I had been so caught up in my conversation with the queen that I had not noticed this change.
“Ah, we had best join them,” I replied. “It is so good to see you, Queen Mathilda!”
“Likewise, Empress Mathilda!” she said with a smile.
We then moved into that greatest of halls, the pride and joy of Westminster Palace. How many times in my early days had I longed to take part in the feasts the king would hold every evening? The wood beams that held up the ceiling had been painted with red and blue designs since I last saw them, and banners with the king’s emblem were hung from the upper walk. Other than that, it was little changed from the hall of my youth. However, instead of being consigned to the private chambers that were out of sight, I was seated in the place of honor next to the two kings and their queens. When we had finished the meal, the men left us females sitting at the table while they attended to their games. That put me in conversation with Queen Adeliza, Queen Mathilda, and the countess of Surrey, Elizabeth Vermandois.
Now, Lady Elizabeth was one of the most prominent women at court, being not only a descendant of French kings, but also the widow of the second earl of Leicester. By him she was mother to the Beaumont twins—the traitor Waleran and the rather forgettable Robert—and a few other children, including a daughter who was once my father’s mistress. The countess had since been wed a second time to William de Warenne, count of Surrey, and given birth to five more children, for a total of more than a dozen, only one of whom had committed treason to date. She was so fruitful that I felt as if she was mocking me.
Some said her second marriage was too impetuous, coming as it did right after the death of the old earl, and this in turn gave rise to rumors that she may have had good reason to marry in haste, for her son William was born rather soon. What the good lady did in her spare time was truly none of my business, and I did not find it half as repugnant as her compulsion to chatter on and on about this and that, to the point of inducing slumber in the hearer. Thus, when I saw my chance to break away, I seized it and left the two queens to their sad fate.
I walked toward the far end of the hall, where several of the men were crowded around a small table at which Stephen and Brian were playing at checks.
“Well met, sister!” brother Robert said, placing his arm around me. “Come to join the men, then?”
“You all left me over there alone,” I complained.
“You were not alone! You were with the queens and, oh—”
Here he caught sight of the queens Mathilda and Adeliza still locked in conversation with Countess Elizabeth, looking very much as if they hoped an invading army would save them.
“Yes—oh!” I said.
“Sorry about that.”
“It only took me about ten minutes to get out of it this time. That might be a record. The queens were not much help. They’re far too polite. So who is winning?” I asked, looking back at the two men bent over the table.
“Brian can usually beat him, but I think Stephen is doing better this time,” he said, even as the crowd cheered the seizure of Brian’s rook from the board.
“Why aren’t you playing?” I asked, turning my head toward my brother.
“I was, but I lost to Stephen in the first round.”
“Oh—pity.”
“Ah, that’s my girl!” he said, embracing me again.
“Come, Brian! We don’t have all night for me to beat you!” Stephen mocked.
Brian did not respond but continued to study the board. We had hardly spoken since arriving in England, and a part of me hoped he would lose so I could invent some reason for us to talk. Then again, I would certainly enjoy watching him beat my cousin.
“Sir Brian!” I called. “Move your knight to threaten the queen.”
“Cheaters!” Stephen protested, looking at each of us in turn even though Brian had not asked for my help.
“Fine, you can seek my advice on your next turn,” I replied.
“I don’t need advice, especially from a woman!” he said, returning his gaze to the board. His tone was one of mockery, but I sensed there was something real to it. He looked rather angry.
“That’s where you’re wrong, friend,” Brian said, moving his knight as I proposed. “Your move.”
Stephen took little time to consider, moving his queen to seize Brian’s knight.
“There: that is what you get for listening to a woman,” he said, leaning back and taking a drink from his goblet.
Brian simply looked at me and smiled. He moved his own queen to the side, struck his palm on the edge of the table, and declared, “Checkmate!”
Stephen was so taken by surprise that he actually coughed up some of the wine he was drinking. His eyes darted from one side of the board to the other, desperately seeking anything that would belie Brian’s words, but there was nothing to be done. There before him, plain as day, was the sad tale of his defeat.
“Lay down your king, cousin!” Robert cried.
Stephen continued to stare at the board for a moment longer, searching for something Brian might have missed. At last, he did lay down his king and stood up. “You have bested me today, Sir Brian, but do not think to receive such charity tomorrow!” Here he pointed at him fiercely as if slicing the air, the better to make his point.
“I am sure it was merely the good fortune of the moment,” Brian offered, standing up himself. “Now, who is next?”
“Why not the two kings?” I asked.
This seemed to draw the support of the crowd, and a representative was sent to retrieve the two rulers. After stopping to talk to six or seven more people, they finally sat down and began to arrange the board for play.
“Now, King David, you know that as my vassal, it is your duty to let me win,” King Henry said, as he arranged his pawns.
“Vassal?” King David replied. “What is this you speak of?”
“Why, that I made you into what you are today! No man would deny it.”
“I think you will find that it was my sister who made you into what you are,” the Scottish king contended, placing the last of his pieces. “And that was only because she rejected both your brother and Count William here,” he added, pointing to William de Warenne.
I looked at the count’s face and noticed that it was rather more red than normal.
“You aren’t still sore about that, William?” King Henry asked, not even turning to look at the man as he addressed him.
“No, of course not, my lord,” he answered faithfully. “I could never compare myself with you.”
“Right you are. Very well, let’s begin!” my father declared. “Your move, brother.”
King David moved a pawn forward and King Henry did the same. Back and forth they moved in quick succession, taking little time to consider.
“I meant to ask your advice about something, brother,” my father said.
“Does it have to be now?” my uncle asked, moving one of his bishops.
“Yes, or how else shall I distract you from the game? As you know, I have the traitor Robert Curthose in custody.”
“What else is new?” King David replied.
“I am considering sending him off to Cardiff Castle.”
“That is one of yours, Robert?” David asked, looking at my brother.
“Yes,” Earl Robert replied.
“And what does the lord of Salisbury think of that?” my uncle inquired, looking over at Bishop Roger, who was speaking in the opposite corner with the bishop of London.
“He is my man. He will think whatever I wish him to think,” King Henry said with conviction.
“Well, it would move the traitor farther away, but is that really something you want to take on, Robert?” the Scottish king asked.
“I am perfectly content,” brother Robert replied.
“Then I see no problem,” said King David.
“It’s settled then! Robert, you will return home by way of Devises and transfer the prisoner to Cardiff,” King Henry announced. “Now, where
were we? Ah yes! Check, brother.”
About this time, I looked over and saw that Brian was standing alone by the far wall, so I walked over to him. I offered him a smile, which he returned.
“You have been rather distant,” I whispered. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all. The king has me looking over his accounts.”
“His accounts?”
“Yes, he wishes your brother and me to do a full audit of the royal treasury in the New Year.”
“That is excellent news!” I said. “He treats you as if you were his own son.”
Of course, I very much wanted to see Brian rise as high as possible in the king’s opinion, for that could only aid my efforts to gain him as my husband. However, my excitement did not seem to be shared by my love. He let out a sigh, and there was a frown on his face.
“Take care, Empress Maud,” he warned, guessing my thoughts. “You know the king intends me to marry Mathilda D’Oyly—very soon, I think.”
It was then my turn to frown. Dropping my voice, I beseeched him. “Brian, you must delay as long as you can until I have a chance to speak with him.”
“I don’t think you should,” he told me, a sadness in his eyes.
I could not understand why he was opposing me yet again. Did he not want the same thing that I wanted? I was afraid—yes, afraid of what it might mean.
“But it is not your decision whether to address the king, is it?” I asked, becoming quite passionate. “It is mine! Do not worry: I will just tell him that I prefer you, not that you have been pursuing me in any way. That way, you remain innocent if he denies my request. There is no need for you to speak with him at all.”
He sighed, then moved a few inches closer to me and spoke even more softly. “I am afraid for you, my love. Very afraid. What you are suggesting—the consequences for you could be …” His voice trailed off and he seemed to shudder. “Is there nothing I could say that might make you—”
“Change my mind? Only that you do not love me. Is that the case?”
He paused for a moment. I suddenly feared that I had erred in judgment. I had assumed the answer to my question would be obvious, but maybe things had changed, at least from his point of view. Had he stopped loving me? The idea was simply too terrible. My heart began to race. Thankfully, he put me out of my misery.
“No, I could never say that. Forgive me, the situation is difficult. The king is a severe man, and I would hate myself if anything bad happened to you.”
“Happened to us,” I said.
I wanted so badly to take his hands in that moment—to make him see that I was strong—but there were far too many people who might see it.
“We are in this together, Brian,” I told him. “Perhaps you are afraid—so am I. But we must not let that fear keep us apart! Please, I have been longing for you! I have never known love like this. It is something I must do. I will never forgive myself if I do not try.”
“Very well, then,” he concluded. “I am with you.”
The following week, the king’s lads all dispersed on their own errands, and my moment arrived. The king called me into his throne room to speak with him alone. This was on the second level, near the other official chambers. How nervous I was! As I descended the stairs, my heart seemed to pound like a drum, my palms were sweaty, and each breath came hard and fast. Yet my mind was fully committed, and as I approached the great double doors there was nothing on earth that could have prevented me from taking my stand.
Those heavy wood doors, bound to the stone with iron, were little different than the iron will I was about to face. I had but one small hope—one thing that caused me to hazard it all: he was my father, and as such, I prayed that within his soul there was some tiny speck of paternal devotion to which I could appeal. I had never quite seen it before, but I chose to believe it was there—that even if he was a severe and violent man, he would not seek to destroy one who was flesh of his flesh.
God in heaven, hear me now, I prayed. The desires of my heart, I present to you. I place myself in your hands. Lord Jesus and all the saints, look upon me as a frail child, or as David before Goliath. Grant me courage. Make me strong for the fight. Reach down and touch the heart of my father. Turn the stone to flesh.
I took one last deep breath and knocked on the right door with the ring of iron that hung there. From inside, I heard my father’s deep voice say, “Admit her.” The doors then swung open before me, pulled by guards I could not see. Before me was the long wood floor, and at the end of it the king upon his throne, which was set upon a platform covered in red carpet. To the right, a pair of windows provided a view of the river. To the left were tapestries of the great Battle at Hastings, where my grandfather William had triumphed over Harold Godwinson and won dominion over the English.
“Come forward,” the king instructed.
As I crossed the room, I continued to look at the tapestries. There was William the Conqueror on his great white horse, his spear planted in the helmet of an Englishman. His companions followed him in the charge, cutting down their enemies, who lay bleeding upon the ground. The second tapestry showed the defeated captains kneeling before the triumphant William, their hands held aloft, some even clasped, all begging for mercy.
I had made it about halfway to the dais. The king sat with his hands gripping the arms of the chair, his head bearing the royal crown: a circlet of gold adorned with jewels of every color. To his right stood the chancellor, Geoffrey, whom I barely knew on account of having only met him a few weeks earlier. A clerk sat off to the side, ready to record anything of importance. The only other persons in the room were the two guards who had admitted me.
I bowed lower than was strictly necessary, allowing one of my knees to touch the floor, in the hope that this would increase the king’s regard for me. Rising again, I addressed him.
“Lord king, gracious father—you summoned me.”
“Come hither,” he said, beckoning with his hand. The look on his face betrayed none of his thoughts.
I moved a few steps closer. “And how may I be of service, Your Highness?”
He stared at me for a moment, as if deep in thought, fingering the end of his beard with his hands. “I suppose there’s no sense delaying it. You know, daughter, that in the interest of ensuring the succession—that is, of preserving this house, the house that was built by your grandfather, King William—you must be wed again to a worthy lord. It was for this reason that I called you back to our kingdom rather than allowing you to take the veil.”
“Yes, my king,” I said, my heart beating even harder.
“And you are ready to enter into wedlock once again, having observed the days of mourning and then some.”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Excellent. It will then please you to know that I have entered into discussions with the count of Anjou—”
“Anjou?” I asked in surprise.
“Yes, that’s it—the better to make our alliance against—”
“King Henry, I beg you, wait a moment,” I interrupted, hoping to prevent him from continuing along that line. “Give leave for me to speak.”
The king let out a great sigh, as if I had ruined a speech he had been making ready for some time. He bit his lower lip slightly, grinding his fist into his knee. “Very well, then. Let’s have it.”
I took a deep breath in and out, striving to calm myself. I sensed that the words I was about to speak might alter the course of my life. In my mind, I sent a final prayer to the Virgin, then I spoke.
“Gracious king, I know that you are a great ruler, always bestowing goodness upon your subjects, and on none so much as I. You are truly most excellent, most esteemed. I know that in all things you seek my advancement and that of England.”
“Even so, but get to the point.”
“That I shall.”
Having sufficiently flattered him, I had to stop for a moment to summon the courage for what I intended to say next. Only when he raised his right brow
to signal his annoyance did I continue.
“My lord, I know you seek for me the best alliance possible, with a man who is fit to be my husband. It therefore pleases me to tell you that I have formed a most decided attachment to a man of noble standing and one whom I know you hold in the highest regard: Brian fitz Count.”
“Pray, continue no further,” he commanded, raising his hand.
“But—” I sputtered.
“I said, continue no further! Men, leave us!”
They did as they were told, departing the room one by one, until at last it was only my father and I in the room. I feared this change, but tried to calm myself and hope for the best. King Henry rose from his chair and began to walk down the steps in my direction. The sound of his feet hitting the wood boards seemed to beat against the silence. I clasped my hands in front of me, pressing them together. He took his stand about two paces in front of me.
“Mathilda …”
“Yes, father,” I replied quickly, hoping to call to his mind the bond we shared by blood.
“I have no doubt that these men—the king’s lads, as I hear them called—being most gallant and accomplished, and showing due fealty to the House of Normandy, have made themselves quite worthy of your regard. But take care that you do not speak unwisely. You must know that I have already chosen a match for you.”
“With the boy from Anjou?!”
The very thought of it offended me. Not only did I know him to be far inferior to me in age, such as to make any union between us almost obscene, but he was equally inferior to me in rank—nay, more so! And he belonged to the hated enemy of England!
The king took my objection in his stride and attempted to counter it. “Count Geoffrey of Anjou, as he shall be when his father makes for Jerusalem. He is reported to be a handsome youth, which should please you.”
How little my father knew me that he thought such a consideration would be at the fore of my mind!
“But I declare to you now that I wish to be wed to Brian fitz Count!” I answered him, shaking my head and pressing my hands so tightly together that it must have left a mark. “You speak to me of young Geoffrey’s standing, but he is the mere son of a count and not fit to wed an empress! Brian is the natural son of the duke of Brittany, and you have raised him to your right hand, treating him as your own son and crowning him with honor. After all I have already accomplished by marriage for the sake of this kingdom, and for all the love you bear me, I beg you: do not force me to bind myself with this foreigner who is so far beneath me! Do not allow the blood of England to be thus sullied!”
The Forsaken Monarch Page 26
