The Fatal Crown(23)
“The Bishops of Salisbury and Rouen, and behind them the Abbot of Glastonbury,” Stephen said in her ear.
“The Abbot resembles you,” Maud said.
“Not surprising, since he is my younger brother, Henry. He left the Benedictine monastery at Cluny less than a year ago and is already well on his way to becoming a power in the church.”
Maud cast Stephen a quick look, curious as to why his voice had developed a marked edge when he talked of his brother. Then she smiled at the prelates, inclining her head.
“Benedicte,” the bishops murmured in unison, making the sign of the cross over her head before stepping back.
The Abbot bowed and smiled, a smile, Maud saw that never reached his pale green eyes. Closer, his resemblance to Stephen was less pronounced.
“Welcome to Normandy, Cousin,” he said in a cool voice.
The crowd grew quiet. Maud’s throat went dry; her heart beat so heavily she could hardly breathe. She was aware of a solemn hush, the abrupt absence of Stephen’s arm.
Suddenly the door opened and a man stepped out. Short, dark, with powerful shoulders, a broad chest, and thick bull neck, his heavy black brows almost met over the dark, piercing eyes Maud had never forgotten. He was dressed in a short black mantle fastened at the right shoulder with a gold brooch, over a plain brown tunic. Cuffed black boots encased his bowed muscular legs. Around his thick waist he wore a heavy leather belt studded with jewels. On the top of his round head rested the golden crown he had once given Maud to hold. Although he had aged since she had last seen him, Henry of England still radiated power, menace, and authority.
Maud opened her mouth to greet him but the words refused to come. Some instinct made her fall to her knees. Fighting back tears, Maud found herself staring at her father’s scuffed boots, the gilt spurs secured with brown leather. Iron fingers gripped her shoulders. The King pulled her roughly to her feet.
“Well, well, no need for that. You are a royal princess after all.”
Maud detected a note of satisfaction in his voice as he held her at arm’s length. Instinct had not led her astray when she knelt.
“You have arrived safely, praise God and all His Saints. There is much to be thankful for.”
“An honor to be in your presence, Sire,” she managed to say in a strangled voice she barely recognized.
“And you haven’t forgotten your Norman tongue, I see. Something else to be thankful for.” The King raised an arm high above his head as he shouted: “The Princess Maud speaks the tongue of her Norman ancestors, the tongue of the great William, her grandfather, as well as ever she did the day she left our court.”
Which was not quite true, Maud thought, for now she had a slight accent. Nevertheless, there was a twitter of approval from the waiting crowd. Hooking his thumbs in his belt, Henry slowly walked around her. Finally he nodded his head, apparently satisfied with what he saw.
“Yes, you have become worthy of us, Daughter. Every inch a Norman princess.” He paused. “I see you have even put off mourning to signify the importance of this auspicious occasion.”
Henry continued to walk round her, reminding Maud of a wild beast circling its prey. Finally he came to an abrupt stop. His jaw thrust out, he pointed a stern finger at the Imperial crown. “Why do you wear the crown of a German empress?”
“The crown?”
“Yes, the crown you wear, what else? I did not refer to mine.”
The crowd tittered softly. Maud felt her face turn crimson with shame.
“You are a widow and no longer Empress,” Henry continued. “Why do you wear it?”
Maud moistened her dry lips. “To honor my late husband.”
“I see. I’m sure that would be much appreciated in Germany.”
As Henry fixed her with an unblinking stare Maud wanted to sink into the ground. If only she had listened to Aldyth!
“But you’re in Normandy now. The Emperor is dead; that life is finished. Come, take off the crown.”
“It is mine,” she whispered, her heart hammering.
In desperation, seeking help of any kind, Maud looked around her. All she saw were members of the Norman court, viewing her plight with detached interest.
The King gave her a menacing look. “Take off the crown lest I have someone do it for you.”
Squaring her shoulders, Maud lifted her head proudly. She would show him she was no longer a child to be ordered about as he pleased. Her father’s eyes, hooded and hard as agates, bored into hers. For a moment she challenged him, her intention battling his own. Every part of her tensed, screaming with the desire to defy him. But she was not strong enough. Not yet. His will was like an iron shield, unassailable, and she knew herself overmatched. Once again the King had backed her into a corner leaving her no choice. He had won—as he always had. But Maud knew she would never forget this moment of humiliation and she wanted him to know it, too.