Lady of the English

Eleven

Rouen, August 1128

W ill D’Albini was enjoying himself. A select number of courtiers had joined the king in his private chamber for a few hours of socialising and mirth. Will always enjoyed these occasions and took a childlike delight in the singing and stories.

He had a good ear for a tune and as well as possessing a rich singing voice, he could play most instruments, both the stringed and the woodwind, and his talents were always in demand.

The king was nodding his head and tapping his feet as Adeliza told a story to the gathered audience, including several children from the royal household. “Far across the sea there was a lady who lived in a tall tower and many knights sought her hand in marriage…” Adeliza made the motion of the waves with undulations of her hands and forearms, and then stretched up to describe a tall tower. Will avidly watched her graceful movements. Her gauzy veil was neatly held in place with small gold pins, and two of ivory shape like little mice. Her eyes shone like a silky sea on an autumn morning. A small pain tugged at Will’s heart, but it was a good pain. The queen was so far above him that he could dream from a distance and not be in danger. The night sky was beautiful, but you couldn’t touch it.

Since the empress had gone to her marriage, everything had settled into its normal routine. There were still some rough LadyofEnglish.indd 92

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edges as folk waited for news that she was with child, but it was only two months since the wedding, and too soon to know.

Will had never been comfortable in the empress’s presence. She gave him the impression of being as cold and hard as a beautiful gemstone—and a little mannish in her attitudes. He admired her, but he did not particularly like her.

“All of the knights brought the lady rich and costly gifts, silk and fur, perfumes and jewels and gold.” Adeliza’s fingers wove the story, and as she raised her arms, the gold thread in her sleeves twinkled. William smiled to see the children’s rapt faces. Innocence was a fine thing to possess and so easily lost.

Adeliza still had that air of untouched purity despite having being wed to a political merchant and cynic like Henry for seven years.

Henry chuckled as Adeliza pirouetted, waved her arms, and pretended to be a storm at sea as the hero of the tale battled his way towards his destiny with the lady. Adeliza made all the children sit in a row and pretend to be oarsmen on the ship.

“You too, Will,” she said, beckoning briskly, laughter in her face. “Come out of your corner and take the steerboard!” There was no escape. Grinning, flushed with embarrassment, Will joined the youngsters and took up his appointed role. It would have been awkward to refuse and, anyway, he liked children and once he began performing, he forgot himself in the drama. Taking the part of steersman to heart, he shouted orders to the rest of the “crew,” improvising as they battled storms and sea monsters, until the audience was helpless with laughter.

Once the boat had been rowed safely to shore, Adeliza led the applause and allowed William to stand and flourish a bow, his dark curls tumbling over his face. Adeliza paused to refresh her voice with a cup of wine, and one of Henry’s bastard sons, Reginald, took up the tale.

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Elizabeth Chadwick

Adeliza set her arm lightly on Will’s. “Who would have thought what a fine and trusty sailor you are!” she said with a gentle laugh.

He cleared his throat. “Madam, I do my best on stormy seas,” he answered gruffly.

“I knew you would win through.” She squeezed his arm to end the moment. An instant later, her smile faded as a mud-spattered messenger was ushered into Henry’s presence by Gilbert the marshal. As he drew closer, the stink of sweaty man and hot horse filled the air with a pungent note of urgency.

The story stopped in its tracks, and everyone stared as the messenger knelt by the king’s chair. The hair rose on the back of Will’s neck.

The man knelt and extended a sealed letter to Henry. “Sire, I bring tidings from Flanders. William le *o is dead.” Henry took the letter and stared at it. “Speak on,” he said.

“Sire, he was injured in the hand during a skirmish with a foot soldier while besieging Aalst. The wound festered and he died of a fever; there is nothing more to say.” Adeliza bowed her head. “God rest his soul.” Henry slit the seal on the letter, his expression sombre, despite the fact that William le *o had been such a thorn in his side. “He was my nephew,” he said. “This grieves me deeply. I will have masses said for his soul.” Adeliza held out her hand to Henry. “Sire, his father should be told.”

Will admired her courage in speaking out. She was treading dangerous ground by mentioning Henry’s older brother Robert, who had been a prisoner for more than twenty years at Henry’s behest and was currently locked up in Cardiff Castle.

“I commend your gentle heart.” Henry sent Adeliza a flat look. “I will write to him.” He flicked his hand at the messenger. “Find a fresh horse and be ready to ride.” 94

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“Sire.” The messenger bowed from the chamber.

Henry’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A new count of Flanders will have to be chosen now.”

“What happens next in the story?” an impatient little boy piped up from among the group of children, and was hastily shushed by his nurse.

Henry turned to look at him. “I have not decided yet,” he said. “That is a tale for another day.” 95

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