TWO WEEKS AFTER MAUD had arrived in Angers, she approached Geoffrey with several suggestions as to how she might aid him in the running of his affairs. It was a warm afternoon in early July, and Geoffrey had taken Maud on a tour of the lands surrounding the castle. It seemed a propitious moment.
“Besides helping supervise the household staff, I can assist you with both legal and financial matters,” Maud began tentatively. “I know something of canon law, and the Emperor always said that I had an excellent head for—”
“As you’re no longer in the Imperial Empire your late husband’s opinion is hardly relevant,” Geoffrey interjected, giving her a cold look. “Nor does the castle steward require assistance in managing the household. He served my father before me and his father served my grandfather and his father—you understand?”
“Yes. I only wanted to be of some use—”
“The staff would not welcome the interference of a stranger,” Geoffrey continued as if she had not spoken.
“Your wife is hardly a stranger.”
“A Norman is bound to engender distrust at first. After several years, of course, when the Angevins get to know you, it may be a different matter.” He paused. “I’m quite capable of handling whatever the steward cannot. My mother taught me many things, including details of the kitchen. Canon law is ably dealt with by the Bishop of Angers, who would not welcome your presence in his diocese.”
“What am I to do with myself?” she cried, hurt by Geoffrey’s attitude. She hardly needed to be reminded that she was in a land that distrusted all things Norman.
Geoffrey scowled. “My mother, God rest her soul, always seemed able to occupy herself. She was an expert needlewoman and her tapestries were the pride of Anjou. Of course, it is to be hoped that you will soon have your hands full raising a brood of sons.”
The moment the words were out he looked as if he could have bitten his tongue off.
Maud carefully avoided looking at him, not wishing to be reminded that their attempts to consummate the marriage invariably ended in a frustrating sense of mutual inadequacy. Although neither was willing to discuss the subject of Geoffrey’s impotency, Maud knew that Geoffrey blamed her, while she, in turn, believed he was at fault.
There was a strained silence. Geoffrey only sees me as a breeding sow, Maud thought in despair and revulsion, wondering if she would have to wait until she was queen before gaining some measure of control over her life. She recalled Aldyth telling her that Geoffrey’s youth was an advantage, for she would be able to mold him. Neither she nor Aldyth had realized that Geoffrey was already a strong character with a mind of his own.
Maud swallowed her pride, determined not to offend him. “Until such time as I … find my hands full, or am called upon to ascend the throne, I must have something to occupy my time, something that will help me to prepare for my future as queen. I’ve worked enough tapestries and embroidered sufficient altar cloths to last a lifetime.”
She must have gotten through to him for she saw his face soften. “Very well, that seems sensible enough. Certainly there are duties you could perform.” Geoffrey thought for a moment. “If anyone falls ill, naturally you will see to such matters. In addition you may take charge of the reception and entertainment of visitors to the castle. Let us start with that.”
Maud gave him a smile of gratitude. It was hardly what she wanted, but something.
The first time they had important guests, two months later, Maud was going over the seating arrangements with the steward when Geoffrey walked into the great hall.
“By God’s death, you have used the gold saltcellars,” he said, aghast, after one look at the table. “And the jeweled goblets are not to be drunk from unless royalty arrives!”
“It’s an important occasion, I only thought—”
“The gold cellars and goblets are for display only, not to be used.” He turned to the steward. “Take them up at once.”
“But—”
“This isn’t the Imperial palace, Madam, but simple, down-to-earth Anjou. Such ostentation is frowned upon. What would people think?”
Mortified, Maud watched as the steward and several servitors quickly picked up the gold saltcellars and goblets.
“What dishes have you ordered?” Geoffrey asked.
“Eels in a spicy puree, loach in gold green sauce, a meat tile—”
Geoffrey gave her a suspicious look. “Meat tile?”
“I brought the recipe with me from Germany. It consists of pieces of chicken or veal simmered, served in a sauce of pounded crayfish tails, almonds and toasted bread, then garnished—”
“Totally unsuitable. My guests wouldn’t like a German dish. Nor do the eels and the loach complement each other. I’m familiar with my mother’s handling of these matters and I think it best if I consult with the cooks myself. You need not trouble yourself further.”
“If you’ve never tried these dishes,” Maud said, holding on to her temper, “how can you know if they’re unsuitable?”
“They’re foreign, what more is there to know?” Geoffrey walked down the length of the table. “Tell me the seating arrangements.”
“I’ve put the Sire de Faucon next to Lord d’Anduze and—”
“What? They’re always quarreling and should be seated as far apart as possible. Girard knows that.” He glanced at the steward, who paled visibly. “Never mind, I’ll rearrange the seating myself.”
“If you’ll just explain to me—” Maud began.
“In future, I intend taking care of all these arrangements,” Geoffrey said, cutting her off. “You cannot be expected to know how things are done here. No one blames you.”
Crimson with humiliation, Maud watched as Geoffrey and the steward walked out of the hall together, Girard busily explaining why he had done as the Countess ordered.
From that time forward Maud took no active part in the running of the castle, leaving everything in the hands of Geoffrey and his steward.
Seething and frustrated, she retreated to the well-stocked library and the company of Geoffrey’s old tutor, Master Adelhardt, with whom she discussed history, law, and literature. She played chess and backgammon, studied the books in the library, and when she was not daydreaming of Stephen, began to think more and more of what she would do when she was queen, cautiously trying out her theories on the tutor. Each time she received a message from England or Normandy, she found herself wondering if the King was ill and she would be summoned to his bedside. Such thoughts were invariably followed by pangs of guilt and remorse, for on the one hand, despite her annoyance with her father, she did not want him to die. Yet his death would open the doors of her prison, which is how she had come to view Angers.
Once, in a moment of acute loneliness and despair, she wrote a long message to Stephen, pouring out her heart. She had sealed the parchment and actually given it to a messenger, when she suddenly snatched it out of the man’s hands. Perhaps Geoffrey had all her messages read. Surrounded by her husband’s people, whose first loyalty was to the Count, she did not feel entirely safe in Anjou, she realized.
One winter day she returned to the castle, having spent the afternoon hawking with the head falconer and several grooms.
“Why did Lord Geoffrey not go with you?” asked Aldyth.
“You know Geoffrey only goes riding with me when there are guests and he wishes to present a picture of domestic harmony.”
Aldyth gave a glum nod. “I hoped matters were improving.”
“Geoffrey has never forgiven me for that incident in Normandy, when his wretched gyrfalcon was outdone by my peregrine,” Maud said. “He still refuses to allow a Welsh bird within the borders of Anjou. The Count holds on to a grudge as if it were a priceless jewel.”
“A child, my lady, a child is the answer to all your problems,” Aldyth told her.
Unfortunately, matters between Geoffrey and herself continued to worsen in this regard. At no time during the past nine months had he been able to consummate their union: He remained as impotent as he had been that very first night.
“I’m at my wits’ end,” she told Aldyth in despair. “I’ve tried everything I know, which, admittedly, is not very much. All to no avail.”
“You could ask someone who is informed on such matters,” Aldyth said cautiously. “A midwife?”
“You cannot expect me to discuss the intimate details of my marriage bed with a stranger,” Maud responded. “Suppose she gossiped? Can you imagine the scandal?”
If she had been in England she could have consulted with Alix, Maud thought, although she suspected Alix was even more ignorant than herself. In Angers, there was no one she trusted. Those women she did meet, wives of the neighboring lords, were simple, good-natured creatures, but hardly her equal, and certainly not to be used as confidantes. If matters had only proceeded further with Stephen and herself, she thought, she might be in a position to know what to do.
Aldyth sighed. “I cannot advise you, I fear.”
They looked at each other helplessly.
That night, after having drunk several goblets of wine at supper, Maud decided to change her tactics and act as the aggressor for a change. She would go to Geoffrey. It might help—certainly it could not make matters worse. Her women brushed her hair until it shone like polished amber and scented her body with oil mixed with rose petals. She donned a fur pelisse under which she wore nothing at all.
The bells had rung for Compline when she left her chamber, carrying a horn lantern, and walked down the passageway to Geoffrey’s quarters. Shivering with cold, she paused before knocking on his door, surprised to hear sounds coming from within: a grunt followed by a squeal. Without thinking, she opened the door, then stopped short, dumbfounded at the sight that met her eyes. Geoffrey lay on his back stark naked, while a young girl rode astride him, and another girl watched. Her presence apparently unnoticed by the absorbed participants, Maud stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze from the scene before her. Obviously her husband was having no trouble whatsoever with his manhood. Maud did not stay to see the final results of this coupling, but quietly closed the door, trembling with outrage and humiliation.
It was not uncommon for a husband to amuse himself with any number of other women, she knew, and if she were now pregnant, it would not have mattered to her at all. But the dynasty of England and Normandy was at stake. Geoffrey’s duty, however distasteful to both of them, was to honor her bed—as her father might have put it—until she was with child, then do as he pleased.
Maud told no one what she had discovered, but her relations with Geoffrey deteriorated even more rapidly than before. It was all she could do to submit to his vain, frantic attempts to penetrate her, which became more and more infrequent as the months passed. She knew she must do something about the disastrous state of her marriage but found herself powerless to act.
Their unfulfilling encounters at night now turned Maud and Geoffrey into enemies by day. Bickering constantly, they no longer tried to conceal their hostility. Maud again began to think of her father’s demise. Racked by guilt, she could not help herself, for his death would solve everything: She could go back to England. Once she was queen, she would find a way to deal with the problem of Geoffrey. It might even be possible to have the marriage annulled since it had never been consummated.
“Your marriage is the scandal of the city,” Aldyth told her one morning in October. “You and the Count can be heard all over the castle, screaming at each other like fishwives in the marketplace.”
“I don’t want to discuss it. Make ready to accompany me to the October fair.”
“The fair? Not again!” Aldyth gave her an incredulous look.
“What else is there to do? None of my abilities is being utilized. My womanhood is withering on the vine. I must find some way to pass the time until I become queen. Tell one of the pages to order a litter for me.”
When they reached the open marketplace, an hour later, the fair was already well under way. Beneath a crisp blue sky, the open stalls proclaimed their wares in a profusion of color, scent, and sound. There were bolts of gray and blue cloth from Florence, scarlet and azure silks from Lucca, cottons from France and Flanders, wools from England, as well as flax for linen and hemp for nets, ropes, and bowstrings. Sugar from Syria and wax from Morocco ranged side by side with iron and leather from Germany and Spain. One booth specialized in skins from Scandinavia.
Bored and restless in the castle, Maud loved the excitement of the fair, the stirring of life, the new, strange faces, the feeling she was part of a larger world. She enjoyed listening to the babel of voices shouting in French, Arabic, Italian, Spanish, and a few tongues Maud did not recognize. The air was redolent with the pungent smells of mace, ginger, peppercorns, and cinnamon, mingling with the savory odor of hot pork pies and roast chestnuts sold by Angevin vendors.
“Let us stop here first,” Maud exclaimed, as she spied the stalls selling luxury goods.
The litter halted and she made her way through the surging crowds. Behaving with unaccustomed extravagance, Maud had been haunting the fair for the past two weeks. She knew she was acting recklessly, but was beyond caring. It was as if she were compelled to fill the emptiness in her heart, the tedium of her days, with an assortment of trinkets and gowns she neither needed nor wanted.
She passed stalls selling camphor, ambergris, musk, and carpets. Finally she stopped by a booth that housed the art of Italian gold- and silversmiths, exquisite work set with lapis lazuli, rubies, and pearls. Prominently displayed was an ebony and silver chess set from the Far East, obviously the work of a master craftsman. I must have it, Maud thought, as her fingers caressed the shiny black figures.
“How much?” she asked haltingly in rusty Italian, addressing the withered Lombard, whose half-closed eyes regarded her with astute cunning.
His lips opened wide at hearing his own tongue, and after cheerfully haggling for a quarter of an hour, she bought the chess set, along with a gold brooch set with rubies and a delicate silver cross ablaze with sapphires and pearls. Our Lady’s colors—that would suit Alix, she thought.
A kind of frenzy came over Maud, and she began to indulge herself in an orgy of spending. At another booth, she bought herself three pairs of leather shoes, a pair of boots for her brother Robert, as well as a pair for Brian FitzCount. For Stephen she picked a pair of Spanish-made leather boots, the color of his hair.
Next she purchased six bolts of silk in vermilion, purple and indigo, then selected an ivory carving of the great cathedral of St. Peter’s in Rome. By the time she was finished, it took three grooms plus Aldyth and herself to carry all her purchases back to the litter. There was not enough room for everything and a pack mule was pressed into service.
When she returned to the castle and entered the courtyard, she met Geoffrey with a group of his companions getting ready to go hunting.
“Madam, what have you done? Bought out the entire fair?” he cried in a shocked voice as he stared at the array of parcels and bundles.
Ignoring him, Maud walked up the steps and swept through the open doors into the entrance hall. There would probably be an unpleasant confrontation with Geoffrey later tonight, she thought. Not that she cared. Even their scenes of mutual recriminations broke the deadly monotony of her life in Anjou.
Late that afternoon, wearing her new gold brooch pinned to a gray mantle, Maud walked along the ramparts between the red flint towers of Angers Castle. A golden hawk soared above her, then plummeted downward. Pausing, she leaned over the stone parapet but the bird was lost to view beyond the ancient walls of the city. Below, a small party approached the castle, then disappeared as they crossed the drawbridge. In the fading light she saw the deep blue of the merging Loire and Mayenne rivers. A few white sails could still be seen cutting through the water as they headed for the farther shore, beyond which rose the outline of purple vine-clad hills.
The sound of the steward’s horn calling the household to its evening meal startled her. Ignoring the summons, Maud leaned her elbows on the parapet and propped her chin in her hands. She sighed, watching the first shadows sweep over the river. A light wind suddenly whipped the water, blowing the edges of her white headdress across her face.
How she longed to share this peaceful beauty with someone she loved. With Stephen. Nineteen months, two weeks, and five days, she counted, since she had last seen her cousin, yet her need of him had not diminished. In truth, the pain of missing him was, if anything, worse now.
Closing her eyes, she allowed herself the luxury of conjuring up his image: tall, tawny-haired, his green eyes dancing, his lips curved into a loving smile. His arms reached out to—
“Madam?”
She turned sharply as the sound of Geoffrey’s hostile voice ruptured the evening’s tranquility. He had come up silently behind her, his face set in its usual expression of sulky antagonism.
“What do you want?” The animosity in her voice matched his, as she steeled herself for the accusations she expected.
“Didn’t you hear the horn?”
“I heard it.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Why do you dally? There are guests for supper and we await your arrival.”
“Who are they tonight?”
“The only ones of significance are a nobleman from Champagne, Count Conon and his lady, old friends of my father, and the Bishop of Angers.”
“Sweet Marie, I cannot endure another evening of crushing boredom listening to the same dreary talk.” Her voice took on a cutting edge. “The condition of the vines in Champagne this year as compared to last; who has been born, died, wedded, and bedded; the latest victory or blunder of Fat Louis of France. Spare me, please.”
Geoffrey’s face turned a dull rose as he struggled to control his temper. “I regret that you continue to look upon an evening of Angevin hospitality as such an ordeal, Madam.”
“I beg to be excused. Say I’m unwell.”
“You are not excused. If you were well enough to bleed the treasury dry at the fair, you are well enough to attend the evening meal.” His blue eyes looked murderous. “If common courtesy will not move you, let me remind you that when you’re Duchess of Normandy, the goodwill of the church—which includes the Bishop of Angers—will be important to you,” he hissed, his voice laced with venom. “If you offend the good bishop now, he might prove to have a long memory. It’s something your father would take into account—Madam.”
“The Bishop of Angers spends more time in the castle than he does tending to his own See,” Maud retorted, knowing perfectly well that he was right. “Oh, very well, I’ll be down shortly.”
“When? The steward cannot serve until you arrive.”
“I said shortly,” she replied, between clenched teeth.
Geoffrey turned sharply on his heel and strode quickly away, disappearing around one of the towers.
Maud leaned once more on the parapet but the mood had been destroyed. As she gazed out at the darkening rivers and hills, she wondered how she had survived the past sixteen months here in Angers, and how she could endure even one day more. If only her father—she crushed the treacherous thought.
Maud walked along the ramparts, descended the winding staircase to the second floor, and entered the great hall. She seated herself next to her husband in the high-backed carved wooden chair at the high table. The Bishop of Angers said grace, and, at a signal from the Count, the steward blew his horn and the servitors began bringing in the dishes.
“So pleased you could join us, Countess,” said Bishop Ulgar of Angers, a powerful prelate with shrewd brown eyes set in a craggy face. He sat at Geoffrey’s right hand, in the place of honor.
Despite her earlier complaints to Geoffrey, Maud liked and respected Bishop Ulgar. He was intelligent, charming, and learned; he also seemed well-disposed toward her. Not one of those pious, canting ecclesiasts that the Emperor had never been able to abide. She gave him a friendly smile.
Maud saw the look of relief on the Count’s face, as if he feared she might say something out of place.
“The Countess,” Geoffrey explained, “regrets her late arrival. She’s been out of sorts lately, haven’t you, my dear?”
“On the contrary,” Maud replied with a bright smile. “In truth I’ve been feeling particularly well.”
There was an awkward silence as the dishes continued to arrive and everyone bent hurriedly to their trenchers. Seated next to the Bishop, the nobleman from Champagne, a grizzled lord with a red nose and a huge paunch, complimented Geoffrey on the quality of the cuisine.
“Thus it was in Angers in your mother’s day,” he rasped, “and I’m pleased to see the same high standards prevail.”
“Delicious! What do you call this dish?” the nobleman’s wife asked Maud, as she scooped a dripping handful into her mouth.
“I’m the last person to ask,” Maud said, her eyes glinting with mischief.
Geoffrey quickly cut in: “I believe my mother called it porray of leeks, a recipe she brought with her from Maine.” He paused. “Let me see now if I can recall what she told me. Yes, a mixture of leeks, onions and minced pork, cooked in milk, and thickened with bread crumbs steeped in broth and drawn up with blood, vinegar, pepper, and cloves.”
The Countess turned to Maud with a look of surprise. “How fortunate you are to have a husband who takes such an interest in the preparation of food. I would love to visit your kitchen and learn the secrets of some of your recipes.”
“I’m sure the Count will be happy to take you on a tour,” Maud replied. “I barely know where the kitchen is located, nor am I familiar with any of the household recipes.”
“Oh, yes, I see,” the woman babbled, her eyes darting in dismay from Geoffrey to Maud. “I had assumed, of course, that you—that is to say—” Her words trailed off as she looked helplessly at her husband, who was staring at Maud.
“A natural mistake,” Maud said sweetly. “One does not expect to find a man so well-versed in those matters which are considered the natural province of women.”
There was an appalled silence. Geoffrey turned white before a deep red stained his delicate features. Observing her husband’s discomfort, Maud experienced a moment’s intense gratification, then immediately regretted her rudeness. But it was too late. The words could not be called back. Frozen with embarrassment, the stunned guests looked everywhere but at their host and hostess. The evening was saved from total disaster by the Bishop of Angers, who stepped skillfully into the breach.
“My lord,” he said in a silky voice to the nobleman, as if nothing untoward had occurred, “I understand there’s to be an unusually fine grape harvest in Champagne this year, praise God. Will you tell us the yield?”
Somehow the meal continued. Maud did not speak again; Geoffrey finally recovered himself enough to stumble through a stilted conversation with the nobleman and the Bishop. This time, Maud knew, she had gone too far. The repercussions would be formidable. Half fearful, half defiant, she awaited the outcome of her folly.
Aldyth and her women were preparing Maud for bed when Geoffrey stalked into her chamber.
“I must talk to you, Madam,” he snapped, ignoring Aldyth and the other ladies.
Maud, clad only in her chemise, quickly pulled on a pelisse. “It will have to wait,” she said coldly to hide her inner agitation. “I’m preparing to retire.”
“It cannot wait. Your behavior tonight was outrageous. I won’t be insulted at my own table in front of my guests. This evening was the last straw. As you have made no secret of your unhappiness here, I give you permission to leave Angers.”
Maud looked at him in amazement. “Leave Angers? To go where?”
“Normandy, England, back to Germany, wherever the devil take you, for aught I care, so long as it’s well beyond the borders of Maine and Anjou.”
“Indeed? When I wish to go you will hear of it.”
Geoffrey folded his arms across his chest. “Your wishes no longer concern me. I insist upon your leaving. You have no choice.”
“No choice? I wonder what my father will have to say about that! Not that I don’t long to go, mind. Sweet Marie, I’m so weary of this paltry backwater I could lose my wits.” She paused for breath. “There’s nothing I desire more than to be in England, where people are civilized and men behave like men.”
Geoffrey reeled back as if she had struck him. Maud advanced relentlessly. “Wait until my father, and yours, hear how you’ve treated me, a former empress, and the future queen of England!”
From the corner of her eye she saw Aldyth and her women, open-mouthed in horror, scurry to a corner of the room like frightened geese, but she no longer cared what they thought, what anyone thought.
“God’s death, Madam, you’ve been treated like an empress. Every effort has been made to ensure your comfort and pleasure. Have I objected to the gowns and headdresses and jewels you buy daily?” Geoffrey ran to several chests, opened them, and began to pull out armfuls of gowns and tunics. “Just look at these! If you live to be a hundred you could not wear them all.”
Running over to a pole stuck in the wall, he tugged at more gowns and mantles, sweeping them to the floor, then tore open several boxes, gleefully spilling boots, shoes, gloves, stockings to the ground.
“You have free run of the castle; the finest horses, falcons, and hounds are at your disposal; the best minstrels sing for you; and my private tutor has quite deserted me to be at your beck and call. You have no cares, no responsibilities for the running of the castle!”
Geoffrey’s nostrils distended, his eyes became blazing blue slits; his voice shook with anger. All semblance of control gone, the famous “demon blood” of Anjou raged now in full fury. For one quite terrifying moment Maud thought he might strike her.
“You wouldn’t let me take responsibility for the castle or anything else,” Maud screamed, taking a step back. “You would never let me do anything of use. How can anyone be happy under such circumstances, particularly when forced to live with an arrogant, spoiled pup of fifteen, who cannot perform man’s most basic function!”
“I can perform it well enough with others,” he shouted back incautiously.
“So I have observed. Is that something to be proud of?”
His face turned scarlet as his jaw dropped. Swallowing, he quickly recovered. “I was brought to you an innocent victim, Madam, sacrificed for the future of Anjou. Little did I expect a vicious, serpent-tongued woman to be thrust into my bed.” He paused for his final blow. “My father was tricked into believing you were not barren and the Emperor was at fault, but I know better! You unmanned him as you do me.” He drew a shuddering breath. “If you are not out of this castle by Sext tomorrow, I will have you thrown out.”
In a frenzy of rage, Maud picked up the first object that came to hand, a heavy iron candleholder standing on one of the chests. As she ran toward him, Geoffrey turned and fled, Maud hot on his heels. She tried to smash the iron base on his head, and the candle flame actually singed an apricot curl, before Aldyth wrested the candle-holder from her and held her, struggling wildly, while Geoffrey made his escape.
After a few moments, breathing heavily, Maud released herself from Aldyth’s grip. Her hands were dotted with hot candle grease that burned into her flesh, her hair was disheveled, and her pelisse awry. Collecting her scattered wits, she summoned her frightened women, ordered all her boxes to be brought to the chamber and her belongings packed, ready to leave by noon tomorrow.
“We’ll be up all night but there’s no help for it,” she told them.
“Where will you go?” Aldyth asked, much shaken.
“First to Normandy, then, with my father’s agreement, to England.”
“But my lady—”
“If you utter so much as one word in Geoffrey’s favor, I will leave you behind, do you understand?” She glared at Aldyth before turning to her stricken ladies, who stood paralyzed in the center of the room. “Well, why do you stand there like sheep? Bring the boxes and saddlebags!”
The women fell all over themselves in their haste to leave the chamber.
Despite the humiliation of being thrown out of Anjou, Maud felt curiously relieved. The fact that Geoffrey had thrown her out placed the burden of responsibility on him, although she was too honest with herself to pretend he had not been driven to the deed.
While Maud and her ladies packed boxes and saddlebags, Geoffrey appeared at the door from time to time to ensure, he said, that she took only what belonged to her, for he did not trust her to behave with honor.
Maud ignored him. “Take only what we brought with us,” she admonished Aldyth and her women. “Anything acquired in Anjou leave behind. I want nothing that was bought with the Count’s money.”
Her eyes fell on the leather boots she had bought for Stephen, and the magnificent ebony chess set. For a moment she hesitated. No, she decided firmly, nothing. She would leave exactly as she came.
The bells rang for Sext just as Maud and her exhausted women finished their packing. Geoffrey, having found in his room a carved ivory box, a wedding present to Maud from Matilda of Anjou, now a nun, who had been married to her late twin, William, followed her to the wide door leading to the courtyard. Under the horrified eyes of Bishop Ulgar and the couple from Champagne, he threw the box after her as she walked down the steps of the keep in a pelting rain.
“You’ve forgotten this, Madam,” he called with a sneer.
The box hit her in the small of her back. She staggered on the wet stone step but did not fall. Turning in a fury, she saw Geoffrey standing at the top of the stairs, a hand over his mouth, obviously frightened that he had hurt her. For a moment they stared wordlessly at each other over a gulf as wide as the channel, then she picked up the box, flung it contemptuously aside, and walked proudly down the steps into a waiting litter. With all her heart, Maud hoped that she had seen the last of Angers Castle and the Count of Anjou.