The Fatal Crown(12)
Maud flushed. “Mea culpa, I will try to remember in future.” Contrite, she curtsied to the visitors. “Forgive my intrusion.”
As she quickly turned to leave, a smile played at the corners of the Emperor’s thin lips. “After such an impetuous entrance, I think you had better remain. Come here, Liebling.” He lifted his feet from the stool with a grimace, and patted the cushion. “Sit here by me.” When she was seated he chucked her under the chin. “I hear you did very well today, very well indeed.”
Maud could not repress jumping to her feet with a little bounce of excitement. “How did you hear? Who told you? What did they say?”
“Benedicte! Such a lot of questions. Can you not be still? Sit down. It makes me dizzy to look at you,” grumbled the Emperor, his expression growing sober. “What will our visitors think?”
With a guilty glance at the two strangers, Maud sank back onto the stool. She was bursting with curiosity about these men with their long faces, but knew it would be impolite to ask who they were. She had already committed sufficient discourtesies.
One, a young man with long curling brown hair, was dressed all in black, from his leather boots to his cloak. His brown eyes, which had widened in surprise when she entered the chamber, returned again and again to her face, the slim white column of her neck, her slender waist, and the abundant curve of her breasts thrusting against her tunic.
Under his scrutiny, Maud felt awkward and self-conscious. Sweet Marie, why did he look at her like that! She turned her attention to the other visitor, a Benedictine abbot of middle years, clad in the black habit of his order, with a silver pectoral cross upon his breast.
“We will discuss your affairs later,” said the Emperor, in a serious voice. “There are more pressing matters at hand. Let me introduce our visitors, Abbot Peter from the See of London, and Count Auberi of Evreux in Normandy. They have been sent by your father to tell us tragic news: Your twin brother, Prince William, was drowned in the channel last month, only days after his marriage.”
Maud’s mouth fell open. Stunned, she looked from the Count to the Abbot.
“Yes, Madam, the white ship carrying the wedding party from Normandy to England sank without a trace,” confirmed Count Auberi. “It is assumed that not long after embarking, she drifted too near the treacherous rocks that have been the destruction of more than one vessel. With the exception of a citizen of Rouen, everyone on board was lost.” He paused. “The King, your father, is inconsolable.”
“We’re sorry to bring you such sad tidings barely two years after the death of your sainted mother,” added the Abbot, signing himself.
Maud could not think of an appropriate response. She had been saddened by her mother’s death, but William, who had always treated her with cruelty, had never been her friend. His death had little personal meaning for her.
“May God assoil him,” she said at last, signing herself. “My poor father. What will he do? William was his heir.”
The two visitors exchanged glances.
“Indeed, Madam, I imagine all Europe is asking that very question,” said the Abbot. “Who will wear the crown of England and the ducal coronet of Normandy when your father dies? May that day be far into the future.” He signed himself. “Most unfortunate that your brother was King Henry’s only remaining legitimate child.”
“Except for my wife, of course,” interjected the Emperor.
The Abbot and Count Auberi looked at him in mild surprise; clearly, they did not think the matter relevant.
“Who will inherit?” Maud asked. “It cannot be my half-brother, Robert. He is a bastard and Holy Church would never accept him as king.”
“Unfortunately that is true, for Earl Robert of Gloucester would be the ideal candidate.” The Abbot paused. “It is too soon to say. Much too soon.”
“But surely there have been candidates mentioned?” The Emperor looked from one to the other. “Come, do you tell me the matter has not been discussed.”
The Abbot cleared his throat. “Of course, one cannot help but speculate.”
“And?” persisted the Emperor, narrowing his eyes.
“There’s not a very fertile field. Your wife’s cousin, Stephen of Blois, Count of Mortain, is the name mentioned most frequently,” said the Abbot. “He’s the King’s nephew, and like a right arm to him. No child of his body could be more dutiful, more loyal, or more loved by the nobles and commonfolk alike.”
“Stephen stands high in the King’s favor,” the Count agreed. “Just recently his uncle betrothed him to Matilda, daughter of the Count of Boulogne, a great heiress. With the exception of Madam’s half-brother, Robert of Gloucester, no man has been granted greater wealth or honors than Count Stephen.”