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barons are loath to support a woman. If they deem you incapable of leadership, they will rebel.”
    Maud pouted. “Heinrich shared none of his power with me. He was a hateful man. He did not speak my language, and I had to learn to speak German—a guttural tongue I hate. I never expected to be Queen. My brother was to be your heir.”
    The familiar ache that had lain like a stone in Henry’s heart for seven years resurfaced. Grief had aged him. No wonder his second wife had not conceived. Her youth made him feel ancient. The robes that once emphasized his regal bearing now clung to his body like a shroud. The handsome brown mustache of earlier years had become a wispy grey beard that fluttered from his chin.
    He was heartily sick of the never ending plots and conspiracies that swirled around him, weary of twenty years of sporadic war with France. Louis the Fat had to be dealt with once and for all.
    If only William had lived to help shoulder the burdens—but such hopeless longing led to despair if dwelt on too long. How he had loved his bright boy.
    “To dwell on your brother’s death does us no good. We must look to the future. The nobles of Flandres have chosen my upstart nephew, Clito, as their new Comte after the grisly murder of Charles of Flandres at Bruges. It’s plain they have acted at the urging of Louis of France.”
    Henry’s Chancellor, standing nearby, cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself, which Henry knew had been his intent. The man’s high pitched voice never failed to grate on Henry’s nerves, but he had proven himself trustworthy and capable. Henry’s fingernails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists. “You wish to add something?”
    “ Oui, Majesté , let us not forget that Clito spent much of his childhood in Flandres when we drove him out of Normandie. He is known there, and speaks the language.”
    Henry stared at him for several long minutes, before resuming. “Nevertheless, Clito has made too many promises to the Flemish towns. Depriving his vassals of tolls and ground rents and giving the revenues to the burghers will cost him dearly.”
    The Chancellor interrupted again. “He has indeed broken the law; the tolls are not his to impose or change.”
    Henry counted to ten. Did the man deem him incapable of the narrative? It angered him that Maud seemed to pay more attention to the functionary than to her father.
    He looked directly at his daughter. “I intend to make trade between this country and Flandres suffer as a result. The Flemish merchants will resent that. Clito paid one thousand marks to Louis. The people will perceive he has sold Flandres to the King of France.
    “If we do nothing, Clito will turn his greedy gaze once more on Normandie. He dreams of restoring his misbegotten father to the Duchy. I vow he will never oust me as Duke of Normandie. How he thinks he will free my cursed brother, Curthose, from his imprisonment is beyond me.”
    “Indeed, Cardiff Castle is impregnable!” the Chancellor declared, wagging his finger.
    Henry shifted his weight, gripping the arm of his chair. “We must weaken Clito. The king of France fancies himself a folk-hero—reckless in the charge as on the march, plunging into swollen rivers, rushing into burning castles. With any luck he will be killed by one of the robber barons from the Île-de-France he is bent on bringing to heel. He thinks he has been clever, claiming Clito’s nomination follows feudal law, but we shall see. I can manipulate the law as well as he.”
    Maud wrinkled her nose, Henry suspected to stifle a yawn. “What of my cousin Stephen?” she asked.
    Henry flicked a hand towards his Chancellor. “Tell her.”
    The official cleared his throat again. Must the man do so every time he wished to speak? “Stephen secretly builds support among the English nobility.”
    Maud frowned. “Who is for him?”
    The Chancellor glanced at the King then continued. “None have openly declared their support. After