The Forsaken Monarch Read online

  “Will this do?” the servant asked me.

  “I suppose it will have to,” I replied.

  He left me alone in the small room. The wind whistled and the boards creaked. The cold air slipped in through every crack. It was fortunate that I had brought several furs with me from Caen. Suddenly, I felt something rush past my feet. I let out a scream, only to see that it was a poor mouse hoping to escape the cold.

  “I do not mind you seeking warmth, but I have no desire to share my bed with you,” I said, shooing it away.

  I set my things down and squinted through one of the larger cracks in the wall. The yard was packed with hundreds of men gathered around fires, some knights and others humble servants. They rubbed their hands together and blew on them, no doubt imagining the heat of summer.

  “What a sorry sight,” I murmured.

  It was Christmas Eve, so I had no time to dally. I called in the ladies and made ready for supper. As fate would have it, snow began to fall, and ere I departed, the hardened mud had been covered by an inch or two of frozen slop.

  “Should we try to clear a path, madam?” one of them asked.

  “It’s no use,” I moaned.

  We made the best of it, but by the time I reached the keep, I was soaked through from toes to knees, having been splashed with every step.

  The hall lay within the great stone keep. In order to enter, one first had to pass through the entry building, which contained nothing more than a set of stairs. This led directly to the doors of the great hall. I stomped my feet on each of the stone steps in an effort to dry them. The doors then opened before me, and I looked into an entirely different land of light and color.

  To the left was a row of brightly painted columns backed by bright red curtains. Each column had been wrapped in boughs of green, with dried flowers and bits of cloth of gold placed in them just so. On the far end of the hall was the king’s table, upon which sat every manner of food. The great crest of the royal House of Normandy was hung behind it. To the right were windows to the outside, in which sat rows of candles. From the ceiling beams were hung shining stars, lit from below by the two small cauldrons of fire that provided warmth for the gathering.

  “The Lord Himself could not have wished for a better reception upon the day of his birth,” I said to myself.

  There were two long tables on either end of the room with room for dancing in between. I walked in the space just beyond the columns to avoid all the merry makers. Very soon I reached the high table. As I lifted my skirt and climbed the two steps up to the dais, I saw that the queen was not in her usual seat next to the king. I left her chair open and sat two down from the king’s chair. Once he was also seated, I turned and asked him, “Where is Queen Adeliza?”

  “She claims to have some malady, though I cannot think how she got it,” the king replied, not meeting my eyes.

  If her lodgings are anything like mine, it’s a wonder she’s not dead already, I thought.

  “Stephen!” the king cried, for my cousin had just entered. “Come sit beside me!”

  Count Stephen then took the place between myself and my father, and the king patted him on the back. I wondered that my father had not asked Robert to sit there, being the king’s son, but my brother sat just across the table, along with my nephew. Since my return, I had noticed that King Henry had a special affection for my cousin. Perhaps it was because Stephen received every word the king gave him as if it were a drop of gold from the sun.

  “Robert, William, Maud, Stephen, Beaumont … all are here except Brian. Where is he?” the king asked.

  “He went to bid the servants get more wood for the fire,” Stephen said.

  As there was no one seated to my right, I offered, “Lord Brian can sit here when he returns.”

  “Very well. Let’s eat!” my father said.

  This was fortunate, for I knew that I would have the best conversation of all with Lord Brian. Ever since my return, we had enjoyed many pleasant discussions on an array of subjects, and it seemed that we were very much of the same mind in regard to many of the pressing issues of the day. What was even better, while most men either knew less than me about the world or knew more and held themselves superior, Brian was gracious in the way he explained things, and he listened intently when I spoke of my experiences in the empire. Actually, that was his greatest strength: he was an excellent listener.

  After the food had been placed on our table and everyone had a chance to devour a few bites, the king spoke again. “Now, just so you all know, I’ve sent word to Bishop Roger of Salisbury, and he is taking all the false moneyers into custody and dealing with them in a manner that most befits their crimes.”

  “And what manner would that be?” Stephen asked.

  “With their hands, they have struck the coins unjustly, mixing them with lesser metals, and thus defrauding the public. They offend us greatly, and therefore I have chosen to follow the words of Christ himself: ‘If thy right hand make thee to offend, cut if off, and cast it from thee.’”

  Those of us who had been eating ceased doing so and looked at one another. I believe none of us were certain if he was jesting, and I for one was too afraid to ask. The king gave us no sign and continued to tear the flesh off the goose in front of him.

  “Do you mean to say you’re having their hands cut off?” Robert Beaumont finally asked.

  “Ha! That is not the half of it,” the king said. “I’m also having their privy parts removed.”

  “Really?!” young William asked, rising a bit out of his seat. He seemed rather more delighted than the situation warranted.

  “Please tell me you’re not serious,” I begged.

  “When am I anything but serious?” the king replied, ripping one of the legs off the goose. “If men will not act as they ought, then we shall take their manhood from them. They are not worthy of it,” the king concluded, tapping the leg on the table with each of the last few words.

  “Well, a Merry Christmas to us all!” Robert said. “Except the moneyers, of course, who are in for a rather nasty surprise.”

  “What surprise is that?” Brian asked, having just arrived at the table.

  We all turned and looked at him in surprise, for we had been so caught up in our conversation that no one saw him approach.

  “King Henry is making all the moneyers into eunuchs, just in time for the New Year,” I replied. “Tell us, Lord Brian, where is that in the common law?”

  “This is no time for a discussion of ethics!” the king said. He leaned across Stephen, perching himself on the table with his arm, and pointing at me with the half eaten goose leg in his right hand. “My daughter, I will place upon you the same burden that the Lord placed upon Abraham. Find me ten men, whether English or Norman, who disapprove of my decision, and I shall revoke it.”

  “What do you think, Stephen?” I asked, knowing that if my cousin supported me, the king would be forced to listen.

  Stephen took one look at me, then another at the king who was mere inches from his face, glaring at him.

  “I think this is a matter for King Henry’s good judgment,” he answered, sinking down a bit in his chair.

  I sighed and accepted the cut of partridge that was handed to me, though I had rather lost my appetite after our discussion.

  “Have you heard anything from the countess?” the king asked Stephen, returning fully to his own chair.

  “My wife is well. She is visiting her father for the holiday. However, my lord, I think I had best return soon and see her. You know how the women get when we are away too long.”

  “Well, if you must leave me, then you must, but I shall be sorry to see you go,” my father declared. “You are the best of us, Stephen. You do us proud. Tell me, how is your younger brother coming along? I know your mother intends him for the Church.”

  “Only if that is what Your Highness desires.”

  “I do desire it. The sooner we can get him to England the better. I have a place in mind for him,
but I shall not announce it yet. Suffice it to say, I trust both your mother and brother will be pleased.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I shall inform them of these blessings soon to come from your hand. You are most gracious, as always.”

  What a sycophanta you are, I thought, and what a glorious language is Latin to call you so!

  “Father, you should see what William can do,” brother Robert said, breaking into the conversation. “Show him, William.”

  The boy took a knife from the table and balanced it upright on the palm of his hand.

  “Very good! Here, try it with my dagger,” the king replied, pulling the weapon from its sheath.

  “I really don’t think that’s a good idea—” I began to say, but the boy had already taken it in hand and performed the same feat with ease.

  “Try my sword!” Robert Beaumont cried, but there even my brother drew a line.

  “I think he had better get back to eating,” the boy’s father said. “Here, have some turnips.”

  He set a whole plate of them in front of William, who let out a groan, covered his eyes, and sunk down in his chair as if he wanted the floor to devour him.

  I finished my meal before the others and had no desire to dance or remain in conversation, so the king permitted me to leave.

  “Brian!” he called. “Accompany my daughter back to her room!”

  “Certainly, my lord,” he replied.

  “There is no need,” I said. “Where is Drogo? He can accompany me.”

  I looked around the room quickly, but for all his height, I could not see my knight anywhere.

  “He seems to be in the middle of something,” Brian told me, pointing over to the one corner I had not yet checked, where Drogo stood hunched over in conversation with a lady whose name I did not know, but who was clearly far too pretty for him to willingly desert any time soon.

  “Oh, very well. Let’s walk together,” I concluded, then muttered, “Go with God, Drogo.”

  The two of us descended to the main floor and made our way around the tables of feasters, stepping this way and that to avoid those who had imbibed too much.

  “You and your knight seem to be rather good friends,” Brian said.

  “Yes, we have been through it all together,” I replied over my shoulder, moving to the left to avoid a man carrying several bowls of mead.

  “He is very devoted to you.”

  I suddenly sensed that the conversation was going in a bad direction. I had made it to the door, and once I was in the quiet of the entry way, I stopped to let him catch up. As soon as he did, I said to him in private, “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his look earnest.

  “When I was in the empire, I had no real family. Drogo was like an older brother to me: an older brother I could laugh with and even cry with. It is true that we are very familiar in our speech, but I assure you, it is nothing more than friendship.”

  “You don’t need to convince me,” he replied, moving toward the door.

  I stepped in front of him, for I was intent on removing any shadow of a doubt. “It’s just—I would hate for anyone to get the wrong impression, because actually, I do not think of him that way at all. I mean that honestly.”

  “I believe you, truly,” he said with a smile. “Are you ready to brave the cold?”

  “I doubt I’ll ever be ready, but I suppose we must,” I concluded.

  He opened the door, and I was instantly hit by the winter cold. The yard of Falaise Castle is rather small, for it is perched on top of a crag and thus limited by the size of the hill. It should have been an easy walk, but alas, while we had been enjoying our feast, the puddles of slop had turned to ice. I was completely ignorant of this, and a few steps into the yard, without warning, I slipped and fell to the ground. I caught myself with both hands, thus saving my head but causing my palms to become bloodied and raw. I wanted to scream, but was able to suppress it. I had no desire to draw even more attention to myself.

  “Are you hurt?” Brian asked, reaching down to help me up.

  “I think my pride is hurt more than anything.”

  “Your dress is torn.”

  “What? Where?” I replied in alarm.

  “Just on the arm there,” he said, pointing.

  Sure enough, the sleeve was torn near the elbow, and the skin beneath was bloody.

  “I thought I had just hit it. I didn’t know it was bleeding,” I said quietly, feeling rather awkward.

  “No need to fear. Truly, it was my fault for not helping you properly. Here—let’s get you back and tend to your wounds. You can lean on me.”

  “No, really, I promise I will not fall again,” I assured him. I had no desire for him to put himself out on my account.

  “Please,” he said quietly, looking into my eyes, “I already have a lot to answer for.”

  I was still a bit uncertain about this idea, but I relented.

  “Very well …”

  I placed my arm around him and he did the same to me so that we walked as one. It was a good thing too, because we both slid at one point or another. The walk to my lodging—if indeed you could call it a lodging—was not a long one, but our slow pace made it seem so. We both laughed a bit as we clung together, and I can only imagine what the few guards looking on must have thought.

  “Almost there,” he said. “We’ll get you by the fire and you can warm up.”

  Was it cold? I had quite forgotten. Something far stranger had come over me, and it seemed to increase with every sound of his voice and touch of his hand. My heart was beating quickly and I felt lit by an inner flame.

  We arrived at the door and I walked inside. I then turned to say farewell, but saw that he had come in after me.

  “You’ve naught but embers left. Let me get it started again,” he said, grabbing a pair of logs from the stack in the corner and using them to build up the fire. Some sparks leaped and it began to glow more brightly.

  “Please, I can call one of the ladies to do that.”

  “You cannot think that I would let you walk back out there on your own, or do you want me to hang?” he said with a smile.

  For one of the few times in my life, I seemed utterly unable to speak. The fire inside me—I felt bold, as if I had never been more alive. I knew exactly what I wanted to say, and yet I was far too afraid to utter the words. I was at war with myself.

  “Is something the matter?” he asked, lowering the rod and looking back up at me.

  I pulled myself out of my daze and said quickly, “I am tired—that’s all.”

  “Of course. Let me see your hands.”

  As he grabbed them, I felt my heart leap. He examined each one carefully, turning them over. He then looked up and I recognized that I had been staring at him. I quickly looked away.

  “Forgive me, I am making you nervous, the two of us here alone,” he said. “I should leave.”

  Leaving was the opposite of what I wanted him to do. At least, I thought it was. I felt a powerful longing to be with him, and yet this longing filled me with fear. I could hardly speak what I felt, so I simply nodded and gave him some word of thanks.

  “I will send the ladies over. They can clean those for you. A merry and blessed Christmas to you!”

  He turned and departed out the door quickly so as not to let too much of the cold air in, although given the poor construction of the dwelling, there was not much hope of that. At last, I was left standing there alone, my heart still pounding. I ran over to the wall and looked out the crack to watch him walk away, then caught myself.

  “Stop this, Maud! What on earth do you think you’re doing?” I chided.

  I actually hit myself on the head, but it was no use, for I knew most assuredly what I must have suspected for some time: that I did not desire to be around Brian merely for his good conversation. It seemed I had become quite partial to him.

  “No,” I whispered. “That is not all. I love him. I must!
I want to be with him. Why else do I feel this way?”

  Even as I said this, I hit my head again. “Idiot! What are you thinking? All those years, you’re married to someone and you never feel like this. Now you’re friends with someone for a few weeks and—”

  I did not finish speaking but began to cry. I sat down on the pallet and pulled my knees against my body, burying my face. The more I thought about it, the more I wept, for at the very moment I had recognized my love for him, I also sensed that my love would never be fulfilled. If no man had loved me that way before, why should this one be any different? Yet I suddenly felt the need for that kind of love urgently, and not just from anyone, but from him. The more tears I cried, the more I came to see that I had fooled myself for a very long time. There was a part of me that had always longed to be alive, and now that it was, I knew not what to do.

  The heat within me had died down. The icy wind was pouring in through the cracks. I continued to wipe the tears from my face.

  Well, this can hardly end well, I thought. It is already a tragedy.

  Through the watches of the night, I lay awake remembering every conversation, every glance, every smile. I turned over in bed, pulling the only fur I had been given against my body, needing sleep and yet unable to gain comfort of mind. I longed for some assurance that I was not alone: that he felt as I did. Yet I was not fool enough to allow myself hope.

  “You’re a hard woman to catch up with,” he had said to me.

  What was the meaning of that? Did he truly desire my company? Or did he merely pity me? Or had they drawn lots to see who would speak with me and he came out the loser?

  “I thought it would be impertinent,” he had told me.

  Impertinent because it revealed his love for me? Or impertinent because he was my inferior? Did it warm his heart to know that I treasured his gift? Or did it make no difference? And when he held me, was the ice his true concern, or was it something else? Did he feel what I felt in that moment? No, he couldn’t love me. He barely knew me. I was seeing only what I wanted to see. And what did it matter anyway? He could not love me and I could not love him, for I was the king’s daughter, and he was a simple noble man. But oh, if he did love me, even to know that—what ecstasy! But surely he did not. No, that was a foolish way to think.