Clito’s claim to the crown.”
“Who is he?”
“He was another of the English king’s nephews, his elder brother Robert’s son. When Clito allied himself with the French king, Maude’s father feared that Count Fulk of our Anjou would join forces with them against England. Are you following this so far?”
Barbe nodded, wide-eyed. “How do you know all this?” she asked admiringly, and Mirabelle pointed ceilingward, to the bedchamber above their heads.
“Men talk in bed, too,” she said dryly. “So…to win over Count Fulk, the English king proposed a marriage between the Lady Maude and the count’s eldest son, Geoffrey. The count agreed, but the Norman barons liked it little, and the Lady Maude not at all. She balked, refused to make the marriage.”
Barbe was amazed; she’d never heard of a woman’s daring to defy male authority. “Could she do that?”
“Well, she surely tried. But the king was no man to cross, and he had his way in the end. She yielded, and plans went forward for the wedding.”
“Maude’s father did make one concession in her favor,” Brigette interjected, and Mirabelle nodded.
“I was just getting to that. You see, Barbe, the King of Jerusalem faced the same predicament as the English king: no son to succeed him. His eldest daughter was to be queen, and was in need of a husband. And so it was arranged for Count Fulk to take her to wife. As King of Jerusalem, he could well afford to cede Anjou to Geoffrey, so the Lady Maude would at least be marrying a count. And indeed, it all came to pass as the English king would have it. Geoffrey and Maude were wed last year, two months before his fifteenth birthday, in a magnificent ceremony at Le Mans. Count Fulk later departed for the Holy Land and his new destiny, the English king returned contentedly to his own domains, and the war began.”
“War? With that…that William Clito?”
“No, William Clito’s claim came to an abrupt and unexpected end, thanks to a mortal spear thrust. He was wounded whilst putting down a rebellion in Flanders and died soon afterward, little more than a month after Geoffrey and Maude’s wedding! Geoffrey called that ‘ironic,’ a word I know not, but I suspect it is just a fancy way of saying his marriage need not have been. No, when I talked of war, I meant the one between Geoffrey and Maude. It began on their wedding night, and I see no truce in sight. Indeed, their fighting has gotten worse in past weeks. In truth, I’ve never seen Geoffrey as wroth as he was last night. It was no easy task, calming him down, took every drop of wine in the house!”
Barbe felt an odd sense of disappointment, for she’d always assumed that the highborn led blessed and blissful lives. “Why do they not get along?” she asked, and Mirabelle shrugged.
“Geoffrey has complaints beyond counting. To hear him tell it, Maude has no virtues, only vices. He says she is arrogant and sharptongued and quick-tempered, utterly lacking in womanly softness or warmth. But if I were seeking to understand why he hates her so, I’d look no further than their marriage bed. Keep this in mind, child, if you remember nothing else I teach you. There is no insult that wounds a man more than one aimed at his manhood.”
“I…I do not understand.”
“I mean that Geoffrey’s wife finds no pleasure in his bed and lets him know it,” Mirabelle said bluntly, and Barbe blushed anew.
“Well…why does he not shun her bed, then?” she suggested timidly. “If he has you, Mirabelle, why does he need Maude?”
“Alas, it is not so simple, Barbe. Geoffrey does need Maude-to give him an heir. And then, too, he is just sixteen. If he were older, her coldness would not matter so much to him. But he has never had an unwilling bedmate, not until now. Why would he, with a face like a wayward angel and all Anjou his for the taking? Women have been chasing after him since he was fourteen or thereabouts, and more often than not, he’d let them catch him. It was a great blow to his pride to discover that his beautiful wife does not want him. He is hurting and angry and baffled, and each time she rejects him, it gets worse. So he punishes her in bed, the one place where he is in control. That only makes her scorn him all the more, of course. Her scorn then goads him into maltreating her again, which…well, just think of a dog chasing his tail if you want to understand this accursed marriage of theirs! They must-Barbe? Lass, are you weeping?”
Barbe ducked her head, trying to hide the tears welling in her eyes. “It is just so sad,” she said, “that they are so unhappy…”
“Save your pity for those who truly need it, for mothers with hungry babes to feed, for that one-legged beggar we saw in the marketplace, for lepers or women with no men to protect them. Geoffrey and Maude may be miserable, but misery is much easier to bear in a castle, child.”
“Amen,” Brigette said fervently, and she and Mirabelle laughed. Barbe was quiet after that, startled by her sister’s unsentimental assessment of her royal lover’s plight.
“Do you think Maude will truly rule England and Normandy one day?” she asked, for she found it incomprehensible that a woman could wield power like a man. “How would she know what to do?”
“Oh, she is clever enough to match wits with most men. Even Geoffrey admits as much. She knows how to read and write, she is fluent in French and German, and Geoffrey says she understands a little Latin. If you ask me, though, I think she is one of God’s great fools. That lad up there in my bed is not a bad sort. But there is no forgiveness in him, none at all. Once he decides that Maude owes him a debt, she will be paying it off for the rest of their marriage. She-”
“Mirabelle, where are you? Get a basin up here fast, for I’m going to be sick!”
The voice was young, imperious, and urgent. Mirabelle grinned and got to her feet. “Coming, my love!” Gathering up a basin, a pitcher of water, and several towels, she started for the stairs, pausing to wink and say softly, “Time to earn the rent.”
Brigette raised her cup and Barbe leaned over, politely poured more cider. “Brigette…what will happen to them, the Lord Geoffrey and the Lady Maude?”
“Who knows?” After a moment, though, Brigette grinned. “If you’re one for gambling, Lucas the Fleming is taking wagers that they’ll kill each other ere the year is out!”
“ Open the shutters, Minna. I would know the worst,” Maude said tautly. The older woman hesitated, then did as she was bade. Summer sunlight flooded the room, warming and indolent and unsparingly bright. Maude drew a deep breath, then raised the mirror. It had been a gift from her first husband, the German Emperor Heinrich, the work of a master craftsman, carved ivory and polished brass, sheeted in thin glass. The metallic reflection was distorted, somewhat blurred, but not enough to hide her swollen, split lip and the mottled, darkening bruises on her cheek. Maude closed her eyes for a moment, then sank down in the window seat.
“What am I to do, Minna? The abbot will be here from St Aubin’s within the hour, and he’ll have only to look at me to know. They all will, anyone with eyes to see…”
Minna’s and Maude’s lives had first intersected at Utrecht, where the young widow had been chosen to attend the even younger empress. After Maude was widowed in her turn, Minna had forsaken her German homeland and accompanied her mistress back to England. They’d been together now for more than ten years, but never had Minna heard Maude sound like this, so utterly despairing. “Mayhap we can cover the bruises with powder, madame.”
“There would not be enough powder in Christendom for that.” Rising from the window seat, Maude began to pace. “Damn him,” she cried suddenly, “damn him to Hellfire Everlasting!”
Minna wondered which one she meant, husband or father. “My lady, my fear for you bids me be bold, bids me speak my mind. You cannot go on like this. Something must be done.”
“What would you have me do, Minna? Cut his throat whilst he sleeps?” Maude’s mouth twisted. “I’ve thought about it, you may be sure!”
“My lady…please hear me out. You’ll not like what I am about to say, but I cannot keep silent, not when I see him hurting you like this. So far he has not lost all control. He may have been angry enough to strike you, but he stopped at that. What happens when he does not? Madame, slaps lead to beatings, sooner or later. You cannot let it reach that point, for there will be no going back then. You must save yourself whilst there is still time.”
“How?” Maude asked, but if the question itself was dispassionate, the tone was not, so defensive that Minna knew it was hopeless, that Maude would not heed her.
“My lady, your husband the emperor was not an easy man to live with, either. He was prey to dark moods
