IN EARLY JUNE MAUD and her party rode down Waiting Street toward the gates of London. She was far more apprehensive than she had been when she arrived at Winchester three months earlier. This time, against the express counsel of her advisers, who had urged caution and delay, Maud knew she was entering a city overtly hostile to her, and doing so without the protection of her greatest asset: her son Henry.
Geoffrey, continuing to gain ground in Normandy, had refused to send the boy to England claiming that London was still too dangerous and his safety could not be guaranteed. Maud had been furious, but to persuade Geoffrey to change his mind would take precious time. Maud was unable to explain to herself, much less her advisers, why she felt such a compelling urge to be crowned as soon as possible.
Far ahead she could see the walls of the city bristling with guards. Her apprehension increased. Although Robert had bribed the Constable of London—a former supporter of Stephen’s known for his dubious loyalties—to ensure their safety, the political climate of the city, a law unto itself, remained unstable. Against her better judgment, Maud had followed the Bishop of Winchester’s advice to leave her army quartered at Oxford so as not to offend the London citizens by a show of force. Like everything else the Bishop suggested it made diplomatic sense, and yet, ever since her meeting with the London deputation, she sensed Henry was undermining her authority. He found fault with every move she made, from holding the coronation without her son to revoking Stephen’s charters in favor of her own supporters which he knew perfectly well was the time-honored way of establishing the rights of the victor.
The tension between them was growing unbearable and Maud prayed that once she was crowned it would end. If she and her own advisers were not able to work together, how could any of them hope to salvage the kingdom?
The heavy iron gates loomed directly in front of her. For one wild moment Maud wondered if she was riding into a trap. Then, to her immense relief, they swung open. The moment she was inside the city, she was overcome by echoes from the past. The cobbled streets, the vendors’ call for ripe cherries, the aroma of hot chestnuts, all carried a bittersweet memory of her carefree days with Stephen.
“Send the she-king back to Anjou,” a jeering voice suddenly called out. “We don’t want the Angevin bitch.” The cry was taken up by other voices, but quickly hushed when the Constable’s men rode through the crowd, spears at the ready.
It was an unpleasant reminder that London was still Stephen’s stronghold, and the bold appraisal of its citizens let her know they withheld approval. Win us over if you can, their mocking expressions seemed to say. Why was it that these people were so antagonistic to her? I was born in London, she wanted to cry aloud. I am one of you. Accept me.
Maud did not feel easy until they were safely within the walls of Westminster.
The coronation was set for St. John’s Day at the end of June. The next week went by in a dizzying round of council meetings, conferences, fittings for the coronation robes, audiences for arriving nobles, and nightly feasts.
One morning, a week before the ceremony, Robert approached her in the gardens of the royal enclosure and handed her a roll of parchment.
“Geoffrey has sent again,” he said. “This time he demands money. He has beggared the treasury of Anjou in your cause, he claims, and needs help.”
“What cheek!” Maud exclaimed. “However, if he were willing to send over young Henry, I might be persuaded to help him.”
“What with? Or have you forgotten that you had to sell off most of the Imperial jewels to provide for your coronation?”
“As if I could forget,” she sighed. “Which reminds me—there has been no response from the London burghers concerning my request for money, and that was over two months ago. Have them come to Westminster this afternoon.”
“Is that wise?”
“Does it matter? Necessity is stronger than wisdom. Is there anything else that needs my attention?”
“The deputation from the cathedral chapter of Durham has arrived about the vacant See. Have you made a decision yet?”
Maud shook her head. The subject of the vacant See of Durham had put her in an awkward position, which was why she had postponed dealing with it. Two candidates vied for her approval. Her Uncle David recommended his chancellor, as Durham lay close to the Scottish border, while the Bishop of Winchester had put forth his own candidate for the post. Maud had promised Henry that no church appointments would be made without his approval; on the other hand, how could she offend the King of Scotland? What a coil.
“A silversmith has also arrived to see you about the royal seal,” Robert continued. “He wants you to examine the rough wax impression before he casts it into silver.”
“I’ll see him at once. I can do nothing without the official seal.”
“You wished me to see the wax impression?” Maud asked the silversmith a few moments later when they entered the great hall.
“Yes indeed, Lady,” he replied in a surly voice. “A mistake has obviously been made. The inscription you ordered reads thus: ‘Matildis Imperatrix Romanorum et Regina Anglaie.’”
“Maud, Empress of the Romans and Queen of England,” she translated aloud. “Oh!” Her face flushed. “Yes, I see. A mistake indeed. How stupid of me. It should be the other way round.”
He stared at her rudely. “To put the Empire on the seal at all is bad enough, Lady, but to place it before England is a mortal insult.”
Maud did not know what to say. Amidst the mounting demands made on her time, she had hurriedly scrawled out the inscription to be given to the silversmith, not inspecting it carefully. After all, the last time she had had a seal made for her had been as Empress of the Holy Roman Empire. It was an understandable error, if a foolish one, but she could tell from the man’s attitude that her explanation was not satisfactory.
“Forgive me,” she said. “Please change it at once; put England first, of course. I’m so grateful that you caught the error.”
Maud knew that it would be more politic to omit the Empire from the seal altogether, but vanity would not allow her to give up the most prestigious title she had. It could do no real harm to leave it, she decided.
“Before I cast this into silver I must be paid for my work,” the man asserted.
“Surely that’s an unusual request? You will be paid in time, of course, but it’s urgent that I receive the seal at once.”
“Unusual or not, Lady,” he insisted, “if you want the seal you must pay me first.”
She glanced at the stubborn set of his jaw, and knew it was useless to argue. “Return this evening and I’ll see you’re paid.”
She watched him leave, inwardly berating herself for having made the error. The Londoners already distrusted her, God alone knew what they would make of this latest peccadillo. Why was it she simply could not put a foot right with these people?
Robert frowned. “The man must be aware of the state of the treasury. I’ve never heard such an outrageous demand before. How will you pay him?”
“With the money I hope to get from the London burghers. Or this if need be,” Maud said, pointing to a gold-and-sapphire ring on her middle finger that had belonged to Geoffrey’s mother, the Countess of Maine. Geoffrey would be furious, of course, but that could not be helped now. If one more thing went wrong …
The bells rang for Tierce and as Maud turned toward the abbey, she was surprised to see the steward running down the passage toward her.
“Lady,” he began in a breathless voice. “The Queen is at the gates, requesting an audience with you. The guards would not permit her entrance without my approval. What shall I do?”
Maud froze. “Of whom do you speak? I am the only queen.”
The steward turned bright red, then swallowed convulsively. “Forgive me. As God is my judge, the former queen is what I meant to say,” he stammered. “The Countess of Boulogne.”
The blood drained from Maud’s face and her heart missed a beat. Matilda! Holy Mother, what could she want?
“Do not distress yourself,” Robert said, giving her an anxious look. “I’ll see her for you.”
“She will only state her business to the Lady of England,” the steward said. “What shall I tell her?”
Maud hesitated. It was foolish to feel so apprehensive. She must get a hold of herself. There was no earthly reason why she need be afraid.
“I will see the Countess in the solar,” she told the steward.
“Be careful with Matilda,” Robert said unexpectedly. “I don’t trust this visit. Perhaps I should stay with you during the meeting.”
“Do you have so little confidence in my ability to behave properly?”
Maud turned away and walked down the passageway in the direction of the staircase. Despite the warmth of the day she shivered, as if a wolf had walked over her grave. How she dreaded the coming interview with her cousin.
Maud entered the richly appointed solar that had formerly been occupied by both Queen Alix and Matilda. She dismissed her women, removed her veil, then smoothed back unruly strands of russet hair. Picking up a silver mirror from a small oak table, she spared a quick glance at herself. Would Matilda think she had aged? Her face looked no older, she thought, but there was a sense of strain that had not been there before. And she was far too pale. Matilda would be sure to notice. She pinched her cheeks to give them color.
Should she greet her sitting or standing? Maud sat on the chair, then decided it might be better to remain on her feet. As she was somewhat taller than Matilda, standing would give her an advantage. It was ridiculous how agitated she felt.
There was a sharp knock on the door and Bishop Henry of Winchester entered the room.
“I’m to receive Matilda,” Maud said, “I can’t see you now.”
“I wondered if you might wish me to be present. After all, Matilda is my sister-in-law, and I’m familiar with her ways.”
“That is kind of you, but she wishes to see me alone.”
The Bishop hesitated, then bowed his head. “Very well. You know the Durham chapter have arrived?”
“Yes.”
Before Henry could speak again a shadow fell across the portal. “The Countess of Boulogne is here.” One of Maud’s women hurriedly announced the deposed queen, then scurried away.
Matilda walked into the room, stopping in surprise when she saw Henry. “Your Grace,” she murmured uncertainly.
“Benedicte. You’re looking well, Madam,” he said, inclining his head, then withdrew from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Maud’s anxiety increased; she felt flustered and uncertain of herself. “Will you sit?” she asked Matilda, offering her the chair.
“I’ve always loved this room.” Matilda sat down carefully on the chair. In one hand she gripped a roll of parchment.
As she soon felt foolish standing, Maud abruptly seated herself on an embroidered stool across from Matilda, took a deep breath, and folded her hands tightly in front of her to keep them from trembling. Stephen’s wife was clad in Our Blessed Lady’s colors of white and blue that she had always favored. A white wimple framed her pale face.
Maud could think of nothing to say and the silence, taut as a bowstring, stretched between them. As it lengthened, Maud became impatient.
“What did you wish to say to me?” she finally asked.
Matilda swallowed several times; her fingers, showing white about the knuckles, clutched the silver rosary hanging from her neck. She seemed incapable of speech. Maud’s heart went out to her. The poor woman had come to beg a boon from her victorious cousin and it was proving harder than she had thought. As it would be for me, Maud realized.
“Come,” she said in an encouraging voice. “I’ll not bite your head off. What do you wish of me?”
“Please release my husband from captivity.” The words came out in a rush as Matilda held up the roll of parchment. “Here are the signatures of many nobles, as well as the burghers of London, joining their plea to mine.”
Maud’s lips tightened. She should have known it would be something like this. “You know that’s impossible.”
“I implore you, Cousin,” Matilda whispered. “I beg you to release him.”
“If Stephen is now held captive he has only himself to blame. It was his choice to break his oath and usurp my throne. You’ve always been regarded as an honorable woman, Matilda. Do you tell me what he did was honorable?”
Matilda quickly lowered her gaze. But not before Maud had caught a fleeting look of guilt. Stephen’s wife knew full well how treacherously her husband had behaved. Yet blind loyalty forbade her to admit it.
Maud rose from her stool. “I offered Stephen his freedom if he would renounce all claim to the throne, swear that I’m the rightful heir, and admit that what he did was unjust.”
Matilda gave a wan smile. “Of course he refused.”
“There’s no more to say upon the matter. Was that all you wished to ask?”
“No.” Matilda lifted her head. “For the sake of my children I beg they be allowed to keep Stephen’s possessions: his fief in Lancaster and the estates in Normandy. Your father bestowed these upon Stephen before … before he gained the throne.”
“Stephen is one of the wealthiest landowners on both sides of the channel. All that he owned is forfeit to the crown and I desperately need his wealth. You must know the deplorable state in which he left the treasury.”
She waited for a response. When Matilda remained silent; Maud continued:
“You’re still Countess of Boulogne with all the revenues of that busy port at your disposal. It’s not as if your children will be reduced to begging in the streets. I regret there is nothing I can do to help you.”
“You could, you could,” Matilda cried, her voice breaking. “If you had a heart like any normal woman.”
Maud felt her body go absolutely rigid; a hot reply was on the tip of her tongue, but she got herself under control before replying. “When Stephen confiscated all of Robert’s lands and castles, except for Bristol, did you plead for Robert’s sons to keep their patrimony?” she asked. “Did you consider my son’s legacy when you bargained with the King of France for Eustace to become Duke of Normandy? Tell me, what would my father do in like circumstances? Or my grandfather?”
Matilda looked at her in piteous mute appeal. Tears glistened in her faded blue eyes. She covered her face with trembling hands. “Will nothing move you to pity?”
“What moves me to pity, dear Cousin, are burnt towns, decaying hamlets, untilled pastures, and the starving populace!” Despite her efforts to remain calm her voice shook with suppressed anger. “What fills me with horror are roads so ravaged none dare venture upon them; innocent men captured and tortured for their gold by scoundrels and rogues who roam unchecked about the land. Does that answer your question?”
“The state of the realm is as much your fault as it is Stephen’s,” Matilda cried. “It wasn’t like this before you landed on England’s shores.” She clasped her hands in an attitude of prayer. “If you let my husband go free he will become a monk, a pilgrim in the Holy Land, and never return. I swear it!”
Stephen a monk? Matilda could not be serious. But one look at her cousin’s face told Maud that indeed she was.
“Stephen has never shown the slightest evidence of a spiritual nature, much less a call to serve God.”
“With you that was probably the farthest thought from his mind,” Matilda retorted. There was no mistaking the note of bitterness in her voice, and the sudden heat in her eyes. Then, as if aware that she had revealed too much, she hastily rose to her feet. “He’ll go mad if he is locked up for the rest of his life.” Tears ran freely down her cheeks. “How can you torture him in this way?”
Maud was completely taken aback. Sweet Marie, how long had Matilda suspected what had passed between herself and Stephen? There was no rejoinder she could make without incriminating herself.
Unable to look her cousin in the eye, Maud sat down again on the stool, fighting to keep her head and not let her sense of guilt betray her into folly. In her heart, she did not wish her cousin any ill will. Nor did she intend to keep Stephen prisoner for the rest of his life, as her father had done with his brother. It was on the tip of her tongue to reassure Matilda that she would relax her iron hold when the time was ripe, but then she thought better of it. Matilda might take this as a sign of weakness, or worse, that Maud, as queen-elect, was responding to an implied threat of scandal exposed. Then it would be evident that she had indeed something to hide. At all costs no one must ever suspect the guilty secret of her son’s birth. A bastard would never be allowed to inherit the throne.
“Cousin! I beseech you, I humble myself before you, please let my husband go free.”
To Maud’s horror, Matilda fell on her knees in the dried rushes and clasped Maud around the legs so that she could not move.
“Matilda, get up at once.” Maud struggled to free herself but her cousin clung like a leech. “Suppose someone were to see you like this?”
“I care not who sees me. I’m past shame, past pride.”
“Come, get hold of yourself.” Maud was mortified by this unseemly behavior. Struggling to her feet she gazed down at her cousin’s imploring face. Beyond the streaming blue wells of her eyes, Maud sensed the steely quality of Matilda’s will, perceived her stubborn singleness of purpose. In that moment she knew Stephen’s wife possessed as strong a determination as her own. Matilda would stop at nothing to free her husband and see him on the throne once more. Here indeed was an enemy to be reckoned with.
Her respect for Matilda increased but all trace of sympathy vanished. “Get up,” she said sternly. “I will not free Stephen under any circumstances.”
Matilda gave a last choking sob, and rose shakily to her feet. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she took a deep shuddering breath.
“Very well,” she said, pulling herself together with an obvious effort. “I’ve tried to appeal to you as a wife and mother, woman to woman, but you’re without mercy.” Her voice grew cold. “However, I have other weapons at my disposal. My army in Kent grows daily. William of Ypres commands the troops and he will fight on in the King’s name. What you refuse to recognize, Lady, is how deeply Stephen is loved, while you … you are despised. Never shall you have the goodwill of the English. Never.”
The words were hurled at Maud like stones from a catapult, intending to wound, and they did. Each word struck her heart with the force of a heavy blow. She stiffened her back, unwilling to let Matilda see how deeply she was hurt.
“Empty threats. In ten days’ time I’ll be queen,” Maud said, forcing her voice to be steady.
“Will you? I would not count on that, Cousin,” Matilda said.
Maud, her face flaming, strode to the door of the chamber and threw it open. “A good journey back to Kent, Madam.”
Head bowed, the traces of tears drying on her cheeks, Matilda walked out of the room. Maud watched her until she turned a corner of the passage, then sagged against the door, Matilda’s last words echoing ominously in her mind. Was there a scheme afoot to prevent her being crowned? She must tell her half-brother at once.