slumped; his face looked pinched and grey in the subdued light. “My son Philip acted as the go-between,” he said heavily, and no one spoke after that, not knowing what to say.
The silence was full of foreboding; they all knew what this unholy alliance could mean. Chester’s holdings rivaled the Crown’s; nigh on a third of England lay within his domains. Ranulf rose and began to prowl the chamber. His sister was standing utterly still in the shadows, so none could see her inner turmoil. Ranulf glanced toward her, and then away. With Chester as an active ally, Stephen seemed likely to prevail. Henry would not be left with nothing, for even if Maude did fail, Geoffrey had not. The duchy of Normandy would one day be Henry’s. But Ranulf knew that would not be enough for Maude, not ever enough. Her own dreams were dead. Ranulf did not think she could bear to see Henry’s dream die, too.
32
Chester Castle, England
June 1146
After opening St Werbergh’s Fair on her husband’s behalf, Maud and her guests returned to the castle for dinner. When coaxed by the women, Ranulf agreed to escort them back to the fair once the meal was done. But it was hard to muster up much enthusiasm for fairgoing, not when he kept remembering that a year had passed since the last fair, another year lost. How could he blame Annora if her faith sometimes faltered?
Servants were ladling venison stew onto their trenchers. Breaking off a chunk of bread, Ranulf glanced over at his niece. “So…how is the grand alliance going?” While that still sounded faintly sarcastic, it was considerably more tactful than his usual description of Chester and Stephen’s peace-as a Devil’s deal.
Maud smiled into her napkin before saying demurely, as befitting a dutiful wife, “My poor Randolph…he has exerted himself tirelessly to prove his good faith-first taking Bedford Castle for Stephen and then assisting Stephen and Ypres to build a stockade at Crowmarsh so they could cut off supplies to Wallingford. But even after all he’s done, he says that Stephen’s barons are still wary and suspicious.”
“I wonder why,” Ranulf said dryly. But his humor was hollow; he did not find anything amusing in Chester and Stephen’s accord. It was far too dangerous to be laughed away, as Brien could testify, after a harrowing spring under siege. “Have you heard about Philip’s latest outrage?”
Maud’s lip curled contemptuously. “Philip who?” she said coolly.
“Your black-sheep brother seems bound and determined to dishonour himself beyond redemption. I’m sure you know that Maude and Robert offered to negotiate with Stephen? We hoped we might be able to take some of the pressure off Brien…to no avail. Stephen granted Rainald a safe-conduct to come to his court; that was the only concession he was willing to make, though. But Philip saw a chance to wreak more havoc and ambushed Rainald on his way to Bristol, took him prisoner, and brought him back to Stephen’s court in chains.”
“How treacherous,” Annora interrupted, “and how shameful!”
“Stephen agreed with you. He was infuriated that Philip should have dared to defy his safe-conduct and he released Rainald at once. Rainald returned home in high dudgeon, vowing vengeance upon Philip if it takes a lifetime, and Philip…I suppose he went off to sulk.”
Maud shook her head scornfully. “My brother Will always claimed Philip was a changeling, and more and more, I do believe him. This I can tell you for certes, Ranulf-that God might one day forgive Philip for the pain he has inflicted upon our family, but I never shall.”
Ranulf and Maud lapsed into a morose silence after that, and Annora hastily cast about for a new topic, one distracting enough to keep them from dwelling upon Philip’s betrayal. “Is it true that the Church is preaching a new crusade?”
Ranulf’s attention was immediately caught and he nodded vigorously. “On Easter Sunday at Vezeley, in Burgundy, the Abbot of Clairvaux read a papal bull urging all Christians to rescue the Holy Land from the infidel. Thousands thronged to hear him speak, and the French king was amongst the first to take the cross.”
“A pity Stephen was not stricken, too, with crusading fever,” Maud said wryly. “In truth, I can think of any number of lords whose souls would benefit from a sojourn in the Holy Land. I am surprised, though, that Louis is so keen to go. The last time Randolph’s brother was in Paris, he said Louis could not bear to have Eleanor out of his sight. How will he cope once a thousand miles stretch between them?”
“Fortunately for Louis,” Ranulf said with a grin, “his beautiful queen has taken the cross, too.”
Maud was startled, but not astounded, for women had participated in the First Crusade. Some had been loyal wives, others less reputable, for even God’s army had attracted its share of camp followers. As a girl, Maud had loved to hear tales of these female pilgrims, women braving hardships and danger for the same mixed motives that drew men to the Holy Land-the curious and the devout, the daring and the pious, the wanton and the faithful, seeking God’s Grace or gold, salvation or adventure. Maud could not say which of these categories Eleanor of Aquitaine fit into. She knew only that she felt a sharp surge of envy, a hunger to leave the familiar behind, to strike out boldly toward the unknown as the young French queen meant to do.
Annora’s reaction was far different: disbelief and then painful disappointment. She’d long idealized Eleanor, the only woman who seemed able to hold her own in a man’s world. They were almost of an age-Eleanor just two years younger-and she’d reveled in Eleanor’s triumphs, admired her independent spirit, and when faced with difficult decisions, she’d silently ask herself what Eleanor would have done. This was the first time that her idol had let her down, and she frowned at her cooling stew, her appetite gone. “But Queen Eleanor just had a baby last year,” she pointed out plaintively, half hoping the reminder would prod Ranulf into admitting this was another of his dubious jests.
Her lover gave her a questioning smile, and she saw her point had eluded him. “Her baby,” she repeated, more forcefully. “Eleanor has an infant daughter now. I would not think she’d want to leave her babe so soon, not after so many years of a barren marriage…”
This elicited only a shrug, more male incomprehension. Nor did Maud seem to understand, either, for she laughed when Ranulf quipped that he doubted Eleanor could find the nursery without a map. Annora knew, of course, that queens were not expected to be doting mothers; circumstance and protocol and practicality all conspired to distance a royal mother from her child. The babe would be suckled by a wet nurse, swaddled and comforted and cuddled by servants, a royal pawn to play in the marriage game, for daughters were often betrothed before they could walk, bred to be brides for foreign princes. Annora supposed it was possible that a queen might prefer not to get too attached to a child she was soon to lose. But she’d still expected more from Eleanor, the same devotion she would have given to a babe of her own.
Neither Ranulf nor Maud noticed her preoccupation, and were soon talking about the Bishop of Winchester’s latest feud, this one with no less a personage than the Archbishop of Canterbury; Bishop Henry blamed the latter for the Pope’s refusal to reappoint him as a papal legate. Annora spooned her stew listlessly, paying the conversation no mind until she heard her own name.
A servant was nearing their table, announcing that a man had just ridden in, asking to see Lady Fitz Clement. As her eyes met Maud’s, Annora nodded, but she felt a sudden unease, for only her husband knew she was at Chester, and she’d been gone less than a week, not long enough for him to be writing to her-not unless something was wrong. Borrowing some of Ranulf’s optimism, she sought to convince herself that all was well with her father, brothers, stepchildren, husband, and dog in the endless interval before the servant ushered the new arrival into the hall.
Maud was signaling for the final course of fruit-filled tarts as she caught her first glimpse of Annora’s visitor. One glimpse was all she needed, so strong was the family resemblance. Even before she heard Annora’s strangled cry of “Ancel!” she’d realized that this enraged, swarthy stranger was Annora’s brother, and she hastily sought Nicholas’s eye, sending him a surreptitious message to be on the alert for trouble.
Ranulf and Annora sat, frozen in their seats, as Ancel strode toward the high table. After one burning glance at Ranulf, Ancel aimed his accusing gaze at his sister. Ignoring Maud and the others in the hall, he said abruptly:
“I had business in Shrewsbury for my lord earl and thought to surprise you. I was the one who got the surprise, though, for your husband informed me that you were off visiting your ‘dear girlhood friend,’ the Countess of Chester. I found that puzzling, for as far as I knew, you’d never even laid eyes upon the woman. But as I was sitting
