Authors: Ellen Jones
All she could do was nod. A weakness seemed to assail her limbs and the Bishop’s round pudding face had become two faces. Swaying, she walked unsteadily over to the bed.
“Do you wish to lie down? Let me help you.”
He helped her onto the bed and as she lay back the chamber spun round and round.
After that, everything passed as if in a dream. It seemed to Maud that she slept, then woke to find herself dressed in a warm cloak, taken from the bed and carried out of the chamber, down the passage and the stairs. She heard familiar voices—they sounded like Brian, Robert, and Aldyth. She was placed in a litter where she was given more wine, then slept again. After what seemed a long journey, during which she was half awake but so fogged she could not comprehend what was happening, the litter stopped. In her dream—for she was sure she must be dreaming—she smelled the brisk salt air of the sea, and a wind whipped her face, briefly rousing her.
“She wakes,” Robert’s voice said clearly. “Give her more wine before she is put on the ship.”
“She will be ill if you give her any more,” Aldyth’s voice rose on the wind. “Do you want to poison her?”
Poison? What was happening? A goblet was placed against her lips, a trickle of wine slid down her throat, and she slept again, lulled by a gentle rocking motion.
Maud opened her eyes slowly, aware of a throbbing ache in her head. For a moment everything whirled, then her gaze settled on the face of her half-brother, Robert of Gloucester, sitting on the edge of the bed in which she lay.
“Robert?” she whispered, her throat so dry she could barely speak.
The relief on his face was palpable. “Thank the good Lord, I thought you would never wake.”
Her mystified gaze took in the unfamiliar surroundings: the red canopy over her head, the sumptuous, well-appointed chamber with its elaborate wall hangings.
“What place is this?” she croaked.
“We are in the ducal palace in Rouen,” he said quietly.
The ducal palace in—she was in Normandy? Aghast, Maud struggled to sit up, but her strength seemed to have deserted her and she fell back almost immediately.
“Don’t overtax yourself, Sister,” Robert said. “Gradually you will begin to feel better as the poppy and mandrake wear off.”
Poppy and mandrake. Used to induce deep sleep and subdue pain. How could she—the wine! These herbs had been put into her wine! Suddenly everything became clear. She had been given drugged wine to keep her manageable, then spirited away to Normandy where she could more easily be kept prisoner without awkward questions being asked. Her father’s doing, of course. How had she ever dared hope to best Henry of England? A trickle of tears ran down her face.
“Sister,” Robert said gently, as he stroked her hand. “Please. Do not weep.”
“Where is Aldyth? Was she given the poppy, too?”
“Aldyth is here. There was no need to give her anything. Wild horses would not have prevented her from going with you, you know that.”
“I hope you’re pleased with yourself, Brother,” Maud said. “You and Lord FitzCount—I did hear Brian’s voice, did I not?—have much to be proud of aiding my father in this … this despicable act.”
Robert wore a miserable look on his face.
“And I had thought you both my friends! Would I had never laid eyes on either of you!” She grimaced as a throb of pain lanced through her head.
“We had little choice, Maud,” Robert replied. “As you have little choice. One must obey the King and you refused to do so.”
“That my father would stoop to such infamy! To spirit away his own daughter.”
“If you had agreed willingly to the marriage with Anjou, these measures would not have been necessary.”
Again Maud struggled to sit, her heart beating wildly. “How long have I been here?”
“Since yesterday morning. It is just past noon now.”
A sudden blast of horns echoed through the chamber. “Who arrives?” she asked, wincing at the sound.
There was a knock on the door and Brian FitzCount entered. “My lady, I’m much relieved to see you’re awake,” he said, approaching the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“How would you expect me to feel under the circumstances?” she asked accusingly.
Brian met her eyes without flinching. “I deeply regret the manner in which you were brought here. Neither Robert nor I approved of our mission.”
“But executed it regardless.”
“As loyal servants of the crown, yes.”
Maud sighed. “What is happening outside?” she asked.
Robert and Brian exchanged glances. Robert took a deep breath.
“Sister, the horns announce the arrival of—Geoffrey of Anjou.”
Sweet Marie, Geoffrey of Anjou! In that moment Maud knew she was lost.
W
HEN THE FANFARE TURNED
out to be merely an advance warning, a banneret of knights come to announce Geoffrey of Anjou’s arrival the following day, Maud was so relieved she immediately began to recover her strength. For the remainder of the day she alternated between fury and self-pity. When she thought about Stephen she wanted to weep; when she thought about her father she was consumed with rage.
Next morning dawned fair. A pale sun shone through a faded blue sky streaked with ragged white clouds. A brisk channel wind blew from the north, and Maud shivered as she huddled deeper into her squirrel-lined cloak. Still somewhat weak from the effects of the wine, she stood with Robert and Brian on the steps of the ducal palace awaiting a glimpse of Count Geoffrey’s official entry into Rouen.
“I appreciate your cooperation, Sister,” Robert said to Maud. “If you had not been willing to greet the Count, the House of Anjou would have taken it as a mortal insult and our father would have been in a towering rage.”
Maud gave him a wan smile. What choice did she have? As her father must have shrewdly guessed, faced with the reality of the situation, she would never disgrace the House of Normandy.
Brian took her arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Do not pull such a long face, Lady. What we imagine is always worse than what actually exists. With God’s grace you may even grow to care for Geoffrey—in time.”
With a shake of her head, Maud scanned the spires and turrets of St. Mary of Rouen, the narrow cobbled streets and low wooden houses visible through the open gates of the courtyard. How she longed to say: But my heart is given elsewhere; I will never care for anyone except Stephen.
Horns sounded, then Maud saw a long cavalcade of Angevin soldiers approach the palace.
“We weren’t told he would bring an army,” Robert said in surprise.
“A most unwelcome sight for the Normans,” Maud observed. “What will they think to see Angevin soldiers marching through Rouen like conquerors? One would have thought this paragon might have realized that?”
Robert and Brian exchanged a quick glance.
“I imagine he wants us to know he comes as an equal,” Brian said. “After all, he’s only a youth. Let us go down to meet him.”
The courtyard teemed with servants, seneschals and grooms, all ready to minister to the needs of the Angevin visitors. In preparation for the feast to be held that day, scullions, carrying large buckets of water, ran back and forth from the well to the kitchen; servitors staggered under the weight of huge logs for the palace fires.
Having left his army camped outside the palace walls, Geoffrey, followed by his immediate entourage, rode into the courtyard and drew rein. A score of grooms ran forward to hold his horse as he dismounted.
“By the Mass, I would never have taken him for fourteen,” Brian said. “What an engaging youth he is. Geoffrey the Handsome, well named.”
Even Maud could not deny the Count’s beauty, his graceful elegance, or the pride with which he carried himself. Geoffrey of Anjou was of medium height, with a slender, wiry build, reminding Maud of a sleek greyhound. He had blue eyes fringed by impossibly long lashes. Red-gold curls ringed his face and fell softly onto his neck. His milky skin, covered by a soft peach down over his upper lip, cheeks and chin, was without blemish. Impeccably garbed, he wore a blue linen tunic richly adorned with bands and flowers worked in gold thread. Over this he wore a green silk bliaud also decorated with the same gold bands and flowers. The mantle, fastened on the right shoulder with a jeweled clasp, was lined in squirrel fur; his shoes, dark blue leather over green hose. The blue cap on his head, embossed with a gold lion, passant, was ornamented by a yellow flower.
“Fair indeed, and well he knows it,” Maud murmured to Brian. “He preens like a peacock. What is that flower he wears?”
“Ask him.”
“What is the flower you wear, my lord?” Maud asked Geoffrey sometime later after they had exchanged stilted greetings and cautiously taken each other’s measure.
Eyeing each other warily, the Norman and Angevin entourages milled about the great hall of the ducal palace waiting for more tables to be erected in order to accommodate all of Geoffrey’s following. In addition to his soldiers, the Count had brought with him the chief barons of his county and a score of high-born youths.
“The
planta genesta?”
Geoffrey asked in a voice that hovered somewhere between a man’s and a boy’s. He touched the yellow sprig with tapering fingers that sparkled with rings.
“Grâce à Dieu,
Lady, it is the broom flower that makes the open country of Anjou and Maine a carpet of gold in the spring.” He paused to observe the effect of this poetic image on Maud. “I have adapted it as my emblem.” He pointed a proud finger at the golden flowers embroidered on his clothing.
“So I see.”
“I’d thought of having it emblazoned on my shield when I’m knighted by your father, but decided against it in favor of four gold lions, rampant. After all, everyone knows that the lion is the symbol of Anjou, whereas the significance of the
planta genesta
is not yet known.”
“And what does it signify?” Maud asked pointedly.
His eyes suddenly reflected the cold disdain she was to know so well in the months ahead. “As I said, the broom flower is my emblem. In time it will need no other significance.”
There was a tense silence as Geoffrey, his nostrils flaring slightly, looked carefully around the great hall. “Where is King Henry? I expected him to greet me when I arrived.”
“The King suffers from a minor ailment and sends his deepest regrets,” Brian replied. “He hopes to travel within the week.”
“That is unfortunate for I expected to be knighted right away, along with my companions. And betrothed directly afterwards.” His white skin turned a deep rose as he tried to conceal his annoyance. “My father will be most distressed to hear of this delay.”
“It’s only a matter of a few days, my lord,” Brian said in a soothing voice. “The King hoped you and Maud would get to know each other in the interim.”
Geoffrey stole an uncertain glance at Maud. “Oh! Well then, it will be my pleasure to wait.” He bowed graciously. “I must inform my companions. You will excuse me?”
“He’s not of a meek spirit,” Brian remarked, amused, as he watched Geoffrey rejoin his companions. “A true Angevin, if I’m any judge.” He smiled at Maud. “The two of you remind me of a pair of wary cats cautiously circling one another, unable to decide whether friend or foe.”
Watching the sprig of broom bob up and down on Geoffrey’s cap, Maud feared she knew the answer.
As the days passed it became obvious that neither she nor Geoffrey had taken to each other, although even Maud had to admit that Geoffrey tried harder to establish cordial relations between them.
“Would you like to go riding, Madam?” Geoffrey asked one morning a week after he had arrived.
The King was still in England and the Count was growing restive, but doing his best to curb his impatience. He had just presented Maud with a little leather riding crop as his latest gift. Anxious to impress, Geoffrey attempted to surprise Maud every day with a small gift: an exquisitely enameled box from Limoges that reminded her of the one Stephen had given her in London; a leather-bound book of Latin verse by Catullus, very rare and costly; a bolt of precious amber silk, threaded with gold and silver, said to have traveled by caravan from the faraway East.
“I have already ridden this morning,” Maud replied. “Perhaps later.” She was sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard under the branches of a huge chestnut tree, her face turned to the rays of pale sunlight filtering through the budding green leaves.
“Yes, well—I fear there is not much to do in Rouen.”
“No,” she murmured, “it’s nothing like London.”
“Or Anjou,” Geoffrey said immediately. “Now, Angers—that is my capital—is a place you will enjoy. In addition to an excellent stable and superb hunting, we have one of the finest libraries in Europe. With your scholarly tastes, I know you will be impressed by it.”
“What do you know about my tastes?” she asked, intrigued.
“Grâce à Dieu,
what do I not know, Madam. For instance: I know you’re an excellent horsewoman, competent at chess, and fluent in Latin.” He cast his eyes down modestly. “Subjects I’ve already mastered, of course.”
“I’m truly impressed,” Maud said sincerely, rewarding him with a benign smile.
In truth, she was awed by Geoffrey’s precocious abilities: Highly intelligent, well informed about current affairs in Europe, he had a scholar’s interest in literature and history.
From Robert, who shared his tastes, Maud had learned that the young Count was not inexperienced on the battlefield, and had had the running of his father’s estates while Fulk was in the Holy Land. She had observed him competing with Robert and Brian at the butts and quintain, noting that he acquitted himself well. Each time the Norman and Angevin parties had gone hunting, he bagged more game than anyone except Robert. Every evening in the great hall Geoffrey played the lute and sang to her in a sweet, true voice, songs of his own composing that would not have shamed the finest minstrels at her father’s court.
It was impossible not to respect his prodigious capabilities, but try as she would Maud could not warm up to Geoffrey, much less accept him as her future king-consort and the father of her children. Not with Stephen ever present in her heart.