, as Alix had already told her, it would not have mattered much whom she was to marry, for her heart had been left behind in England, and all that remained was an empty shell.
How could she tell her half-brother or Brian about the sleepless nights, the tear-stained pillows, the desire and anguish she was daily forced to hide? How explain her body’s longing, the midnight hours spent tormenting herself with the memory of Stephen’s lips on hers, the feel of his hands on her breasts, the pressure of his body molded against her own. The thought of someone else touching her was unbearable.
That evening after supper she took Geoffrey aside.
“I must apologize for—my jest this afternoon,” she said. “I meant no harm.”
He gave her a curt nod. “I do not take kindly to such jests.”
“I realize that now. I ask your forgiveness for my thoughtless frivolity.”
“I’m disinclined to give it,” he said. “Grâce à Dieu, you made me look a fool. That is not something I intend to forget. When you’re Countess of Anjou, you will never behave in such a disgraceful way again.”
Dumbfounded, Maud watched him walk away. Once again, the mask had slipped. Beneath the winning exterior and facile charm, she now detected an overweening pride and humorless nature, a coldness of heart and lack of feeling that repelled her. Envisioning their life together, Maud felt an icy chill of foreboding.