MAUD AND HENRY REMAINED in Anjou until the new year, 1152, when they returned to Normandy. In April Henry received word that the marriage of the King and Queen of France had been annulled and Eleanor had returned to her own lands of Aquitaine. Henry immediately made plans to join her.
Maud stood in the courtyard of the ducal palace in Rouen watching Henry’s last-minute preparations for his journey to Aquitaine.
“Such haste is unseemly. After all, the annulment is only weeks old,” Maud told her son. “Your time would be better spent making plans to invade England.”
Henry gave her an exasperated look. “What else am I doing? My marriage to Eleanor gives me unlimited credit to finance the English invasion. Really, Maman, I’m not such a fool as you seem to think.”
“Indeed? You know there will be trouble if you marry Eleanor without Louis’s consent,” Maud continued.
“We have been over this matter countless times,” Henry retorted. “The marriage is annulled. It’s no affair of Louis’s if I marry his former queen.”
“Not as Eleanor’s ex-husband, no, but as Duchess of Aquitaine, Louis is her overlord, and no heiress can marry without her overlord’s consent. You know perfectly well what Louis’s reaction will be when he discovers he’s about to lose his wealthiest fief to Normandy.”
“Well, he mustn’t find out until we’re already married. I don’t want to find the entire French army between me and Aquitaine.”
Maud gave him a steely look. “Then why do you take such a retinue of knights, squires, and sumpter horses? Go quietly, make no show, call no attention to yourself in any way. You’ll put the wolf off the scent.”
“You’re right,” Henry said. “I should have thought of that.” He gave her an impudent grin. “But then I have you to do half my thinking for me, don’t I?” He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. “All of it, if I allowed.”
Maud could not help but smile. Henry could be so disarming when he chose—just like his father, she thought. Sometimes, when she least expected it, he reminded her so much of Stephen that she could hardly bear it.
When Henry had gone, Maud’s thoughts continued to dwell on Stephen. Eagerly following events in England, Maud knew he was beset by difficulties on all fronts: trouble with the vicious Eustace; his barons, if not in open rebellion against him, went their own way; and the church condemned almost all his actions. Backed by Rome, Theobald of Bee continued to refuse to crown Eustace. Enraged by his refusal, as well as that of the other bishops who supported Canterbury, Stephen had had the bishops locked up in Oxford Castle. Maud’s heart ached for his dilemma. Reason told her Stephen was making a disastrous mistake in this harsh treatment of his prelates, yet, she thought with a sigh, what would we not do to see our children crowned?
A fortnight later Maud heard that Henry and Eleanor had been married quietly, and without incident, at Poitiers on the eighteenth of May.
No sooner had Henry returned to Normandy, leaving Eleanor behind to follow at a later date, than all that Maud had feared came to pass. Louis of France, incensed by the marriage, and calling it unholy and unlawful, ordered his vassal, Henry, Duke of Normandy, to appear before his court to answer for his disgraceful conduct.
“By God’s splendor, I would be safer in the court of the devil,” Henry grumbled.
“I warned you,” Maud said, not without a twinge of satisfaction. Perhaps in future he would pay her more heed.
“I’m Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou, and now Duke of Aquitaine,” Henry responded with an arrogant toss of his head. “Strong enough to defy Louis in this matter. Let him rant and rave and threaten. I have no intention of going to France.”
“Adding insult to injury,” Maud said. “He will be beside himself.”
As Maud predicted, Louis of France was furious at Henry’s refusal to obey his summons. She knew he would retaliate but even she did not expect him to join forces with Prince Eustace of England and, to her horror, her own son, Geoffrey of Anjou.
“I’m sure they intend to attack your possessions on the continent, with the intention of dividing among themselves whatever they seize,” she warned Henry, sick at heart at the thought of her second son turning against his brother.
“That may be their intention,” Henry replied grimly, “but it will never come to pass.”
While Maud waited anxiously in Rouen, Henry gathered together a huge force of men and arms to march against the French king. She was relieved to hear that after a few brief, indecisive battles, he had forced Louis to retreat across the border back into France. Henry then marched against his brother Geoffrey, who had barricaded himself in a stronghold on the Loire. Maud, determined to avoid bloodshed between her sons, intervened. She rode to where Geoffrey was established, and persuaded him to agree to Henry’s terms for peace. Eustace, unexpectedly summoned by his father, sailed hurriedly for England. The immediate danger was over almost as soon as it had begun.
For the moment, at least, Henry had been successful, but Maud knew that precious time had been lost. Time that should have been spent preparing to invade England.
Henry traveled to Anjou to reassert his authority in the county, then on to Aquitaine before returning to Normandy. He brought Eleanor, now six months pregnant, back with him, arriving at Rouen in time for the Christmas festivities.
Within a week after Henry’s return to Rouen an urgent message arrived from Brian FitzCount in England: Stephen and Eustace had brought a large force to Wallingford, apparently determined to finally take this stronghold that had stubbornly and successfully resisted the crown for fifteen years. All approaches to Wallingford had been blocked, the supply lines cut off, and Brian feared they could not hold out without help. Henry must come to their aid at once for the whole Angevin cause in England hung in the balance.
“You must go to England, Henry,” Maud told her son, seated across from him in her father’s small stone chamber. “We cannot abandon Brian. The moment we have been waiting for is at hand.”
“I agree, but Louis still remains a threat not only to Normandy but to Aquitaine as well. If I spread my forces too thin I lose on all fronts. And suppose my brother again decides to stir up trouble in Anjou?”
“Sufficient men must remain here so Normandy can be defended should need arise. Geoffrey you may leave safely to me,” Maud said with an iron glint in her eye. “Don’t forget that Eleanor will be here to keep an eye on Aquitaine should Louis seek to cross its borders. The duchy will remain loyal to her. It is now or never, Henry.”
“It’s a risk—”
“The only place without risk is the grave,” Maud retorted. “Go now! Victory will be yours. I know it in my heart.” She sighed. “If only I could go with you!”
Henry laughed. “There speaks the intrepid warrior who sailed to England thirteen years ago to reclaim my throne for me! A true descendent of our Viking forebears.”
For an instant Maud froze. Sudden anger rose like a hot wave within her. “Your throne? Your throne?”
For a moment, uncertain, Henry paused. It was clear that her cocky whelp had taken for granted his right to be King of England, assuming she would step down as a matter of course, as she had with Normandy.
“Yes, my throne now,” he challenged. “You know perfectly well that you had your chance—and lost it. Threw it away, by all accounts.”
His words pierced her like a barbed arrow. How dare he remind her of that painful time in such a cavalier manner! Overwhelmed by a sense of failure, Maud became so choked with rage that her fingers curled into a fist. She half lifted her arm to strike him. Storm-gray eyes met storm-gray eyes in a blistering, headlong confrontation. The air throbbed between them like flashes of summer lightning. She saw Henry’s jaw jut out in an arrogant, belligerent manner that was strongly reminiscent of … Stephen? Her father?
In an instant Maud realized that it was neither Stephen nor her father Henry reminded her of, but herself. On the heels of that realization came another: Henry was right. By her own doing, she had thrown away her chance to become queen. Stricken with an aching sense of loss, Maud recognized the bitter truth: She would never be Queen of England.
“Very well. Your throne—but only if you can make it yours,” she managed.
“Fair enough! Fair enough, Madam.” He gave her a long, hard look from beneath unruly brows. “I will go to England, then. All my affairs are in your hands, and I will hold you personally responsible if they do not prosper. In my absence—” He paused, studying her white face and flashing eyes. “In my absence—you will be regent of Normandy.”
“Regent? Officially?” She was incredulous.
“Of course! Officially appointed. Writ plain for all to see. Signed with my seal. That is, if you feel up to dealing with such weighty matters.”
“If I feel up to—oh Henry, Henry—”
At this unexpected acknowledgment of his trust, this attempt to give her back something of what she had lost, Maud struggled to suppress a rush of tears. It was not the same as being Queen of England, but still, a regent, acting in place of an absent monarch or lord, had all the authority and power of the ruler himself. It was a position of honor and responsibility. Maud remembered her father telling her how her grandmother, Duchess Matilda, had ruled as regent in Normandy while her husband was busy earning his title of Conqueror in England. The past had come full circle.
Despite the winter storms that made the channel almost impossible to cross, early in January of the new year, 1153, Henry made ready to sail for England. It would be the third attempt to claim his inheritance. This time, he announced to his wife and mother, this time, the final outcome would be decided.