The Damsel's Defiance. Meriel Fuller
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father’s pallour; the King appeared dizzy and unable to focus. In the time it had taken Robert to throw himself from his horse and go to his father’s aid, Henry had begun to topple from his saddle, falling into a deep unconsciousness.
‘So we wait for him to die.’ Maud’s words echoed starkly around the circular walls of the tower chamber. Despite her concern for her father, she had managed to change from her hunting clothes into a softer gown, one of light red that complimented her ample curves. Her small frame, a petiteness she had inherited from her mother, the Anglo-Saxon queen Edith, had not quite recovered from giving birth to her second son. The side-lacings of her dress were pulled a little too tightly over her bulging tummy to compensate.
Against the dark pelt of the bedspread, Maud’s heavy rings glinted in the firelight. On his earlier visit the physician had insisted that the fire be piled up high, building up a heat to try and drive the fever out. Within the ornate stone fireplace that dominated the curving chamber wall, the logs crackled and spat, casting out a warm orange glow. Raising herself from the stool, Maud leaned over her father to kiss him.
‘Remember your promise, Father, remember your promise to me,’ she whispered. A snort from the window drew her attention. Her dark brows drew together into a frown.
‘As if you’d let him forget it!’ Robert smirked, one side of his mouth curling up scornfully. ‘Haven’t you had enough oaths sworn in your honour already?’
‘I just need to hear him say it!’ replied Maud, irritated.
‘All the bishops, abbots and earls have said it already, Maud,’ Robert reminded her. ‘First at the Christmas court and then again at the Easter court. What more could you want? They have all agreed that on our father’s death you will succeed him as Queen of both England and Normandy.’
‘Don’t get cross with me, Robert, I couldn’t bear it.’ Maud looked over Robert. ‘It should really be you who succeeds.’
Robert threw her a wry smile. ‘My illegitimacy prevents me ever becoming King, Sister. The nobility would never allow it.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I’m happy enough. I have Gloucester and a rich wife.’ A wife who I prefer to leave at home, he thought, thinking of all the comely wenches he had encountered at Torigny.
‘Aye, a wife who you never see because you are always acting as my escort.’
‘The King trusts me with your life. You know that.’
‘And I thank you for it, Robert. You are more of a husband to me than Geoffrey. Why my father ever arranged such a marriage for me, with such a lackwit, I shall always wonder.’
‘It was your father’s greatest wish that you should marry Geoffrey of Anjou.’
‘A man eleven years younger than me. What a joke!’ Maud fiddled with the knot on the braid that held back the embroidered curtain around the bed. ‘First he marries me to the German Emperor, a man old enough to be my father…’
‘You were too young at twelve….’
‘I was old enough for marriage, Robert, but not to someone I could scarce understand, someone so old. Why, it was like lying with—’
Robert held up his hand, silencing her. ‘Spare me the details, Maud. I know how difficult it was for you.’
Maud chose not to answer, her fingers still fidgeting with the curtain braid. ‘God in Heaven, when will the servants learn to tie these things properly? I’ve told them enough times!’ She threw back the material impatiently and rose from the stool, throwing out her skirts around her, shaking out the creases. ‘Oh, Robert, I hate this infernal waiting!’ She stretched her arms into the air, trying to relieve the anxious tension in her shoulders. ‘Should we not go out hunting again, rather than staring at him, waiting for him to…to leave us?’
Robert crossed the wide elm boards to reach her, to take her shoulders. Under his fingers he felt her anxiety as she crossed her arms defensively over her chest. He knew the ambition she harboured, the ambition, above all else, to be Queen of her own country. She had an infinite sense of what she felt to be right and would not tolerate easily those who contradicted her.
Maud stared at the still figure in the bed, tracing the familiar lines of her father’s face. Despite his ruthless ambition, he had been a good father to her, teaching all he could about the affairs of the land. His instruction had increased significantly on the accidental death of her brother, William, his only legitimate male heir. From that day on, he vowed his daughter Maud would inherit his realm on his death.
She gazed at the taut panels of white skin that pulled over the bones of his face. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t see their colour from where she stood, but knew them to be a deep hazel, flecked with green. Eyes that had laughed with her, eyes that had cried with her. His lips were narrow, a bluish colour. She listened for the faint whistle of breath, a rasp of air. Nothing. She raised her hands to cover her face. If she didn’t see her father dead, then it might not be real.
‘He’s gone, Robert. He’s gone. Look, he breathes not.’ Almost as if she couldn’t bear the reality, she drifted toward the arrow slit window, wrapping her arms even more tightly around her torso. Robert moved over to bed, crossed himself, before closing his father’s eyes with gentle tapered fingers.
The iron latch clicked softly on the oak door, and Hugh, Archbishop of Rouen and the King’s confidant, entered.
‘Good timing,’ Robert muttered wryly. ‘You should have been here.’
Hugh walked over to the bed and looked down at the waxy mask of his sovereign. ‘May he rest in peace.’
‘You’re a bit late to take his last confession, my lord,’ Robert said, careful to keep any criticism from his voice.
‘I have already heard his confession, Earl Robert,’ Hugh announced, a hint of pomposity edging into his tone. His eyes were bright in a pillow of flesh. ‘And in case you’re wondering, I have already granted him absolution and extreme unction. He was ready to go, God rest his soul.’
Maud turned from the window, brown eyes questioning. ‘My lord, did my father say anything about…?’
‘About?’ Hugh looked puzzled.
‘About my becoming Queen, my lord Archbishop. Surely he said something about it to you?’
Hugh was already shaking his head. ‘Nay, my lady. He did not say anything to that effect, only that he wanted to be buried in Reading Cathedral alongside your mother. But then it was difficult for him to speak.’
‘Are you sure?’ Maud’s voice heightened to a squeak. She moved toward the portly Archbishop, eyes alight with suspicion. Hugh held his ground.
‘Aye, my lady. I am quite sure. I have sat with your father this morn, while you changed, and heard everything he had to say. He said nothing about his successor. I assumed it would be Stephen.’
Maud hissed, a sharp intake of breath. ‘Nay, you could not be more wrong, my Lord. My cousin Stephen, Count of Blois? He couldn’t possibly be King.’
‘He is, was, your father’s favourite nephew. You and he were like brother and sister when you were growing up.’
Maud shook her head, bearing down on Hugh like a terrier. The Archbishop took a step back. ‘But I am the rightful heir, my lord Archbishop. Everyone in England knows that. God in Heaven, everyone in England has sworn to that!’
‘It would be unusual for the English nobility to accept a woman as Queen…’ the Archbishop rubbed his chin thoughtfully ‘…especially considering your marriage to the Count of Anjou.’
‘What has my marriage got to do with it?’ snapped Maud.
‘Anjou has always been an enemy of England and Normandy. Let’s face it, your father and your husband have not been on speaking terms recently.’
‘A minor issue, my lord. My father arranged my marriage to Geoffrey