Lady of the English

Fourteen

Angers, June 1131

G eoffrey winced as his one-year-old daughter howled in her nurse’s arms. Her hair was like his, a sun-gold mass of coppery ringlets. Her eyes were hazel-green like her mother’s and tightly squeezed shut as she screamed to be put down. She had been named Emma for Aelis’s mother and was an engaging little thing when she was not raising the rafters.

She would be useful when it came to cementing a marriage alliance. King Henry of England had more illegitimate daughters than fingers and had married them all to good political advantage. There was something to be said for a quiver full of bastards.

Aelis, who was breeding again, had been mortified to bear him a daughter and was insisting that the baby swelling her womb was a boy this time. She would soon go into confinement for the birth and Geoffrey was glad because it would give him respite from her querulous demands. His patience was wearing thin, but at least her fecundity was proof that his seed was potent.

She stood before him now, one hand on her gravid belly.

Every finger glittered with gold rings and her gown trailed behind her in a mute display of extravagance.

“You cannot go to Compostela,” she pouted.

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Geoffrey had been toying with the idea of a pilgrimage.

The shrine of Saint James at Compostela was one of the holiest places in Christendom and petitioning the saint for guidance appealed to his sense of irony since Saint James held particular meaning for his wife and his father-in-law. Matilda had misap-propriated the hand from the imperial treasury and her father had presented it to Reading Abbey. Geoffrey doubted Saint James would ever lie intact, but then for a saint who had performed a miraculous translation from Jerusalem to Spain, he supposed a few scattered bones did not matter. “Why not?” he replied impatiently. “You will be in confinement, so you will not see me anyway. My soul will benefit from the prayer and my body from the exercise.”

“Sire, you should not go,” said Engelger de Bohun, one of his knights. “Not while you do not have a legitimate heir and the matter of your wife is still in debate.”

“I will not be told my business,” Geoffrey snarled. His

“wife,” he thought bitterly. To his consternation he found he missed her. He needed to be the winner but she had bettered him. He wanted to dominate her and wear her on his arm like a tamed goshawk. He wanted to see the envy in other men’s eyes that he had an empress at his beck and call. Aelis bored him because she was no more than a silly, twittery garden bird with false gaudy feathers, while Matilda was the genuine article. He was caught in a cleft stick. He could not afford to alienate Henry of England by seeking an annulment because when Henry died, a kingdom and a duchy would be his for the taking. He had to accept the bitch back if he wanted power.

Aelis said in a wheedling voice, “At least wait until after your son is born, my lord, or send someone with prayers in your stead.”

Geoffrey shot her an irritated glance and compressed his lips.

His daughter continued to roar and, losing patience, Geoffrey 116

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gestured the nurse to take her away. As the woman left the room with her wriggling, red-faced charge, an usher made his way over to Geoffrey and bowed. “Sire, a messenger is here from England bearing letters from King Henry.”

“Bring him to my solar,” Geoffrey said. “I will see him alone.”

“Sire.”

Clicking his fingers to his favourite hound, Bruin, Geoffrey left his courtiers and his sulking mistress and climbed the stairs to his chamber on the floor above, where he conducted his business. Rolls of parchment and ledgers lined the open shelves.

A book box stood on the tiled floor filled with various volumes both secular and religious. A lectern was placed conveniently in front of a cushioned bench. This was Geoffrey’s sanctuary and reminded him of his father because they had so often worked here together on the business of the domain. Geoffrey had even hung one of his father’s cloaks on a peg near the door, and took comfort from its presence. The messenger carried letters but no verbal communication beyond a formal greeting. Geoffrey dismissed him and gazed at the square of parchment, the seal of England, rendered in brown wax and attached with strips of red and green braid. Eventually he picked up the penknife from the side of the lectern and cut it open. The dog flopped at his side and, with a sigh, rested its nose on its paws.

The usual salute met his scrutiny . Henry by the Grace of God, King of England and Duke of Normandy, greetings. The body of the letter, written by a scribe, was a list of the terms Geoffrey was required to fulfil before Matilda would agree to return to him and they made Geoffrey suck in his stomach. Henry did not know what he was asking even though he ought to. An old man, he thought, doting on his daughter, and thus made foolish. He read the lines again, still more than half disbelieving.

Stand her always in good stead in her own household, with servants of her own choosing around her. Aelis of Angers is not to be present at 117

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court or in any place that the empress may inhabit. Geoffrey clenched his fists either side of the parchment. “I will do as I see fit in my own domain!” he snarled. That her household be in her own governance and that she be entitled to all her own correspondence both to and from the said household. That gave him a burning sensation in his chest, because how could he trust her if he did not know what she was writing? That she be treated with due respect in public and on state occasions. That she be given her own space and escorted everywhere by ladies of her own choosing. That you be frankly forbidden to harm her in any way whatsoever, unless it be by the will of full Church attorney.

Geoffrey’s jaw was so tight that his whole face began to ache.

And still it continued. That Geoffrey was answerable to Henry for Matilda’s safekeeping and she was to be treated in every respect as the daughter of a king. In return, Henry would see that the oath of allegiance to Matilda was retaken by his barons and reinforce to his daughter that she must know her place as a wife and be obedient to her husband. And in holding you to these terms, I applaud you as my son-in-marriage.

Geoffrey crumpled the parchment in his fist and threw it at the wall. He certainly did not applaud what he had just read as the wisdom of a king. They were the words of a fool. And yet a fool who expected to be obeyed.

Geoffrey strode from the chamber because he needed space to expel his anger. Bruin followed him, tongue lolling. He was a dog; his faith and obedience were unconditional. “Rather a dog than a wife,” Geoffrey said, and bellowed for someone to go and order his horse saddled up because he needed the speed of a fast, hard gallop to give him the illusion of freedom.

ttt

“It is settled,” Henry said. “You will return to your husband.

He has agreed to all the terms I put to him on your behalf.” He handed her the sheets of parchment he had been holding in his mottled fist.

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Matilda’s heart sank as she took the pages. Here in Rouen she was the happiest she had been since leaving Germany.

Her chambers were comfortable and she had the spiritual sustenance of the abbey at Bec. People respected her and her life was sailing on an even keel. She had prayed for an annulment, but it was unlikely to happen now that Geoffrey had proven with a bastard daughter that his seed was not barren.

She had hoped too that Geoffrey might make the repudiation official and seek to end the marriage, but plainly he felt there was more advantage to him in keeping their union intact. She read the words written in a scribe’s formal script. Geoffrey’s seal hung from the bottom, the image punched forcefully into the wax. At least she would have the buffer of her own household and they would be people of her choosing, but it was not her choice.

“But not immediately yet,” her father said. “Certain bishops and barons have complained that the oaths of allegiance they took to you at Westminster were invalid because your marriage was not debated in council as it should have been. I want everyone to swear again before you return to Anjou. You will come with me to England and all will be done according to the law.”

“Who has objected?” She was well able to guess. “Salisbury?” Her father nodded. “As you would expect. And where he goes, so too does the bishop of Ely. Waleran de Meulan must swear too, now that he has been released from prison.” Matilda watched her father’s fists clench. He was always one step ahead of the game. He would use diplomacy first, but back it up with threat and force. “And what of the house of Blois?” she asked. “I hear you have promoted my cousin Henry to the see of Winchester.”

He shrugged. “He is an able administrator and will serve you well when the time comes. Stephen and Theo are your cousins, 119

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as is Stephen’s wife. It is a good thing to encourage their support by nurturing them. I foresee no difficulty in having them retake the oath.”

“And in having all keep it? If you are making everyone swear again, is it only for legality’s sake, or are you trying to double-bind people because you fear they will break their bonds?” His face darkened. “No one will gainsay me,” he said. “No one will break their bonds.” The clenched fist tightened and the force of his stare made it clear that he included her in the equation. “You will give me strong grandsons to follow in my stead and they will rule with guidance from me, and then from you and their kin should that be necessary.” Matilda did not ask what would happen if God chose otherwise because she knew it would only provoke his temper. She would go to England and a second time men would kneel to her and bestow their oaths for whatever their owners felt they were worth. Kings and bishops and magnates. And then she would return to Geoffrey and the petty Angevin court, more than 350 miles from England and 120 miles from Rouen. If God did choose otherwise, what chance did she have?

ttt

Her cloak flapping around her body, Matilda stood beside Brian FitzCount on the wall walk of Northampton Castle and gazed at the town laid out to the west below the hill on which the keep stood. The first autumn winds were shredding the leaves from the trees and the river Nene ruffled under the walls in quenched shades of grey and blue. If the wind continued like this, her sea crossing would be brisk and unpleasant, but probably short. In her chamber her women were packing her chests ready for her journey. Feeling hemmed in, she had left them to their task.

Once more the barons had knelt to her in homage and vowed to accept her as her father’s heir and once more she had 120

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doubted their sincerity. Feeling their reluctance, she had faced it with a set jaw and unbending gaze. If they wanted her to be as stern as a king, she would not disappoint them.

Brian leaned against the palisade. “The oath is retaken, domina,” he said. “You will be a queen one day.” Matilda said nothing. They had spoken little since her return to England; two people skirting round each other because of all the traps lying in wait if they did begin to talk on a level beyond that of servant and vassal. Brian had not spoken of her marriage, but then what could he say? He did not know the full extent of what Geoffrey had done to her. Rumours were rife, but in England no one had seen the bruises. No one had watched her crawl because she could not stand up. And, when all was said and done, Brian was a man.

She was aware of how close to her he stood. Separate but within touching distance. Their cloaks billowed against each other, performing a wild mating dance. She risked a glance at him. His dark eyes were fixed on the river where a fisherman was busy pulling his boat to shore and sorting his catch. She observed the curve of his collar bones above the line of his shirt and the strong, masculine swell of his Adam’s apple.

“Do you know how many times I have wished I had stayed in Germany?” she asked.

“I am glad you did not,” he said without looking round.

Matilda gave a slight shake of her head and felt sad. How could she expect him to understand or go beyond his own desires? He said he was glad, but she had been talking of her feelings, not his.

She looked at his hands: the gold rings; the long, elegant fingers; the smudges. “You still wear your ink stains,” she said.

He took his gaze off the river and turned a little to give her a half-smile. “Robert and I have been working on an audit of the exchequer for your father, and I have been writing some thoughts on the vows that men swear.” 121

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“Indeed?” She raised her brows.

“All in your support,” he qualified. “Some may say their oaths are not valid because they were made to a woman, but that is an excuse. Any oath taken before God, to whomsoever it may be, is binding. Nor was the allegiance sworn under duress.

There were enough here today to have banded together and refused had they so desired, but no one did.”

“You sound as if you expect some men to renege if the chance arises.”

Brian grimaced. “There are many opportunists amongst us—

and we both know who they are without speaking names.”

“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes in thought. “One day I will have to choose the men who serve me from among those gathered here. But their strengths and weaknesses will be difficult to judge when I am so far away in Anjou.”

“Surely your husband will not object to correspondence that keeps you aware, because it will be in his interests too. Your father and the queen will write to you often, and the Earl of Gloucester. So shall I.”

She said impatiently, “Reading the written word of another is not the same as judging for oneself. My stepmother acts her part so well that it has become the truth for her. She moves among people with a smile and a kind word. She is solicitous of my father and sweet to everyone, but how much of that is a façade she has been forced to adopt? How much will my father conceal or change to suit his own interests? I want my truth as it is, all unvarnished.”

“You don’t have to approach every difficulty as if it has to be bludgeoned into submission. Ice melts in sunlight when it does not do so in the frozen dark. Your stepmother knows this and it is what makes her so fine a peacemaker.” Matilda drew a steadying breath. “If men serve me as they should, then I will deal honestly with them, but I would have 122

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everyone tell the truth and not creep around it as if it is something we fear to awaken.”

Brian gave her a long look, and the expression in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. Just one move from either of them, and their hands would touch and their fingers mesh.

She made a tight fist, resisting the urge to reach out. “Would you follow me if I were queen?” she asked. “Would you think England a laughing stock if a woman sat on the throne? Would you consider it an affront to the natural order?” He shook his head. “I would rejoice.”

“Then you are either the bravest man I have ever encountered, or you are lying to me.”

“I am neither brave, nor a liar,” he replied, the yearning look still in his eyes. “I am merely your servant and your father’s servant.”

“My father’s first though.”

“Because he is the king and he has raised me, but if you were queen, it would mean he was no longer here.” Matilda walked several paces along the battlements, putting distance between them. The sun was a splash of gold melting into the horizon. “Indeed, my father did raise you on high—by marrying you to Maude of Wallingford.” Brian nodded, wary now.

“How old were you?”





He looked down. “I do not remember; it was long ago.

Perhaps sixteen.”

“And how old was your wife?”

His voice roughened. “Twice my age, as you know, and a widow.”

A colder evening wind blew across the battlements, making Matilda shiver. “And what did you think when you married her?”

“As I said, it was a long time ago.”

“But not something you would forget, and I know your memory is keen.”

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He made a face, plainly uncomfortable. “I was grateful to your father. I was born without a patrimony and he raised me at court and gave me one. I have always tried to do right by Maude, but it was a match made for convenience—as most are.”

“And what did your wife think of being married to such a youth?”

Brian flushed. “I never asked her. What would be the point?

We are yoked to each other for better or worse and it is our duty to pull the plough in the same direction. We do as we are bidden.”

“‘As we are bidden,’” Matilda repeated and shivered.

Tomorrow it was her duty to return to her plough and her mismatched companion.

“You will be a queen,” he said softly. “A great one.” She read the longing in his eyes and was glad she had put distance between them. “But once I was an empress. My father does not want me to be queen. He wants my sons to be kings.

So does Geoffrey, and that is one of the reasons he has asked for my return. It is always about the power of men.” His voice dropped lower still. “You do not know what power you wield.”

She drew a deep breath to steady herself. “Brian, I do,” she said and walked towards the entrance that led down to the safety of the rooms below, knowing that she should probably not have used his name because in some ways it was even more intimate than a touch.

“I will serve you to the last drop of my blood.” His words curled after her on the wind, and felt like a portent of harder days to come.

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