The sound of horses in the courtyard startled her. Her heart quickening, she opened her eyes. Perhaps a message from Henry had come at last. She rose and ran to the window. Below she saw the tall figure of Brian FitzCount dismount from his horse. Holy Mother, if Brian had come himself, it must mean—terrified, she would not let herself complete the thought, but turned from the window, flew out the door of the solar, and sped down the winding staircase. Brian was just entering the palace when she reached him.
“Henry is not—Stephen is—nothing has happened … ?” Her eyes wide with fright, she clutched at Brian’s arms.
“No, Henry is not, nor is Stephen. Calm your fears. When I left England the Duke was in a sour mood but perfectly well. Stephen, I suspect, is in a similar condition.”
“God be thanked. I’ve been beside myself with worry. The last word I had was that he was preparing to do battle with Stephen’s forces at Wallingford, and since then nothing.”
She looked closely at Brian, whom she had last seen on the Wareham coast six years earlier. He had aged, she realized in dismay, his crisp black curls totally gray, his face gaunt and tired. The years of defending Wallingford had taken their toll. Years spent selflessly in her service.
“Dearest friend, how happy I am to see you.” She threw her arms around him. When he smiled down at her she saw that the dark blue eyes, ironic but tranquil, had remained the same.
“There’s trouble, isn’t there?”
He nodded. Glancing around her, Maud saw that many of the castle mesnie had come into the palace yard and were watching them with anxious expressions.
“The Duke is well,” she called out. “Do not worry.”
She took Brian’s arm and led him outside. They walked the length of the courtyard until they were out of earshot. “Has there been a battle? Has Henry lost Wallingford?”
“No, no. The problem is that there has been no action of any kind.
Henry and Stephen have had their troops lined up on either bank of the river for the past six weeks, ready to fight, but the barons of both sides, influenced by the Bishop of Winchester and the Archbishop of Canterbury, flatly refuse to engage in battle and between themselves have agreed to a truce.”
Maud was aghast. “But that is treason! They must fight if their liege-lord demands it. Has Stephen’s brother turned on him again?”
“Not this time. The Bishop of Winchester seems to have put aside ambition and honestly sues for peace now. He has proposed a very sound treaty, agreeable to everyone but Stephen and Henry, that would resolve the conflict once and for all: Stephen shall remain king until his death, to be succeeded by Henry, who, everyone now agrees, is the rightful heir.”
Maud did not reply as she carefully examined the proposal in her mind. It sounded a very sensible solution, the Bishop of Winchester at his most statesman-like. At last there would be an end of the bloodshed of the last fifteen years. “Why will neither Stephen nor Henry sign?”
“Stephen, stubborn as only he can be when his mind is made up, insists that his flesh and blood must rule after him. Henry, hotheaded and spoiling for a fight, is equally set that the outcome shall be determined by battle. He has hurled angry words at Stephen across the river, calling him usurper and perjurer, taunting him that he would not trust his signature on a piece of parchment. So there you have it. Stalemate.”
Maud felt her heart sink. She knew only too well what Henry could be like when thwarted. “Can no one reason with them?”
Brian gave her a weary smile. “The hunger for glory overrules reason, I fear. Henry wants the glory of victory; Stephen wants the glory of founding a dynasty—as a justification for his actions.”
“Of course,” Maud said slowly. “Such a treaty would disinherit Eustace. Now I understand. What a coil. Can nothing be done?”
“That is why I have come. To see what you might do to break the deadlock.” He paused. “You’re still so lovely, Maud, almost unchanged since I saw you six years ago.”
The Vespers bell rang and they walked through the gate of the courtyard toward the cathedral.
“What can I do?” How could she be expected to resolve the conflict between Stephen and Henry, between her son and his father. “Did Henry send you to me?”
“No. I have left England and its troubles. I’m on my way to the Holy Land to become a monk or a Templar. I can do no more for your cause, Maud, and in these last remaining years I would follow my own bent. I had hoped for your blessing.”
Concealing her shock and dismay, Maud gave him the only possible reply. “Indeed you have it, my friend.”