The servants were left to attend to the items from the prince’s journey, and we made our way to the queen’s audience chamber, there to enjoy a few moments of peace. William had been so weary from the day’s pursuits that Lady Beatrice had demanded he take a few hours of sleep before Mass; thus I was the only person on hand to witness their conversation.
Prince David selected one of the chairs next to the fire and sank into it, letting out a great sigh that spoke to the onerous nature of his journey. He then bent forward, rubbing his hands over his bearded face, which was red from the cold. My mother sat in the chair opposite him, and I knelt at her feet.
“Brother, is there anything I can offer you for your comfort?”
This caused him to look up. “No, thank you, your men and ladies have been most efficient. I am sure I could want for nothing.”
“You look as if a hot bath would do you some good.”
“Do you offer such things after dark here? I must inform my servants that they have fallen off the pace.” He placed his feet upon an available stool and leaned back with his arms folded across his chest.
“Well, it might not be common, but for a long-awaited brother on the eve of Christmas, I should think it could be arranged. We will surely all reap the benefits. I will have Eleanor tell the kitchen staff to boil some water. They were not intending to sleep this night, for they must arrange for the feast tomorrow.”
“Yes, the feast! The thought of it alone was enough to propel me through many an icy ditch. My horse hurt its leg, poor thing. God only knows if it will be any good to me now. I was forced to borrow one, which left Bernard to stumble through on foot. I finally told him around Coventry that if he preferred to wait for our return at the inn, he was welcome to do so, but he would come the whole way. I am surprised none of my men lost a toe.”
“This really is dreadful weather. I cannot remember seeing an Advent season like this since Mary and I were at Romsey.”
Daughter, you will note that Mary was the queen’s younger sister and the wife of the Count of Boulogne. They had been sent to live with their aunt Cristina at the abbey before both their dear parents departed from this world.
“Tell me, how did the sisters celebrate the birth of our Lord?” David asked with one of those mischievous glances worn by brothers seeking to tease their sisters.
“They embraced it with the same degree of austerity and devotion which they displayed every day of the year. I believe they may have resorted to the rod less frequently in the spirit of mercy that marked the season, but come the New Year it would always reappear with a vengeance.”
“I still find it hard to believe that our dear mother, formidable as she was, sent you there when you were scarcely six years old, and Mary younger still! Most women make it through a marriage or two before they are forced into that particular misfortune.”
“Perhaps it was for my good. I trust that I gained a certain degree of discipline and piety while I lived among the sisters, though I can hardly make a claim to perfect righteousness.”
“And how are you, dear Maud?” David asked. “I trust that your brother has not been making life too miserable for you.”
“I am tolerably well, sir,” I answered, “though I confess myself to be ill at ease when it comes to the matter of my espousal.”
“Ah, yes, Emperor Henry—I heard of it from King Alexander. Is it in fact confirmed that she is to marry him?” he asked with a look to my mother.
“My husband tells me as much,” she replied. “He thinks it is for the best, given the situation with the new French king, Louis, who seems to have his eye on our lands in Normandy ever since his father Philip died and left him in charge. Robert Curthose may be locked away, but his son William Clito could be a danger to King Henry if the French king supports his claim to the throne. I am assured that this new alliance will help to contain Louis’s ambitions as well as any future meddling regarding the dukedom. As for the German king, he is in need of capital to fund his ventures.”
“It is a wise match, to be sure, though I am certain you must be loath to see your daughter go.”
“As it is, the debate is at an end and the time for action is upon us,” the queen told him with a sense of resignation. “What of yourself? How go your efforts in Cumbria?”
His mood changed considerably. “You know Brother Alexander as well as I do. He is not one to surrender lightly. He continues to deny me many of the lands and privileges laid out in the agreement with King Edgar. He would have me, the brother of one king by blood and another by your marriage, consigned to the life of a minor noble. Still, patience is my best policy. In time he will come to see that this game he plays will only hurt his cause, for I have gained the support of all the men not only in Cumbria and Strathclyde, but farther to the north as well. I have it on good authority that more than half the men in both Stirling and Edinburgh favor my cause.”
“Oh, David, have we not seen enough conflict over these past years to last a lifetime? The throne of Scotland has become a die for men to throw in the hope that fortune might smile upon them.”
He seemed taken aback. “Do you not think that I would make a better king than Alexander?”
“Yes, you know I favor your cause and I always will, but we must also consider the effects of this division upon the future of the kingdom. Were Father and Mother yet alive, they should shudder to see what has become of their inheritance.”
“If Father and Mother were here, we should not have a dispute in the first place,” he said with an air of conclusion. “How long now until the Angels’ Mass?”
“The candle shows but half an hour,” the queen replied, glancing at the wax pillar, which burned low. “Perhaps we should make our way down.”
“One thing first, Sister. Tell me the truth: does the king still take other women to his bed?”
My eyes must have grown wide, for I could scarcely believe that he should say such a thing with me in the room. Nevertheless my mother answered him.
“You are aware of the ways of this world as well as any man, Brother.”
“I am aware that some men are knaves, if that is what you mean.”
“And I suppose you have never brought another to your bed on those many lonely nights, or will you now argue that, even at your age, you have not felt the touch of a woman?”
“What I do is immaterial to this discussion. I have not entered into wedlock as your husband the king has done. My concern is that he has not done right by my beloved sister.”
“And if I say that he has done wrong, what do you intend to do about it?”
“Hang him up by the balls, I should think,” he replied with a degree of audacity that caused me to let out a gasp. “My niece laughs, but I assure you I am not one to suffer betrayal.”
“The offense is not against you, Brother, and I should thank you not to speak in such vulgar terms in front of Maud, nor in the context of our Lord’s Nativity.”
“As usual, you have hit close to the mark, Sister. I will save such talk for another time—perhaps a gathering of Scotsmen?”
At length the three of us made our way out of the chamber and down the passage to Saint Stephen’s chapel, where Father Anselm, William, and the rest of the royal household were awaiting our presence. As we neared the entrance, I whispered to my uncle, “I am so glad that you are back. I was beginning to think you would never make it.”
“As was I, but remember, Niece, Advent is the time for miracles.”
V
Is it not strange how the ardor of youth becomes, with the passing of time, a faint memory that seems so utterly separated from the present as to be almost a tale from the life of another, rather than one’s own? So I have often felt when bringing to mind those years, for both past and future become the vellum on which we write our hopes and fears. Were we to be gifted the clarity we once possessed, then perhaps we might see clearly the confluence of these diverse streams of our existence, thus gaining a better understanding of who we ar
e and who we may yet become. Even in the midst of all this forgetfulness, there are some things that remain, moments that time cannot drive away. Such a time was the last Advent season that I spent at Westminster, and such a day was the day that I must now describe.
I have already explained how David, Prince of the Cumbrians and brother to Queen Mathilda of England, made his way south under treacherous conditions, arriving on the eve of Christmas. The following day was the feast, an occasion of great magnificence. All who were able attended the queen’s court that morning to receive her blessing for the New Year. They all expressed their undying fealty and bestowed upon Her Royal Highness the gifts due to her person.
After the midday meal, I enjoyed a private family celebration with William, Uncle David, and my mother. This was held in the queen’s smaller chamber, which along with the rest of the castle had been decorated in accordance with the season. Prince David declared that he had not seen such a wealth of holly in all his years. As a special treat, the cooks had created an array of delicacies, with the tarts and pies being the main attraction.
“How many of those have you eaten?” the queen asked upon seeing William return from the table with both his hands and mouth stuffed with sweets. He was unable to provide an answer beyond a few grunts, which implied that this was not his first portion.
As usual, I was a bit more sparing in my selection, choosing only those morsels that were most appealing. Although I was still a child, Lady Beatrice had already warned me that the public would not suffer a woman to become too large in the same manner that they would a man. This double standard was fortunate for my father, who in addition to gaining a bald head had increased in mass over the past few years. No one at court dared to mention this corpulence, but I knew that my eyes did not deceive me.
Our uncle had brought New Year’s gifts for my brother and me, which he presented to us in turn. First was William’s: a young Talbot that was brown in color and, once introduced, began running around the room and putting its wet nose to anything it could find. William was lavish in his gratitude, embracing uncle David’s legs and assuring him that he could not have bestowed the gift upon anyone more eager.
“It seemed right given the strides you have been making toward manhood,” David replied. “I know that Herbert and Edmund have taken great pains to ensure that your training includes all that is required for a future king. I have no doubt that they will soon take you out hunting, and this new hound can be trained up with you. The two of you will make a fine pair—I am certain of it.”
“William already has one dog that is under the care of Master Edmund. I see you intend to create more work for that man,” the queen said to her brother. “Even so, I suppose I ought to laud you for making the prince so happy.”
“From one prince to another!” David said to his nephew, releasing him to chase the whelp around the room.
“I name you Colin!” the young boy declared, catching the poor thing by the tail and pressing it to his chest. The hound let out a pitiful sound before succumbing to this childish fervor.
“Well, at least Colin is an apt name, for that is what the Scots call a young dog. Here, Maud, I have brought something for you as well.”
He handed me a bound volume, which I opened to reveal illustrations of what appeared to be every beast known to man. I leafed through the pages, enamored by the rich colors and fine craftsmanship. Each page contained a description of a different animal.
“This is a bestiarum,” my uncle said to me, confirming what I already knew. “It was compiled by the monks of the Holy Island of Lindisfarne and is a true treasure of learning. I hope you are pleased with it.”
I did not know how to reply. That I was pleased was beyond any doubt, but it was written in Latin, and I was well aware that my knowledge of that language was lacking. My face dropped slightly and I was ashamed to admit my failing. Perhaps sensing whence the difficulty arose, Uncle David encouraged me to climb onto his lap so that we could read over one of the pages together. I did as I was commanded and turned to a page that was labeled “Simia.”
“What do you make of this creature, Maud?”
I looked over the drawing, which showed a figure covered in dark-brown hair clinging to a tree branch with three of its legs. The other leg it used to carry one of its young, and another clung to its back. Its eyes gleamed with a fierce red light. I did not imagine that one would want to be caught alone with such an animal.
“It looks frightful,” I said. “What is it? I do not think that it lives in England.”
“Right you are. It says that this beast is only found in the lands to the south and east, where it is called kurut, but in Latin it is called simia.”
“Why does it bear that name?”
“Because it is similar to men. See, this is a female shown in the picture with two of her young. The text states that the mother will always love one child and hate the other, and that is why she carries one in her arms and the other must ride on her back. It also says that the simia is a most cunning creature and not to be trusted.”
“Like Jacob and Esau?”
“What do you mean?”
I looked to my mother and could see by the smile upon her face that she had guessed my meaning.
“‘I loved Jacob, and I hated Esau.’ That is from Scripture, Uncle.”
“Ah, and who taught you that?”
“Father Anselm. He knows everything there is to know about the Scriptures.”
“Child, no one may know the entirety of the Scriptures, not even Anselm,” Mother said, “though I can see that you have learned a great deal these past few months.”
“How is the great Anselm?” David asked, still holding me in his arms, my brother now playing with the dog on the floor.
“It is a matter of some concern to me, as you might have guessed. He is well on in years, and I am afraid that King Henry has not made things easy for him since he ascended to the throne,” the queen answered.
“I hear he still writes works of meditation as he used to in the former days. Well, he is fortunate to remain in the See of Canterbury. I know what a faithful daughter you have been to him. He owes you a debt that he is likely never to comprehend.”
“You flatter me, but I possess no great degree of influence. I fear that my words often fall on deaf ears.”
For the first time all day, the queen seemed to drift into sadness. Prince David attempted to change the subject of conversation.
“I understand that the king has sent more of the Flemings off to live in Wales. Are they really so unbearable?”
“The English are not fond of aliens,” Mother replied. “They feared that, should the number of foreigners continue to increase, there would be very little of the English left in England. I think it a bit incredible, particularly given the mixing of blood now taking place throughout the kingdom, but as usual I was denied. Still, I am certain that they shall thrive in their new situation, and as long as the cloth trade continues in London, the Flemish will seek our shores.”
“Ow, he bit me!” William cried, his body curled up on the floor and his left hand holding one of the fingers of his right. Colin continued to run circles round him as if completely innocent.
“Let me see,” Mother said, bending down to examine his finger. “It looks a bit red, but I see no sign of a cut. I daresay you shall survive this one.”
“But it hurts!” William protested. He looked to each of us in turn, craving some form of pity to equal the pain he was apparently experiencing. When it was denied him, he retreated to a corner of the room, where he took up again with the same creature he had declared to be a menace.
“There is a lesson for you,” the queen said to her brother. “When you have sons of your own, remember this day and the proper manner in which to handle such minor calamities.”
“You always did love instructing me,” he said with a smile. “Tell me, have you heard when the king will return?”
“Not yet, but if he keeps to hi
s usual pattern, he will return when winter ends.”
“Maud hopes he will never come back,” William charged.
“William, you liar!” I shouted. “You know I never said such a thing.”
“No, but you whine about having to marry the emperor, and how sad it will be when you can’t see us again.”
I shifted my glance to my mother, who had a look of concern upon her face.
“I swear, Mother, I am ready to carry out the duty laid upon me. I would not say such things.”
“I listen to you at night, when you think I am asleep,” William continued. “I heard you cry and whisper things that you don’t want Lady Beatrice to know.”
“That is enough, William,” the queen declared, and then turned to face me. I could feel the tears forming in my eyes once again. “I understand the fears you are experiencing.”
“I know, Mother, and I shall try my hardest to be good. I shall put such thoughts away.”
“What I am trying to say is that what you are feeling is precisely what I felt when I was sent away to live at the nunnery, or when your uncle David was forced to come to the English court because the Kingdom of Scotland was thrown into chaos. We have spoken of this before, and I know you intend to be brave, but I pray that you will not trouble yourself to such a degree, for neither your father nor”—here she paused as if struggling to accept the words that escaped her lips—“neither your father nor I would place you in any situation unless we were sure it was for your own good. You shall be well looked after, believe me.”
“What your mother says is true,” my uncle offered, embracing me still more tightly. “There is no reason to fear your father’s coming.”
“I am not afraid,” I said definitively. “You can tell anyone you like that I am not afraid.”
Following the end of Advent, things began to change quickly. Prince David left again for the realm of Cumbria, with the queen’s promise that she would continue to support his efforts to strengthen his position, provided that he did not resort to open warfare. Anselm was forced to take his leave of Westminster, as his health had begun its final decline. That parting was a sorrowful one, for there was little doubt on the part of either the archbishop or the queen that it would be the last time they met on this earth. What words were exchanged between them, I cannot say, but my mother had a look of mourning about her as she watched his boat travel down the River Thames and out of our lives. A few weeks later, we received word of his demise.
The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1) Page 9
