Page 29

T heobold’s heart beat in his throat as clear down the length of the room, the foul traitor who called himself a king, Stephen, stood quietly yet commanded the attention of the entre assembly.

He was heavily guarded, with six guards surrounding him.

It was a bit much, but Theobold knew the empress loved her bit of pomp and ceremony, and so it came as no surprise to him that she’d decided to treat the man as if he were a wild beast.

This was not his first time seeing Stephen, but Theobold thought the man did bear himself well. He watched from his viewpoint on the dais, watching the crowd. He didn’t see Bronwyn, but he hoped she was there.

He smiled to himself. Mistress Bloodhound, more like. He enjoyed teasing her and liked seeing her annoyed expression. She liked him—he could tell. But he thought she hadn’t realized it yet. And it wasn’t easy when she was friends with that sorry excuse for a squire, Rupert Bothwell.

He hadn’t liked the young man as soon as he’d seen him.

It was more than the fact that they were on opposite sides of the war, and both knew it.

They’d had a mutual dislike, almost upon first meeting.

Rupert with his easy smile for everyone, he worked hard at charming the men and women alike.

Honest and friendly, he’d be every man’s good friend and flirt with and wink at the women.

Theobold disliked him, and the more Rupert spent time with Bronwyn, the greater his dislike grew.

Rupert seemed to have a good word to say for everyone, and that couldn’t have been true.

He was false, and Theobold wanted to wipe the smile off his face at the first opportunity.

It was just as well they often faced each other in the practice ring.

He’d look forward to the next practice fight, just to see Rupert’s face in the dust when he bested him.

But never mind that now. The empress was holding her fanfare, and he had to pay attention or suffer her ire later.

“Approach,” Empress Maud said, with a slight beckoning of her hand.

Stephen walked down the length of the room, his chains jingling.

Theobold looked closer. The empress had been busy since they’d arrived.

It wasn’t just that she’d bathed and changed her dress from her travels—she had her cousin chained at the wrists and ankles, so that like a court jester with a bell, or minstrel, all might know when he came near.

It was an insult, and Theobold didn’t like it.

But she did like her theater, and this was a prime opportunity to show her dominance and prove that once again, she deserved to rule.

Stephen approached the dais and was stopped by the guards coming short. Two of the guards before him moved apart so that he might face the empress better.

“Well, well, Cousin,” Empress Maud said. “I somehow knew that the next time I saw you, it would be with you in chains. What a shame I was right.”

Stephen looked tired, old, and dirty. He smelled of unwashed body and worse, and his light locks, which Theobold had once heard described as “comely,” now hung greasy and to his shoulders.

His beard had grown long, unkempt, and uneven, and it needed a trim.

He looked slovenly, but then Theobold supposed that was the point.

How could anyone follow this man into battle and believe he was the true King of England?

Then Stephen raised his head, and it was like a hawk had entered the room.

His eyes were sharp, his shoulders squared as if facing an enemy head-on, and he straightened, as if wearing a cloak that none but he could see.

In that moment, the crowd held its breath, and Theobold could see that this was indeed a ruler.

“Well met, Cousin. The dress you wear suits you.” Stephen’s voice was dry and raspy, as if he needed a good drink.

Empress Maud leaned forward in her chair. “I would say that the throne suits me.”

Stephen bowed his head. “On that, I must disagree.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To see me be the one in chains begging at your feet like a dog. Well, I—” She lapsed into French.

Theobold’s French wasn’t strong, but he caught the gist of her words. They were argumentative—and angry. He frowned. This was not how this exchange should have been happening. He glanced at Sir Ranulf, who scratched his beard idly. Beside him, Sir Robert cleared his throat.

It was a simple noise, but it had the desired effect.

The empress stopped talking and leaned back, as if realizing she was not just in a heated argument with her cousin, but a star player in a very public performance that was not going her way.

She sat up straight, settled herself in the creaking wooden throne, and said loudly, “I call you all here to witness the sight of my cousin, Stephen, who seeks to usurp my throne.”

All eyes fixed upon Stephen, who stood quietly, staring straight ahead.

“I must say, I am surprised at you. I hear your own men betrayed you at the Battle of Lincoln and ran away like sheep at the sight of my warriors. Is that the kind of leadership you expected to bring to this country?”

Theobold grinned. She was baiting him. He’d been at that battle and she was right, at the sight of her men—knights and hired mercenaries from Wales—a good number of Stephen’s men had fled.

It was a sorry sight, and the battle had soon ended after that.

Stephen was a good fighter, however. He’d fought until the very end, cleaving at the air and slicing into enemies with that old Northman’s axe of his, until he’d been caught.

“I am one who commands the hearts of true warriors, and I do not have to hire them from other nations to fight my cause.” Stephen’s words were chilly.

“But I bow to your greater knowledge of how to tempt men to your side, Cousin. Pray tell, now that you sit upon the throne, where is your crown? I thought to see it on your pretty head.”

The empress was incensed, Theobold knew. This would not end well.

He wasn’t the only one who sensed it. A few of the knights stiffened.

From his viewpoint at the side of the throne, Theobold could see the empress’s mouth wither, then curve into a smile.

“You may insult me, Cousin, but my men will not stand for it. And neither should the people of England. I will wear the crown when the time is right.”

Stephen snorted.

“I call upon you all to witness Stephen, a false pretender to the English throne, bequeathed to me by my father, King Henry. It is Stephen’s fault we are at war because he would not listen and obey the laws set forth by our previous king.”

“I do obey the law. But your claim is not without fault, and I have a legitimate claim. A woman cannot rule. It is not right, or legal.” He set his jaw.

“Not right? Legal? My father the king, declared it to be so. You are the one who went against divine rule.” She raised her voice.

Stephen bowed his head. “For that, I am sorry, but your father was wrong. I would not want good Englishmen to pay the price for his folly, but neither would I see the crown placed upon the head of a woman unfit to rule.” His words were cutting, and they lanced through the quiet hush of the room like a surgeon’s knife through a boil.

Theobold might have been made of stone, but the empress was like a lion. Her petite nostrils flared and she looked ready to rip off her headdress and stalk toward her cousin, regardless of his chained state. She gritted her teeth and her eyes narrowed.

“Get out. Let us see if a ransom on your head will pay back toward some of the men’s lives you stole in fighting this senseless war. Guards.” She motioned, and the guards resumed their places around him, aiming their spears at him from six different directions.

A lesser man would have quailed or shown some kind of nervous reaction, but not Stephen. He was like ice, and stood quietly, calmly. When he spoke, he sounded tired. “My quarrel is with you and you alone, Maud.”

“I am an empress. You will address me as such.”

“I will not.”

“Guards. Take him away. Let us see how you like your new chambers in our jail. Perhaps they will offer you a new look on life.”

“You will not get away with this, Maud,” he said tiredly.

She mimicked his words in a nasty tone. Theobold felt it was beneath her. She was taunting him like a childhood bully.

“Guards.” She waved a hand, and all watched as the guards removed him from sight, leading him at spearpoint down the length of the room, past all the dozens, maybe even hundreds, of faces that watched him leave in disgrace, the former man who would be king.

Theobold stood, watching him go. In that brief exchange, he had seen a bit of Stephen’s mettle.

He was middle-aged and tired from his days of captivity, but that was to be expected of any prisoner.

But he had not expected for Stephen to show such calm, or steadfastness, even when at the height of what had been intended to be public humiliation.

He hadn’t seemed like a cruel or power-hungry man. He’d almost seemed good-natured.

The empress rose. “He speaks with honeyed words, but he would have you all believe he has a heart of gold, whereas I do not. But do not forget, it is he who has destroyed your homes and killed your husbands, your sons, your children. He does not believe a woman can rule, but we will prove him wrong. He has no real claim to the throne and by my divine right, I will claim what is rightfully mine.” Her voice rang out, echoing in the hall.

It took no time at all for the knights at the front to start the chant. “Empress! Empress! Empress!”

This built into a few loud chants and then grew into a solid roar, with people clapping, shouting, and stamping their feet.

Empress Maud watched them all, cheering. She smiled at the crowd and stuck her chin out in defiance at the shadow of Stephen’s departure, as if his shade still lingered, and turned and left, leaving through the side wall, as quickly as she had entered.