THE CHRONICLE OF MAUD
Volume II
The Forsaken Monarch
By Amy Mantravadi
Copyright © Amy Mantravadi 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission in writing of the author.
ISBN: 9781700334213
Dear Readers,
Thank you for returning for volume two of The Chronicle of Maud, or if this is your first introduction to Maud’s story, welcome! I hope very much that you enjoy what you are about to read. I truly believe it is a great story.
I say that not from arrogance, but with a good dose of humility. After all, I did not create most of this story. I am simply allowing Maud to pass on her tale to you. In this book, she endures immense challenges, tremendous pain, and circumstances that continually seesaw back and forth. My own experiences from the time when I first started drafting this book until now (2016–19) have not been quite as dramatic as Maud’s, but my internal feelings have often seemed equally tumultuous.
It is not my purpose here to dwell on those personal experiences, but simply to say that I felt as if Maud and I walked hand in hand at certain points. Our challenges were different, yet our trajectories were similar. Much like Maud in this novel, I found myself over this period exiting the early days of my life and confronted with a series of very adult challenges. This book does not represent the end of Maud’s story, nor is it the end of mine. We are both waiting for the troubled streams of our existence now colliding to move on to a more peaceful confluence.
Much has been learned in this time, not the least of which is that I am (hopefully) a better writer of novels. My goal with this series was always a bit unique: I was not looking to produce books that would please the widest possible audience. I wanted to write the kind of novels that I would appreciate as a reader, and I wanted to do good service to the woman who is at the center of them.
As a result, I have made many decisions which cut against what you might call the books’ commercial interests. I have been assured that this novel, like its predecessor The Girl Empress, is too long, spends too much time on historical exposition, and has a few scenes that are not critical to the central plot even if they are meant to serve some greater purpose. After initially searching for an agent and/or major publisher for this work, I realized I was never likely to find someone who would embrace this book in the current literary climate. What has been much harder for me to accept is that this does not mean that I am a bad writer.
Self-publishing always felt to me like a kind of defeat: a failure to earn the seal of approval of the literary elite. But when I found out I was pregnant with my first child, I recognized that I did not want to spend the entirety of my pregnancy begging a bunch of strangers in Manhattan to see value in what I already knew had value. After all, I had never expected to make money from writing novels. This book gave me something more precious even before its publication.
You see, I grew along with Maud. I learned from her experiences, and of one thing I am certain: the message of Maud’s life is not commercial success at all costs, neither is it seeking the approval of those who are unlikely to give it. In her life, I see the value of family and friends who truly love you, respect you, and are proud of you. Maud did not always have those things, and that has helped me to see once again how important they are.
So I made the decision to drop my pursuit of greater glory and self-publish this book because I felt it was the best thing for myself and my child at the present time. Not only that, but it allows me to release what in film is called “the director’s cut”: the story I most prefer to tell in the manner I prefer to tell it. I am extremely grateful to Kindle Press for publishing this novel’s predecessor, The Girl Empress. When Kindle Press decided not to take on new titles, I was initially disappointed, but now I see that it might be a blessing in disguise. They gave me a start in my writing career, and now I can carry on with greater creative control. And most importantly, this time there will be footnotes!
I wish to thank all who assisted me on this project. Kristina McBride performed two in-depth, substantive edits on this novel, resulting in great improvements from the initial draft. She was a real encourager and gave very constructive criticism. Mark Swift served as my copy editor and made sure everything was ready for publication, helpfully pointing out potential Americanisms. I am always grateful for the love and support of my family and friends, most especially my husband, who has given me the opportunity to write even though it does almost nothing to help our bottom line. I love you dear, and I am so happy to dedicate this book to you.
Friends, we live in a confusing and concerning age. We have questions about gender and sexuality, the future of our planet’s ecosystem, the prospect of war between nations, etc. People have lost faith in our historic institutions, and many of the bonds that have traditionally held human beings together are breaking. This is not to say that we are all going to hell in a handbasket, but we are certainly living through a time of change, and that is always scary. I worry about the world in which my child will be raised. Will it be less kind than the one I knew as a child? Less hopeful? More hateful?
Empress Maud lived in a time of change as well, standing at the very beginning of what would become the Renaissance. A few generations after her death, the Black Plague swept through the Eurasian continent, consuming 1/3–1/2 of all human life. Yes, these people had problems just like us. They too wondered if their children would have a bright future.
That is why the study of history is absolutely essential: not just the stereotypical, all too easy narratives spoon-fed to us by those with an agenda. I’m talking about the facts laid bare, both good and bad, and analyzed thoughtfully and impartially. This discipline seems lost in our age, but to be fair, human beings have always struggled with it. Myths are much easier to accept than reality. They do not challenge us in the same way, but neither do they provide us with the same kind of hope. Real people facing real challenges and overcoming: that is something from which we can draw real hope.
My grandparents were raised during the Great Depression and my parents during the height of the Cold War. As an old college professor of mine was keen on saying, “The good old days are the result of a bad memory.” But there have been good days, and there will be good days again. Our task is to cherish and protect the good.
Grace and peace to you all. Happy reading!
Amy Mantravadi
P.S. In order to maintain a more authentically medieval style, this novel omits most English words with origins after the year 1500 A.D./C.E. At times, this may result in the appearance of a typo when a word like half-brother is given as two separate words. However, this is almost certainly not an editorial error but a case of adherence to earlier grammatical standards.
P.P.S. All scriptural quotations in this novel are taken from the 16th-century Geneva Bible, with occasional alterations to suit a more modern style. This English translation of the Holy Bible is available in the public domain.
PRIMARY CHARACTERS
The Imperial Court
Henry V, king of Germany, Holy Roman Emperor
Mathilda, empress consort, also known as Maud
Frederick, duke of Swabia, nephew of the emperor
Conrad, duke of Franconia, nephew of the emperor
Adalbert von Saarbrücken, archbishop of Mainz
Drogo, knight in the empress’ service
Gertrude, a lady-in-waiting
Adelaide, a lady-in-waiting
The Norman Court
Henry I, king of England, duke of No
rmandy
Adeliza of Louvain, queen of England
“The King’s Lads”:
Robert, earl of Gloucester, illegitimate son of the king
Brian fitz Count, illegitimate son of the duke of Brittany
Stephen of Blois, count of Mortain, nephew of the king
Robert Beaumont, earl of Leicester
William de Warenne, earl of Surrey
Roger, bishop of Salisbury, de facto chief justiciar of England
Boson, abbot of Bec
Grimbald, a physician
Others
William Clito, nephew of King Henry I, claimant to the dukedom of Normandy
Geoffrey, son of the count of Anjou
Adela, a novice
Henry of Blois, abbot of Glastonbury, later bishop of Winchester, brother of Stephen and nephew of the king
Waleran Beaumont, earl of Meulan
Important Deceased Persons
Mathilda of Scotland, former queen of England, mother to Empress Mathilda
William Ætheling, former heir presumptive to the English throne, brother of Empress Mathilda
Anselm, former archbishop of Canterbury and tutor to Empress Mathilda
For Vijay
A good husband
“Why should she live, to fill the world with words?”
William Shakespeare, Henry VI: Part Three
I
“William Ætheling is no more.”
Had I really spoken those words, or had some fiend possessed me and harnessed my voice for its own purpose? My brother, dead—the thought of it pierced my soul.
Was it not just yesterday that we ran through the cloisters together with Lady Beatrice in breathless pursuit, children content to play until dawn? No, that was years ago, yet I had only just heard of my brother’s elevation to the dukedom. Only a few months hence, his hands were bound with those of Mathilda of Anjou. He had finally achieved the flower of manhood.
“William Ætheling is no more.”
Yes, those words proceeded from my own lips. Even worse, they were the truth: a bitter kind that makes one hate truths. There was no power on earth that could bring him back, for the sea had claimed him for its own.
“There is now only one person alive in whom the royal lines of England and Normandy are joined together. I, Mathilda, empress of the Romans: I am the heir.”
Here was the second truth. Whatever my life was before the emperor’s clerk, Burchard,had rushed into the cathedral of Mainz and pulled us into the small chamber next to the Gotthard Chapel to give us the fateful news, it was now something else entirely. In the innocence of that time, I did not instantly recognize the great burden that was mine. How could I? I knew only that my father was the king of England, and I was his only child through marriage. Therefore, according to all the laws of men, I would inherit what was his.
“Is that possible?”
There they were: the first words of doubt, spoken by my husband, the great Holy Roman Emperor Henry V. I passed but one moment in time before my inheritance was called into question. Even as the news of William’s death had changed my destiny, so those three words seemed to mark the dawning of an uncertain future. I had been pacing back and forth in the dark stone room and turned to look at him standing there across from me, hands perched firmly upon his hips. Even as my own chest felt the strain of each breath, weighed down by the grief of the moment, his features showed all the signs of calm. His bearded chin did not quiver. The scars on his face were not joined by wrinkles of worry.
“What do you mean, ‘Is it possible?’” I asked him.
“Are there no males in the House of Normandy who are fit to wear the crown?”
“There are men in the House of Normandy, but none who descend from the former kings.”
“Even so, surely you don’t think…” The emperor hesitated, unwilling to complete the thought.
“Go on, then!” I goaded. “You do not believe a woman can rule?”
“No, I just meant … What of Duke Robert’s son?”
“The traitor William Clito?!” The very thought offended me.
“Well, he is a descendant of the Conqueror. He has many supporters.”
“He is a traitor and the son of a traitor! He has no right to rule.”
“And what of the children of Adela?”
“The House of Blois?”
“Yes, what about them?”
I felt very much as if he was grasping at straws, and it annoyed me greatly.
“Their lineage is no stronger than my own, for it passes through a woman. And their father is not the king, nor do they carry the blood of Wessex!”
“I do not see why you are so perturbed. People will ask these questions.”
I gave him a very pointed look. “People, or you?”
The emperor sighed far more deeply than I felt was warranted. What offense had I caused him? No, the offense was entirely on his part.
“I suppose you will make a case now for my half brother Robert,” I said, “but for all the love the king bears him, he is a bastard, and a bastard cannot inherit the throne.”
“That much I know, my lady, but consider that there are many who would rather be ruled by a man of lower birth than a woman. However”—here he raised a hand to silence my interruption—“it is true that your reign might be accepted were you to act as joint ruler with your husband. Such situations are more common.”
“Are you saying that you intend to push me out of the way and take the rule of England and Normandy for yourself?” I asked, casting another glare his way.
“No! Only this: that such a thing might be deemed fitting by the lords and the Church, until we have a son who can succeed to the throne. Just imagine it! The realms of England, Normandy, and all the lands of the empire, brought together under the rule of our son. Such a thing has never been heard of since the days of ancient Rome!”
Though I still did not like his claim that I would only be accepted as queen if I was under his command, I had to admit that his idea had merit. If we could just have a son, he would indeed be heir to an empire unlike any other. His glory and renown would be unmatched, and as for the king of France, no longer would Normandy pay homage to him, but rather he would surely owe fealty to us! The Lord had not seen fit to grant us children yet, but perhaps by some miracle we might have a son—a son who would one day rule over the greatest empire in Christendom.
Even so, the excitement that threatened to carry my mind into flights of fancy was held in check by the sorrow that filled my heart. Indeed, I felt guilty that I had forgotten William for even a moment. I was in no mood to talk of empires. There was no glory, no comfort to be had. There was only the abyss of death.
“Let us speak no more of this. I must retreat and mourn my brother,” I said softly.
Suddenly, I was roused by the sound of a third voice—a person I had forgotten was standing in the shadows near the portal to the cathedral—saying, “Of course, my lady.”
It was Burchard: the man who had brought the ill news that first started this conversation. I had been so caught up in my thinking, talking, and pacing that his presence had rather slipped my mind. He had stood silent throughout our discussion, but now sensed his moment to speak.
“Shall I call the ladies and have them take you back to the palace?”
For just a moment, I noticed the distant sound of chanting in the cathedral and business in the market square that stood beyond the stone walls. Outside, men and beasts were enjoying the gifts of the day, free from the knowledge of my pain. I felt that stepping back across the threshold would mean entering the world again, and the news I had received would become doubly real. It frightened me.
“There is no need,” the emperor responded. “I will walk with the empress myself.”
He took me by the arm and led me first into the nave of the cathedral, then out into the busy streets of Mainz, but my thoughts were not with him. Th
e warmth of his touch lent me no comfort. I felt as if I was stumbling along in some terrible dream. All I knew was the cold embrace of grief. It seemed to invade my form, and the weight was unbearable.
“William …” I whispered. “William … What strange force drew you hence, and what am I without you?”
August 1165
Rouen, Normandy
How strange it seems to think back now on that part of my life, when I was still so young and had most of my days ahead of me! Now I sit alone by the bank of the River Seine. Well, not quite alone. As my life draws to a close, I think more of heaven, and I long to be closer to God. I also long to tell my story to one who is dear before it is too late.
In the first part of my tale, I spoke of my early years, in which I was stripped from my home and sent to live in the empire. Many adventures I had there, and some I must still share. The news of my brother’s death changed the course of my life, and it is to that time that I turn now. My faithful clerk, Lawrence, is writing down my words as always. From time to time, I may share something of my daily life now, always noting the date, but this is of less interest. I come nearer the end now. The glorious days are behind me.
I write to you, my daughter—not a daughter in the usual manner, but a daughter nevertheless. I bequeath to you this account of my days. In it, I share the things I have done, whether righteous or not. I pray you, judge me kindly. Have mercy upon an old soul. But most of all, I beg you, remember me. Remember me as I was in the days of glory and the lonely hours. Remember my sufferings and my joys. Remember that I fought, perhaps not always as one to win, but ever as one to try.
Come now, let us return to the past, for in so doing we remember who we are and what we must become.
I struggle to describe just how painful the news of my brother’s death was for me to receive. The death of my mother had left a wound in my heart that was still very much open. I felt as if a part of me had died with her. Then with the death of my brother William, it was as if my entire childhood had been destroyed, and I had no home to which I could return. Yes, my father still lived and breathed, but I barely knew him in comparison, and there was no real affection between us. He had never showed any concern for me except in what I could bring him through marriage. My last memory was of him pushing me into the carriage that would take me away from everything I knew. I had hoped one day to return, but with the sinking of the White Ship, there was no possibility of fully returning: the life I once knew was gone.
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