“If I feel up to—oh Henry, Henry—”
At this unexpected acknowledgment of his trust, this attempt to give her back something of what she had lost, Maud struggled to suppress a rush of tears. It was not the same as being Queen of England, but still, a regent, acting in place of an absent monarch or lord, had all the authority and power of the ruler himself. It was a position of honor and responsibility. Maud remembered her father telling her how her grandmother, Duchess Matilda, had ruled as regent in Normandy while her husband was busy earning his title of Conqueror in England. The past had come full circle.
Despite the winter storms that made the channel almost impossible to cross, early in January of the new year, 1153, Henry made ready to sail for England. It would be the third attempt to claim his inheritance. This time, he announced to his wife and mother, this time, the final outcome would be decided.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Normandy, 1153
INSIDE THE DUCAL PALACE at Rouen, Maud stood by the open casement window of her solar; the late afternoon sun bathed the chamber in a golden glow. She closed her eyes for a moment with a silent prayer that when she opened them again a messenger from Henry would be riding into the courtyard. She had heard of his successful march through the Midlands where more and more men had joined him, and enemy castle after enemy castle had surrendered. But since his arrival at Wallingford in August there had been no word. It was now late September and she was sick with worry.
The door opened and one of Eleanor’s ladies hurried in with a message that the Duchess sought her mother-in-law’s advice: Little William, born six weeks ago, was fretting with colic.
“Tell the Duchess to rub a little warmed wine on his gums.” Maud turned away from the window. “Find out if the wet nurse has been eating spiced foods. Give her peas, beans, and gruel to sweeten her milk.”
The woman left. Maud walked over to the straight-backed wooden chair, sat down, then beckoned to the chamberlain who was waiting to go over the accounts with her.
“Why were three yards of blue ribbon ordered?” She tapped a finger against the item.
“That was for the Duchess, my lady,” the chamberlain replied. “For the baby’s christening gown.”
Maud’s heart warmed at the thought of her young grandson, whose father had not yet seen him. At this reminder of Henry, she immediately became anxious again. Had his forces done battle with Stephen? Was Henry wounded? Or Stephen? The thought of anything happening to either of them was unbearable.
She forced herself to finish the accounts, then dismissed the chamberlain with a word of praise for his accuracy. Next she arranged with the steward to judge a dispute between two landowners the following day, and discussed the birth of four new colts with the marshal. Last, she interviewed the master huntsman, who had this morning caught two young poachers in the forest outside the city walls.
“Give them a stern warning this time and let them go.”
The huntsman’s face puckered in disapproval. “The usual punishment is blinding them and cutting off their privates.”
“I understand this goes against custom,” she said, having learned the painful lesson that everything ran more smoothly if people flowed with you rather than against you. “But these lads are so young, not seasoned felons, after all.” She gave him a winning smile. “I’m sure you can make them see the seriousness of their offense.”
He nodded grudgingly and stumped out of the solar.
Maud leaned back in her chair. She had been regent of Normandy for eight months now and there was always more work to be done than she could easily do. Yet she found herself enjoying life as she had not done in years. Each day brought a new challenge to be met and overcome. She had surprised herself—and others as well, she thought wryly—with an unsuspected gift for organization, sound judgment, and a newfound ability to deal pleasantly but firmly with people under difficult circumstances. She no longer enforced her will as in the old days but won the cooperation of those who served her. Even her father and Aldyth, two of her more outspoken critics from the past, would be impressed with her growing gift for diplomacy.
She drowsed in the warm rays of the sun, reflecting on the beginning of her regency. Shortly after her son had sailed for England, Louis of France, as Henry had predicted, broke his truce with Normandy and marched across the border. Maud promptly raised an army and Louis, unprepared for such immediate retaliation, hastily retreated into France. With the exception of occasional skirmishes, there had been no further trouble from the French king.
Her second son, Geoffrey, although complaining bitterly about his elder brother, maintained—under her watchful eye—the peace in Anjou. All in all Maud was not dissatisfied with the way she had managed Henry’s affairs and she hoped he would be pleased with her stewardship. If only she could have word that all was well with him.