The Fatal Crown(219)

“That may be their intention,” Henry replied grimly, “but it will never come to pass.”

While Maud waited anxiously in Rouen, Henry gathered together a huge force of men and arms to march against the French king. She was relieved to hear that after a few brief, indecisive battles, he had forced Louis to retreat across the border back into France. Henry then marched against his brother Geoffrey, who had barricaded himself in a stronghold on the Loire. Maud, determined to avoid bloodshed between her sons, intervened. She rode to where Geoffrey was established, and persuaded him to agree to Henry’s terms for peace. Eustace, unexpectedly summoned by his father, sailed hurriedly for England. The immediate danger was over almost as soon as it had begun.

For the moment, at least, Henry had been successful, but Maud knew that precious time had been lost. Time that should have been spent preparing to invade England.

Henry traveled to Anjou to reassert his authority in the county, then on to Aquitaine before returning to Normandy. He brought Eleanor, now six months pregnant, back with him, arriving at Rouen in time for the Christmas festivities.

Within a week after Henry’s return to Rouen an urgent message arrived from Brian FitzCount in England: Stephen and Eustace had brought a large force to Wallingford, apparently determined to finally take this stronghold that had stubbornly and successfully resisted the crown for fifteen years. All approaches to Wallingford had been blocked, the supply lines cut off, and Brian feared they could not hold out without help. Henry must come to their aid at once for the whole Angevin cause in England hung in the balance.

“You must go to England, Henry,” Maud told her son, seated across from him in her father’s small stone chamber. “We cannot abandon Brian. The moment we have been waiting for is at hand.”

“I agree, but Louis still remains a threat not only to Normandy but to Aquitaine as well. If I spread my forces too thin I lose on all fronts. And suppose my brother again decides to stir up trouble in Anjou?”

“Sufficient men must remain here so Normandy can be defended should need arise. Geoffrey you may leave safely to me,” Maud said with an iron glint in her eye. “Don’t forget that Eleanor will be here to keep an eye on Aquitaine should Louis seek to cross its borders. The duchy will remain loyal to her. It is now or never, Henry.”

“It’s a risk—”

“The only place without risk is the grave,” Maud retorted. “Go now! Victory will be yours. I know it in my heart.” She sighed. “If only I could go with you!”

Henry laughed. “There speaks the intrepid warrior who sailed to England thirteen years ago to reclaim my throne for me! A true descendent of our Viking forebears.”

For an instant Maud froze. Sudden anger rose like a hot wave within her. “Your throne? Your throne?”

For a moment, uncertain, Henry paused. It was clear that her cocky whelp had taken for granted his right to be King of England, assuming she would step down as a matter of course, as she had with Normandy.

“Yes, my throne now,” he challenged. “You know perfectly well that you had your chance—and lost it. Threw it away, by all accounts.”

His words pierced her like a barbed arrow. How dare he remind her of that painful time in such a cavalier manner! Overwhelmed by a sense of failure, Maud became so choked with rage that her fingers curled into a fist. She half lifted her arm to strike him. Storm-gray eyes met storm-gray eyes in a blistering, headlong confrontation. The air throbbed between them like flashes of summer lightning. She saw Henry’s jaw jut out in an arrogant, belligerent manner that was strongly reminiscent of … Stephen? Her father?

In an instant Maud realized that it was neither Stephen nor her father Henry reminded her of, but herself. On the heels of that realization came another: Henry was right. By her own doing, she had thrown away her chance to become queen. Stricken with an aching sense of loss, Maud recognized the bitter truth: She would never be Queen of England.

“Very well. Your throne—but only if you can make it yours,” she managed.

“Fair enough! Fair enough, Madam.” He gave her a long, hard look from beneath unruly brows. “I will go to England, then. All my affairs are in your hands, and I will hold you personally responsible if they do not prosper. In my absence—” He paused, studying her white face and flashing eyes. “In my absence—you will be regent of Normandy.”

“Regent? Officially?” She was incredulous.

“Of course! Officially appointed. Writ plain for all to see. Signed with my seal. That is, if you feel up to dealing with such weighty matters.”