“Mulish. Headstrong. No good will come of it,” Aldyth muttered, slipping gold leather shoes onto Maud’s feet.
There was a noise outside the pavilion. A voice called out in formal tones: “Henry, King of England and Duke of Normandy, awaits the arrival of his daughter, the Princess Maud. The litter is ready.”
The four women looked at each other in consternation, their differences forgotten. An air of tension pervaded the tent. Truda’s fingers shook as she plaited Maud’s long hair, then coiled it around her ears while Gisela placed a purple mantle, embroidered with eagles and vine leaves in gold thread, over her shoulders. Last, Aldyth handed her the silver mirror.
Huge pewter-colored eyes fringed by thick black lashes stared back at Maud from a face the color of ivory. Her earlier flush had vanished. That would never do.
“Get me the crushed pomegranate,” Maud said.
“Merciful heavens, you cannot paint your face, it’s a sin,” Aldyth wailed.
“I won’t meet my father looking like a corpse. No one will know it’s paint.”
“A little pallor becomes a grieving woman,” Aldyth continued. “What will people say?”
“Sweet Marie, I’ve told you I don’t care,” Maud retorted, with more bravado than she felt.
She took the small stone jar from Truda and rubbed a little of the rosy ointment into her high cheekbones. She glanced again in the mirror. Still not right. Something was lacking. Of course. The Imperial crown. Just what was needed to add the final touch of splendor. To remind the King and everyone else that she was not just her father’s daughter, an eligible widow, but a former empress, a person in her own right. Her heart quickened.
“Gisela—the Imperial crown is wrapped in red silk at the bottom of the oak chest. Do you find it for me.” The crown, made for her by the Emperor, had been left in her keeping and she had decided that this entitled her to take it with her to England.
Aldyth’s face grew ashen. “Child, now you go too far. The bandeau cannot be seen, the paint may go unnoticed, the way you’re dressed is inexcusable, but as for the crown—to wear it might be taken as a direct insult to the King and his entire court. Do not tempt fate.”
“Don’t be foolish. Why would the King object? He sent me to the Empire, remember? Gisela, the crown, if you please.” The thought of defying her father was both frightening and exhilarating.
“‘When the old cock crows, the young cock should listen,’” Aldyth said in a resigned voice. “But some people must learn through trial and error. Sound advice is wasted on them.”
Gisela looked from Maud to Aldyth, then scurried to the oak chest. She pulled out an object wrapped in red silk and carried it over to Maud. Unwrapping it carefully, Maud held to her breast the gold plates set with pearls and sapphires. Sighing, she remembered the many state occasions when she had worn this emblem of her former power. Truda placed an ivory veil over her head, Maud laid the crown on top of it, then picked up the silver mirror. Yes, just what was needed. The crown lent a regal air to her bearing that was right for the occasion.
She placed a conciliatory kiss on Aldyth’s withered cheek. “Don’t worry. All will go well.” She gave her a half smile. “But your prayers would not come amiss.” Instinctively she found herself touching the silver ring through her garments. A reassuring talisman, she was never without it.
Aldyth’s eyes became moist. “Remember, ‘a silent mouth is sweet to hear.’”
Maud left the pavilion. Outside a groom helped her into a waiting litter led by an escort of knights. She squared her shoulders, lifting her head proudly as the litter started to move toward the river. She had every right to wear the crown, she assured herself, every right to dress as she pleased, to establish herself in front of her father’s court.
Yet—she was assailed by doubts, recognizing the paint, the bandeau, her defiant garb, even the crown, for what they were: petty assertions of an independent spirit under siege. The litter crossed the stone bridge. Fear spread like wildfire through her body. Ahead lay the scarlet pavilion and the meeting with her redoubtable father.
Chapter Six
THE PROCESSION CAME TO a halt in the king’s camp just as the sun climbed into a cloudless blue sky. Raising her hand to ward off the bright glare, Maud saw a group of horsemen against a background of golden light. Behind them she glimpsed a crowd of people, then the royal tent where the unseen figure of her father waited, his invisible presence casting a giant shadow over the entire area. One of the horsemen, astride a red Flanders mare, detached himself from the others and trotted up to her litter. His honey-brown hair was brushed with fire in the morning sun, a blue silk mantle, fastened at one shoulder with a gold clasp, fluttering gaily behind him in the breeze.