Eyeing her with cool speculation, the three strangers murmured polite greetings. Impossible to believe these grown, self-assured nobles were the frightened children she vaguely recalled meeting so long ago.
“A pleasure to see you again,” Maud said.
There was a faint murmured response in return.
“I regret that I do not recall meeting you, Madam,” said the Count of Muelan in a blunt, no-nonsense voice. “Do you recall meeting her, Brother?”
“By my faith, I remember nothing of the time I arrived in England,” Robin of Leicester replied. “I was miserable and wanted my mother.”
Brian laughed. “All I recall is how terrified I was when I met King Henry. A sniveling little rat, just as Robert says.”
“And stinking. By God’s face, will I ever forget that!” Waleran smote his thigh. “You had pissed in your drawers and when the King came to greet us, he held his nose and said that this one stinks like a dung heap, someone clean him up!”
They began to laugh uproariously, joined by Stephen, each chiming in with his own version of what had happened that day.
It was obvious to Maud they had forgotten her.
And why not? She was the outsider, excluded by experience and gender from their tight little circle. How could she contribute to their memories? Shading her eyes with an unsteady hand, she turned her back on them to gaze at the far horizon. The smudged purple line of hills melted into the deep blue of the sky. Green and yellow fields, cut through by the old Roman road on which she had just traveled, shimmered in the sun. If only she could will herself back on that road heading toward Germany.
“It is the King’s pleasure to see the Princess Maud,” piped the voice of a page just behind her.
One hand went to her throat and her heart leapt in fear. Then she stiffened, realizing it was the second time she had been called Princess. An oversight, surely, but one she must correct at once.
She smiled at the page. “In Germany I am referred to as Empress,” she said.
The page looked puzzled, then bowed and ran off. The men stared at her in surprise. She returned their look in dismay. Had she done something wrong?
“Whoever you may be in Germany, Madam, here you are the King’s daughter,” said Waleran of Muelan. “And honor enough I would have thought.”
The others nodded and murmured assent.
Obviously these men could know nothing of her background, she realized, the respect and importance with which she was regarded in Germany, the decisions the Emperor had entrusted to her care. With a sudden sinking sensation in her stomach, it now dawned on Maud that perhaps no one knew; perhaps this was the response she could expect from everyone. Even worse, her triumphs in the Empire would probably mean nothing to her father’s people, even if they did know. England and Normandy comprised the whole world for these Norman barons. How would she ever fit in to their narrow sphere!
“If you want my advice, Madam,” Waleran was saying, “do not wear that German bauble before the King lest you offend him. You’re a subject of Normandy now.”
Stung, Maud gave him a cold look. “Thank you, my lord, but I don’t think you fully understand. The crown is not a bauble but an emblem of royalty. I am an empress in my own country and the crown is exactly where it belongs.”
She had spoken more forcefully than she had intended and to her dismay saw the Count of Muelan’s face turn a dark red. Sweet Marie, had she offended him? He did not speak but the glare of enmity in his black eyes was unmistakable.
In the awkward silence that followed, Maud was uncertain what to do. It was beneath her dignity to ask if she had given offense.
“Come, Cousin.”
Stephen stepped smoothly into the breach, offering her his arm to lead her toward the scarlet tent. The others fell in behind.
“Don’t let Waleran’s manner disturb you,” Stephen said under his breath. “He can be prickly as a porcupine if he thinks someone has insulted him. He’ll get over it.”
Remembering the look in Waleran’s eyes Maud was not so sure. She prayed she had not made an enemy her very first day in Normandy. Conscious of the warm pressure of her cousin’s arm against her own, Maud approached the King’s pavilion.
The entrance was flanked by two poles of long wood, each flying a red-and-gold banner. To one side, standing stiffly at attention, were grouped a score of archers in leather hauberks. Surrounding the tent, knights, ‘squires, ladies-in-waiting, richly dressed nobles, and clergymen whispered among themselves as they examined Maud with frank curiosity. Two bishops in gold-embroidered robes came forward; the sun struck sparks from their miters and crosiers. One Maud recognized as the portly Bishop of Salisbury, the King’s chief adviser. Behind them walked an abbot, resplendent in a, black silk habit, a gold cross set with pearls lying on his breast. His face looked oddly familiar. Like Stephen’s, she thought, startled.