Authors: Ellen Jones
“You must make an effort, my child,” she continued. “The folk of Anjou will think it a funeral you attend, not a wedding. All ready?”
I will never be ready, Maud wanted to say, but she gave Aldyth a brief nod.
As she rode on a snow-white palfrey toward the cathedral church of St. Julian, where, traditionally, the Counts of Anjou were married, Maud did make an effort. Forcing a smile to stiff cold lips, she raised her hand in greeting as the bridal procession passed through the crowded streets of Le Mans.
The sky was a soft blue, the air sweet with the scents of lilies, marigolds, roses and gillyflowers that grew in profusion along the road. Such a glorious day, Maud thought, so at variance with what lay ahead.
When Maud reached St. Julian’s and dismounted, she was met by a wave of hostility emanating from the small group of Norman barons and prelates who filled the minster. Maud knew they attended the wedding under protest, making no secret of their outrage at King Henry’s treachery for arranging such a marriage without their knowledge. She could almost hear their unspoken condemnation: Bad enough to have a woman ruler, but an Angevin as her king-consort!
She caught a glimpse of the fat Bishop of Salisbury, his face dripping with sweat, and the tall figure of Stephen’s brother, the Abbot of Glastonbury.
“The ceremony is about to begin,” the King said in her ear.
He took her arm and they walked slowly down the aisle. The great nave burned with hundreds of white candles and the stained-glass windows sparkled like precious gems. The choir sang so loudly it was almost deafening.
Geoffrey, resplendent in the blue-and-green costume he had worn when she first met him, the ever-present golden broom perched on his blue cap, barely looked at her.
All too soon they reached the altar. I cannot go through with the ritual, she thought, panic-stricken, I cannot do it. Stephen, she cried wordlessly, Stephen, help me. She almost turned to run back up the aisle but her father was directly behind her. Still she hesitated, then felt the silent force of her father’s will propelling her to do what she must. Aware of every eye upon her, Maud made her body kneel before the candlelit altar. The crown trembled on her head, but the weight of the golden plates steadied her, reminding her of who she was: the future Queen of England. Holding that thought before her as a beacon in the darkness, she endured the solemn mass of the Trinity.
At last the Agnus Dei was chanted; Geoffrey received the kiss of peace from the Bishop. At the foot of the great crucifix, he stiffly embraced Maud, and with icy lips formally transmitted the kiss of peace on her cheek. The ceremony was over. She was now Countess of Anjou and Maine.
The wedding party had barely sat down to the first of a series of banquets held in the great hall of Le Mans Castle when a messenger arrived for King Henry.
“What’s happened?” Maud asked Robert.
“I will find out.”
He rose, accompanied by Brian FitzCount. When they returned to Maud’s side a few moments later their faces were grave.
“The King just received word that a number of Norman barons in both England and Normandy have gone to offer their services to his nephew, William Clito,” Robert said.
“Former Duke Robert of Normandy’s son?” Geoffrey asked. “He has no valid claim to the duchy.”
“Some think a better claim than King Henry,” Brian remarked.
Geoffrey looked bewildered. “But why would anyone defect to Clito’s cause now?”
Robert shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “The messages from the King’s advisers report widespread condemnation of the marriage between Normandy and Anjou. Many nobles openly state that had they known of the King’s intention to foist an Angevin upon them, they would never have agreed to accept Maud as their future queen. Thus they turn to his nephew.”
“Such statements are treasonous,” Geoffrey retorted, his blue eyes smoldering with indignation. “What do they have against the Angevins? We were a civilized tribe when the Normans were mere barbarians raiding the coasts.”
That attitude is one reason, Maud barely refrained from saying.
“There’s always been bad blood between the Normans and Angevins,” Brian said. “The prime cause is no doubt long forgotten.”
“Is the King really surprised at his magnates’ response?” Maud asked, glancing across the table at King Henry, who was busily conferring with Fulk of Anjou. “Such a result was inevitable when he broke his oath to the nobles.”
“I trust that King Henry will put the land to rights before I come to the throne,” said Geoffrey. “I’ve no wish to inherit a realm in turmoil.”
Maud, Robert, and Brian looked at him in dismay. That he, personally, should not be troubled was all Geoffrey cared about, Maud realized. The goodwill of the Norman people seemed of no concern to him.
“The Norman party is leaving at once so that the unrest may be quelled before it spreads further,” Robert said.
As a result of the King’s unexpected departure the wedding festivities were cut short, much to the relief of the Normans, who could now escape Anjou sooner than they had dared hope. To Maud’s relief, the traditional blessing of the marriage bed and the undressing of the bride were omitted: The groom and his father left immediately for Angers to prepare for her arrival.
Still unforgiving, Maud parted from her father with cool formality, from Brian and Robert with genuine reluctance.
“When next we meet I look to be an uncle,” Robert said, kissing her warmly on both cheeks.
“May I kiss the bride?” Brian asked.
Maud smiled her consent. She was not surprised at the warmth and tenderness with which Brian kissed her, full on the mouth, letting his lips linger far beyond the demands of courtesy. During her time in Rouen she had begun to suspect that underneath his cool exterior, the Lord of Wallingford harbored a growing attachment to her. She responded, clinging to his spare frame as if she were losing her last friend, which, in a sense, she was.
“Don’t judge young Geoffrey too harshly,” Brian murmured under his breath. “And no more japes with falcons and such. Remember, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
She nodded, holding back a sudden urge to weep.
The last to approach her was Abbot Henry, Stephen’s brother.
“I’m instructed to give you a wedding present,” he said in his clipped, austere voice, putting a small ivory box into her hand. “From my brother, Stephen—and myself, of course—with all good wishes for a happy and fruitful life as Countess of Anjou.” He looked at her with frosty eyes.
Maud opened the box with shaking fingers. Inside was a gold ring set with an emerald carved in the shape of a crescent moon.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said, turning it over reverently in her hand. The stone sparkled like green fire, reminding her of Stephen’s eyes.
“My father, the Count of Blois, took it off a dead Saracen and brought it back from the Holy Land. It’s worth a king’s ransom.”
Maud could tell that the Abbot disapproved of the present. “Thank you for such a princely gift,” she said. “Please tell Stephen that I will treasure this for all time.”
She clutched the ring tightly in her palm. Stephen’s fingers touched this, her heart sang, something of him lives within this ring.
The Abbot gave her a brief smile, bowed, and left. It was not until he had gone that Maud was struck by his odd choice of words: a happy life as Countess of Anjou? She could easily be queen within a year or two. What did he mean? Shrugging, she dismissed his words, much cheered by the ring. She had given Stephen her grandmother’s silver ring, now he returned the gift in kind. The message was unmistakable; she was infused with new courage.
When Maud arrived in Angers several days later, the ring, suspended from a fine gold chain, reposed between her breasts.
There was genuine rejoicing among the folk of Geoffrey’s capital when Maud first appeared. They made much of the fact that they had never before welcomed a bride as illustrious as the King of England’s daughter. Maud was gratified to see the eager citizens waving banners as they crowded the crooked streets, the white-robed clergy bearing crucifixes and lighted tapers, accompanied by the peal of church bells and the chanting of psalms.
Against a twilight sky, Maud could see Angers Castle set on a high mound overlooking a wide river. The portcullis was up and the drawbridge down when the wedding procession came to the moat. As they rode through the thick stone tunnel into the outer bailey, well lit by flaring torches, Maud noted the mill, well-stocked barns, stables, and huts. She was equally impressed by the large number of grooms, blacksmiths, armorers and fletchers, still at their tasks, waiting, she assumed, to catch a glimpse of the new countess. No one had told her Angers was such a mighty stronghold. Crossing to the inner gate, they rode into the courtyard where the steward and a host of servitors met them at the door of the keep. When she heard the portcullis groaning down, Maud knew in that instant what a prisoner must feel as the iron door of his cell swung shut behind him.
Impatient to be wed to the daughter of the King of Jerusalem, whose crown he would inherit, Fulk of Anjou, who had only been waiting to see Maud ensconced as Countess, departed for the Holy Land at dawn the following day.
Maud and Geoffrey were alone.
As the wedding festivities had been cut short in Le Mans, and Fulk had required his son’s presence on his last night in Angers, there had been no opportunity for Geoffrey to assert his conjugal rights. Although they were supposed to share the same room, Geoffrey had retained his old quarters and had given Maud the main bedchamber to share with Aldyth and the small retinue of women she had brought from Normandy. It showed an unexpected sensitivity Maud had not thought him capable of, and she was grateful.
On the night following Fulk’s departure a wedding supper was held; the Bishop of Angers blessed their marriage bed, then Maud’s women undressed her and put her to bed. She had covered herself with the linen sheet and left her hair unbound to flow down her back and shoulders like a shimmering russet curtain. The bells were ringing for Compline when Geoffrey knocked at her door.
“You’re satisfied with your chamber?” he asked, looking around the room with a proprietary air.
Maud nodded, following his glance. The large chamber, like everything else at the castle, reflected the solid tastes of the Counts of Anjou. Tall white tapers in wrought-iron holders cast flickering shadows about the room, throwing into relief the carved wooden bed with its blue-and-crimson coverlet, blue canopy and hangings, the stout chests of golden wood, oak bench, and thick linen tapestries covering the walls.
Dressed in a curious blue silk robe of Eastern design, worked with crescent moons in silver thread, Geoffrey, obviously ill at ease, began to wander about the room. He picked up an ivory casket, where Maud had placed Stephen’s ring, examined it, then, to her relief, put it back without opening it.
“Would you like some wine?” she asked, pointing to a jug and two wooden cups standing on one of the chests.
He would need something to calm him, she thought, for he was edgy as a highly bred greyhound on its first hunt. She wondered how much experience—if any—he had had with girls. At his age, it could hardly have been very extensive. Of course, she was little better off than he. The blind leading the blind, as Aldyth might term it. A picture of Stephen’s body covering hers swam suddenly before her eyes.
“Wine would be most agreeable,” he said gratefully, pouring wine into the cups, and walking over to the bed.
“A delightful wine,” she said, taking quick sips.
“From Bordeaux, a wedding gift from the Duke of Aquitaine,” Geoffrey replied. He drank, then placed their cups on the floor. Taking a deep breath, he addressed her in solemn tones. “I am aware, Madam, that neither of us favored this match, but we must make the best of it, and put aside our—any other considerations.” He took her hand in limp fingers that were clammy with sweat. “Let us get down to the business of producing an heir. Just imagine, Madam, our sons will have the kings of both England and Jerusalem for grandfathers.”
“A great heritage,” she murmured, not unmoved by his brave little speech, well rehearsed before, she suspected.
Geoffrey leaned forward and pulled down the sheet. He stared round-eyed at this first glimpse of her naked bosom. Moving closer, he gingerly touched a full breast with a tentative finger, as if fearful it might bite him.
Suddenly he rose, blew out the candles, then pulled the blue robe over his head. “I realize you’re no stranger to conjugal matters,” he said, slipping into bed beside her, “but I want you to know I’m not without experience myself.”
Maud smiled to herself in the darkness. “I was sure you would not be.”
She forced herself to lie submissively while Geoffrey kissed her with open wet lips, then thrust his tongue into her unresponsive mouth. Meeting no resistance, he began to maul her breasts with both hands, panting heavily through his nose like a dog after game. Drawing the coverlet over his head Geoffrey curled up beside her and, fastening his mouth to her nipple, sucked at it with such relish she felt as if she had a greedy infant at her breast. His body, slender and not yet fully formed, felt like a child’s compared to Stephen’s muscular frame.
Staring up at the shadowy beams of the ceiling, Maud held herself rigid while Geoffrey poked and nipped at her body. It was all she could do to keep from screaming out loud. Finally he climbed on top of her. At last. Soon it would be over. Dutifully she spread her legs, squeezing her eyes shut. Geoffrey squirmed and wiggled, thrusting and jerking against her. Gradually Maud became aware that she could feel no evidence of his manhood, and had not felt any since they had gotten into bed. After a few more unsuccessful attempts to enter her with a limp member, Geoffrey rolled off her body, got out of bed, and quickly donned his blue robe.
“You were not ready for me tonight, Madam,” he said quickly, avoiding her eyes as he wiped rivulets of sweat off his forehead. “You need first to adjust to your new surroundings. I’m sure matters will improve with time.”