The Devil's Diadem

by Sara Douglass

  But they backed Edmond. Edmond, from both his position as King of England and his control of the Pengraic wealth and estates, was now a supremely powerful man, and one from whom the Church thought it could profit.

  The Templars wanted more land and wealth in England.

  Edmond could manage that for them.

  The Church wanted total freedom from secular control, taxes and influence, as well as land and patronage enough to establish half a dozen new monasteries.

  Edmond could give it that.

  It was a heavy price for Edmond to pay, but he paid it.

  He could have abandoned me — he could still have exerted control over the Pengraic wealth without me through his wardship of Geoffrey — but he did not. He brazened out some of the rumours, he led his army into the thickest of the rest of them, and he did what he had to in order to ensure the support of the Church and the Templars.

  At least there was a Pengraic son and heir for whose paternity there could be no doubt. I thanked God for that, day and night, for otherwise I think the earldom of Pengraic would have been broken up. If Edmond did not have wardship over an undoubted legitimate Pengraic heir, then Edmond could not have held onto the lands and wealth for Geoffrey’s majority.

  I stayed at Westminster for some of this time, but under Edmond’s orders and a heavy escort removed myself from Westminster to the royal manor at Elesberie for many months until the fuss died down.

  Eventually, given Edmond’s efforts and the fickle nature of rumours, the scandal lost its force. Edmond returned to Westminster for a few weeks, then came north to Elesberie to see me.

  I was waiting in the courtyard of the manor house, nervous and excited in equal amounts. I was concerned that the time apart, and the efforts Edmond had been forced to go to on my behalf, might have dimmed his passion for me, but I need not have worried. He jumped down from his horse, a wide grin on his face, his eyes alight with joy, and seized me in a bear hug from which I could not escape for long minutes.

  Eventually he put me down, breathless from his embrace and kisses.

  ‘You are well, my lady?’

  ‘I am, my lord.’

  He held me out at arm’s length and looked me up and down.

  ‘You look well. You have grown some roundness. It suits you.’

  I blushed. The roundness he referred to was all in my belly.

  Edmond smiled at my discomfort, and then, arms linked, we went inside.

  That night we made love for the first time in many months. I was deeply relieved that he still felt passion for me, and that his eyes still warmed whenever they looked my way. I did not deceive myself that he would remain true to me, or that I would remain forever by his side, but I was grateful for whatever time he gave me and knew that he would not cast me away without support. I had the four manors Raife had given me on our betrothal, but I did not doubt that Edmond would eventually add to those.

  We lay side by side, still slightly sweaty from our love-making. Edmond gave a small sigh, and ran his hand over the mound of my belly.

  ‘It would be best,’ he said, ‘if you named Pengraic as the father of this child.’

  Raife was the father of the child, but it suited me if Edmond thought he himself might be.

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  Edmond’s hand continued to rub, back and forth, back and forth. It was enormously soothing.

  ‘The King of France has approached me,’ he said.

  ‘He has offered me the hand of his youngest daughter in marriage.’

  I froze, all the pleasure of our reunion vanishing in an instant.

  ‘Maeb, no matter how much I wish it, you know I cannot marry you.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, unable to stop the tears from running down my cheeks.

  ‘The scandal … no one would accept you as queen.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, dashing the tears away with the back of a hand and wishing they did not flow. And I did know that Edmond could never wed me, but even knowing it did not stop the pain.

  ‘Shush,’ he whispered, kissing away the marks of the tears.

  ‘Negotiations can take years. We will bicker this way, and then that way, back and forward.’ He kissed me again, and smiled a little.

  ‘Possibly even sally forth on a small war or two to make our points.’ Another kiss.

  ‘And besides, the girl is but eight. I could not bed her for years.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And yet still you cry for me. Ah, Maeb, you shall not lose me. Believe me, any wife I take to queen will weep ten times the tears over my adoration of the Lady Maeb and her hold over my heart than you will ever weep over me.’

  I smiled a little now. He was teasing, I knew it, but I loved him for making the effort.

  ‘Oh, Maeb, surely you know I loved you from that moment you fell at my feet? You were, are, so lovely, so transparent, so honest. Raife adored you. This king adores you. I have half a mind to lock you in a dark, dark dungeon so that the Pope shall never see you for he, too, would forgo all his vows to have you at his side.

  ‘But, all jesting aside, my lovely woman, do not think that I will ever let you go, nor let go the hold you have over my heart.’

  I thought he was being kind. At that time I did not truly believe him. I thought that eventually his fascination with me would fade, his passion ebb, and I would be put aside, albeit with a gentle kindness.

  I did not know then that Edmond would keep every promise he made to me for the rest of his life.

  In the middle of a cold, frosty winter, six weeks after Christmastide, I gave birth to my second son, Hugh. It was an easy, gentle birth which hardly pained me at all, and, compared to his brother’s, accomplished in comfort and safety.

  I delighted in this baby from the moment of his birth. I could not wait to hold him — I think I snatched him from the midwife’s hands — and I put him to the breast immediately. Edmond, who, while not present at the actual birth, had been pacing about in the hall of Elesberie manor and was in the birthing chamber the moment the midwife allowed it.

  If I had ever doubted the strength of Edmond’s love, I did not at that moment.

  He had tears in his eyes, whether of relief or happiness (or both) I do not know. He reached out a tentative finger and touched the baby’s head.

  ‘Look at his hair,’ Edmond said.

  ‘It is as black as yours.’

  I have to admit some relief that Hugh then, as later, always took after me in face and form and did not in any manner resemble Raife.

  My son thrived. Edmond loved him as his own.

  We spent until early summer at Elesberie, then Edmond made the decision to bring me back to Westminster for his summer court.

  It was risky. Neither of us knew if there remained any widespread ill-will against me, or if indeed, there might be any risk to my life.

  But my major enemy, the Templars, were now negated. They had more land, more wealth. Their murmurings about my sins and possible connection to witchcraft had vanished. I do not know what Edmond told them about the diadem, but to my knowledge they never mentioned it again.

  I think that possibly they had decided that if they could not control it, then it were better that no one could.

  Nobles had also been to and fro at Elesberie where Edmond had continued to hold court, albeit a smaller court than he had held at the Tower, or did at Westminster.

  None of these men, their wives or their sons, showed me any resentment.

  Edmond’s own sons, Richard and John, stayed long months at Elesberie and they treated me respectfully, if a little coolly.

  I do not think they welcomed Hugh, who they believed was their illegitimate brother. Illegitimate or not, he posed a threat to them.

  So I returned to Westminster with Edmond and with our son (for so he was treated), Hugh. It had been a year since I had been south to London and Westminster, and I was astounded at the change.

  The plague had indeed vanished with Raife’s death, and
now the realm and its peoples breathed easier. Hope had replaced fear, rebuilding had replaced devastation. London, so shattered by fire and plague, was still a place of empty spaces where once had been buildings, but these spaces were now clear of burned timbers and harboured gentle carpets of flowers and small shrubs. In other places new buildings had sprung up, some completed, others still to be finished.

  The streets were alive with people once more. Edmond later told me London had witnessed an influx of some fifteen thousand new souls in the past year alone as people flocked to the city from this realm, and others, to take advantage of the burgeoning trade and market in rebuilding, and of the need for crafts and people to ply them.

  We stopped briefly at the city, then rode south down the banks of the Thames to Thorney Island. Even though I had stayed there some weeks after Raife had died, I had mainly kept indoors. When I had left, it had been at night, and I had been heavily hooded against both the dark and the rumours.

  So now, when we clattered over the wooden bridge to Thorney Island, it was as if I was seeing Westminster for the first time. The abbey and its monastery — the smaller but no less grand newly built church of Saint Margaret’s — the great hall, the palace, the village. It was summer now, and everything shone under the sun.

  People from the village and servants from both abbey and palace lined the street for the final approach to the palace, and they cheered and waved ribbons attached to sticks. They called out Edmond’s name, over and over and, to my utter astonishment, mine.

  I wondered how much coin Edmond had caused to be spread among the crowd for them to shout my name so.

  We rode to the entrance of the great hall, the household members among our company continuing on to the living quarters of the palace to fit it for our return. Hugh and his nurse, Blanche, were among them. I hated being parted from him, even for half a day, but even I could see the sense in keeping him quiet and safe in our privy chambers in the palace rather than in what I could already see was the hubbub of the great hall.

  Someone had organised a grand reception. I suspected it to be Edmond, for he did not appear surprised at the welcome — although perhaps that was merely the experience of his kingship.

  No. He had known, for he had made sure I was dressed in my finest, including the jewelled girdle and coronet that Raife had given me.

  A groom helped me down from Dulcette (the only friend who remained with me since I had arrived at Rosseley Manor two years before), and Edmond came over. I had so often thought of him as ordinary, but today he was handsome, strong, powerful, every inch the king. His wiry dark hair had been cut fresh close to his scalp, he was smooth chinned and cheeked and dressed in the most sumptuous of robes and jewels.

  He smiled, and kissed me, softly, lingeringly, in front of everyone who was standing outside the entrance to the great hall.

  ‘Edmond,’ I said softly, ‘my nerves are screaming.’

  ‘Then they do so quietly,’ he said, ‘for you look as calm as a still lake.’

  ‘My lord,’ I said more formally as the palace chamberlain approached, ‘I —’

  ‘Ah, fitzRolf,’ Edmond said, turning to the man.

  FitzRolf carried in his hands a pillow, with whatever it contained covered in a dainty cloth. Edmond lifted the cloth aside, and there was a crown — not as beautiful as the Devil’s diadem, but a crown nonetheless set with magnificent gems. Edmond lifted it, looked at it, then set it on his head.

  He held out his arm for me.

  I hesitated, thinking that I should not take it. That it would be an impertinence before the court and nobles and so soon after the scandal of Raife’s death.

  ‘To hide in the shadows,’ Edmond said softly, ‘will be to admit to everything whispered. You may not wear a crown, but you rule my heart, and I want this clearly understood by everyone in this court.’

  I took a breath, then his arm, and together we walked up the steps into the great hall at Westminster, the princes Richard and John following behind.

  Chapter Two

  I was not queen, and not given the benefit of that rank, but I stood beside Edmond in place of a queen, and thus commanded respect. In many cases it may have been a false respect — smiles and courtliness to my face, dark words behind it — but never again did anyone challenge or accuse me.

  They may have tried in the months following Raife’s death, but that time also witnessed the rise of Edmond’s power base. King, ward of the infant Earl of Pengraic and thus controller of the vast Pengraic fortunes and land, and with the power of the Church (themselves the second largest landholder in England behind the king) solidly behind him. He was unassailable. Some at the court might not like me, but Edmond loved me, and that is what mattered.

  It may have been unwise for Edmond to marry me, but it was equally unwise for any to attack me.

  I became an accepted part of court, and of Edmond’s life.

  What surprised me as the years passed was that Edmond did not tire of me. I had assumed he would, as he had of all his lovers. But, no. He continued to shower me with love and dedication. I have no doubt that there were many at court who would have wasted no time in whispering to me rumours of any dalliance that Edmond had embarked upon. But there were no whispers.

  There were no lovers.

  There were no rumours.

  I saw women at court flatter him and preen before him, and even when Edmond did not realise he was being watched, his expression always was one of disinterest. Women more beautiful than I sought his bed and were rejected with utter indifference.

  The marriage negotiations with the King of France’s daughter came to naught having dragged on for almost six years. Then Edmond’s ambassadors considered a German princess, then one from one of the Iberian states. There was a daughter of Scotland paraded before him.

  But always, there were problems with the negotiations. They would start with enthusiasm, and then founder amid myriad difficulties.

  It became obvious that Edmond would not marry again. His son John married and fathered a son, and then another, and after that there was little purpose in Edmond trying to father more male heirs. His sons would do it for him.

  Edmond relaxed.

  I relaxed.

  Edmond showered me with far more than love and dedication. As the years passed he granted me lands and estates until I became wealthy and a powerful landholder in my own right — all these lands will go to my son Hugh on my death as Edmond has provided for the three daughters I gave him over time.

  I loved Edmond. Not with the same passion as Raife, but with such steadfastness and respect and friendship that he became the pivot of my life.

  The passion I’d once given Raife I now gave to his son, Hugh.

  It is strange that the child I conceived with Raife during the early, good times of our marriage became a stranger to me, and the child who was conceived amid such doubt became the adored child. Even the three daughters I eventually bore Edmond — Heloise, Ellice and Adète — while loved and cherished, were nonetheless always second to Hugh in my heart. I tried not to show it, but they all knew.

  Geoffrey stayed at Pengraic for the first six years of his life. In all that time I did not see him. He was raised by Isouda and d’Avranches; they were his effective parents, not I.

  When Geoffrey was approaching the sixth anniversary of his birth, Isouda and d’Avranches brought him to court.

  Edmond and I laid on a great welcome for him, but it so intimidated Geoffrey he refused to leave d’Avranches’ side for the first day (even then he was too much the man to hide behind Isouda’s skirts). He gave me a sullen bow, and Edmond an even sketchier one.

  He refused to talk with us, only answering in the barest of monosyllables when d’Avranches exhorted him to speak.

  He looked like Raife.

  That is what I found hardest to bear. He looked so much like Raife (and thus also like Stephen), and yet I think he hated me. Even then, even at six. It became more obvious as he grew.

>   I knew I had failed him, but what else could I have done? When he was an infant I could not have taken him back to London when the plague was in the land and the issue of the Devil’s diadem yet to be resolved. In the year afterward it was deemed too dangerous, and my position too uncertain. After that, well, I moved about with Edmond a great deal, and I did not want to risk a small child on the move from Pengraic to eastern England.

  Of course, I carried Hugh about with me everywhere during this time. I would have been aghast at the idea of leaving him behind.

  Geoffrey continued as a stranger to me all his life. He treated me with a cold tolerance, I think, only because I was so closely tied to Edmond, and Edmond was untouchable … the king was needed as a contented ally.

  But Geoffrey had heard the rumours surrounding his father’s death, and he always blamed me for it. We talked of it just once, when he was nineteen and taking the full responsibilities (and lands and powers) of the earldom on his shoulders.

  ‘Talk’ doesn’t quite describe it. I had broached the subject, somewhat tentatively, and in reply Geoffrey actually spat at my feet and then walked away.

  It devastated me then and still does. How could I have allowed that child to slip away?

  But I did, and I did it because of Hugh.

  Everyone assumed that Hugh was Edmond’s son, even Edmond, I think. Hugh certainly always thought that Edmond was his father and addressed him as a son did a father. Hugh is treated by all as a prince in everything but name. Edmond was not the bad parent I was, and never favoured him over his older sons Richard and John, nor even over Geoffrey, but even so Hugh somehow stood out from all of them.

  In any grouping of Hugh, Richard, John and Geoffrey, it is always to Hugh that people turn first, always at Hugh that people smile first. He is so favoured, in beauty and talent and courage and sheer, blinding magnetism, that he is a natural leader.