Sharon Penman: When Christ and his Saints Slept

“Oh, so you know about the wife, do you?” Mirabelle asked, but she did not sound annoyed, and Barbe nodded shyly.

“Oh, yes, for that was all we talked about last year, that Lord Geoffrey was to wed the King of England’s daughter. We heard that they had a splendid wedding, that she was a beautiful bride. Is…is that not so?”

“Yes, she is a handsome wench, is the Lady Maude. But I’d not say she made so fair a bride, not when she went to the altar like one going to the gallows!”

Barbe was astonished. “Why ever would she not want to wed the Lord Geoffrey? I do not understand, for he is so handsome,” she sighed, and then blushed again when the women laughed.

“Geoffrey could not understand it, either! But it seems the lady felt she was marrying beneath her. She had been the wife of the Holy Roman Emperor, after all, and Geoffrey was merely the son of a count. And then he was just a lad, only fourteen, and she was a woman grown and worldly-wise of twenty-five. It may be, too, that she did not want to make a marriage so sure to displease her future subjects, who loathed the Angevins. Her objections were for naught, though. The English king was set upon the marriage, for he saw it as a means of thwarting William 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.