“Never mind that! Just swear, Stephen. It doesn’t matter.”
I took a deep breath as my cousin climbed the stairs and Bishop Roger asked, “Are you willing to take the oath?”
“I am willing,” he said without delay, a smile upon his face. Behind him, brother Robert still looked rather furious.
“I bid you kneel and place your hand upon this holy relic,” the bishop continued. “Repeat after me: By the Lord before whom this relic is holy …”
“By the Lord before whom this relic is holy …” Stephen repeated.
“I shall to the Empress Mathilda be true and faithful …”
“I shall to the Empress Mathilda be true and faithful …”
“Taking her as my lady …”
“Taking her as my lady …”
They completed the sequence, and Stephen walked toward me, knelt, and kissed my hand. I was still feeling quite perturbed over how he had treated Robert just a moment earlier, but I attempted to set these feelings aside. After all, it was a victory for me to have even the king’s beloved Stephen swear fealty to me. This was not the time for anger. My brief fear had been allayed.
“I accept your oath, and will hold you to it,” I said, looking firmly into his eyes.
He simply nodded and returned to the crowd.
“Earl Robert of Gloucester!” Bishop Roger called.
“It’s about time,” he muttered, and took his position.
“Are you willing to take the oath?”
“I am more than willing,” he replied, or rather almost growled. He was still sore over the wound that had been dealt to his pride.
“Very good. I bid you kneel and place your hand upon this holy relic …”
Robert took the oath, and after he kissed my hand, I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Thank you, brother. I am sorry about all of that.”
“He’s a right cockscomb,” he replied, and I had to stifle a laugh.
We continued with the rest of the earls. Even Queen Adeliza took the oath, and I am sure she felt some pain in doing so, for it was her inability to produce a son that had led to this day. However, if she was at all bitter, she did not show it.
“I am happy for you,” she whispered to me.
Among the last of the nobles to swear was Lord Brian fitz Count of Wallingford, for he was not one to put himself forward in such a situation. I struggled to hide any lingering feelings when he made his pledge, but as he spoke, I was transported back to that evening when he led me across the ice and I first felt the pang of love for him. Had it only been a year since that night? In the present, he kissed my hand and offered up a smile, which I did not return. Receiving such false affection galled me.
The abbots finally had their turn to swear, and once every man had been called to account, the king stood up and surveyed the room with his eyes, as if to put the fear of God in all of them.
“Not only I, but God will hold you to the oath you have made today!” he cried. “Loyalty will be rewarded—treachery will be punished. The future of our kingdom is set in stone. Now, the empress will say a few words.”
I had not been informed of this obligation and was taken by surprise. My father turned back to look at me, but I could only stare at him in fear. I was no orator! Nevertheless, I could tell from the look on his face that there was no avoiding it: I must speak, and it must be good. After all, I was to rule over all of them. I therefore stood and strained to come up with the right words.
“My lords, I thank you for the trust you have placed in me and any sons I might have, and for your pledges of fealty,” I began.
“Speak up! We cannot hear you!” someone called from the back of the room.
I took a deep breath and attempted to project my voice. “I know this is most unusual, but I also know that, with your help, we can make this kingdom even stronger for our mutual descendants, and …”
Oh no! My mind was a blank. A hundred faces were staring at me, bidding me to continue.
Think, Maud! something inside me cried. Think!
“And your loyalty will not be forgotten! God save England! God save the House of Normandy!” I concluded.
To my great delight, several people began to clap, and a few even cried, “God save Empress Mathilda!” I felt a burst of confidence: enough to utter a command.
“Come! Let us join hands!” I said, descending the stairs and taking the hand of Queen Adeliza. “We will sing a hymn of the season. It is proper that we should be joined in unity!”
Unity was what the kingdom needed. I knew well enough that though they had all sworn to me, there was not much desire for the reign of a female. I was therefore determined to set a good tone. Their smiles gave me strength to believe that I might be able to accomplish the task ahead, if only the Lord and the lords were on my side.
They did as I asked and joined hands—even my father. We then walked in a circle and sang those famous words of Saint Hilary.
“Jesus refulsit omnium
Pius redemptor gentium
Totum genus fidelium
Laudes celebret dramatum”[13]
XIII
“But anxious cares already seized the queen:
She fed within her a flame unseen;
The hero’s valor, acts, and birth inspire
Her soul with love, and fan the secret fire.
His words, his looks, imprinted in her heart,
Improve the passion, and increase the smart”[14]
Thus Virgil wrote of Dido, the queen of Carthage strung up by an evil fate, who for the love of Aeneas set herself alight. She never burned without ere she burned within, betrayed by the one she loved. When he set sail upon the Middle Sea, she hurled forth a curse upon his line, that there should never be peace between their two peoples. And indeed, history proved this to be true, for the Romans and the Carthaginians were sworn enemies through and through.
How the Romans must have rued their father’s disloyalty when the hordes of Hannibal visited their threshold! How Carthage was made to feel that betrayal again when the Romans salted their fields! And what did this hate yield? Naught but suffering. Therefore, we may conclude either that the Romans received the just punishment for Aeneas’ betrayal, or that in her cursing Dido brought about the end of her kingdom, or that all of life is chaos and there is little purpose to it all.
But I took a different lesson from Dido: namely, that Brian fitz Count was a most fortunate man. When he forsook me, I did fall into despair for a time, but I never sought to curse him or anyone else after the manner of Dido. Within the space of a few weeks, I had been forced to accept my state of being. There would be no fiery bier for Empress Maud.
So how did I avoid the fate of Dido and make myself instead as one of the Stoics? I owed it all to the knowledge that Anjou was a less certain possibility than it had been before. The idea of that marriage had seemed to me no less fearful than marriage with Gunnar must have appeared to Brünnhilda, a fate unworthy for an empress. I lived in hope that some other match might find favor with the king. It was not much of a hope, but it allowed me to continue with life for the time being.
About a month after the nobles all swore to make me queen upon my father’s death, we traveled by way of Winchester toward the hunting lodge at Woodstock, near the city of Oxford. It was the first time I had visited that part of the country since I was born just up river, and as I had no memory of those early years, it was essentially my first visit. Woodstock was a fine manor and easily twice the size of the other hunting lodges in the kingdom. Some complained that it could not have been built without the destruction of the peasants’ homes nearby, but the king was always ready with a reply: “It’s hardly my fault that they chose to live next to the choicest wood in England!” The beasts must have known they were not safe when the king’s party came to Woodstock, despite the fasting for Lent. I suspect some of them fled as far as the River Avon to avoid us. There were a few creatures, however, who had nothing to fear from the king and his knigh
ts: namely, those kept within the bower.
The king had for some time been collecting certain animals at Woodstock, most of them sent as gifts from the far corners of the world. He received them happily, then handed them off to the poor man who was forced to care for them, often without any proper knowledge of their origins or habits. By this lack of knowledge, more than one of the beasts became supper for another, while others could not bear the climate.
Being around the animals helped to raise my spirits and create some of the pleasure my brother had instructed me to pursue. I therefore made the trip down to the garden to visit them almost daily, usually going alone. However, about a fortnight into our stay, Queen Adeliza asked if she might walk out with me, and I was more than happy to oblige. We went in the morning, when I had found most of the creatures to be awake. When we arrived at the entrance to the bower, we were greeted by Edward, keeper of the king’s animals.
“Good morning, my queen, my empress,” he said, nodding to each of us in turn.
“Good morning, Sir Edward!” I answered. “The queen wishes to see your charges.”
“Certainly. We have all sorts.”
Some of the animals were kept in wood pens or metal cages, while others were simply allowed to roam free. The arbor itself bore all the signs of careful attention: not a branch or leaf out of place or anything less than perfectly green. We had not walked four steps with Sir Edward when he had something to tell us.
“This fellow here is our most beauteous,” he said, motioning toward a rather curious peacock that dared to approach us. “We only have the one male but three hens. What a life he must live!”
I bent down and stroked the bird’s neck with the backs of my fingers, but the queen had her eyes on something else.
“Is that a camel?” she asked, pointing to the large brown animal chained to a stake and nibbling on the grass. “I have only seen drawings.”
The keeper turned to look and then nodded in agreement. “Yes, some knight brought it back from the Holy Land, around the time of the great pilgrimage. He might have ridden it all that way. I’m not sure. No one foresaw that it would live this long, but by God, it keeps on living!”
“Maybe it is glad to be out of the desert,” I said, standing back up as the peacock departed.
I made my way over to where the camel was standing but did not get nearer than a few paces. Its great frame seemed to tower over everything else as it raised its long neck and continued to chew. Perhaps there were some who rode such beasts, but for my part, I was fearful of anything larger than a horse.
“What is that?” Queen Adeliza suddenly asked.
“What is what?” I inquired, too occupied with the camel to turn around.
“What is that?!” she repeated, tapping my shoulder to get my attention and then pointing at one of the animals.
This time, I looked in the proper direction and saw the animal walking around in its cage. “Oh, that! It’s a thorny pig, and a big one too.”
“What in God’s name is a thorny pig?!” the queen asked.
“Well, a porcupine, properly. I remember seeing one in Tuscany.”
The two of us started to walk in this new animal’s direction while the keeper hung slightly back. It was a magnificent dark creature covered in what appeared to be spines that looked as if they might be proper for knitting.
“Those spines grow from its flesh?” Adeliza asked me, evidently confounded.
“I believe so, yes.”
“Why?”
“For defense, I should think.”
“You think right,” Edward said, coming up to meet us, his hands clasped behind his back. “One of my dogs got too close and ended up with a face full of spines. The poor brute! Next thing you know, the wounds got infected and he died. Now, that’s a hard way to learn!”
“Poor dog!” the queen said. “Why should you keep such a hideous thing about?”
“It was a gift from King Roger of Sicily. I can’t exactly let it die now, can I? If word got back, it might provoke a crisis.”
“It has a kind enough face, I suppose, but those spines!” the queen responded, not yet won over by the animal’s charms.
As she said this, I caught something in the corner of my vision and turned to see Stephen of Blois approaching the bower at great speed, the features on his face strained as if under great stress.
“Empress Mathilda!” he called out to me.
“Excuse me, Queen Adeliza,” I said, tapping her on the back. “Cousin Stephen is asking for me, and he does not look in any mood for delay.”
“Very well. Have at him.”
I left the two of them behind with the beasts and walked over to meet my cousin just outside the bower.
“What is it?” I called out, as he made the final few strides in my direction.
“The count of Flanders. He’s been murdered!”
“Murdered?!” I cried, my mind struggling to process this new information. “Where? When?”
“In Bruges, two days ago.”
A rush of terror ran through my body. What did this mean? Was it the beginning of war? Who was in danger? These and other thoughts flooded my mind so quickly that I could barely register any of them. It was simply a mess of fear and confusion.
I shook my head and let out a sigh. “I cannot believe it! Who would do such a thing?”
“That is what we would all like to know. As near as we can tell, it was someone local.”
My mind continued to work furiously, attempting to put the pieces together and determine what it all meant.
“I suppose that’s a small blessing, but they might still attempt to blame it on us,” I replied. “The king of France and the traitor Clito are always looking for some casus belli to seize the duchy of Normandy from us, and men have gone to war over far less.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “That is indeed a concern. The countess thinks they may seek to invade.”
“The countess? Do you mean your wife?”
“Yes. She is the one who sent us this dreadful news. Of course, she is worried sick.”
“That does not surprise me,” I said, a response that may have struck too close to the truth of my actual opinion of the countess, despite its apparent compassion.
I was already imagining the French king and his allies riding along the banks of the Seine and pillaging the Norman country. I saw my father and brother Robert fall in battle and the false heir William Clito being crowned in Rouen Cathedral, then racing across the channel to slit my throat and take the crown of England for himself. It was dreadful. The only thing I had left was my claim to the throne of England and duchy of Normandy, and the hope that it might grant me some measure of authority over my own life. Even though the nobles of the kingdom had just sworn to me, I knew many of them had not done so happily, and were they to have a conqueror—nay, a conquering man to rule over them, why would they not choose him over me?
“William Clito!” I said, almost spitting the name out, for to me it was as loathsome as any curse. I was very angry, and yet I recognized that I had a chance to make common cause with my cousin. “He is a threat to us all: to your lands, to my inheritance. We must work together to counter this threat. But what of the murderers? What is to be done with them?”
“Oh, they are still holed up somewhere in Bruges. I cannot imagine they’ll survive long. We may not even know their names until their heads are perched upon the city walls. From what my wife tells me, the whole of Flanders has descended into terror. Men are afraid to leave their homes—to trust their neighbors. There is suspicion upon the very air.”
“Little wonder there! You must go to her, Stephen. Go to your wife. Safeguard Boulogne for our side!”
“I await the king’s command. He is already making inquiries abroad.”
Even in that terrible moment, I was somewhat pleased to have something—anything really—through which I could unite with my cousin in purpose. We had never been particularly close, and his behavior to
ward Robert had frustrated me of late, but he nevertheless had the king’s love, and were I to make him my ally, I might just depend on him to sway the opinion of the king regarding my marriage.
“Tell me, cousin, where is the king?” I asked.
“Back at the lodge, with his council.”
“Very good. Take me there without delay.”
We made our way to the king’s chambers inside the lodge and entered a small room with naught but two windows and a large table holding several maps. A meeting of the king and his advisors had clearly just ended. Several of the lords were making their way out of the room, and brother Robert was rolling up the maps on the table. The king stood at the opposite end from myself.
“Empress Mathilda!” he called.
By the harsh tone in his voice, I gathered that my father was under a great deal of stress and prone to anger. I therefore endeavored to remain as pleasant as possible.
“I came as soon as I heard, my lord. Where do we stand?”
“On the edge of a cliff, more or less. We must press to ensure that the new count of Flanders favors our cause.”
“I wholly agree,” I said, glad that I could do so for once.
“Stephen, you sent word to the countess of Boulogne?” the king asked, walking round the table to where Robert was standing.
“Yes. I should hear back by the end of the week.”
“We must get in front of this thing,” my father continued, speaking rather forcefully. “Have Brian come up from Wallingford. Go send word, now!”
The Forsaken Monarch Page 33
