“Matilda, beloved,” Stephen whispered as he bent over her, aware of the labored breath wheezing in her throat.
Matilda, drowsy from the effects of the poppy, slowly opened her eyes. “Stephen,” she whispered, “has Theobald returned from the council yet? Has he agreed to crown Eustace?”
Although she appeared to have forgotten that the Archbishop of Canterbury had been forbidden to return, it was just like Matilda, even at the hour of her death, to think first of her son.
“Theobald has returned and agreed to crown Eustace, beloved,” Stephen replied, smoothing back pale wisps of hair from her damp forehead. “All is in hand.” He would make certain that what he told her became the truth.
A wave of relief passed across Matilda’s face. “Then my job is done,” she whispered. “You must promise me that you will never again offend Holy Church. Our son must be crowned.”
“I promise. Rest in peace, for all that you have worked and prayed for has come to pass,” Stephen said. He bent to kiss her cheek.
“Stephen—” Matilda’s eyes suddenly clouded over in a spasm of pain. “Stephen, there is one last matter—I’ve never dared to ask you, but now it weighs heavily on my mind. My heart has been so troubled—” She turned her head away.
His body stiffened in protest. Dear God, if it was what he feared … He pulled himself together, already knowing how he would respond. “You may ask me anything, dear heart.”
“Maud—did you ever truly love her?” Her voice was barely audible. “I … would know the truth before I die.” Tears trembled in her eyes, and Stephen, wondering how long she had known, could only guess at the agony she must have suffered in silence all these years.
“Never,” he lied with complete conviction. “Never. I was possessed by lust that gripped me like a wasted fever. It has long since passed. I’ve only truly loved one woman: you.” He took the silver crucifix from between her hands, pressing it to his lips. “By the body of Our Lord, before God and all His Saints, I swear it.” The silver seemed to sear his mouth like a flame. “May I be damned forever if aught but the truth has passed my lips.”
At the look of radiant happiness that flooded his wife’s face, giving her the illusion of beauty, Stephen knew that if his false oath caused him to suffer the torments of hell for all eternity, it would be well worth it to have given his loyal wife this moment of absolute joy.
Matilda died shortly after Matins. Dry-eyed amid a weeping crowd of mourners, Stephen brushed aside his brother’s offer to pray with him in the chapel. He stumbled out of the chamber to walk alone in the grounds.
Outside it was cold, the night sky crowned with a thousand silver stars. How could he go on, Stephen wondered in anguish, how could he live with the immense burden of guilt and shame he carried? Suddenly he threw himself down onto the soft, moist earth sobbing as if his heart would crack in two, his body heaving with the force of his grief. Finally spent, he sat up, wiping his eyes upon the sleeve of his tunic. He took deep breaths until he felt calmer. The intensity of his torment lessened, as if he had purged himself of some poison.
He felt a sudden need to talk to someone, to unburden himself of a lifetime of thoughts and feelings never before revealed. It occurred to him that, except for Henry, he had no one, and, in this instance, his brother would not serve his needs. The companions of his youth—Brian, Robert, the de Beaumont twins—were either dead or estranged from him. Only one person remained to whom he could open his heart and soul, one person who would understand.
Tonight, despite all the enmity that had passed between them, Stephen felt an overpowering need for his cousin. In a silent cry for help, his spirit reached out to touch her. Maud, Maud. A vast silence answered him.
At that moment, he realized that for the remainder of his life he would be alone. His one goal, the only purpose he had left, was to fulfill Matilda’s last wish: Eustace must be crowned.
To his surprise, Stephen found he could not wait to relieve himself of that golden symbol of his royal authority. The crown he had so desperately desired, connived and betrayed for, fought for so ruthlessly, had become a crown of thorns. He would be well rid of it. Looking up at the clusters of winking stars, he stretched his arms above his head, remembering that various nobles, Waleran of Muelan among them, had taken the cross and joined a new crusade to free the Holy Land.
I will see Eustace crowned, he decided, ensure the realm is safe from Henry of Anjou, then join a group of knights on crusade. A journey to the Holy Land would be just what he needed to expiate his sins. What better way to seek God’s forgiveness? It would be a new beginning. Stephen’s heart quickened at the prospect, and he felt Matilda’s benign presence gently smiling her approval.