The Fatal Crown (51 page)

Stephen quickly downed the wine. By God’s birth, it had never been his intention to
harm
Roger, merely remove him from power and fill the empty treasury. Of course he felt distressed about the poor bishop but, after all, the man was guilty of treason. His advisers had assured him of that.

What he had not expected, Stephen realized with a sigh, was the fact that the church, as well as many barons, were horrified by what he had done. In a humiliating confrontation led by his brother Henry, now Papal Legate, he had been accused of a lamentable crime, an offense unheard of in Christian lands, and severely reminded that he owed obedience to Christ’s church. And where was the evidence that Roger had been guilty of treason? Henry had asked. When it came down to it no one could produce any hard facts—only rumors and gossip.

Stephen had attempted to soothe the ruffled feathers of the clergy with promises to make amends to Roger’s family. But how was he supposed to do that? The prelate’s confiscated wealth had not been sufficient to revive the ailing treasury for long. He could not create bricks out of straw, which was why he was now forced to debase the coinage.

Feeling the need to clear his head, Stephen left the hall and climbed the staircase to the battlements. Two guards stood at attention as he approached. He stood before an embrasure, knowing with a sick heart that the tide was running against him. In a desperate gamble to win the loyalty of all the English barons, now that the church was opposed to him, he had started giving away lands, castles, and titles as if there were no end to them—yet how many true adherents had he won?

The Matins bell began to chime. Stephen, about to seek his bed, thought he saw, far to the south across a range of hills, a flicker of light. He rubbed his eyes. Was he imagining things at this witching hour? No, by God, there it was again. The tip of the range was crowned with a cone of fire.

“Sire, look,” said one of the guards. “What can it mean?”

Stephen made no reply, watching in disbelief as the light spread. A beacon suddenly blazed from a tower on the outskirts of Oxford; another appeared behind Reading Abbey. Suddenly his heart began to pound like a drum; his hands gripped the stone merlon. Sweet Jesu! The light was a signal that his worst fears were about to be realized. He knew exactly what path the signal would travel: Abingdon, Faringdon, the Cotswolds, Bristol, Gloucester, and away west to the border of Wales. The burning trail would herald the news to her supporters: Maud had at last come home to claim her crown.

S
LOWLY MAUD OPENED HER
eyes, confused, she took in the strange chamber with its blue and gold hangings, carved oak chest, and the dark blue canopy over her head. Where was she? Gradually memory returned: the channel crossing from Normandy, landing yesterday evening at Southampton where she and Robert were met by one hundred and forty knights; the long night ride to west Sussex; the arrival at Arundel Castle and their reluctant reception by Alix’s new husband, William de Albini, Earl of Sussex.

Maud yawned and turned over to go back to sleep, when she suddenly remembered that she and Robert were due to leave for Bristol this morning. Forcing herself awake, she slid from the wide bed and quickly dressed in the serviceable brown traveling gown and tunic she had worn yesterday.

Picking up a mirror Maud examined herself, wondering if Alix would think her greatly changed since she had last seen her—sweet Marie, it must be all of six years ago now. This morning she looked absurdly young for a woman of thirty-seven with three sons. Even to her critical eye, the thick plaits of cinnamon-colored hair falling to her waist had lost none of their burnished gleam. Her creamy skin was still smooth and unblemished; her body had remained lithe and slender though perhaps a little fuller in the bosom and rounder in the hips. Only her eyes, yes, something about the smoky-gray eyes reflected an inner turmoil, a reminder of the pain and distress of the last four years.

She put the mirror away. The past was dead, Maud admonished herself, only the future mattered now. Hastily pulling a mantle over her shoulders, she left the chamber for the great hall. The trestle tables were only half filled with the Lord of Arundel’s mesnie and a few of Robert’s knights who had traveled with her yesterday. Of Robert himself there was no sign. Alix, several of her women, and the chaplain were seated at the high table. On her lap the former queen held a sleeping baby; sitting next to her was a little girl of about eighteen months.

“Alix, what a pleasure to see you!” Maud bent to kiss her stepmother’s upturned face. “So these are your children.”

Alix gave a proud smile. “And another, three months on the way.”

“You’re lovelier than ever,” Maud said, her eyes admiring Alix’s beautiful serene face framed in a white wimple, a tendril of dark gold hair curling on her ivory brow. “This marriage agrees with you, I see.”

Alix’s face turned pink as she nodded happily. “The years have treated you kindly as well, Maud. In fact, you look very little older than when we first met.”

Maud gave her a pleased smile. “Thank you. Ever since last night I’ve wanted to tell you how grateful I am that you were willing to receive me. It can’t have been an easy decision to grant me asylum, for I know your husband supports my cousin.”

“He agreed to help you for my sake, despite the risk.” Alix paused, a look of concern passing over her face. “I pray Stephen doesn’t come to hear of this. He will surely look upon any aid to you as an act of treason.”

“I’m well aware of the danger you have risked for my sake,” Maud said. “When I’ve gained the throne I’ll find a concrete way of showing my gratitude.”

Alix gave her a gentle smile. “I need no reward for following my conscience. Will you break your fast now?” She indicated platters of roast fowl, a haunch of venison, eel pies, baskets of fruit, and freshly baked bread.

Maud made a place for herself at the table; a page poured her a goblet of spiced wine while a servitor topped her trencher with food.

“Is Robert about?” Maud asked.

“He left for Wallingford with half his knights and my husband as escort at least an hour ago. From there he travels to Bristol.”

“Left! But I was to have gone with him. How could he leave without me?”

“As you were still asleep, Robert felt you should rest, while you still could, he said. He was also concerned about the dangers of traveling just now. The roads are no longer safe, as they were in your father’s day, Maud. When your brother can ensure your safety he will return for you.”

“I should be with Robert,” Maid said, disheartened. “After all, he goes to raise more men for my cause.” She gave an impatient sigh. “If I’d wanted safety I would have stayed in Anjou. I’m of a mind to go after him.”

Alix looked horrified. “Oh, my dear, you mustn’t think of such an undertaking. If Stephen’s army should get their hands on you—”

“We were told we were in no danger from Stephen’s forces,” Maud interrupted, surprised.

“His troops are rumored to be well away from these parts, true, but I beg you take no risk. As you’re a guest in my castle I’m responsible for you now.”

Maud knew Alix was right but her place was with her half brother, not cooling her heels in Arundel. It might be weeks before Robert returned. What use would she be to him shut up with the women and children?

“It must have been very painful for you to leave your sons,” Alix was saying now.

“Particularly Henry,” Maud agreed, aware of an empty ache inside her when she thought of her eldest son. “I do miss him most dreadfully. But he’s safe at Angers in Aldyth’s care. She wanted to come with me, but she’s too old now for such journeys, and ails frequently.”

Her glance followed Alix’s, whose eyes rested lovingly on the sleeping boy in her arms. If that child had been born to my father, Maud realized with a start, the succession would never have come into dispute. She would still be in Germany, Stephen would not be king, and Henry would never have been born. How different everyone’s lives would be now. That matters had fallen out as they did seemed to her a propitious omen for her future.

“For two supposedly barren wives we have done remarkably well for ourselves,” Maud said, with a twinkle in her eye.

Alix, who had been gazing raptly at her son’s face, turned her soft doe’s eyes upon Maud. The two women exchanged a look of perfect understanding, then burst out laughing.

The next two days passed without incident. Then, on her third night in Arundel, Maud was suddenly awakened from a deep sleep by someone shaking her shoulder.

“What is it?” she whispered, as she became aware of Alix standing over her, a lighted candle in one hand. “What is the hour?”

“Just after Lauds. Forgive me for waking you,” Alix said in a breathless voice, “but Wulf, captain of the guard, has just informed me of the sound of men and horses outside the castle walls.”

Maud’s heart jumped a beat. “Robert, back already?” But she knew it could not be Robert.

“The captain fears it may be the King’s forces come to besiege the castle.” The candlelight flickered on Alix’s face, revealing a look of naked fear.

“But how in heaven’s name could they know I am here?” She sat up, pulling the coverlet around her to keep warm.

“The captain thinks Arundel may have been watched, Robert and my lord seen leaving, then word sent to Stephen. It’s rumored that the King has spies everywhere.” The anxiety in Alix’s voice was palpable. “Oh Maud, I’m so frightened!’”

She has probably never experienced a siege before, Maud realized, and was ill-equipped to do so now. “How many men have been left to guard us?” she asked.

“I—I don’t know. All this is new to me. I’ve never been in any real danger before.”

“The captain is sure to know. I’ll get dressed and meet you in the great hall.” Maud grasped Alix’s icy hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m so sorry to bring this trouble upon you, but don’t worry. Your husband should return any day and Robert within the week. There’s no real danger,” she added with a confidence she was far from feeling.

Alix gave her a timid smile, lit another candle on the oak table next to the bed, and left. Dressing quickly, Maud was filled with apprehension at the thought of Stephen camped outside the castle walls. If only she had gone with Robert she would be safe in Wallingford or even Bristol now. Well, there was no help for it. Let her treacherous cousin besiege the castle; he would soon know the caliber of the enemy he sought to capture! Lifting her head proudly she marched out of the chamber.

In the great hall, Maud found Wulf, captain of the guard.

“How many men do you have?” she asked him.

“Not enough, Lady, if my men are dealing with the King’s forces, particularly those Flemish devils,” he told her. “We heard Stephen was at least thirty leagues away in the west country, so my Lord of Arundel took half of the mesnie with him. The Earl of Gloucester left only a few of his knights. And as for supplies—” He shook his head in despair.

Maud’s heart sank. “Then the castle is not prepared for a long siege. How long could we hold out if forced to do so?”

“On half rations probably a month, but there’s the water to worry about, as we had a dry summer and the well is down.”

A servitor offered Maud a pewter tankard of ale. As she sipped the warming brew, she tried to hide her concern.

“It is my belief that if the King is camped outside these walls, he will send a herald to treat with Lady Alix at daybreak,” Maud said, determined not to be discouraged.

“I agree, Madam.” The captain paused, then lowered his voice. “The Lady of Arundel is with child again, as you must know. But what you may not know, Madam, is that she almost lost the last one, the heir. It is most unfortunate that this … this trouble should come upon us just now.”

He did not add, “and I hold you responsible,” but Maud heard the unspoken condemnation as clearly as if he had shouted it aloud.

At first light, Maud and Alix, accompanied by the captain, climbed to the battlements. In the gray mist of an October dawn, Maud could see an army camped below the outer walls of the castle. Small brushwood fires burned in the meadow; horses whinnied and stamped their hooves while men scurried about erecting pavilions, carrying buckets of water from the nearby river, and unloading carts. As the sun began to burn away the mist there was a sudden flash of arms.

Alix stepped quickly away from the parapet. “I feel a bit queasy,” she said in an apologetic voice. “I best go down.”

Maud looked at her anxiously, praying she would not miscarry. Reluctantly, she took a last look at the tallest of the pavilions, azure blue, arrogantly flying a silver pennant. It could only belong to the King. A surge of anger almost choked her. Gripping Alix’s arm, Maud led her down the stairs, the captain following.

As the bells rang for Tierce, a herald was ushered into the great hall. In the presence of Maud, Alix and her women, the captain and all his men, he relayed the King’s message: King Stephen was shocked and dismayed at the behavior of the Earl of Sussex and his lady. The Lord of Arundel had been seen riding from his lands escorting a sworn enemy of the realm, Earl Robert of Gloucester. The Lady of Arundel, whom King Stephen had always held in the highest regard, now harbored within her walls an avowed enemy of the realm who could not be permitted to remain.” Unless the Countess of Anjou was immediately delivered up to the King, he would be forced to besiege the castle. King Stephen had with him a large army, as they could see for themselves, and the castle would be cut off from reinforcements or aid of any kind.

Alix’s lips trembled. She clutched Maud’s hand. “You must give me a moment,” she gasped.

The herald bowed and turned away as Alix, leaning heavily on Maud, walked out of earshot.

“I deeply regret having brought this upon you,” Maud said. Two spots of color flamed in her cheeks and she could have screamed with the frustration of her dashed hopes.

To have plotted and planned for four years, waiting for just the right moment to strike. And now, when the land was seething with rebellion and discontent, when Brian’s forces were marshaled at Wallingford, Robert’s men ready at Bristol, her Uncle David poised on the border of Scotland for his third invasion of England—to be made Stephen’s prisoner within days after having landed was simply not to be borne.