The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1)

by Amy Mantravadi

  I was given leave to move about the grounds—“But no farther than the church!”—and seized the opportunity to glimpse the sea for myself. Walking toward the cliff’s edge, I saw before me the endless span of water. So massive was it that the town and harbor seemed minute in the face of such grandeur. Glancing toward the right, I could see the exposed white face of the cliffs and determined that they were every bit as magnificent as the tales of legend. I sat down on a nearby rock and stared in wonder. What secrets lay within those watery depths? Fish, certainly, and forests of weeds, along with the remains of sunken vessels and their wares, but this was not what worried me. I had often heard tales of great monsters of the sea, which would lie in wait for years before rising to the surface with a fury to feed upon doomed souls. As I watched I feared to see some leviathan springing up from its dark cage, but the only movement was of the endless waves pushing toward the shore.

  I pulled my coverings tighter around me as the wind blew. My ears were beginning to ache from the cold, and I was considering turning back when I realized I was no longer alone. It was the knight Drogo who approached me, whom I recognized by his extraordinary height, and he carried a bound volume in his left hand. As he neared, I could see that it was the bestiarum given to me by my uncle David.

  “Lady Mathilda,” he said with a bow, “I took the liberty of retrieving this from the chest of books sent by the queen. I have noticed you often examining it in the past. I thought it might bring you some cheer.”

  This was so unforeseen that my former thoughts seemed to flee, as did my habit of silence.

  “Thank you, I am much obliged to you, Drogo.”

  I accepted the volume from him and immediately opened it to examine the familiar drawings. I then noticed that the knight still stood there. I looked up, thinking that he had something else to say, but he remained mute. It was much like our earlier encounter in the king’s presence, when he had been uncertain how to proceed in the presence of royalty.

  “Was there something else?” I asked, hoping that I might draw out his thoughts and thus bring a quicker end to the conversation.

  “No, my lady. That is . . . yes. May I be permitted to sit next to you?”

  The request was so earnest that I had little choice but to answer him in the affirmative, though I had no sense of where our discussion was headed. Fortunately, the stone was large enough to hold more than one person. Drogo sat beside me and bent forward slightly, clasping his hands together and pondering his words.

  “Forgive me, my lady, but you have been slightly melancholy since we left Westminster, and I wondered if you were in any discomfort, and if you were in such discomfort, if there was anything I might do to relieve you in your present situation. That is, if some action on my part might help to ease you along your journey.”

  I do not know why I smiled, whether I was once again touched by his earnest nature, amused by his overly positive description of my current condition as “slightly melancholy,” or simply glad to see that he was finally able to put forth his request, even if it was somewhat drawn out.

  “I thank you for your pains, sir, but I am merely sad to leave my home and a bit apprehensive about what lies ahead.”

  He nodded slowly but did not immediately reply. We both paused to look out toward the sea and listen to the breaking waves. The sun was once again visible from behind the clouds, and things seemed more pleasant than they had a few moments earlier.

  “Do you like animals, then?” he asked.

  “Why, yes! I do, very much.”

  “That seems like an excellent book for someone who loves animals.”

  “Yes, it was a gift from my uncle. It was made by the monks at Lindisfarne.”

  “Do you mean your uncle Prince David of Scotland?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah.” He let out a slight laugh. “I cannot remember any of my uncles or other distant relations giving me so much as a pebble, but then again, none of them were of particularly high rank.”

  “But you are a knight of the king’s household, so surely you must come from a good family.”

  “Oh, to me they were the best family one could have, but none of them was very rich in this world until my father came to this country and made a name for himself.”

  “I am sure he must be very proud of you,” I offered.

  “I wouldn’t know. He passed from this world long before I completed my training. It was he who first advised me to take up this profession. For myself, I think I might have been happy in the Church, but I soon saw the benefits of this life and the adventures it holds. After all, not every man can say that he has conversed with royalty.”

  He turned and looked into the distance, his eyes straining to see something that I could only guess at.

  “My eyes are not as sharp as they used to be. Can you see land in the distance?”

  “Land?”

  “Yes, they say that you can see the distant coast from here on a clear day, but I fear there are too many clouds at present.”

  I too strained my eyes, looking to see if I might catch a glimpse of a distant tower staring back, but there was nothing.

  “I cannot see it either.”

  “What a shame!” he replied. “I suppose we will just have to wait until after we raise anchor and sail off to the South.”

  “Where will we make port?”

  “At Boulogne in Flanders. It is a short journey, and I am sure you will be well received.”

  “Boulogne? I was not aware that we would land there. I thought we might put in at Calais.”

  “That is the shorter route, to be sure, but the Count of Boulogne and his wife were keen to receive us, from what I hear.”

  I then remembered where I had heard about Boulogne in the past. “The countess is my mother’s sister, but I have never met her. They spent many years together in their youth living within the convent.”

  “Yes, Mary of Scotland, who is now Countess Mary of Boulogne. You will be able to meet her, as well as her daughter Mathilda, who must be a few years younger than yourself.”

  The prospect of seeing these relatives for the first time interested me. I had imagined the Continent to be completely foreign, but perhaps I was wrong.

  The church bell rang and roused the knight from his thoughts. He stood up and had begun to take his leave when I stopped him.

  “Drogo?”

  “Yes, Lady Mathilda?”

  “Thank you for the book. It was kind of you to find it for me.”

  “It was nothing. I was glad to do it.”

  As he made off toward the hall, I felt a new chill and determined that I too must return. Taking one last glance toward the sea, I walked back past the church and the tower, and was greeted upon my arrival by my two ladies, whose exclamations of “Where have you been?” fell on deaf ears as I felt for the first time in days something like hope.

  The sky was clear for the next day’s voyage, and a favorable wind put us in Boulogne by afternoon. At first I found the experience pleasant, but I soon fell victim to that sickness that so often plagues seamen, and I longed to once again set foot upon solid ground. The sight of the belfry of Boulogne was welcome indeed. Upon our dropping anchor, the servants began bringing the goods to shore in earnest. Not only the chests that had traveled with us from Westminster, but also the wares of all the English merchants who had made the journey as well. From where I stood, I had a clear view of the town. There were several shops and market stalls near the port, beyond which I could see the city walls.

  One of the sailors must have noticed my interest, for he said to me, “It was an old Roman fortress, back when they mounted their invasions into Britain. The count lives within the ancient walls, but the town has grown beyond those bounds.”

  “So we are not to be received here at the pier?”

  “No, my lady. The count and countess await your arrival at the castle.”

  Thus it was that I was removed from the boat along with my possessions and placed
into the carriage that would bear me up to the city. I could see the walls before us, a mixture of gray and reddish stones piled one upon the other, with a succession of towers at regular intervals. They were not so tall as the ones in London and were worn by many long years. Nevertheless these walls would be a sufficient obstacle to any invading army. And to think that they were set down a thousand years before the present time!

  The tall wood gates swung open before us and we entered into the lower city, moving through the square and onto the main thoroughfare, upon which sat the manor house of the Count of Boulogne, Eustace III. Arriving within the close, I made my first study of the noble family, the count and countess and their young daughter, Mathilda. My primary desire was to determine if I noticed any resemblance between the Countess Mary and her sister, who was my own mother.

  The countess appeared a bit shorter than the queen. She wore a blue gown and matching shawl, with a long white veil in the Frankish style. She possessed the same fair complexion as her sister, though whether the countess’s hair was of the same hue, I could not determine. The daughter was a slight thing, a bit overwhelmed by her own garments. I noted that neither of them had a smile on her face, though this may have been on account of the winter cold.

  Count Eustace, in contrast, was a sturdy man, no doubt hardened by the many dangers he’d endured in the Holy Land with his brothers, Godfrey of Bouillon and Baldwin of Boulogne. It was said that the brothers fought valiantly upon the plains of Palestine, reclaiming the land of the apostles for Christendom and forcing out the Saracens. When the younger brother, Godfrey, became protector of the Holy Sepulcher—not king, for he refused to take a crown of gold where Christ had worn a crown of thorns—Eustace returned home to his seat in Boulogne with all the glory accorded to a warrior of his stature.

  As I settled in for the evening, the countess and her daughter requested a private audience with me, and I made haste to arrive at the stated time. I found the room far smaller than the queen’s chamber at the Palace of Westminster, though it was clear that the countess had attempted to compensate for this with much adornment. I also could not help but notice that, far from following the manner of feminine gentility, she had clearly made a concerted effort to impress anyone who entered. The tapestries bore not the pastoral and hunting themes my mother favored, but rather images of the history and victorious battles of the House of Boulogne. On each of the two longer walls hung a tapestry stretching the full length. One portrayed battles in the Holy Land, ending in the seizure of Jerusalem and the coronation of the count’s brother. The other was of the conquest of Britain by my grandfather, King William. The count’s own father, Eustace II of Boulogne, had been among William’s companions at Hastings.

  It is worth noting, Daughter, that the accounts surrounding Count Eustace’s participation in this battle greatly varied. The one favored by the House of Boulogne portrayed him with all noble characteristics, persevering against strong odds and lending his own horse to Duke William when the other man’s steed fell. However, the more common account, and indeed the one most likely true, was that Count Eustace, alarmed at the strength of Harold Godwinson’s forces, sought to retreat and took up the standard once again only when Duke William witnessed his cowardice and threatened him with all manner of punishments should he fail to return to the line. It is an established fact that after this battle, the elder Count Eustace supported a rebellion of the men of Kent against their rightful king, though he escaped from this failure with a victor’s rewards.

  On the far wall was displayed a shield with the arms of both the House of Flanders and the House of Reginar, from which the counts of Boulogne descended. The black and golden lions formed a magnificent setting as Princess Mary of Scotland, now Countess of Boulogne, stepped forward to wish me well.

  “My own niece, Mathilda, come sit and tell us of your journey.”

  She motioned toward two chairs by the hearth. I was moving toward the nearer of the two when the young Mathilda, who could not have been more than five years old, sat down upon that very spot, her legs so short that they hung in the air rather than resting upon the floor.

  “Mathilda!” the countess called out, and I immediately turned toward her, only to recognize that the call was directed toward her daughter rather than myself. “Go sit next to the other ladies.”

  “It’s too cold!” the girl replied, and before her mother could speak reason, she launched into teary protestations of the injustice of this request. She scorned the countess’s calls for silence. I presumed that some harsh punishment was in store for my cousin, but instead the countess made a hasty retreat.

  “Very well, very well! Maria, please fetch another chair for our niece.”

  The seat was duly fetched and placed slightly farther from the fire than the one filled by the young Mathilda, whose victory seemed to have brought about a sudden change of mood, as she now grinned with pleasure. “Had I ever behaved in such a manner, I should have been made to regret it,” I thought.

  “Mathilda, my sister-daughter, how do you find Boulogne?” the countess asked, having taken her seat directly across from me.

  “I like it very much. It seems a pleasant city and well placed along the coast.”

  This was the best response I could make to her inquiry, as I was still rather distracted by the incident involving my small cousin, who now twisted in her chair, looking at me in a rather tilted manner. I found it most disturbing.

  “What news have you of my sister, the queen?”

  “She was well when last I saw her,” I lied, for I knew her to have been in great torment of spirit at our parting. “Her court in Westminster attracts the most charming persons from far and wide.”

  “Yes, I am sure,” Countess Mary replied. “My sister always excelled in such matters.” Although the words she spoke were kind, I sensed a slight strain in her voice and wondered for the first time if the sisters had ever been at odds with each other. However, I quickly pushed the thought from my mind.

  “Aunt Mary, I wonder if you might tell me a tale of the days in which the two of you lived among the holy sisters? I have heard stories from my mother, but I am sure you have much to add.”

  Young Mathilda had now abandoned the chair for which she’d fought so fiercely and was standing directly to the right of me, her eyes intent on my every move. Whether or not the countess disapproved of this action, she had apparently decided to overlook it.

  “I am sure you know most of it already,” she offered. “I was four years old when our esteemed parents sent us to live with our aunt Cristina at the abbey of Romsey. We received instruction fit for our station and were later sent to Wilton to complete our training. I left the abbey before my sister, of course.”

  Her tale seemed to end here, so I inquired once again. “What was it like living together in the convent? Did the two of you become very close?”

  “As close as any two such sisters sent out to live in the world. We always shared a bed at Romsey, but at Wilton we were granted separate quarters.” She paused for a breath, perhaps betraying some uncertainty, but then continued. “Our interests were somewhat different. My sister was always eager to seek out the farthest reaches of knowledge, the highest degree of spirituality, and all the delights of modern culture. For myself, I have always been content with a more quiet life. We each sought to serve God in our own way.”

  I thought she might cease her comments there, but I was wrong.

  “As the elder daughter, she received many offers of marriage from several esteemed gentlemen. I have no doubt that you are aware of this.”

  “Yes, I have heard the story of how my parents met at the abbey. She was at first loath to marry, I think.”

  “That is correct. One by one they came, yet she turned them all away. Meanwhile, we both were tainted by the same rumor: that we were in fact consecrated sisters. That is to say, that we had taken vows of chastity. That never kept a suitor away from my sister, though I found it a more trying impediment.”
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  “She must be jealous indeed,” was the chief thought that echoed in my mind. I was not sure if or how to respond, so I tried to shift the conversation.

  “Is it true that the queen incited King Henry to arrange the match between yourself and the count?” I asked.

  The countess leaned back slightly and pressed her lips into a half smile. “Yes, once she had achieved her own place, she was good enough to make sure that I was provided for. And so you see, I am the most fortunate of women to be mistress of such a dominion.”

  I sensed that my aunt was not so glad as she let on, but I never had a chance to inquire further, for at that very moment we both noticed young Mathilda, who was perched near the fire and reaching out to grasp one of the pieces of wood—for what purpose I could only guess. The countess let out a yelp, and, not waiting for one of her ladies to act, dived forward to snatch her daughter from certain danger. The image remains fixed in my mind to this day: the countess holding my cousin, both of them twisting and turning in a strange kind of dance that ended with both of them falling backward onto the floor. The next ones to scream were the countess’s ladies, with cries of, “My lady! My lady! Are you hurt?”

  Young Mathilda broke free from her mother’s arms and shunned the embrace of each of the ladies as she ran to hide behind my chair, gesturing toward me that I should not reveal her position. It was only then that we saw that the hem of my aunt’s gown was burning. Shouts once again rose to the heavens as the desperate ladies attempted to smother the fire. The one named Maria went to fetch a water basin, but found it too heavy to lift. She was helped by a raven-haired woman, and together they brought an end to the flames.

  The ladies moved to lift up the countess, whose gown was now soaked through, and restore her to dignity. Oddly, I had not strayed from my position throughout the entire ordeal, uncertain at every turn how to respond. My fright at that moment had seemed to freeze me to the spot. Never in my life had I witnessed anything quite like this. I believe that all involved had quite forgotten that I was there, except for my cousin, who seemed content to remain behind my seat. As most of the ladies knelt down to clean the mess and attend to the countess’s scrapes, one of them did come over and ask if all was well with me and if I had seen where my cousin went.