The Forsaken Monarch

by Amy Mantravadi

  “And that would be a bad thing?”

  “See, you have your old spirit back already!” she said with glee, wrapping me in an embrace.

  “Well, it is not a death, but it is still an end. I shall not recover from this for some time.”

  “That is as it should be after your heart has been sorely wounded.”

  “But I don’t understand: what made him do it?”

  “He wanted to remove anyone who might tempt you from the Anjou boy: anyone he felt was unworthy.”

  “No, not the king—Brian!” I had hit now upon one of the sorest points in my soul, and it filled me with passion. “I swear to you, we were soul companions! At least, I thought we were. Now I wonder if I ever knew him at all. Was he lying every time he declared his love for me?”

  “I wish I had an answer for you, but perhaps all will be made clear in time. I should mention: he is to come to court with his new wife.”

  “What?!” I cried, breaking out of her embrace and standing to my feet.

  “Do you wish to speak with him?” she asked, far more calmly than I thought the situation warranted.

  “Certainly not! I do not even want to see his face.”

  Here I turned my back to her, crossed my arms, and let out a powerful sigh of frustration. I stared out the window, but my mind was completely elsewhere. I could not bear to see him—ever! And yet, I would plainly have to sooner or later. How awful. How utterly, utterly awful.

  “Very well, then,” said Adeliza. I heard her stand and her footsteps near me. “I will do what I can to make that possible. But you know you will have to see him at some point.”

  “Perhaps at some point, but not today,” I stated with my back still turned to her. “I am in no fit state for company, let alone for that.”

  “I should let you rest,” she said, patting my knee in a kindly manner. “You know, when I am sad, I go to the one place that might bring me solace. Whatever that place is for you, go there, and perhaps you will be made whole again.”

  “But I have no such place,” I whispered.

  “I suspect you do,” she concluded. She then departed the room, leaving me at last as I was meant to be: alone.

  I walked back over to where the flask Grimbald had left me was sitting on the floor. I bent down and picked it up, then took a smell. It must have been the poorest of the king’s wine.

  “Extremis malis … extrema remedia,” I sighed, and drank my fill.

  I gave some thought to the queen’s words and determined that there was one place I should go, though I did not know if it would grant me the succor I required. I arose early in the morning, while those in the hall still slept, and made the short walk across the yard to the abbey, still quite sore from head to toe.

  Now, I have seen many churches in my day, but this one is of special worth because it preserves the work of my uncle four generations earlier, King Edward the Confessor. When the Normans came to England, they improved most of the major structures, but they let this one be, for it was the best of the old English way. Its tower rises up to catch the morning sun, and its wood roof is a thing of beauty, with the spine flanked on either end by carvings that draw the eye and have just a touch of the Northmen about them. It is not as large as the great cathedrals, but it does not need to be.

  I entered the abbey church upon that morn not to pray at the tomb of King Edward, as so many are apt to do, nor to behold the relics of Saint John. This was to be a time of personal reflection.

  “Good morrow, Empress Mathilda!” said Abbot Herbert, when I arrived at the door. “Right this way.”

  I had made sure to come when the monks would not be at their prayers, just between Prime and Terce. Therefore, the church was rather quiet when I entered. The high vault and stone arches gave off no sound, and had my eyes been closed, I might have believed I had entered a crypt. How appropriate that seemed, given that I had come to visit the dead.

  The abbot led me down the nave and halted before the altar to show me what I had come to see.

  “Here is the final resting place of the late Queen Mathilda. You may find it less grand than she deserved.”

  This was certainly true, for the grave was quite simple. However, had she been granted the grandest shrine in Christendom, my dear mother still would have been cheated.

  “No, if I knew her, she would have preferred simplicity,” I offered.

  “Yes, that was the case, though I am sure the people of this kingdom might have given their last penny to see her properly honored.”

  “Perhaps that bestows more honor than the work of any mason.”

  “Of course, you are right,” he said, bowing his head in deference. “Is there anything else you require?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Then I shall leave you to your thoughts.”

  There was a dangerous proposition! Leave me to my thoughts? It was those thoughts that threatened to pull me into the abyss. Indeed, that was why I had come. I looked at the grave: a simple crypt crowned with black marble and no adornments. She really did deserve more. I had come with a great sense of purpose, but in that moment, I knew not what to say.

  I knelt down and ran my fingers over the carving at the base: “REGINA MATHILDE ANGLORUM DOMINAE DILECTISSIMAE SERVUS DEI.” Could such words contain an entire life?

  “I am here, mother. I have come,” I whispered.

  I had never heard the tale of the queen’s final hours, and in truth I had no wish to find out, for I feared that they must have been lonely. Had she suffered? Was there much pain? Yes, it was better not to know. My late observations of my father’s behavior led me to doubt that he would have shown her great devotion. After all, he never had in earlier years. I could not help feeling that I ought to have been there, and I would have been, were it not for the king’s edict that sent me hence. I wanted to believe she had been at peace at the end. I wanted to believe it, but I struggled to do so.

  I leaned over the tomb and spoke to her in a whisper.

  “Mother, I know you cannot hear me. Well, perhaps you can. The scholars disagree. In any case, I need to speak with you whether you can hear me or not. I need my mother.”

  My voice seemed to catch in my throat, holding back the words. I breathed deeply and continued.

  “You always used to tell me that it was only in Christ that we are made content, but I wonder, were you ever content? How many women has the king had? You watched them all come and go. After he had moved heaven and earth to win you! What must that have done to you? I wonder. I came here because I had nowhere else to go. I did everything you said. I was brave. I performed my duty. I spoke the truth, even at great cost—incredible, unbearable cost! And what am I now? Abandoned. Ashamed.”

  I was still bent over the tomb, clutching at the edge, much as I had seen my first husband do at the tomb of his own father. Was he searching then for the same thing I now craved? I closed my eyes and allowed the pain to wash over me in waves. Never in my life had I felt so much anger: at the king, at Brian, at myself, at the world. But I had come for a reason, and I would fulfill it. I opened my eyes, took another deep breath, and continued.

  “Never mind that. The choice now lies before me, so what must I do? Should I go to Anjou? Is that my path? Tell me, for the future of our kingdom depends on it! Can you give me some sign? Cause a bird to sing, cause the wind to blow? Anything would do, really.”

  I stopped for a moment to see if my request might be granted. Alas, there was nothing but silence.

  “Ah, the sound of silence! So pleasing to the ear! Sweeter than any other I hear, except for now. So you will be silent then. I suppose I must try to think of what you would have said, were you here. What would you have done?”

  I looked up at the altar screen, on which the coronation of the Virgin was painted. Something in her face made me think of my mother. They did not have the same auburn hair, but the eyes were equally kind. As I no longer had the face of my mother to address, I delivered my next words to the Vi
rgin, as if they were one and the same. Somehow, looking into those eyes, I sensed the answer.

  “You would have tried to reason with the king—nay, to bargain with him. Very well, that is what I will try to do, though I fear to even enter his presence. I might be sick for fear of it, but I must overcome my fear. If that is the wrong choice, then remember that I gave you a chance to oppose me!”

  I stayed there for another moment, looking back down at the grave. There is no rush when one converses with the dead, for they have naught else to do. Such an odd discussion, but I felt it had done me some good.

  “Do you remember, mother? Do you remember the first hymn you taught me? ‘Now we must honor the guardian of heaven, the might of the architect and his purpose …’ But I cannot see his purpose! I may not know the will of the creator, but this much I do know: I love you now and always. You were the best of us, and that is how I will always remember you. Be with me now, for there is hard work needs doing, and I may well break before the end.”

  As I stood there praying, a memory entered my mind. It was not clear: indeed, I could not place it in time. Perhaps it had never happened at all or was merely the product of my soul’s desire. My mother and I were seated on a bench in a rose garden—I had no idea where. She was holding me and rocking back and forth, singing softly in her native tongue. I felt so safe, so whole.

  “Remember, Maud,” she whispered. “I love you. You are my treasure. Remember. I love you. I always will.”

  With that the memory seemed to fade, and I was still looking down at the dark stone. The tears were falling from my eyes and hitting it one by one.

  “Come back!” I cried from the deepest part of my soul. “Come back!”

  But there was no answer. There was nothing.

  About an hour later, I walked out near the stables in the new yard, where I found Drogo bent over a wood block playing at dice with one of his fellows. He was evidently doing well, for he had a broad smile on his face and pumped his fist in the air.

  “Sir Drogo!” I called, when I was within a few steps.

  He looked up from his game and the other knight, whose name I forget—perhaps Gerard or Bernard—turned his head. Both stood and removed their felt caps, offering greetings of, “Good day, Your Highness,” and so forth.

  “Yes, very good,” I replied. “I will only be needing Sir Drogo, but thank you.”

  The other knight then returned his gaze to the dice, as if hoping to discover a way to bend them to his will, while Drogo and I met about five yards hence.

  “How have you been feeling, my lady?” my knight asked, bending down slightly to get a better view of my face. “I have not seen you since I heard of your fall. I have been most distraught. I had it in mind to come visit your chamber, but Queen Adeliza met me in the passage and said you needed to rest.”

  “I thank you for your concern, but I am feeling much better. I shall take better care in the future to lift the hem of my gown so I do not trip over it.”

  “How did you get such a bruise by your eye though? I do not understand,” he continued, examining me with wide eyes as if I were one of a band of jesters, with teeth pushing out of my mouth or ears hanging down to my knees.

  I wanted very much to avoid the subject of my wounds, so I said the first thing I could think of to distract him.

  “As long as we are on the subject of appearance, you’re going bald, you know.”

  “What?!” he stammered, standing up straight and pressing his cap back on to his head. “You cannot even see the top of my head!”

  “When you are down on the lower level in the great hall and I am up above, I have noticed that there is rather less hair there than in former days,” I replied, goading him. “You have been keeping it longer to hide the fact, but women notice these things.”

  His cheeks were turning red. “Well, I do not see why you have to mention it! I may look like a lumbering giant, but I have a heart. Why did you call me over here in any case? To laugh at me?”

  “No, I wish you to accompany me to a meeting with the king.”

  “Oh?” he replied, the look of annoyance on his face fading quickly.

  “Yes, indeed. So if you feel like doing your duty today, by all means accompany me, but if you wish to stand out here and complain, suit yourself.”

  This ended the conversation, and I could tell by his manner that Drogo had not been too deeply hurt by my words, despite his protest to the contrary. At the very least, he had not gone as far as Elisha and called down the bears on me. His vanity was not my chief concern at that moment, for I had decided I must speak with my father, and the thought filled me with great anxiety. I hoped that in bringing along another observer—one who I knew would protect me against all threats—I would avoid any repeat of the great evil that had occurred the day before. Had it only been one day? It seemed like a lifetime of pain.

  We entered through the north door of the great hall, and I approached Chancellor Geoffrey to request an audience with the king.

  “He is out on the green shooting,” he replied. “Do you wish me to take you to him?”

  There was an odd question. Yes, I knew he must take me to the king. Indeed, I had requested it, but the last thing on earth I wanted was to see my father again. The mere thought of it made me feel the need to vomit, but I attempted to work up something like courage.

  “Yes, and I should like to bring along my knight, Drogo,” I answered, pointing to him.

  The three of us made our way down the stairs and out to the gardens by the river bank, where targets had been set up for the knights to practice on a stretch of grass. Of course, we had no true archers upon Westminster isle, and it was unlikely that the king should use such a weapon for anything but the hunt. Even so, the noblest persons often find joy in common pursuits.

  I saw that the king was thankfully not alone—he was joined by the earl of Surrey, William de Warenne. This did not keep me from shuddering at the sight of my father. I think Drogo must have noticed that I looked less than well, for he whispered, “Are you all right, my lady?”

  I nodded quickly, and he said no more, though I noticed that he took a step closer to me, perhaps sensing something was amiss, though he knew not what.

  On a table next to the two shooters lay bows of every description, both short and long, and even two crossbows. The king was taking his turn to shoot. He pulled back the string and let the arrow fly. It hit near the edge of the target.

  “This confounded wind!” he cried, throwing the bow down in anger and breaking it. “It makes a mess of my aim. Damn it!”

  “My shot, sire?” the earl asked.

  “Yes, have at it,” he replied, waving off a servant and stooping to recover the weapon himself.

  The earl was using a longer bow, and it took some real strength to control the string, or so I surmised from the way he seemed to strain and his hand shook slightly. His arrow hit very near the center.

  “See, the wind was less there,” the king concluded.

  “My lord King Henry!” the chancellor called.

  The king turned to see the three of us standing there. Another chill of fear passed through me as our eyes met.

  “Whatever this is, it can wait until we’ve finished,” he replied. “I think I’ll swap, William. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not,” he said.

  My father walked over to the table and set down his weapon, exchanging it for a crossbow. He examined it carefully, testing the lever and the string. I gazed out at the river, where ships passed by heading toward the distant sea. How I wished I could step on to one of them and never be seen again!

  “This should do it,” the king declared, interrupting my thoughts.

  He then took up his position and let the arrow fly. It was a better shot, but still not as good as the earl’s. I thought I heard my father curse under his breath. They each took a few more shots, until the target was sufficiently covered. I was beginning to wonder if he would ever stop to talk to me.
r />   “Retrieve the king’s arrows!” the earl called to the servants, and they did so accordingly.

  “You may have bested me that time, but I’m just getting started,” the king said to his friend. “How about another round? Let me win my honor back?”

  “The honor would be all mine, but I should hate to make the empress wait any longer,” the earl replied meekly, looking in my direction.

  The king did not seem pleased. He let out a sigh so loud that it was almost a groan. Having registered his annoyance, he turned to me. “What is it, then? I see you have chosen to gift us with your presence again.”

  I felt a knot in my stomach and the chill remained in my bones, but I was able to reply.

  “Yes, my king, I wished to speak with you regarding what we discussed last week.”

  “I did not think there was a discussion to be had,” he began, but after seeing the perplexed looks on the other men’s faces, he tempered his words. “Very well then. Men, you had best be off.”

  “Actually, I would like Drogo to stay with me, if you would permit it,” I said, fearing my father’s wrath.

  The king and I both looked at the knight, who was standing at attention but seemed to have a fire in his eyes as if to say, “Do as she requests.” Perhaps I only imagined that he intended this, but either the look in the knight’s eyes or his immense size caused the king to reply, “Oh, fine! Take a walk with me.”

  The three of us—the king, Drogo, and I—then set off along the river, with the knight walking slightly behind us. The king was still wearing the golden bracers that he always used for shooting, and it gave him a rather more martial appearance than I might have preferred for that conversation. I could feel the tension inside me merely from being so near him, even as one might feel upon the edge of a cliff. Silently, I prayed to God and the saints to help me speak.

  “So what is it?” he asked. “I see you are somewhat recovered from your fall. I was sorry to hear of it.”

  The conceit of these words was most extreme, for both he and I were entirely aware of why I had remained in my room. He was evidently attempting to make a show of being a proper man. I had no desire to play along with him, so I simply moved past it.