The Forsaken Monarch Page 43

  “Perhaps his only motive is to promote Christian unity,” Count Theobald said from across the table. “This monk is well known to us. If you wish to meet him in Chartres, it is about half way.”

  “I would rather meet Count Geoffrey and give him a piece of my mind!” the king replied, hitting his palm on the table.

  I took a deep breath. We had made it back to the subject I feared, and yet I knew it must be discussed. Fortunately, the man had returned with my wine, and I was able to take a quick drink as the king launched into his argument.

  “He is a fool if he thinks he can force my hand!” my father bellowed. “Nevertheless, you know you will have to go back to him, daughter. This separation is not proper. You promised me heirs!” Here he pointed at me directly.

  “But my lord, you know what he is like!” I argued. “If I return to Anjou, he will find some new way to make a mockery of this house.”

  “I think you only fear that he makes a mockery of you, for you care not for this house,” my father concluded. I was about to object strongly, but he continued, “Divorce is out of the question. You must devise some other solution. I will have heirs!”

  I thought of a few things to reply in that moment, none of which would have been genteel. At the very least, I wished to say that I could have children with someone else, but I noted how my father’s eyes seemed to be cutting into my flesh. I felt a shudder of fear, and it was that fear rather than any deeply held principle that caused me to seek a brief retreat.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly, “for making your position so clear. I am sure there will be plenty of time to discuss this later. But tell me, where is cousin Stephen?”

  “At home with his wife and son,” Theobald replied.

  “Stephen has a son?” I asked, turning to face him. “I had not heard of this. What is his name?”

  “Eustace,” Robert answered. “He cannot be more than a month old.”

  My eyes quickly scanned the persons at the table. Brian was staring off into the distance, while the king still appeared annoyed, if not completely angry. The combination of my distress over seeing Brian again and hearing the king’s words, along with the news that Stephen too was made a father, combined to push me over the edge.

  “So everyone is having sons but me,” I concluded. “Well, isn’t that just … wonderful. Pardon me, my lords, but I think I need a bit more to drink.”

  I gulped down what remained in my goblet, then got up and walked over to the barrel on the far side of the room. More than anything, I wanted to be alone and free from the comments of others. I came to the barrel and reached out to pull the lever, but another hand slid in and I saw that it was Brian’s.

  “Here,” he said, taking the goblet from my hand. “An empress should not have to fetch her own drinks.”

  “Is that so?” I asked. “What else is an empress not meant to do?”

  “I think she is not meant to frown as much as you do,” he said, handing it back to me full.

  I looked down at the liquid and swirled it around a bit, playing for time as much as anything. “If I am in ill humor, it is because life has made me so,” I concluded softly, not meeting his eyes.

  “I was sorry to hear about everything that has happened,” Brian said. I was then quite surprised that he reached out and touched my arm lightly to pull my eyes back to himself. “He is a fool to treat you like this,” he said with conviction.

  You’re one to talk! I thought, trying very hard not to allow myself to dwell on this very small touch, for I knew it meant nothing. “How is your wife?” I asked instead.

  “Last I saw her, she was well, but that has been quite some time now.”

  “She is not with child, then?”

  “No, God has not seen fit to bless us with children—at least, not yet.”

  There was a sadness in his eyes that I understood, for I felt it in my own heart. However, my feelings were rather mixed given the history of our friendship. Well, I was not so vengeful as to wish both him and his wife bereft of offspring.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” I said in all honesty.

  “Never mind it,” he replied. “Perhaps things will improve with Count Geoffrey. He has had plenty of time to rue your absence.”

  “Perhaps, but I think not,” I concluded, for I suspected that on a personal level Count Geoffrey was glad to be free of me. “Thank you for the wine, Lord Brian.”

  As I moved to leave, he took one step after me to reclaim my attention. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

  I looked into his eyes for a moment. Several possible answers entered my mind. Tell me you still love me. Tell me this was all a terrible mistake. Wake me up from this nightmare. Make it all undone. Run away with me far from here, where no one can hurt us. But I could say none of this. It was a dream. It was wrong. It was impossible. It broke my heart.

  “Nothing,” I answered, then returned to the others.

  XVII

  I have made mention of Bernard, abbot of Clairvaux, defender of the faith. It was in those days that we first came to recognize his genius. He was called upon by King Louis of France to judge between the two popes, Innocent and Anacletus, only one of whom could be the true one. He not only chose Innocent, but he caused all the kings to do so as well: quite a feat when one considers that they seldom agreed on anything! I had not foreseen an end to the dispute any time in the near future, but thanks to the efforts of Bernard, I again had hope that my case might be brought before a pope recognized by all.

  During Advent, King Henry sent word through Abbot Bernard to Pope Innocent informing him that he wished to honor the Holy Father in person and express his devotion to him. This request was granted, and they agreed to meet in the cathedral city of Chartres, which lay within the lands of my cousin, Count Theobald of Blois. When I heard the news, I was filled with joy that I might have the chance to make my case to Pope Innocent face to face. After all, correspondence might go astray or be passed through unfriendly hands, but if I could simply tell the Holy Father directly of my husband’s continual adultery without any sign of repentance, he might allow the marriage to be declared null without any punishment for myself.

  Without the consent of the Church for the breaking of our marriage, I would be cut off from its grace and declared excommunicate, stripped of the means of salvation. Apart from my personal terror at the destruction this would bring to my soul, I had seen what excommunication did to my first husband, and I knew I would never be accepted as a ruler of the smallest hamlet if I was seen to be rejected by God. That is why I was so desperate for papal consent, for if the pope declared my actions righteous, then no bishop or abbot below him could reasonably object, nor could any king who wished to remain faithful to Rome. Yes, even my father would have to accept it.

  Sadly, the king was away at his hunting lodge of Lyons-la-Forêt for much of December, and I was therefore denied a meeting with him to discuss these matters. I told my ladies to make ready for travel, but I knew it was vital that I be of one mind with my father before we set out. After all, he had been firmly opposed to a divorce. Therefore, when I heard that the king was likely to return upon the Ides of that month, I sat next to the window in my chamber from the early morning so that I might be among the first to observe his arrival. I hoped to catch him before he became involved in other matters of state.

  It was a rather long wait, for by the time the king’s company came pouring through the gate and into the courtyard, the sun had sunk low in the sky. I made my way down to the lower level as fast as I could without running and entered the yard just as my father was alighting from his horse. I rushed forward to meet him as he removed his gloves.

  “All hail, Henry king of the English!” I cried, bowing low before him. “Rouen welcomes your return!”

  There were about a dozen servants and officials gathered there, along with the party of fifteen or twenty men that had returned with the king. It must have seemed a bit odd to them for me to approach
the king in such a manner, for I usually hung back with the others on such occasions. But I cared not what they thought, for I had an urgent task.

  I raised my eyes to look into those of my father. He was smiling, which was good, but I could not discern his thoughts. Fortunately, he informed me of them rather quickly.

  “I know what it is you desire, and the answer is no,” he said firmly, then began to walk past me toward the palace.

  I straightened up quickly and walked beside him. “What do you mean, my king? Surely you cannot answer without knowing my query.”

  He stopped near the entrance and handed his gloves to one of the grooms who was standing there. He then proceeded to remove his helm, bracers, hilt, and cloak, placing them all within the poor man’s arms until he seemed to bend under their weight.

  “You want to accompany me to Chartres and speak with Pope Innocent, no?” he asked, as he handed off these items.

  My heart sank. Was he really intending to refuse me this—even a simple opportunity to speak with the pope? I pressed on in hope.

  “Naturally, my lord, I seek to meet the Holy Father of our beloved Church—”

  “And to discuss your desire to abandon your husband.”

  “I am not abandoning anyone,” I argued, stepping in front of him so he would be forced to look at me. “It is Count Geoffrey who has behaved deceitfully and broken the marriage covenant. He abandoned me!”

  “There will be no more debate on this point.”

  The king pushed me aside and entered the palace. Inside, I was trembling in fear, but I was not going to give up this time. No, I followed him into the entry way and continued to speak to him as he stopped to wash his hands in a bowl held by the steward.

  “You know I am right on the moral point. There is no reason that I, a faithful Christian, should not be allowed to approach the representative of Christ on earth and make my concerns known, as a daughter to her father.” Here the thought passed through my mind that I had never had such a bond with my father by the flesh, but I set it aside. “I am aware of how greatly you treasure the Angevin alliance, but now that the danger from France has passed, perhaps you may wish to marry me to another lord in any case: one who shows respect for you and your throne.”

  “Oh, I will have it out with young Geoffrey—have no fear!” the king assured me, drying his hands on his tunic. “But if we break the alliance with Anjou, there will be more danger from France. Make no mistake! King Louis and Count Geoffrey will be the best of friends just like that.” Here he snapped his fingers. “You fancy that you know something about governing, but truly, you know nothing. How could you?”

  The king moved on to the butler who was standing about two paces away, holding a silver tray on which sat a goblet full of wine.

  “He has dishonored me! He has dishonored you! He has dishonored this house!” I cried. “Does that count for nothing? Where is your pride, my lord?! Even if he goes over to the king of France, you always love an excuse to slaughter their kind. Perhaps you could gain dominion over the Île-de-France, even as our father Rollo attempted!”

  He took a long drink from his goblet, his eyes studying me the whole time. Having drained it, he set it back on the tray with real force, startling the poor butler.

  “Do not think to win me over with flattering words!” he yelled, pointing his finger in my face. “When I decide a thing, it is final. The greater problem here is not Count Geoffrey’s arrogance, but yours. You refuse to take any man as your lord. You are disobedient to the last. Perhaps that is why he tired of you!”

  Both the servants had scattered by this point, along with anyone near enough to hear the king’s bellows. It was just the two of us standing there at the base of the stairs to the upper level, locked once again in a battle of wills: one that I seemed to be losing as always. I could see that the king’s mind was unlikely to be changed, so I tried a new approach.

  “You cannot keep me from going,” I said more quietly. “I am free to go to Chartres of my own accord. I am a married woman, and thus under the authority of my husband, not my father.”

  “You are in my duchy and subject to my rule!” he cried, the fire burning in his eyes.

  “I think you will find that I am not. I am a visiting official from the county of Anjou. You have offered me your hospitality, and I thank you for that, but you cannot bar me from leaving. To do so would present Count Geoffrey with casus belli.”

  “Don’t be a fool! Count Geoffrey no more wants you in Chartres than I do!”

  “Oh really?” I said, folding my arms and smiling. “Shall we bring him out and ask his opinion?” I began looking around the room. “Come out, Count Geoffrey! Come out and tell us what you think!”

  I glanced back at my father, whose face had grown red, even as his brow had been folded so firmly that it looked as if he was trying to push his eyes into his chin.

  “My husband has not given his opinion,” I continued in a pleasant tone of voice. “When the ruler is away, his consort is seen to have the prerogative. I have decided: I shall make a pilgrimage to Chartres for the benefit of my soul.”

  “Enough!” the king cried, dropping his hands and forming them into two fists. “Stop this ruse!”

  He moved very close to me and held up his right fist near my chin. For a moment, I was quite afraid that he would strike me in the jaw, and by instinct I looked back through the open door to the yard to see if anyone was watching. Alas, they were not, but in the end all my father wished to do was yell.

  “You have played the game as well as you could, but you forget that I hold the winning piece! I can choose my own successor. The lords and bishops will swear as I tell them. I made you into an heir.” Here he thrust his finger near my face again. “I can unmake you!”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” I said quietly, but with a real force of conviction. “If you cast me aside, you will never have descendants on the throne of England! Your line will be broken!”

  “I don’t have descendants now!” he cried, his hot breath hitting my face, his eyes wide with anger. “You have failed me, Maud! I sent you to Anjou for one purpose: to make babes! But have you? No! What good, I ask, is a girl? I knew it from the moment you were born! You are of no use to me! Your womb is as dry as a desert, as barren as the moor!”

  The more he spoke, the more I shrank into myself. I had fought to overcome my fear, but it was all coming back to me with the force of a cannon. I took a step back to be further away from him, but I was up against the stone stairs. I felt trapped. He moved in and pressed his hand against my belly.

  “What good is this?” he seethed, each word coming out like a fiery arrow. “What good are you?”

  I mustered all the strength I had to speak. “Don’t touch me,” I whispered. “Get your hands off me.”

  “Get your arse back to Anjou,” he commanded, then to my great relief, he granted my request.

  As he turned to walk away, I placed my hands over my stomach and closed my eyes, breathing deeply, trying to endure the waves of fear.

  “You are not going to Chartres, and that is final! I swear to you, I will cast you away if you do so! And don’t even think about writing to the pope!” he called back over his shoulder.

  “This isn’t over!” I cried, causing him to pause for just a moment, though he refused to look at me. “This is my choice, and I will make it, so help me God!”

  To my great surprise, he attempted no reply. He simply departed into the yard. I may not have won his approval, but with this final declaration, it seemed possible that, for once, I had won the war of words.

  As soon as I was certain he was gone and would not return, I ran up the stairs, down the passage, and into my bed chamber, where I threw the door shut behind me. For a moment, I simply leaned back against the door, still breathing heavily. I was naturally upset that I had become the subject of my father’s anger yet again, but I lauded myself that I had not simply given in to his reproach. I had at least tried to stand up to him. Even
so, it had cost me. My spirit was trembling.

  I looked over at the bed and saw the book I had been reading earlier in the day still lying there. It was a new collection of writings by Bernard of Clairvaux, the very man who had arranged the meeting with the pope. Hoping for some word of wisdom, I walked over and picked it up, opening it at random. I came to a page where I had made a mark to note its import.

  “Help me, Bernard,” I whispered, and began to read:

  “Ah, if you wish to attain to the consummation of all desire, so that nothing unfulfilled will be left, why weary yourself with fruitless efforts, running hither and thither, only to die long before the goal is reached? It is so that these impious ones wander in a circle, longing after something to gratify their yearnings, yet madly rejecting that which alone can bring them to their desired end, not by exhaustion but by attainment. And if their utmost longing were realized so that they should have all the world for their own, yet without possessing Him who is the Author of all being, then the same law of their desire would make them contemn what they had, and restlessly seek Him whom they still lacked, that is God Himself. Rest in Him alone. Man knows no peace in the world; but he has no disturbance when he is with God.”[16]

  I stood there in silence for a moment, the book still open in my hands, pondering the words silently. I took one breath after another, in and out, in and out. I closed my eyes and addressed myself to my Creator.

  “Help me, Lord. I am restless—nay, I am furious! How my heart aches! I have been … forsaken. Utterly forsaken! Save me from the wolves of Anjou. Let me rest in you.”

  King Henry attended the meeting in Chartres without me, and I passed the rest of that winter with a renewed sense of despair. I was running out of options. How could I preserve my right to the throne while also escaping my marriage? I dared not write to the Holy Father immediately after what the king had threatened. However, I had not ruled out such an appeal in the future, nor had I given up on the possibility of divorce. I simply battled each day within myself. Which would grant me greater joy and control over my own affairs: remaining with Count Geoffrey and keeping the king’s favor, or departing from him and suffering the wrath of both the king and the Church? I could not decide, but I knew for certain that whatever I did, I did not want it to be because the king had commanded it. I wanted it to be my own choice.