The Forsaken Monarch Read online

  “Quickly!” I called behind her. “I’m not getting any younger!”

  While I waited for her to return, I looked over the remaining letters and found one from Queen Eleanor’s clerk.

  Here, perhaps, is some good news, I thought, for I knew the queen was to give birth any day.

  My eyes quickly moved over the parchment, searching for the vital words. There they were: “The queen is delivered of a daughter.” A daughter? The queen’s astrologer had been wrong after all. He had sworn it would be a fourth boy.

  “That is why I do not place my trust in soothsayers,” I told myself.

  So a girl then: not what we had been hoping for, but any hale child is surely not a calamity. With three sons already among us, gracious Eleanor has little to fear. She can afford to give birth to a daughter. Whether the king will see things the same way, I cannot say. I am certain he dreams of having twelve sons, though what lands he should give to them all I hardly know.

  Here was a note near the bottom: “The queen hopes to welcome you in Angers that you might see the new princess.” Oh, that I could, but my health would not permit such a journey!

  I laid the blanket back on the small bed and walked over to the chest that sat in the corner. Inside were the few clothes I keep at the monastery guest house, the rest being back at my own home, which lies to the west, closer to the river bend. I lifted the lid of the chest, causing some dust to fly into the air.

  After turning my head aside to sneeze, I reached in and grabbed the ermine coat that lay on top, nicely folded. It is one of the more costly things I still own, being made of the brown summer fur rather than the white of winter. It was a special gift from the king upon his coronation, but on this day it was to be used simply for warmth. I took out the simple white gown with gray trim that lay below it. I put the gown on first, then the coat. I then searched for a pin to keep my braid against my head. Alas, I could not find one anywhere.

  “I swear, there were ten of them the other day!” I complained aloud.

  Even as I was standing there pitying myself, there was a knock at the door. I took two steps toward it and pulled it open, revealing the figure of Archdeacon Lawrence, my clerk.

  “Archdeacon, thank you for coming! I must send a letter to Archbishop Thomas, and my hands are too sore for the task. You know I prefer to write my own correspondence, but—”

  “I shall be happy to aid you. I see you have everything here from last time,” he said, pointing to the parchment and ink on the table.

  “Yes, have a seat.” I waited for him to settle in, and for my part I simply sat on the bed. Once he had the quill in his hand, I continued, “Now, how shall we begin? Simple is best, I think. ‘To Thomas, archbishop of Canterbury, Empress Mathilda.’ Do you have that?”

  “Yes,” he said, scribbling on the parchment. “Then what?”

  “Well, now we come to the delicate part. I must make it appear as if I have a great deal more respect for him than I truly possess, or else we shall make no progress.”

  “Perhaps you should begin by stating your reason for writing,” he prompted.

  “Because the king did not heed my warning, and he put in place a man not fit for the office.”

  He laughed. “You know what I—”

  “Yes, I know what you mean. How about this then: ‘The lord pope charged and enjoined me for the remission of my sins’—make sure you include that bit—‘to intervene to reestablish peace between the king and you and attempt to reconcile you with him. Then, as you know, you also asked me, as much for the honor of God as for the honor of the Church, I took pains to sort out the matter.’”

  I had been looking over at the far wall, but when I heard the scratching stop, I turned and saw that Lawrence had indeed ceased writing.

  “What is it?” I asked, standing up and walking toward him.

  “Your Highness, might I offer a slight change?”

  “My, my! And I’m not even paying you!” I said, placing my hand on the back of his chair.

  “‘Sort out’ sounds as if you took all the action yourself. It could seem overly …”

  “Overly what?”

  His face looked almost in pain and he cast his eyes down toward the table. “Arrogant, my lady.”

  “How is that arrogant?!” I cried. “He is the one that begged me to take the matter in hand! Lawrence, look at me when I speak to you.”

  He looked up toward me slowly, as a young child fearing discipline.

  “Forgive me, my lady. I do not think it is arrogant. Notice that I said ‘seem.’ If we are to win over the archbishop, we must condescend to his point of view,” he explained, pushing the air downward with the palms of his hands as if to illustrate his point.

  I laughed softly, shaking my head, then replied.

  “Oh, Lawrence, you do vex me at times, but I am sure you are right. Very well. What would you have me write instead?” I asked, turning to walk back to the bed.

  “‘I took pains to begin and manage the matter’?”

  “Fine,” I replied, sitting down. “Let us continue. ‘It seemed very grave to the king and his barons and council, since he asserts that though he loved and honored you and made you lord of his whole kingdom and all his lands, and raised you to greater honor than anyone in his land, so that he should believe more securely in you than in any other …’ Is this sentence too long?”

  “No, keep going,” he said, dipping his quill in the ink again.

  “Where was I? Oh, right. ‘You disturbed his whole kingdom against him as much as you could so that little was left for you to do but to disinherit him by force.’”

  He ceased his scribbling again and said, “That is rather strong, my lady. What of reconciliation?”

  “There can be no reconciliation without truth, Lawrence. He has abused the laws of this kingdom. He must be called to account if we are to achieve anything.”

  “Very well,” he said with a nod. “What next?”

  “‘Because of that, I send you our faithful retainer archdeacon Lawrence …’”

  “You want me to carry this to him in person?” he said, turning his entire body in the chair to face me.

  “Of course. Who else?”

  “Does it not concern you how that might look?”

  Here I laughed again. “Everything concerns me, but it must be done. Now write!” When he had taken up his position, I dictated, “‘I send you our faithful retainer archdeacon Lawrence so that I may learn your will about these things and what feelings you have toward the king and how you would wish to act if it happened that he wished to hear fully my petition and prayer about you.’ See, that makes it seem as if I am on his side. Now, this is essential, Lawrence: ‘One thing more I tell you truly, that you cannot recover the grace of the king except by great humility and most evident moderation. Let me know what you wish to do about this through my messenger and your letters.’ As if the man could show humility! I think that’s it.”

  He scribbled a bit longer, then ceased. “That’s all?”

  “Yes, that ought to do it.”

  “In that case, I will add a few final touches and set off with this directly.”

  He laid aside the quill and placed a cover over the ink, rolled up the piece of parchment, and stood to depart.

  “I would tell you to give him my love, but then you would be going empty handed,” I told him with a sly smile.

  “Is there nothing in the archbishop of which you approve?” he asked, shaking his head.

  I considered the question for a moment. “He has a rather nice dog. I met him once: huge gray thing, slobbered on everything, but she was quite jolly.”

  “Really, I know he has caused you a great deal of trouble, but from whence springs this hatred?” Here he seemed to gesture with the roll of parchment.

  “I do not hate him, Lawrence. I simply believe him to be devoid of godly character, which is most displeasing in an archbishop.”

  “Plenty of men are like that, and yet you fi
nd a way to work with them. There is something else there. I know it. One day, I will get it out of you.”

  “You may try if you wish.”

  The rest of the day, I am sorry to say, was spent writing further letters, save for one brief pause for dinner. I cannot abide supper most days, but keep the monk’s schedule. ’Twas not always so, but now that I am grown old, my appetite is less. I did bid Lawrence write down these few lines for you, as a record of my present thoughts, but now I must let him depart on his urgent errand. What mood he shall find the archbishop in, I can only imagine. Upon his return, I shall take up our tale once again.

  Oh, Rouen! How you fill my heart! How you are in my very being! I gave you a bridge, but you gave me far more. I never spent a happier hour than I did within your walls.

  The first time I visited the city was during Lent in 1126, when my father wished to spend the season at the castle. Following the feast of Epiphany, I had returned to Caen with Queen Adeliza while the men sojourned to the north. It was foul weather for the hunt, so I am not certain what they hoped to achieve. We women were happy enough to have a decent roof over our heads and a proper fire. Most of all, I hoped in that relative solitude to chase from my mind any thoughts of Brian fitz Count.

  However, the more I endeavored to remove him, the more the thought of him seemed to cling to every fiber of my being. I would see a book he had mentioned, and I thought of him. A food he enjoyed would be served at supper, and again I thought of him. I had made a habit of keeping the satchel with the amber moth with me at most times, but now I hid it at the bottom of one of my chests so it would not enter my mind. Yet I still saw the chest, so I was no better off than before. Always the thought entered my mind, How wonderful it would be if he loved me as well and we could share that love together! And always that thought would be followed with, Only the lovely can be loved.

  By the time the snow melted and the hunt was improved, we had reached the days when meat was forbidden. Therefore, it seemed right to the king to travel to the one place where he was sure to find the best catch of fish. It is just as Lady Beatrice used to say when she wanted William and me to eat: “A man can only go where his stomach will take him.” Thus, our stomachs took us to Rouen just in time for Ash Wednesday.

  This was the first time I had laid eyes on Lord Brian in many weeks, and I had every hope that upon doing so, my spirit would remain untroubled and we could resume that easy friendship of old. I say I hoped this, but in truth I knew better. I often had dreams where I would see him with other women, then would wake in a state of discontent, wishing never to sleep again. Was it not enough that I should be tormented by day, but that the devils should see fit to haunt me at night with such visions?

  We had only just arrived in town and settled into our quarters when we were called to the abbey of Saint Ouen for Mass. It was a short ride along the main northern road, but a grim one, for we were dressed all in black, in mourning for our Savior. Upon our arrival, we were met by the abbot, William, and Archbishop Geoffrey “le Breton” of Rouen. They stood just in front of the western door to the abbey church, its lone tower rising toward the sky and catching the midday sun. The king alighted first, then helped the queen and myself down in turn. He then took the hand of his wife and left me to follow behind.

  The abbot and archbishop stepped forward to welcome us, the former in his simple black cowl and the latter in his white tunic and cope made of cloth of gold, with a grand red miter on his head embellished with jewels. Although both were dressed according to custom, only one of these garments was in keeping with the mood of the day.

  “King Henry, we are honored that you should choose to lodge within our city walls, and to attend this humble house today,” the abbot said, as both men bowed.

  “Where better to spend a day of mourning than the site where my own father passed from this world?” the king replied. “Archbishop, I am happy to see you once again.”

  “A pleasure as always, my king,” he replied with a nod. “But let me meet this daughter of yours whom I have heard so much about.” Here he looked at me with a smile.

  “Only good things, I trust,” I said, stepping forward to be better seen.

  “Naturally!” he assured me, then took my hand and kissed it. I felt this gesture was a bit much, but I said nothing. “Tell me, how do you find our city?”

  “As fine as any I have yet seen. Such a great number of ships upon the river!”

  “Yes, they all come from Paris, the realm of the French king.”

  “Who speaks of the French king?” my father asked, the look on his face revealing that he was incensed. “I should hate to see this day ruined with talk of him!”

  “Forgive me, my liege,” the archbishop quickly replied, “but where is my countryman: your knight, Lord Brian?”

  Now, as may be guessed from his title, le Breton, the archbishop was from the duchy of Brittany, the very place where Brian fitz Count was born to Duke Alan.

  “I am here, sir!” Brian answered.

  I almost leaped in surprise when he said this and turned to see he was standing right behind me, along with cousin Stephen and Earl Robert.

  “Come forward. Let me see you,” said the archbishop.

  Brian walked right past me, brushing my right arm as he did so. The older man embraced him, then placed a hand on either side of his face. “They have not removed the Breton from you yet, have they? I know you never return.”

  “It is not for lack of affection that I do not return, but due to that immense loyalty I hold toward King Henry and his dominions,” he replied.

  “Well, that is as it should be, I suppose. Come, one and all! Let us enter the church!”

  I wanted to avoid speaking with Brian, for I was afraid that if I did so, I might say something that would give away my feelings. Were I a normal woman and he a normal man, I likely would have simply spoken my mind and been done with it, but there was nothing normal about the situation. If Brian knew, he might want nothing to do with me, and if the king knew, he would surely chastise me for thinking to give my heart to anyone he did not personally choose. Therefore, as we moved toward the doors, I looked down at the ground. I was too afraid to speak to him, and yet as it turned out I could not avoid it, for he addressed me directly. Indeed, he seemed to have waited for me to pass so that he could join me.

  “Empress Maud, it is good to see you once again!” he called.

  A tremor of excitement and fear swept through my body as he spoke these words, and I tore my eyes from the ground to look at him. There was a broad smile on his face that warmed my heart. He was wearing a gray tunic and an even darker cloak on account of the day. This was too bad, for I thought he looked best in blue or green, but in truth he looked quite fine to my eyes in any attire. Indeed, I thought in that moment he might look rather nice without any attire at all, and for this I instantly chastised myself and begged God’s forgiveness. His dark curls had grown longer since last time we met, falling all the way to his shoulders. And his eyes—oh, his eyes captivated me as ever! I could have made a study of that face all day, but it occurred to me that a response was necessary.

  “I … that is—thank you. How was your hunt?” I asked, as we entered the church.

  “Not so good. It was not the proper time of year for sport, but we did our best. I am sorry you did not choose to join us.”

  “I was happy to remain with the queen. The lodgings in Caen are far superior,” I said quickly, my eyes trained on the altar at the far end of the nave.

  “You will hear no argument from me there, but even so, I missed our conversation.”

  We had by this point passed the first row of columns and were nearing the congregation, so I took the opportunity to depart.

  “I am sorry, but I really must join the others up front,” I whispered.

  “Of course,” he replied, and we went our separate ways.

  I looked over quickly and saw his face one last time before his back was turned to me and he had made
his way to the back of the crowd. Had I glimpsed a tinge of sadness in those eyes when I took my leave? Surely not—I must have imagined it. Too oft we see only that which we desire. I took my place at the front standing next to the king and queen, but my mind was very much with the man toward the back of the room. I bowed my head and clasped my hands, as if by doing so I could crush what I felt.

  The abbot began the service with the words of the Psalmist. “‘Have mercy upon us, O God, according to your lovingkindness: according to the multitude of your compassions put away our iniquities. Wash us thoroughly from our iniquity, and cleanse us from our sin.’”[11]

  “Lord, have mercy,” we all replied.

  He continued, “‘For we know our iniquities, and our sin is ever before us. Against you, against you only have we sinned, and done evil in your sight. Behold, we were born in iniquity, and in sin have our mothers conceived us.’”

  “Lord, have mercy,” we replied again.

  “‘Behold, you love truth in the inward affections: therefore have you taught us wisdom in the secrets of our hearts …’”

  Secrets of hearts—I knew something of those. I could scarcely remember a time when my heart was not filled to overflowing with secrets. And now, I held an even deeper secret: one that was gnawing at me from the inside. Even as the abbot lifted his hands in prayer, I struggled to hold in the tears that threatened to flow.

  “Create in us a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within us,” he recited.

  “Cast us not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from us. Restore to us the joy of your salvation, and establish us with your free Spirit.’”

  “Lord, have mercy,” I prayed along with the others.

  We passed through the readings and came to the deposition of ashes. The abbot stood at the front of the nave with a small metal dish whose contents would shortly be on our foreheads. Each of us went up in turn and formed a line: the king first, then his queen, followed by myself and Stephen, who moved in very close behind me. As the abbot began the ceremony, I turned and saw that Stephen had stepped in front of Robert.