Perhaps it was this belief that caused me to hope as I had never dared hope. It might be possible, I thought, to devise an argument by which even the king would be forced to acknowledge that I should marry Brian and no other. This proves how my mind had grown dependent on him, for I had been willing to accept defeat a few months earlier, but now my desire for victory overwhelmed my senses, or at least my good sense.
The perfect argument came to me one day when I was in conversation with the king’s physician, Grimbald, the same who was present at my birth. It was one night during supper in the great hall. I remember the moment well.
“I hear the king is considering many offers for your hand,” he said.
“Yes, that is true, though he must work with the English nobles. They will want to have some say in the matter.”
“Of course! They will seek to prevent foreign influence. Forgive me, my lady, but I am sure they will assume that whomever you marry will be the true ruler.”
There it was: my hope of salvation. Grimbald had unwittingly provided me the perfect weapon for my dispute, for he was right that all men hate to be ruled by foreigners, and a female could never rule by her power alone, so a foreign husband would amount to a foreign ruler. Of course, I had more hope than the average person that a woman could rule: after all, I had served as regent for the emperor in Italy, and that had gone well enough. I at least had confidence that a woman could govern with the help of counselors until her son came of age, but the concerns of nobles surely had some merit, for any husband of a queen would attempt to do half or more of the ruling. As these concerns worked to my advantage at that moment in time, I saw every reason to embrace them. Indeed, I was made so glad by the good doctor’s words, that I might have kissed him had I not possessed some sense of propriety.
The second bit of good fortune came when the entire court was taking part in the hunt. We had ridden about two hours east of Rouen into the forest of Lyons, but not quite as far as the king’s lodge at Lyons-la-Forêt. This was the best hunting ground in that region of Normandy, with a wealth of small animals to chase and even the occasional stag. As the company made its way along the dirt path, which was less visible on account of the many leaves that had fallen upon it, I thought I saw a doe running off into the thicket.
“Oh, I saw one over there!” I declared, pulling on the reins to stop my horse and pointing to the right.
The king himself did not stop, but the king’s lads all looked in the direction I had indicated. Robert Beaumont seemed to speak for them all. “I see nothing. Are you sure you’re not imagining things?”
“I certainly am not,” I replied. “I will not delay to debate the point. I must chase after it, even if you all refuse to come.”
Drogo had been riding beside me. “I will come with you, my lady! You must not ride alone.”
“I am beholden to you, Sir Drogo, but I need you to stay with the king,” I said.
In truth, I had no good reason for him to do so, and I dearly hoped he would not press the matter further. The whole purpose of this ruse was to get me to my next question.
“If you insist,” Drogo muttered, his eyes rather downcast.
Poor man! I had refused his services more than once of late for the same reason, and I began to suspect that it was having an ill effect on our friendship. Nevertheless, I did not feel I could tell him or anyone else about my secret affairs without great hazard. I would make sure he received some extra lampreys that evening.
“Is there no one else who is willing to break off from the company?” I called out.
Perhaps you can guess which knight was willing to leave the main party and follow me deep into the forest, far from curious eyes.
“Would you permit me to accompany you, my lady?” Brian asked. “I know this wood very well, having accompanied the king here many times. I will ensure that we return safely.”
This answer was deemed satisfactory to all. The two of us left the main path and rode deeper into the forest, until we were far enough away not to fear being discovered. Brian led me to a grassy meadow, where the sun was not blocked by the tall beech trees. He set out his cloak on the ground and we lay down side by side, holding hands.
After we had remained there for several minutes with hardly a word passing between us, he asked, “How long do you suppose we have?”
“This is a stubborn deer. I think I had better stalk it for a while.”
“Fine by me. Here, I picked these for you,” he told me, holding out some pretty purple blooms he had kept hidden beneath the cloak.
“How lovely!” I said, clutching them in my free hand and smelling them. “Did you find these in the woods somewhere?”
“Sadly, no. I took them from the garden before we left.”
I gasped in mock outrage and swatted him. “Thief! I ought to tell on you, only I should get myself in trouble as well.”
“Very wise. Now, let me ask you this, though I hate to say anything that might take away from this moment. How long do you think we have … ever?”
“What do you mean?”
“How long before the king finds you a husband?”
This was a most unpleasing line of inquiry. I could see the sadness in his eyes as he asked it.
“I hope never! But I am sure he will decide on someone in time,” I answered quietly.
He turned his eyes toward the heavens and I did the same. The only sounds were the wind running through the grass and the distant songs of the birds.
“So where does that leave us?” he asked, after a moment had passed. “I mean, as far as anyone knows, there is no ‘us.’”
“Oh, there is certainly an ‘us’!”
“I doubt the king will see it that way, and I owe him everything. He is the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had, given that my own father forsook me.”
I did not remember hearing Brian speak of his father before, and no wonder, for he hardly knew the man. I had not recognized that he was carrying around that pain. I touched his face and he closed his eyes, seeming to savor it. I then leaned in and rubbed my nose on his cheek gently.
“He did not forsake you,” I said firmly, pulling back and looking into his eyes. “He sent you where he knew you would have the best chance.”
“Well, he was right. The king has given me everything, though I am afraid that the one thing I want most is the one he would be most loath to part with.”
He rubbed my hand with his own. I saw the sadness in his eyes again, even as his mouth formed into a smile.
“Brian …” I whispered.
“Maud?”
“I am not sure how to say this, so I will just say it.” I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. “I wish to be your wife.”
He did not respond at once, but raised my hand and kissed it. He then looked deeply into my eyes. “My love, you know that is not possible, as much as we might long for it.”
I had anticipated this answer. However, I had devised a response that I thought would allow him to overcome his concerns, and I was eager to tell him about it.
“It may be possible. I thought of how it would work. You are the son of the former duke of Brittany. I am sure you could be given estates as great as most men who would pursue me. But more than that, the king knows you and trusts you.”
“He may trust me less when he knows our secret.”
“What have you done that is so ignoble?”
“Well, the lady of Wallingford would likely be unhappy if she knew what we’ve been up to, though that matter is not settled. The king has made his will known—”
“You never entered an agreement with her, Brian. Even the king cannot take a vow for you. We have no reason to feel ashamed!” I said quite firmly, for I was not about to be overcome by false guilt. “But here is the most essential point: the lords of England and Normandy do not want me to marry a foreigner who will strive to rule by himself. If I marry you, then they will be ruled by one of their own, and someone who is not a tyrant. I see man
y points in your favor!”
“You really are serious, aren’t you?” he said, the look on his face one of concern more than anything.
“The king already used me once to make an alliance. He owes me this. So what do you think?”
He sighed deeply. “I think it will not work, and it will get me banished from court.”
I was somewhat hurt that he was opposing me on this matter. I had thought that Brian of all people would support me in the pursuit of my desires, for they were our desires—at least, I thought they were. Instead, he seemed to be placing his own position at court ahead of any chance the two of us might have to be together.
“Oh, so that is all you care about, then?” I snapped, pulling my hand back from his.
“No! That is not what I meant.”
“Honestly, Brian! Do you love me or not, because if you really care for me as much as you say, then I do not understand why you are unwilling to put up any kind of fight.”
This answer was a bit too much to the point, but my frustration in the moment prevented me from seeing it.
“I have no concern for myself, but for you,” he said, his voice growing louder along with mine. “What if he decides to deprive you of your rightful inheritance?”
This question stung. Would my father really do such a thing? Deny his own flesh and blood? I had to admit that he might, but what then? Might he send me into exile and give the crown to one of my cousins? What kind of life would I have then? Perhaps it might be worth it. Oh, but what kind of future would England have?! No, it was too awful to consider further. I would not allow myself to be drawn in to such thoughts.
“He can’t do that!” I declared. “I am the only one descended from the line of Wessex.”
“Except for your cousin, Lady Mathilda of Boulogne, who has just married Count Stephen, and we all know how fond the king is of Stephen.”
I stood up, for I was getting quite upset. “Why will you not support me in this?”
“Because it is madness!” he replied, springing to his feet as well.
“Why?! Why is it madness?”
“For all the reasons we have discussed.”
“But I know that you would be a better husband to me than any man who walks this earth!”
“And I know that you are the king’s daughter—his only heir. You must marry someone high and mighty with whom you can give birth to a dynasty. I know this. Everyone knows this! I dare say, you know it too, though your generosity toward me makes you wish to deny it. But neither of us can change what we are. However much I might desire—no, it is best not to speak the words. It cannot be!”
A thousand thoughts were filling my mind, but it was my heart that called attention to itself. For weeks, we had existed in near perfect bliss, and all for the sole reason that we did not address the question of our future. Now that the issue had been raised and I had spoken my desire, I felt hurt that he was seemingly opposing me. I knew I would have difficulty in convincing my father, but I had assumed that Brian would be on my side, walking with me no matter where the road led. His claim to be serving my interests seemed rather hollow: indeed, it felt like cowardice. My interest was to be with him. I truly did not understand. What had he been playing at?
“Then what is the purpose of this?!” I cried. “To what end did you decide to woo me if not to have me for yourself?”
He sighed and shook his head. “I admit that I have been reckless. It is not my usual habit, but you have somehow bewitched me.”
I found this argument very weak and let him know it. “Oh, so you kissed me because I placed a spell on you? What rubbish!”
“I kissed you,” he said, putting his hands on my face, “because my entire being compelled me to do so. I could not deny you when I learned that you shared my love.”
“And yet you would deny me this?” I asked, pushing his hands away.
I was beginning to cry again. I shed far too many tears in those days. He pulled me close to himself and rubbed my back slowly.
“Breathe, Maud,” he said softly. “Perhaps you have good reason to be angry with me, but do not allow it to bring you low. A creature as lovely as you is meant to fly, and you will fly: I know you will.”
The anger seemed to slowly diminish. My breath was coming more easily again. I stepped back and took each of his hands in one of mine. I rubbed each one with my thumbs, making a study of them with my eyes and then lifting those eyes to meet those of my love.
“Brian, I know the king. He has nothing but respect for you, his faithful servant. The succession is now of first importance. The king needs me to provide an heir, and in order to do so, I believe he will be more considerate of my wishes. You measure yourself far too harshly. When we return to England, I will make my address unto the king, and I will not rest until I have gained his consent. I simply need you to be with me, Brian. Will you fight for me?”
His eyes seemed to search my face, and then a smile formed on his lips. “I swear to you now, there is nothing I would not do to ensure your contentment and the peace of this kingdom.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I knew you would not fail me.”
In the days just before Michaelmas in the year 1126, when the autumn leaves were just beginning to change their colors and the summer heat had left us behind, I saw something which I had thought I might never see again, a sight so dear to my heart that it brought a tear to my eye: the white cliffs of England. Sixteen years! That is how long it had been since I sat upon those cliffs with Drogo and cast my gaze in the opposite direction, pondering what the future might hold. Now they rose up to welcome me to my heart’s content, for I was come to my true home and the place of my birth.
We were not to make port in Dover, but rather to sail up the Thames until we reached the city of London and its sister, Westminster, where we would finally drop anchor. That was not the most pleasant voyage, for we had with us two infamous traitors: Waleran Beaumont of Meulan and his fellow, Hugh the son of Gervase. Since their defeat at the hands of the king’s men two years earlier, they had been rotting in the prison of Rouen, a just punishment for their treason. Now, the king saw fit to bring them to England, the better to keep them under his watch.
I remember well the day we set off. We had all made our way down to the pier at the southern gate of the castle of Rouen, where the king’s fleet of ships were waiting for us to board. It was a rather chill morning, so I was bundled up in my best fur cloak. The servants had almost finished moving a vast number of possessions from the palace down to the boats. I moved this way and that to avoid men carrying tables or leading horses. I had made it through the south gate and was about to board the king’s ship when I heard a voice calling, “Halt! Everyone make way!”
Along with the servants, knights, and nobles who were standing nearby, I moved back to clear a path between the gate and the boats. I saw the warder walking in front of a gang of four prisoners all chained together. They had come from the dungeon that was attached to the north wall of the castle, a place where I had not set foot once during my time there, for I was far more interested in other endeavors, and in any case, noble ladies are not frequent visitors to dungeons. Now I saw the four men with my own eyes. They wore fine clothing, but it was so filthy and tattered that it gave no appearance of nobility. Their heads had all been shorn, either to keep out the lice or to shame them.
“Behold, traitors of the king’s majesty!” the warder cried. “Look upon them and beware!”
Several of those standing by hurled abuse and even spat at them as the guards worked to load them on to one of the ships for transport to other prisons in England. As they were passing, one of the men gazed directly at me. The look on his face was so stern, I was convinced that he loathed me. It sent a shiver through my bones.
When they had all been placed within the hold of their ship and the warder was making his way back up the slope toward the gate, I approached him and gained his attention.
“Tell me, who was the last of th
e prisoners: the one with the light hair wearing the green cloak?” I asked.
“That was Waleran of Meulan, my lady,” he replied. “He is being brought back to England to answer for his treasons.”
“What will happen to him? Is he to be put to death?”
The warder took a deep breath as if bracing himself to say something of great import.
“He is subject to the king’s justice now, whatever that may be,” he replied firmly.
His words made me feel uneasy. I had a sudden vision of axes dropping and bones cracking.
As the warder made to leave again, I touched his arm and asked him the question I most feared.
“Please tell me, sir, is there any particular reason why this man should hate me?”
“That I know not,” he answered, “but the men under my watch are not what you might call gentle souls.”
This conversation was on my mind as we set off down the River Seine. I felt the icy stare of Waleran burned into my mind. It made me ill to be joined by traitors on our voyage, although I do not think it would have disturbed me half as much had those eyes not pierced into my soul and left a mark.
For all their betrayals, Waleran and Hugh would hardly be the most well-known prisoners kept in an English castle. That honor—if you can call it that—was held by my uncle Robert, eldest son of the Conqueror. Since his defeat at Tinchebray in 1106, he had spent twenty years at Devises, chief castle of Bishop Roger of Salisbury. There he must have had ample time to consider the height from which he had fallen, even as his son William Clito was a continual thorn in the side of us all.
Though I never met my uncle, I had it on good authority that he was as poor of a general as he was a ruler. His attempted invasion of England after my father came to the throne was swiftly put down, for even the common people would not approve of his disloyalty. It was only a few years before he lost Normandy as well, leaving his son to carry the banner while he lived out his days in prison. I might have pitied him were he not such a fiend.
The Forsaken Monarch Page 24
