The Fatal Crown(14)

“All things change, Liebling, that is the way of the world. If your father does not produce an heir, the future of the Norman realm may be of grave concern to you one day in the future.”

Sweet Marie, Maud thought. How could the future of England and Normandy be of grave concern to her?





Chapter Four


Germany and Normandy, 1125


ALMOST FIVE YEARS later Maud was a widow, in May 1125 the Emperor died, and with his passing her glorious years of prestige and authority came to an abrupt end. As Maud had borne no children, the Imperial throne passed to a cousin of the Emperor’s house, who, along with many other important German nobles, assured her that everyone would be honored if she continued to make Germany her home.

Stunned by her husband’s death, a week after the obsequies were over Maud retired to a remote castle in Bavaria which had been bestowed upon her at the time of her marriage. Here, surrounded by her women and a small household staff, she nursed her grief. Morning after morning Maud would don her gloves, the fingertips removed, and set out her needles and silken thread. Then she would pull up her cushioned stool against the open casement window, take up a square of linen to embroider, and gaze upon the white-tipped peaks sharply outlined against a curve of bright blue sky.

Unable to do more than pick at her food, she soon became listless and pale. She slept poorly, lying awake night after night, unable to think of anything but her wonderful life with Heinrich.

In June Maud was invited to attend the new Emperor’s coronation, but she declined. She was surprised at how much she minded being relegated to the background and wondered if she would ever totally adjust to her diminished circumstances. She had always enjoyed being involved in great events, pleased that the mantle of her husband’s power had covered her as well. The realization that she was no longer a participant but merely a spectator doubled her sense of loss. At twenty-three her life was virtually over, she told Aldyth.

“I never heard such nonsense. Think of how fortunate you are,” Aldyth reminded her. “The Emperor has left you wealth and property in your own right; the Germans honor and respect you. No one pines forever. In time, perhaps, a suitable marriage—”

“Never,” Maud stopped her. “Who could I possibly marry after the Emperor?”

“There’s finer fish in the sea than have ever been caught,” Aldyth replied firmly.

Maud was too melancholy to argue.

A short while later Maud received a formal message of condolence from her father with an unexpected summons to return at once to his domains. Henceforth, he wrote, the Norman realm would be her home; he had always been devoted to her, and now sorely missed the only daughter of his late queen. He longed to have her by his side in his declining years.

“Devoted to me? I never saw any evidence of it,” Maud said, surprised. “I wonder what lies behind this offer.”

“When the fox preacheth keep an eye on your geese,” Aldyth muttered darkly. As a Saxon, she had never entirely trusted the Norman king, all her love and loyalty having been lavished on Maud’s mother.

But Maud was inclined to agree with her. She had not seen her father since leaving England fourteen years earlier. Their infrequent letters dealt only with matters of unusual interest: her father’s remarriage almost four years ago; her half-brother Robert’s accession to the earldom of Gloucester, his marriage and the birth of his sons.

However, despite her pleasant memories of England, the only relative whom she remembered warmly was Robert. Maud had little desire to visit her native land now, much less make it her home.

She thanked her father for his offer, explaining that she did not want to leave Germany, nor could she see any valid reason for doing so. The King quickly replied, insisting that it was imperative she return at once, but refusing to tell her why. As tactfully as possible, Maud again firmly refused. She wrote that the Germans did not wish her to leave and she was comfortably settled. She assumed that would be the end of it.

A month later, in early August, a troop of Norman knights and archers clanked into the small courtyard of her Bavarian retreat.

“We have come to escort you to Normandy,” announced the captain of the escort, handing Maud a roll of parchment.

It was a formal message from her father, reminding her that as a childless widow she now fell under the control of her nearest male relative, in this case, himself. The law was clearly on his side, King Henry went on to say, and no German official, not even the new emperor, would dare to interfere with his orders. She was to leave for Normandy at once.

Completely shocked, Maud let the scroll drop from her hands onto the tiled floor of the courtyard. She was well aware of the law regarding widows. It had simply never crossed her mind that her father would invoke it against her.