Lady of the English

Twenty-two

Reading Abbey, Berkshire, January 1136

S tanding upright, swathed in his fur-lined cloak, Brian breathed shallowly through his open mouth. The cold weather and the heavy perfume of incense did not mask the aroma of decay emanating from the coffin shrouded in purple silk standing before the altar of Reading Abbey. The lead seals confining the liquefying body of the former king were not secure and foulsome black ooze seeped from one edge. A bowl had been placed under the damaged corner and now and again a drip plinked into the basin. Henry had been dead for over a month. In Rouen he had been eviscerated and his bowels interred in the cathedral. His body had been packed with salt and wrapped in a bull’s hide, then sealed in the coffin and brought to England when the wind eventually turned fair for a crossing. Two months in which the salt had drawn fluids from the body and now the dreadful brine solution was dripping into a bowl on the floor of Reading Abbey while the archbishop of Canterbury conducted the funeral mass.

Stephen wore the crown that had been set upon his head a fortnight ago at Westminster, and bore himself with regal dignity. He had set his shoulder to the bier and helped to carry the coffin into the abbey church. Henry, bishop of Winchester, and Roger, bishop of Salisbury, each wore embellished robes LadyofEnglish.indd 188

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worth a small barony. Their faces were solemn too, but, as with many gathered here, aglow with an underlying smugness that was almost as distasteful as the stench emanating from the coffin.

There was no doubt in Brian’s mind that Stephen had stolen the crown of England and the duchy of Normandy, although like everyone else he had bent his knee and sworn his fealty despite feeling sickened. Henry’s corpse had still been warm when Stephen had taken ship from Wissant and made his bid for the throne, and if it had not been pre-planned, Brian would eat his red leather boots, silver laces and all.

Stephen’s speed had been such that his acquisition of England had become a fact before anyone had had a chance to think. The Londoners had supported him to the hilt, as had the citizens of Winchester. Canterbury and Dover had closed their gates, but only until they realised that Stephen had gained access to the treasury at Winchester. Hugh Bigod had sworn on his soul that he had heard Henry absolve his barons of their oaths to Matilda on his deathbed, but Brian did not believe it because that was not Henry’s way. He suspected Henry had not said anything, because he was still clinging to power with his final breath.

Henry’s sudden death had caused the ground to heave up beneath Brian. He had had no choice but to give his fealty to Stephen because everyone else had done so and there was no one with whom to ally. The king of Scots was too far removed to be of immediate help, and Matilda herself was far away in Anjou. What use was rebelling for a cause that had no head, and no direction? He could not talk matters over with Robert of Gloucester because he was still in Normandy. Robert was not in open rebellion, but neither had he come to court to bend the knee at Stephen’s throne.

Once the former king had been lowered into his tomb before the altar, the mourners and attendees processed solemnly out of the abbey into the raw January day.

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Waleran de Meulan paused at Brian’s side and gave him a calculating look. “Well,” he said in a quiet voice, his breath making swift, short clouds in the air, “the business is finished now and we can move on with a new reign. I for one am glad to be out of there. The embalmers did a poor job of hiding the corruption of the world.”

“He deserved better,” Brian said.

De Meulan shrugged. “It hardly matters now, does it?”

“It always matters, my lord. We owe respect and the correct duty to a man whether he be living or dead.” De Meulan annoyed Brian. There was friction between them going back to de Meulan’s house arrest at Wallingford, and in the years since then, their antipathy had continued apace. Waleran and his twin brother were keen to monopolise the king’s ear and anyone not of their faction was already being forced out to the edges and isolated.

Waleran wrapped his hands around his belt and thrust out one foreleg in a dominant pose. “It must be difficult for you,” he said.

“You have no kin in England to rely on, beyond those belonging to your wife, and none of them are worth the time and trouble.” He shot Brian a malicious look. “You have no heirs and the lands King Henry bestowed on you were in right of your marriage.

They were in the king’s gift, and what was given might be taken away again should a vassal prove disloyal to his sovereign lord.”

“Your meaning?” Brian said icily. “Let us have it out in the open, my lord.”

Waleran shrugged. “My meaning is obvious, FitzCount.

You may be a scion of the house of Brittany, but, like my lord of Gloucester, you are bastard born and you, even more than he, depended on the largesse of the king for your power. He raised you up from the dust and to the dust you could return.” Brian was sickened. “So could any man.”

“Some more than others.” With a nod of his head, Waleran 190

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joined his twin brother, Robert de Beaumont, and Hugh Bigod, who was swaggering like a plump cockerel. Brian stood alone for a moment, and thus Waleran’s point about isolation was emphasised. However, moments later, he was joined by Miles FitzWalter, the castellan of Hereford, a tough, pragmatic border warlord.

“De Meulan should watch his step,” Miles said amiably.

“Those who walk with their heads in the air usually don’t see the shit on the ground until they tread in it.” Brian grunted with reluctant amusement. “You noticed it too, my lord?”

“One always has to be wary of factions at court,” Miles replied.

“If I were you, I would put in appearances when necessary and find reasons to spend time on your lands.” Brian nodded. “I have thought for a while that I should attend more to my affairs at Wallingford. The buildings need supervision and repair and my wife complains that she never sees me.” He had to swallow a grimace at that. “What of your own affairs, my lord?”

Miles rumpled his thinning sandy hair and gave a taut smile.

“Being a soldier, I like to know all is in order. Sometimes you have to strike swiftly, as our new king has admirably demonstrated, and sometimes it is wise to be cautious. My lord of Gloucester is doing the latter just now.” He glanced in the direction of Stephen, who was flanked by the Beaumont brothers, Bigod, and the bishops of Salisbury and Winchester.

“But he will have to come to terms one way or the other. For myself, I will wait and see what kind of king has been bought for us while I mourn the passing of a truly great sovereign. I doubt you or I will see his like again in our lifetime.” ttt

“Madam,” the nun said, and gestured through the open door into the chamber that had been prepared.

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Adeliza gazed round as she stepped over the threshold. The room was sparse, but sufficient to her needs, and it was clean.

A smell of fresh limewash filled the air and when she touched the wall, the paint came away on her fingertips in a moist white smudge. Braziers had been lit to warm the room and aromatic smoke curled gently towards the rafters. The bed had a rope frame and a down mattress covered with a close-woven linen sheet, a bolster and two large, soft pillows. This was all she needed. Somewhere tranquil to retreat and pray and come to terms with the vast changes in her life.

For fifteen years she had been queen of England, the consort of one of the greatest kings in Christendom. Now all that was stripped away. She had her dower estates and her lineage, but no longer was she the hub of the domestic court. She had been little more than a child when she married Henry. Now she had to discover the woman within the girl, and if that involved becoming a nun, so be it. There were so many things in the world that made her want to turn her face from it and look inwards to a life of contemplation. She would write to Matilda; she would do what she could to support and comfort her, because she still had a stepmother’s responsibilities, but beyond that, she would embrace the life at Wilton and see that the adjoining lazar house at Fugglestone flourished. She would put away her sleek silk gowns and be humble before God, and in the fullness of time, God would show her what He wanted of her.

ttt

Matilda squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and pushed for all she was worth in a final effort to expel the baby from her womb.

Beyond the walls of the great keep at Argentan, the July heat was stultifying, and although the thick stone kept the worst of the heat at bay, her hair was plastered to her skull with sweat and her body shone as if she had been anointed. As always, the labour had been difficult and she had sent numerous prayers and 192

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exhortations to the Blessed Mary, asking her to help her safely deliver this third child. Geoffrey had spent most of the last few months on the battlefield in a campaign tent; now it was her turn to fight.

The senior midwife told her not to push, but instead to pant.

She did so and felt a stretching soreness between her legs, and then a sudden gushing release. An instant later the woman held up a wailing, slime-covered infant. “A fine boy,” the midwife said with a beaming smile. “Madam, you and your lord have another son.”

Matilda lay back against the bolsters, spent. “Geoffrey wanted a daughter this time for his marriage policies,” she panted, smiling at the same time. “He will call me contrary, but I doubt he will complain further than that.” Indeed, she suspected the boastful cockerel side of him would be crowing from every dung heap in the vicinity that three times he had sired a son on her, proof of the outstanding virility of his seed.

“How is he to be named, madam?”

“William,” she said straight away. “For his grandfather, who conquered England and Normandy.”

“Not Fulke then, for the count’s father?” Matilda gave the midwife a sharp look, but decided not to reprimand her for questioning the decision. “That I have a middle son named for his Angevin heritage is sufficient,” she said curtly. “My father-in-law may be king of Jerusalem, but Jerusalem is far away and England and Normandy are not.”

“Yes, madam.” Chastened, the woman cut the cord and gave the baby to her assistants to wash while she delivered the afterbirth. Matilda glanced towards the window. The sun was past its zenith now, but the world outside continued to bake.

There would be storms soon, she thought, of all kinds.

Eventually, the bathed and swaddled newborn was handed to her. Matilda cradled him in the crook of her left arm. His 193

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minute lashes were dusted with gold and his little mouth made pursed sucking motions. She praised God that he had come safely into the world. Now she had to pray for her own recovery. Childbirth was so debilitating. Three sons in four years. Whether Geoffrey wanted daughters or not, Matilda was determined that this was the last time she risked herself in the birthing straw. She would not lie with him again because she had a country and a duchy to win and, if not for this baby, her efforts would have begun much earlier.

“Bring my other sons,” she ordered her women. “Let them see their new brother.”

Henry and Geoffrey were duly escorted into the confinement chamber. Henry was eager to see the baby, but, having looked, soon lost interest. He was a big boy, and felt no strong affinity for the infant in his mother’s arms. There was a slight squirm of jealousy in his stomach because her arm was curved around the baby and not him, but he wasn’t overwhelmed by the feeling, because he knew he was still the best. He pressed a dutiful kiss to the infant’s forehead and then ran off to explore the chamber, clambering up on to the window seat and peering through the arrow-slit. Geoffrey stayed on the bed with Matilda and did his best to say the word “William.” Matilda looked at her three sons. Future kings, dukes, and counts, but only if she and Geoffrey could secure that future for them, and there were so many setbacks to overcome.

In April the pope had ruled that Stephen was justified in taking the crown and had issued letters of sanction. The king of France had acknowledged Stephen’s claim. She intended contesting the papal decision, but it would take time and while the diplomatic battle was being fought out, Stephen was becoming ever more entrenched. Not long after the pope’s ruling, her brother Robert had capitulated and sworn his oath to him. She hoped it was a temporary measure born of 194

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expedience, and that while at court he would talk to others and bring his influence to bear, but it still felt like betrayal and desertion, especially after he had been willing, with others, to offer the crown to Stephen’s brother Theobald.

Her third son had fallen asleep in her arms, making little crowing sounds as he breathed. She handed him gently to a midwife to be settled in his cradle where he at least could slumber for the moment in peace and innocence.

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Twenty-three

Argentan, Normandy, September 1136

M ama, look—look at me!”

Matilda turned from talking to the saddler and watched Henry sit upright in the saddle of a small bay pony.

He struck a pose and lifted his chin. The September breeze ruffled his red-gold hair and turned his irises the hue of sea-coloured glass. He had begun riding lessons two weeks ago and was enjoying every moment. For now, the tuition consisted of having one of the grooms lead him round the courtyard at a sedate walk. A saddle had been especially made to fit his size so that he would not slop about between pommel and cantle.

He would not be allowed to take the reins on his own for a while to come, nor would he have the strength and stature, but he was already confident around horses, and was developing balance, knowledge, and maturity.

“Indeed you look very fine,” she replied proudly. “Every inch a king.”

“I want to gallop!”

“And so you shall, but not quite yet. You have to learn a few more things first and grow a little more.”

“But I’m a big boy now!”

Her lips twitched at the indignation in his voice. “Indeed, but you need to grow bigger yet.”

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The groom led the pony off at a sedate walk. “Faster,” Henry cried. “I want to go faster.” She glanced towards the battlements as she heard a shout.

Moments later, a soldier came running towards her from that direction. “Domina, there is an English lord at the gate begging entrance. Sir Baldwin de Redvers and his company.” Matilda drew a swift breath. Baldwin de Redvers was the sole English baron to have refused to swear to Stephen. He said he had given his oath to support her and would keep it until his dying breath. Stephen had besieged him in his castle at Exeter and de Redvers had been forced to surrender when the wells ran dry in the blistering summer heat. When last heard of, he had been holding out at Carisbrooke Castle on the Isle of Wight and interfering with Stephen’s shipping between England and Normandy.

“Admit him,” she commanded, “and bid him welcome.” The gates opened upon a troop of horsemen on jaded horses.

The men themselves were dusty from their journey and their equipment showed hard wear, but their armour was cared for and the men themselves, although obviously weary, had made an effort to look spruce and proud.

“My queen.” De Redvers dismounted and knelt at her feet with bowed head. His men followed his lead and the women too, for they had brought their wives and children into exile with them.

“Get up,” she said. “All of you.” She raised de Redvers herself and gave him the kiss of peace on his sunburned cheeks.

A swift command sent servants running to prepare food and drink. More orders set others to finding stables and lodgings for the newcomers. She welcomed the rest of the entourage briefly, and beckoned to Henry’s groom to lead over boy and pony.

“This is my son and heir,” she said. “The future Duke of Normandy and king of England. Henry, these are our loyal men. What do you say?”

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“God’s greeting,” Henry piped. “Be welcome.” He bowed in the saddle.

De Redvers knelt again, and his entourage followed suit.

Matilda tapped his shoulder in a wordless command to rise.

The knight’s hard mouth wore the trace of a curve. “My lord is already a fine little knight,” he said.

“Every day he grows nearer to the crown that is his birth-right,” Matilda replied. “One day he will be a well-grown king, and we will not forget the service you do us. Come within, and give me your news.”

ttt

De Redvers washed the dust of the road from his hands and face and drank deeply from his goblet. “I have come to offer you and the Count of Anjou my sword and my services,” he said. “I cannot sustain my position in England. I have lost my lands. All I have is what I have brought with me on the back of my packhorses. But while I have breath in my body, I will fight for you, and for your son.”

“I thank you for your loyalty,” Matilda replied. “As soon as I am in a position to reward you and your men, I will do so.

For the moment, you are welcome to food and lodgings for yourself, and your dependents. I have a skilled armourer in the castle. Your equipment will all be refurbished and replaced.” De Redvers bowed his thanks. “I have heard of the skills of Robert of Argentan,” he said. “And seen his work. The Earl of Gloucester wears hauberks of his fashioning.”

“He has no access to them while he is at court,” Matilda said curtly.

“I think it is only a matter of time before he leaves Stephen, domina. When I was besieged at Exeter, I heard and saw many things. The king is pushed this way and that by those who would be the power behind his rule. He treats the Earl of Gloucester with courtesy, but he shuts him out of his councils. The Beaumont 198

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brothers are the stars in the firmament—and the bishop of Winchester, although there is antagonism between him and the Beaumonts because both want to be Stephen’s right hand.” Matilda sat down and gestured Baldwin to do so too. This was the kind of news she needed—direct and from a man who was fiercely loyal to her. “Enough to split the court asunder?”

“Not as yet, domina, but there are cracks that can be worked upon. The Beaumonts and the bishop of Winchester are vying for control of the king and the bishop of Salisbury is busy with his own agenda because he fears losing his grip on the treasury.

Winchester has his eye on the see of Canterbury when William de Corbeis dies—and it won’t be long now. Corbeis is very frail—but the Beaumonts have their own candidate in mind.

The Earl of Gloucester and William of Ypres do not see eye to eye. Some who have bent the knee out of expediency are only waiting their moment to change allegiance.”

“And Brian of Wallingford?” She felt an ache deep within her, because he too had sworn and he had betrayed her.

“He has been little in the king’s company, domina. I have heard say he is busy on his estates attending to his own concerns, but I would say he too has been displaced at court.” So there were conflicts to be exploited. Matilda stowed away the information to consider later. Divide and conquer. She hoped Robert was doing that at Stephen’s court and had not deserted her. She needed to go to England herself, but first she had to be certain of her footing. To strike from this small corner of southern Normandy was impossible. “The Count of Anjou is preparing a campaign,” she said. “Stay here and refurbish your arms, then join him when he crosses the border. He will appreciate seasoned troops.”

“Domina, it is you I serve,” Baldwin said with a frown.

She gave him a tight smile. “Which I acknowledge and you have my sincere gratitude. But for now you will best serve me 199

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by liaising with my husband. When I come to England, I will make you an earl and you will have all restored to you and more, I promise.”

He looked fierce. “I do not do this for wealth and prestige. I do it because I took an oath on my honour that only my death will break.”

“Bless you,” Matilda said, and had to swallow the lump in her throat. So many had sworn, but so few had kept their word, even those she loved and trusted. Everyone was out for gain, so to have de Redvers give her everything for loyalty stirred her deeply.

ttt

Matilda placed her foot in Baldwin’s cupped hand and accepted his boost into the saddle. Around them the men of Argentan were mounted up and ready to ride. The morning sun flashed on hauberk rings and lances, turning the gathering into a silver shoal. Horses pawed and whinnied. Banners snapped in the stiff autumn breeze.

In the background the nursemaids held up Henry and little Geoffrey to watch the entourage ride out. Even the baby was there, cocooned in his nurse’s arms. Matilda looked over her shoulder at her sons, and then faced the front, her jaw set with determination. A scout had arrived from Geoffrey the previous evening, asking for her to bring reinforcements to Lisieux as swiftly as she could. King Stephen had sent an army under Waleran de Meulan to defend the town and there was a danger that Waleran might turn and threaten Argentan itself.

Matilda did not believe he would because she was strong in the regions she did control, but even so, she dared not ignore the possibility.

Geoffrey’s campaign thus far had met with mixed fortunes.

He had taken Carrouges and Asnabec with ease. Montreuil had resisted, but Les Moutiers had surrendered. Geoffrey had been 200

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on the point of seizing Lisieux, when de Meulan had arrived with a strong contingent and barred his way.

As the dawn brightened in the east, Matilda’s reinforcements rode at a trot towards Lisieux, twenty-five miles away. She quelled the urge to increase the pace. They had to conserve the horses’ energy in case they had to fight when they arrived. She was praying that the sight of the troops, well equipped and led by seasoned captains, would make Waleran withdraw.

Her captain, Alexander de Bohun, had sent scouts ahead on faster horses and as her army approached Lisieux, one of them returned at a sweated gallop. “Madam, the town is burning! My lord of Meulan has fired the suburbs and the flames have spread!” Matilda lifted her head. Distantly she could indeed smell smoke on the wind.

The scout patted his trembling horse. “The Count of Anjou has turned to Le Sap instead.”

Matilda’s eyes darkened. “What?”

De Bohun said, “Neither side will risk a pitched battle, domina. If de Meulan has fired Lisieux, either it is to destroy the means by which our army can supply itself, or because he cannot control his men. We do not have enough soldiers to ride into Lisieux ourselves and face de Meulan.”

“Le Sap. How far is that?”

“About nineteen miles to the south,” said de Bohun. “If we push the horses harder, we can be there in a little over two hours.”

“Then push them,” she said grimly. If they could take Le Sap, then at least it would be a base from which to renew assault on Lisieux once Geoffrey’s troops were bolstered by her reinforcements.

De Bohun gave the order and Matilda had her remount brought up: the strong white gelding she had ridden on the day she fled her marriage from Geoffrey. That smooth pace and stamina would stand her in good stead now. Around her 201

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the soldiers who had spare horses took the opportunity to change them and those who did not retired to the back of the column. De Redvers bowed as he handed her a costrel of wine and a drinking horn inlaid with silver. “To your health, domina,” he said.

She took a few fortifying swallows. “If we had arrived half a day earlier, we could have made a difference,” she said in frustration as she returned the horn.

“Perhaps,” de Redvers said with a shrug, “but you cannot look back. With good fortune, the Count of Anjou will have succeeded at Le Sap, and if Meulan has burned Lisieux, it benefits us, because it will not endear him to the people.” By the time they arrived at Le Sap, the sun was westering at their backs, and once again there was smoke in the air, powerful and pungent. Bodies of men and animals littered the road.

Many houses in the small town were ablaze and the church was writhing in flames while the priest stood outside with his deacons, wringing his hands and weeping to God. On the castle walls, Geoffrey’s lioncel banner flew with those of his allies: Talvas, Aquitaine, Vendôme, and Nevers. Knights and serjeants were busy making billets. A miserable crowd of prisoners huddled against the castle walls, their wrists and ankles clamped by fetters.

A makeshift gallows had been erected and several corpses dangled from it, their necks tilting to touch their shoulders.

One man had been mutilated too, his entrails hanging out in slick bluish ropes. The smell of the butcher’s shambles, bloody and rich, joined the raw stink of smoke and Matilda covered her face with her wimple and gagged.

“Domina, thank Christ you are here.” She turned at the touch on her arm and faced Geoffrey’s close friend and ally, William Talvas. His face was smirched with grease from his hauberk and there was a superficial nick under one cheekbone that had dried in a beaded black line.

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She eyed him askance. “It seems I did not arrive in time for Lisieux, but you appear to have taken Le Sap—if rather messily,” she added with a pointed glance over her shoulder at the burning church.

“We sent for aid because there is sickness in the camp.

Many of the soldiers have the bloody flux and cannot fight and there are wounded from our other battles. We badly need the replacements.”

“Where is the Count of Anjou?” She had expected to see Geoffrey before now, striding about, directing operations in his usual high-handed manner.

Talvas rubbed the back of his neck. “That is another reason I am glad you are here. He has been wounded. That man we hanged—he hurled a javelin from a whip sling and it struck Geoffrey in the foot. He’s in the solar chamber having the injury seen to by a chirurgeon.”

Matilda fought down panic. She could not afford to lose Geoffrey now with so much at stake and their sons so small.

“How bad?”

Talvas shrugged. “He’ll only be wearing one boot for a while.” Matilda hurried off in search of her husband and found him lying in the solar as Talvas had said. He had drunk the best part of a flagon of wine and was still drinking. Red stars flushed his cheekbones and his eyes were opaque with pain. His hair was plastered to his head with dirt and sweat, its colour closer to dingy brown than bright gold. He lay on bloodstained sheets, clad in his battle-soiled shirt and braies. The chirurgeon was washing his hands in a bowl of red water. On a table at his side was an unfolded bundle of the tools of his trade, including several fearsome-looking needles. Geoffrey’s leg, heavily bandaged, was propped up on several pillows. “Dear God!” she gasped.

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wife. I was wondering when you would arrive. I am afraid you are too late to do anything save gloat over my condition.”

“Why would I want to do that when you are fighting for my interests?” she snapped. She was more shaken than she wanted to admit. “How bad is it?”

He made a face. “My foot has a slit in it like a gutted herring.

I cannot walk; I cannot ride. Christ, I’ll have to use a forked branch for a crutch like one of those beggars at a monastery gate—probably for weeks.”

“Is this true?” Matilda turned to the chirurgeon who gave a doleful nod.

“I have done my best, domina, but the count will be unable to sit a horse for several days and certainly not set his foot on the ground.”

She folded her lips together and turned back to her husband.

Anxiety made her waspish. She did not want to think about William le *o, who had died from a minor wound in the hand that had festered and poisoned his blood. “Then what is to happen? You cannot stay here in this burned-out shell, and Waleran de Meulan is in the vicinity with seasoned troops.”

“I have injured my foot, not lost my wits,” he spat. “I am perfectly aware of the whereabouts of de Meulan. Since when have you acquired the knowledge to command in the field?”

“Since you asked me to bring you reinforcements from Argentan,” she retorted.

“Which did not arrive soon enough. If you had pushed faster, I could have taken Lisieux.” Matilda’s eyes flashed. “We came with all the haste we could muster. If you had wanted us sooner, you should have sent for us in better time. That is your lack, not mine, my lord.” He pushed himself upright. “Christ, hold your tongue, you sour bitch. Do you know how hellish this campaign has been?

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this far while you have been sitting safe behind your high walls at Argentan, and then, after one day’s ride and no fighting, have the bile to tell me I have failed?” His voice ended on a ragged note and tears of fury shone in his eyes.

She made an impatient throwing gesture. “The fact remains that you did not take Lisieux and this place is not secure.

Someone needs to plan what happens next. I have brought you reinforcements and supplies, but not enough to feed all of your men and mine. We will have to send out foragers, but how far afield will they have to go?”

Geoffrey looked away into the shadows of the bed. “I will talk to you no more,” he said hoarsely.

The chirurgeon came to the bed and felt Geoffrey’s brow.

“He has a fever, domina,” he said. “Better to return in a while when he is rested.”

“Very well,” she said. “But decisions have to be made.” ttt

That night, Matilda barely slept. There was constant toing and froing in the camp. Scouts arrived by lantern-light and departed again. The men played music round their fires, drank, told tales, and grew loud. Brawls broke out and were mostly settled with the whips and fists of the commanders. The wounded groaned on their pallets. Some died. The fire from the burned church subdued to glowing embers, but the stink of smoke hung on the air. Matilda checked on Geoffrey a couple of times, but the chirurgeon had dosed him with syrup of the white poppy to give him ease, and he was deep in a drugged sleep. Many of the troops were sick with bloody bowel motions. William Talvas had fallen victim in the night, and had retired to groan in his tent. Towards dawn, Matilda gave up on sleep and, gritty-eyed with tiredness, went to mass. The morning light did not make the situation look any better and more men were falling sick.

Without Geoffrey to lead the campaign it was going to founder.

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Matilda went to him following her prayers and found him sitting up, awake and aware, in great pain and full of bad temper.

“The campaign will have to cease until the spring,” he growled.

“I cannot lead the troops. Talvas has the flux, and William of Aquitaine does not have the authority. If we press on now, it will be a disaster. We have made some gains; let us consolidate those.” She was tempted to beat him about his bad foot with the fire poker. “So you give up after two weeks? Will your allies still be willing to campaign with you in the spring after this? We have planned this for so long, and now you turn tail and run like a whipped cur!”

“I am not running anywhere,” he snarled. “I will not have you impugn my courage. We have no choice but to withdraw.

Do you not see? Pah! Of course you don’t, because it is ever your way to be blind and stubborn if something does not suit you. If we advance as we are, we face disaster, even with the reinforcements from Argentan. Christ, you foolish bitch, we will be destroyed in the field and there will be no spring campaign at all, no duchy and no England. Is that what you want, because that is what you will get!” Matilda stared at him. She knew he was right, but she was still furious and sick with disappointment. If there was dysen-tery in the camp, there was the danger that Geoffrey might succumb to its ravages, and while she had no love for him, she needed him, and so did their boys. But not like this. She turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Pray, what message shall I bring to our sons at Argentan from their illustrious father?” He narrowed his eyes. “I do not need you to bear my messages. I shall visit as soon as I am able and speak to them myself.” His voice softened slightly. “Tell Henry I will take him riding when I come. And tell the little ones that I hold them in my prayers—even if they are too young to understand.

The baby…does he look like me?”

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Her instinct was to lash out and say no, but it wasn’t true and she believed in the truth above all things. “He has my hair and your eyes,” she said, “and he thrives.” She left then, and for a moment had to hide in a corner and compose herself. It took an effort, like lacing up a garment with frozen hands, but she succeeded in pulling everything taut, and when she arrived in the great hall, she was filled with regal vigour and purpose, and no one would have guessed how close to weeping she was. She could not afford the softness of a woman. In a man’s world, she had to have the heart and stomach of a man.

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Twenty-four

Normandy, May 1137

W ill D’Albini handed the woman a coin in exchange for the small pile of laundered shirts and braies she had placed on his coffer. He was no fop, but he liked clean underwear, and finding a decent laundress was always one of his first priorities once he had dealt with his tent and his horses.

“Rushed off my feet, I am,” she said as she tucked the silver penny in the pouch at her belt. “Those Flemings think a shirt gets washed and dried faster than you can toast bread on a stick.” With a shrug of her ample shoulders and a belated curtsey, she stumped from his tent.

Will’s lips twitched. Leaving his squire to place the fresh shirts in his travelling coffer, he followed the woman out into the bright summer morning and gazed at the bustle of the camp. The king had crossed from England to Normandy in March in order to secure the province and treat with King Louis of France. A campaign was being organised to march on the castles held by the empress and force her out, but it had been hampered because Geoffrey of Anjou had crossed the border with a large army and was ravaging the Hiémois. He had destroyed Bazoches-au-Houlme, razing the church, which had been full of folk taking shelter. William D’Ypres, Stephen’s chief mercenary captain, had attempted to bring Geoffrey to LadyofEnglish.indd 208

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battle, but many of Stephen’s Norman lords were reluctant to obey the command of a bastard Flemish mercenary with a shady past. There was tension in the camp and frayed tempers.

Will was keeping his head down and staying clear of trouble as much as he could. He admired D’Ypres as a soldier, but he was wary of the large Flemish contingent Stephen maintained as the backbone of his army. Not that D’Ypres was in camp just now.

He had been out on a patrol since yesterday afternoon.

Stephen was preparing to advance on Lisieux and force Geoffrey to commit himself. At the same time he was negotiating with various Norman lords and trying to gain their support. Yesterday, Will had served wine to Rotrou of Mortagne, who had agreed to Stephen’s terms. Today, Stephen was conducting talks with the lords of Tancarville and Laigle.

Going to the camp fire, Will helped himself to a small loaf of bread, breaking it open and tucking into it a thick slice of bacon from the rashers his cook was frying in a huge skillet, then, chewing with enjoyment, he went to look at his horses.

Forcilez, his pied destrier, swung his head and blew a gust of hay-scented breath over him. Will fed him a piece of crust and ran his hand down the solid black and white shoulder. Thus far the stallion was holding his condition despite three months in the field and Will was pleased with his stamina.

Turning at a sudden rumble of hooves, he was in time to see William D’Ypres ride past with his entourage. The mercenary captain’s expression was thunderous. Something bad had happened, that was for certain. Swallowing the last of his breakfast, Will hastened over to Stephen’s pavilion, where he was expected anyway.

ttt

D’Ypres spoke to Stephen with his rage controlled, and all the more powerful for it.

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“He knew,” he growled. “Robert of Gloucester knew about the trap I set for him. How many Normans here in camp are working on his behalf and not ours?” He shot a glare at Will who was decanting the wine for the imminent meeting with Laigle and de Tancarville.

Will turned to Stephen. “Do you want me to leave, sire?” Stephen shook his head. “I trust your discretion, Will. I hardly think you have been sneaking information out of the camp to the Earl of Gloucester or the Count of Anjou.”

“Well, someone has,” D’Ypres spat, “because the whoreson suddenly turned back from the place where I know he had arranged to meet Geoffrey of Anjou’s man. My informants are men I can rely on.”

Will said, “I did not realise my lord of Gloucester was a sworn enemy.”

D’Ypres curled his lip. “He may have made his oath to our lord king, but he is just biding his moment to turn to the other side.”

“What of the count’s man?” Stephen asked. “Was he there?”

“No trace beyond a few hoofprints, sire. The Angevins sneak around like smoke and shadows, and when Gloucester saw my troop, he fled.”

Will busied himself with the wine. From what he could glean, D’Ypres was convinced Robert of Gloucester was passing information to the Angevins and planning to defect to their company. That could well be the case, but if D’Ypres had failed to trap Robert in the act, there was nothing to be done.

Indeed, there were likely to be serious repercussions from this failed attempt, and both Stephen and D’Ypres must be aware that they were treading on precarious ground.

ttt

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absent from the court ever since D’Ypres’s failed attempt to trap him in treacherous dealings, but now he arrived at the head of his knights, and was cheered by the Normans and English in the camp because he was popular and the eldest surviving son of the old king. Will was attending Stephen with some others, including D’Ypres, when Robert flung into the tent, his eyes hard with anger.

Stephen immediately rose to his feet.

Robert knelt in obeisance. “Sire,” he said curtly.

Stephen kissed him and raised him to his feet. “I am pleased you are here,” he said. “There is a matter we must set to rights between us.”

“Indeed there is,” Robert said. “I will not be spied upon by your Flemish cur and have my name dragged through the slime. I will not be subjected to attacks on the road when I am about my legitimate business.”

“How is meeting up with Angevin spies legitimate business?” D’Ypres demanded, stepping forward.

“You cross the line!” Robert bared his teeth. “But then why should I expect you to know what honour is when you were banished from your own family for dishonour!” D’Ypres flushed. “Do not speak to me of crossing lines, my lord. You are so far over your own, you will never find the way back!”

“Peace!” Stephen raised his hand. “I will not have this wran-gling between my lords. I have said this matter must be set to rights, not inflamed!”

“Then leash your dog and whip him to order,” Robert said.

“I do not deny I was going to meet with the Angevins, but not to commit treason. I was garnering intelligence as any commander does—intelligence that I would have brought to you, except I was unable to complete the rendezvous because of this lackwit’s blundering. So now I have no intelligence. If he was acting 211

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alone, I have to ask if the dog sits in place of the master, and if he was not, then what does it say of your motives, sire?” Stephen’s face was scarlet. “It says I am a prudent man. What does it say of you that you did not come to me openly and tell me you were meeting with a spy from the enemy camp? What am I to glean from that in my turn?” Gloucester stood tall. “These arrangements are delicate. I deemed it safer to hold back until I had information. But of course now I have none. My hands are empty, and it is not my fault.”

“You were going to defect,” D’Ypres growled.

Gloucester arched his brow at the mercenary. “You have proof? Doubtless had your ambush succeeded, you would have brought my corpse before the king and sworn your lies over the wound between my shoulder blades.” He glared at Stephen. “I swore my oath to you on the proviso that you would rule in justice and honour. Where is that justice and honour now?”

“You swore your loyalty too,” Stephen replied.

“Have I violated that loyalty in any way?” Stephen lifted both hands, palm facing outwards. “Indeed no, but you did not signal your intentions clearly. Let us treat this as what it is: an unfortunate misunderstanding. I swear to you it will not happen again, but in your turn, come to me with your plans next time, rather than hoarding them to yourself.

On that understanding, let us have peace, because we have an army to set on the road.”

Gloucester gave a curt nod. “So be it,” he said, “but I will not stand for more.”

Stephen leaned forward and gave him the kiss of peace.

“Good,” he said. “And now you and William will make your peace too.”

D’Ypres’s throat swelled until the veins bulged and he looked as if he were harbouring a craw full of unspoken words.

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Gloucester hesitated and then gripped the Fleming’s shoulders and the men exchanged an embrace that expressed violence rather than resolution, even if form was observed. Both dogs might have been leashed, but neither was muzzled.

Will decided to remain clear of the pair of them and do his best to avoid being bitten. He was certain it would come to bloodshed, even if for the moment it had been postponed.

What he was less certain of was the truth, because it seemed to him that everyone was dancing around their own versions of it and feeding the flames, while the fire that mattered dwindled and went out.

ttt

Will’s vow to avoid trouble lasted little more than a week. The king had camped at Livarot, intending to retake Lisieux and bring Geoffrey of Anjou to battle. He saw to it that his own men erected their tents and tended their mounts, then retired to his own pavilion.

Having dropped the tent flap behind him, he went to the small devotional at his bedside and knelt to thank God for being with him through another day. He asked His protection from evil and begged forgiveness for his sins. Standing on the devotional was a small, exquisite incense box that Queen Adeliza had given him as a gift in the days when he had sometimes ridden as her escort. He cupped the dainty thing in his large hand, running his thumb over the inlaid silver and the intricate cerulean-blue enamelling. Inside were several pieces of precious frankincense and a small silver spoon, the end of which bore an image of the Virgin. He was frugal with the frankincense and only burned it on special occasions, because he wanted to preserve her original gift for as long as he could, and because frankincense, given to the baby Jesus in the stable at Bethlehem, was a very precious commodity, not to be squandered on the mundane. In its smoke was the breath of God and kings.

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He often thought of Adeliza when he prayed. His vision of “Heaven’s Queen” was inextricably bound up with his image of her at a crown-wearing, robed in cloth of silver and a cloak of blue. It was how he always thought of her, although he knew she was living quietly in retirement at Wilton and devoting herself to good works. She would always be a queen to him. He thought that when he returned to England, should his road pass by Wilton, he would go there and pay his respects.

His wistful ruminations were rudely curtailed by loud shouts from outside the tent. He put down the little incense box and hurried out just in time to have a Norman soldier crash into him, blood pouring from his broken nose and cut lip. A Fleming pounced upon the man with a snarl and smashed his bunched fist into his victim’s face again. Will had staggered at the first assault, but righted himself, seized the Fleming by the shoulders and flung him to one side. A dagger flashed and pain streaked along Will’s ribs. He avoided the second slash of the knife and managed to grab the Fleming’s wrist and with a hard twist disarm him. Several Albini knights who had been frozen with astonishment now leaped into the fray. The Fleming was caught and pinned, but more of his comrades appeared out of the night, intent on his rescue, and they brought in pursuit more Normans, in a rapid chain of violent brawls. Will ducked back inside his tent, grabbed his sword and shield, and jammed on his helm. His side throbbed like a drum in time to the swift beat of his heart. He did not know how hard he was bleeding, but there was as yet no stain on the outside of his gambeson.

Plunging back out of the tent, he rallied his men around him and drove Flemings and Normans alike away from his ground.

Shouts, screams, and the clash of weapons rent the night. Two loose packhorses galloped past. Across from Will’s camp, the great round pavilion belonging to the Norman lord Hugh de Gournay was on fire. Will seized a water jug from outside his 214

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cook tent and ran to help beat out the flames, shouting over his shoulder for his men to bring the barrels of sand that they had been using to clean their hauberks. Mounted men pounded through the camp, brandishing spears and swords: the personal knights of the king’s household riding through to restore order and round up the instigators.

“Whoreson Flemings!” spat a Norman knight who was beating at the flames of de Gournay’s tent with a leather cape.

“They started this?” Will panted.

The man nodded. “Over provisions!” he said between thuds of the cape. “Caught one of the bastards stealing a tun of wine from our supplies…Said he had the right to take it because we were hoarding stocks and their lot had none. Next moment all of his cronies arrived and we weren’t going to stand by and let them steal what’s ours.”

Will’s knights started shovelling sand on the fire, but it was plain that Hugh de Gournay’s tent was a lost cause and all they could do was clear the ground and prevent the flames from spreading. De Gournay was in a seething fury as he regarded the destruction of his camp, his face black and a horse blanket clutched in his grip from his efforts to put out the flames. “I will have no more of this behaviour from the king’s Flemings,” he said through clenched teeth. “Enough is enough.” He gestured to the knight standing beside Will. “Pack up what’s left of this mess. We’re leaving.” He started to turn away.

“But what of the march upon Lisieux?” Will pressed his hand to his side where blood had now begun to soak through his gambeson.

“What of it?” de Gournay said with a large shrug. “Let the king use his Flemings since he loves them so much. Robert of Gloucester is right. He lets them do as they please. The Flemings are a law unto themselves. If the king will not heed complaints in council, then let us see if he heeds this! If I were 215

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you, I’d do the same: take your men and go.” He strode off shouting orders.

Will wove his way back to his own camp and ordered one of his knights to fetch a chirurgeon. The night’s brawl had created a high demand for such services and by the time one arrived, Will had peeled off his garments and packed his wound with linen bandages. He had several nasty burns and singed brows as result of the fight with de Gournay’s now incinerated tent. The chirurgeon clucked his tongue as he threaded his needle with the hair from a destrier tail. “You are fortunate the blade filleted along your ribs and not under them,” he said, “or else you’d be a corpse, and I’ve seen too many of them tonight. Plenty of men will be stitched in their shrouds following this foolish brawl, never mind put back in their skins.” Will clenched his fists on his knees and squeezed his eyes shut as the chirurgeon began his work.

“More than just de Gournay have left the camp,” the man said between stitches. “I counted at least a dozen Norman lords riding out. The king’s numbers will be much weakened.” Will grimaced. He supposed Stephen might persuade some to return, but whatever happened, there would be no advance on Lisieux now. The rift was too great and the divided could not conquer.

Will’s wound made him feverish, and after an attempt to ride Forcilez split some of the stitches and renewed the bleeding, he was confined to the camp while he healed and could only watch as Stephen’s force fractured and shattered like a wave destroyed on a rock. The assault on Lisieux was postponed and then abandoned.

On the first day that Will was properly able to leave his bed, Geoffrey of Anjou, the devil himself, rode into camp under a banner of truce and the game took a new turn.

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Twenty-five

Argentan, June 1137

B rimming with restless energy, Geoffrey paced Matilda’s chamber at Argentan, a cup of wine in his hand. Matilda eyed him warily because he seemed very pleased with himself, and she did not trust him. He had but recently arrived and thus far had said nothing, preferring to greet his sons and busy himself with the domestic trivia of returning home.

“What have you done?” she demanded.

He paused and turned. He still walked with a slight limp, courtesy of the spear injury to his foot at Le Sap. “I suppose I should anticipate no other form of greeting from my loving wife.”

“Perhaps because I expect you still to be in the field. Unless you are here to tell me you have won a great victory over Stephen and driven him all the way back to Wissant?” Geoffrey shrugged. “In a manner of speaking I have.” A servant arrived bearing soft white towels and a bowl filled with steaming water and rose petals. Having set them down, he bowed from the room at a flick from Matilda’s fingers.

Geoffrey sat on a padded stool near the fire and extended his boots to her.

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husband’s feet when he returned from battle campaign or came to her chamber after a day in the field, but she hated having to perform the task for Geoffrey, who was plainly enjoying her discomfort. “I would have thought you would send messengers had you accomplished such a thing.”

“Why, when I can come to Argentan, visit you and my sons, and tell you myself? That is killing three birds with one stone, which is what I have done with Stephen.” His voice sharpened as she removed the boot from the foot that had suffered the spear injury. “Careful.”

“Don’t fuss.” She gave him a look that was cold on the surface and fire beneath. It was a long time since they had shared a bed, and he still held that attraction for her. She wanted to claw his back and see the red beads well upon his shoulder blades like rubies. His expression mirrored hers.

Hastily she concentrated on the task of removing his stockings and leg bindings and soaking his feet in the water. The sole of his left foot bore a livid scar and was slightly swollen because he had had his foot in the stirrup for most of the day. His right one, high-arched and pale as alabaster, might have belonged to an angel.

“Stephen has gone,” he said. “Sent the troops to their homes and headed back to England. His campaign is over, perhaps even finished.”

Matilda ceased her task and looked up at him, frowning.

“Why are you not in pursuit?”

He gave a satisfied smile. “Because he has paid me not to do so to the tune of two thousand marks a year for the next three years.”

Anger flashed through her like a sheet of fire. “You have arranged a truce for three years without my say-so?” Geoffrey shot her a look. “Do not take that tone with me, wife. I know what I am about.”

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“That is not the point. The point is that you did not seek my counsel!”

He rolled his eyes with exasperation. “There was not time, and you are as stubborn as a mule and have no idea how to negotiate, even when negotiation would be to your own advantage.” She thrust the towel into his hands, indicating that she was done with serving him, duty or not. “But still it is mine to do,” she snapped. “So what are you about, my lord husband? Grant me the fount of your deep wisdom.”

“God on the Cross, woman, you could curdle fresh milk with your looks. If you will cease your haughtiness and unstopper your ears, I will tell you.” She made no move to pick up the towel and he had to lean over to dry his own feet.

“I am listening,” she said.

“But will you hear?” He threw the towel aside. “Stephen cannot control his troops. The Normans might hate me, but they do not like him either, and he has done nothing to appease them. Instead he has ridden over them roughshod with his Flemings. He has allowed the quarrels between his troops to become wide rifts and he can no longer trust the Normans to serve him in the field. Since the attack on your brother by D’Ypres’s men, the Normans do not trust Stephen. I have spoken to Robert, and I have letters from him to you in my baggage that you will find interesting. Your brother’s flirtation with Stephen has run its course. By next campaigning season, Caen will be ours.” He raised one golden eyebrow at her.

“Stephen thinks he can buy his way out of trouble, but we can use that money to buy equipment, and men.” A scornful smile crossed his face. “He has financed his own downfall.” It was all very clever, like a garment cut and stitched from perfectly fitting geometric pieces. She could not fault Geoffrey’s reasoning, even if it galled her to see him so smug. “My father 219

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built up his wealth carefully for the good of all,” she said, “and now Stephen squanders it, as if it is a never-ending resource.

He just lets it trickle away through his fingers.”

“Well, at least he is pouring it in our direction. We have two thousand marks. Your brother is on the verge of changing his allegiance and Stephen’s army has broken up and turned for home. By next year, he will have even less money in his coffers to pay the hangers on, while we will be more prepared and stronger still. A truce is only a truce while both parties keep to it.” He stood up, barefoot, and stroked his forefinger down her cheek. “The day is coming. Stephen doesn’t know it yet, but then the only time he was swift on the uptake was when he stole your inheritance, and even that was the doing of others.” He circled his arm around her waist and drew her against his body. “I have been a long time in the field,” he said. “Have you missed me?”

She followed him to the bed, step by step. She was eager to read what Robert had written, but if the truce was a fait accompli, there was no immediate hurry. “Like a pulled tooth.” He laughed darkly. “My love, you are a constant joy.” She flashed him a look full of challenge and desire. “Liar,” she said. Physical appetite was something she could control and ignore unless he was with her. When they were together, it was like a firesteel striking sparks on dry tinder, but without that proximity, there was nothing. It wasn’t love, but it was need, and it was mutual.

“No more than you,” he answered, and pulled her down with him.

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Twenty-six

Fugglestone, Berkshire, Spring 1138

A deliza watched the gravediggers shovel earth over the coffin of the young woman who had died in the leper hospital the previous evening. Her name was Godif and her father had been one of Henry’s minor chamber servants.

Adeliza had prayed, given alms, and paid for masses to be said.

Standing now by the grave with the nuns and others of Godif’s community, she shivered despite her fur-lined cloak. Life was so short, and filled with suffering. Godif had been a gentle, sweet creature, never complaining about her pain and the vile indignities that the disease visited upon her body. She was in a better place now; she had to be. Adeliza rubbed her arms and tears pricked her eyes. For poor Godif; for herself.

When the grave had been filled in, Adeliza returned to the nunnery. Since arriving more than two years ago, she had moved into a purpose-built small lodge. The nuns called it

“the queen’s hall” and she had not discouraged them. Part of her pain at losing Henry had been the loss of her rank and influence as Stephen’s queen took over her role. Stephen had removed the patronage of Waltham Abbey from her and given it to his wife, and Adeliza was deeply hurt because Waltham, like Wilton, was personal to her, but Stephen had claimed it, saying it was the prerogative of a reigning queen.

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Adeliza still had the wealth of Arundel and the income from Shrewsbury, but no longer was it her task and privilege to sit in state at official crown-wearings, and she was not encouraged to visit the court. Not that she had any desire to do so because everything had changed since Henry died. All that formidable power was gone and without a controlling hand on the reins the different factions were free to foment suspicion and unrest.

All Henry had worked for was being torn down and replaced by something less robust and true. Wealth poured out of the treasury like blood from an opened vein and no one was doing anything to stanch it. Instead they were queuing to drink their fill. Waleran de Meulan strutted the corridors of the court like a beady-eyed cockerel. Henry of Winchester paraded as if he were already the archbishop of Canterbury. Hugh Bigod was swollen with false importance, waiting for Stephen to pour out yet more largesse and grant him an earldom, always dropping unsubtle reminders that he had been the recipient of the old king’s last words, where he absolved everyone of their oaths to Matilda.

A cheerful fire burned in the hearth of her hall and Melisande, her kinswoman and attendant, had arranged a jug of spring flowers on the bench near the window. A pleasant background smell of incense filled the air, mingling with the aroma of warm bread from a basket of small loaves. Adeliza gave her cloak to her other lady, Juliana, and smoothed her dress. She felt relieved to be back in her quarters and, at the same time, a little guilty and unsettled. Here, life was safe and comfortable and enclosed, but it felt like an indulgent bolt hole sometimes.

She turned to the jug of flowers and lightly touched the petals.

“Madam, you have a visitor,” Rothard her chamberlain announced from the doorway. “Messire William D’Albini is in the guest chamber.”

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not seen him since Henry’s funeral and could not imagine what he was doing here. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“No, madam, save to pay his respects.”

“Then by all means admit him.”

Rothard departed. Feeling flustered and curious, Adeliza directed Juliana to fetch the silver goblets from the small sideboard. Melisande plumped the cushions on the hearth bench and put a new log on the fire.

When Will D’Albini entered the room, his vigour seemed to fill it with such robust masculine virility that it took Adeliza’s breath, because she had grown accustomed to a life among nuns.

“Madam, my Queen.” Removing his hat, he knelt at her feet and bowed his head. His hair was as she remembered: a tumble of dark, glossy curls, thick and strong.

“That is no longer my title,” she said, gesturing him to rise,

“but I thank you for it nevertheless; it was gallantly spoken.” He rose to his feet. “Madam, you will always be a queen to me.” Adeliza stepped back a little so that she would not have to crane her neck. The light streaming through the window emphasised the tawny colour of his eyes, and picked up the green flecking around the pupils. It also revealed that he was red to the tips of his ears. “Please, sit,” she said, and gestured to the bench. “Will you take wine?”

He gave an awkward smile as he sat down. “I should be pouring yours.”

“Not at all. You and your father might have been the king’s wine stewards, but you are my guest and it is kind of you to visit.” She gave him the larger of the two silver cups, but his broad hand still dwarfed it. “What brings you to Wilton?” His flush intensified. “I was in Winchester with the king, and Wilton was not far. One of my family’s serjeants recently died a leper, and I wanted to give alms to a lazar house. I intend founding a leper hospital of my own and I wanted to ask your advice.” 223

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“Indeed?” She was warmed and flattered by his attention.

“I would need to know the size of the foundation you were thinking of building and whether you want to house men and women both.”

They spoke for a while on the specifics of what he wanted to do, and Adeliza found herself enjoying the conversation. It was a subject she could discuss with expertise and authority and she was flattered he had thought to come to her rather than seek the wisdom of clerics and priests. On their second cup of wine, she told him as much.

He fidgeted with his cup. “I wanted a gentle opinion,” he said,

“one I could trust, and I wanted to see how you were faring.”

“That is kind of you,” she replied. “As you can see, I am well. I have everything I need, and I am content to do my duty to God.”

He looked at her sidelong. “But you do not take the vows of a nun?”

“I am not worthy.” She looked down. “I am waiting for a sign from God to show me what He wants.” She put her cup to one side, aware that in a moment she would be in tears and that she had drunk too much and said more than she should.

“Will you stay to dine?”

He shook his head and eased to his feet. “I will not trouble you further today. I can see I have tired you.”

“Not at all,” she said quickly. “I am just a little saddened, that is all.”

He hesitated. “I am sorry if I have brought you to that sadness.”

Adeliza touched his arm lightly. “No,” she said, “I have enjoyed your company.” She found a smile to ease the troubled look in his eyes.

He cleared his throat. “You will not mind if I visit on another occasion?”

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“You are welcome,” she said graciously, feeling a little torn between pleasure and caution at his request.

She accompanied him to take his leave. A small boy was playing in a noxious puddle of rainwater and dung near the stable wall, leaping in and out of it, shouting loudly each time he made a splash. He was perhaps five or six years old, and clad in a woollen tunic of bright blue and a brown hood. He had removed his shoes and placed them neatly to one side of the water, but there was no redeeming his garments. Will gave a broad chuckle and folded his arms. “He’s in trouble when his mother catches him,” he said.

“We buried his mother just before you arrived,” Adeliza replied. “She was a leper at the hostel. I daresay he’s given his nurse the slip. He’s as swift as an elver.” She clapped her hands.

“Adam!” Her voice was peremptory.

He jumped at her shout and anxiety furrowed his smooth, pale brow. “I was only breaking up the sky in the picture,” he said in a high-pitched treble.

“Look at the state of you! Where’s Hella?” The child thrust out his lower lip. “Don’t know.”

“Why were you breaking up the sky?” Will asked.

“Because I thought I might look through it to heaven and see my mama again,” he said. “I can’t break the sky with my hands because I can’t reach it.”

Adeliza made a small sound and turned away, her fist clenched against her lips. Will crouched to the child’s level, his great hands resting on his long, powerful thigh bones. “You cannot part the reflected sky with your feet either, child,” he said gently. “You know that really, don’t you?” The boy sucked his lower lip and nodded.

“She would want you to grieve for her like a good son, but wouldn’t she also want you to go on with your life and become a big, strong man who cares for others?” 225

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Another nod and a shy look upwards from big dark blue eyes.

Will gave the child an assessing look. “I have a task for you,” he said. “I have a mind to gift my lady the queen with a guard dog for her chamber door, but he is still only a pup and he is missing his own mother. I want you to be responsible for taking care of him while he is still very small. Do you think you could do that?”

Adam stared at him, his gaze growing round and wide. “Do you have him here now?”

“No, but I will send him from the kennels before the week is out, I promise you. One thing you should know about me is that I always keep my promises.” He looked at Adeliza as he spoke and she looked back at him with moist eyes. He lifted a warning forefinger. “It is a very important duty; I would not give it to just anyone.”

The boy nodded and straightened his spine in a soldierly fashion. Will responded to the gesture with a firm nod of his own to seal the matter. An instant later, a plump woman bustled up to them and began clucking over the boy like an agitated mother hen. This, then, was Hella.

After she had hurried him away to be cleaned up, Adeliza turned to Will. “That was kindly done.” He gave an embarrassed shrug. “Something to care for helps to take one’s mind away from grieving—or so I have found.” He knelt to her again, rose, and turned to his horse.

She watched him mount the beast: a handsome pied animal, powerful and solid like him, with a kindly eye.

“Thank you,” she said. “…for everything.” He made a gruff disclaimer and, with another salute from his saddle, rode out.

Adeliza watched the porter close the gates and listened until the clop of hooves and the jingle of harness faded to birdsong. Then she returned to her chamber. William D’Albini’s 226

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vigorous masculine energy had disturbed the air, and it had a completely different scent and feel now, as if the season had changed in a moment.

ttt

Stephen eyed the golden bundle of puppy squirming in Will’s arms. “This is a gift for the dowager queen?” He looked both dubious and amused. “It will chew her shoes and piss on her dress and you know how finicky she is. I would think there are better things to take her if you desire to win her favour.” Will raised his chin and the dog followed him with a fast pink tongue, destroying all his dignity. “It is a gift I promised to a child under her care at Wilton,” he replied.

Stephen raised one eyebrow. “A leper child?” Will shook his head. “He’s an orphan my lady has taken into her household.”

“I see.” Stephen gave him a keen look. “But you are taking the whelp yourself, not entrusting it to a servant?” Will put the pup down and it immediately attacked his shoes.

He drew a deep breath. “Sire,” he said, “I ask your permission to court the dowager queen with a view to making her my wife.” Stephen’s eyes widened. “God’s blood, you are ambitious!” His amusement remained but mingled with wariness now. “Just how long have you been brooding on this notion?” Will gave the puppy a gentle side shove with his foot and it growled at him. “I have always honoured the dowager queen and thought highly of her, sire. She has been in mourning for two years and it seemed to me that if she was not set on the cloister, I could offer her an honourable marriage.”

“And the way to a woman’s heart is through deeds of kindness, especially when you cannot hope to compete with what she had as a queen?” Stephen said with a knowing smile.

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considered very fine. There were many things he could give her that had not been hers as queen of England. But he said nothing, merely set his lips.

Stephen shook his head. “You are a dark horse, Will. I would never have thought to witness such audacity in you, but I am discovering that men are seldom what they seem, and your request at least is harmless ambition.”

“Sire, I gave you my oath at your coronation and my loyalty is to you.”

Stephen grunted. “So you say, and so, in your case, I believe.

Well then”—he waved his hand—“go and court your queen, and if the lady consents to your suit, I will give you an earldom as a wedding present to make you a worthy consort.”

“Sire!” Elation sparked in him, but caution too, because while Stephen was generous, he would want something in exchange.

Stephen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is perhaps of benefit that the dowager queen should have a new husband to give her direction. She has too much time to brood in that nunnery, and cling to the past.” His eyes lit with a hard gleam. “If you marry her, I trust you to keep her occupied and out of trouble. She has been overly concerned with her rights in Waltham Abbey, which belong to a reigning queen, not a dowager. I would expect you to set her right on the matter. By all means let her indulge in good works, but in her own sphere.” Will inclined his head. That at least seemed simple enough.

“I will do so, sire.”

Stephen nodded approval. “I often thought that Adeliza was wasted on my uncle. He never saw her delicate charms the way others did.”

“Sire.” William scooped up the puppy and bowed from the chamber, feeling smirched and elated at the same time. He had been granted permission to ask for Adeliza’s hand in marriage, 228

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and he had the verbal promise of an earldom and in exchange for very little. All he had to do now was win Adeliza’s consent.

ttt

Adeliza had not expected Will D’Albini to return quite so soon, but she took his arrival in her stride, and thought well of him that he not only brought the pup for Adam, but spent a while with the lad and his new pet to see them settle into the relationship. She watched him tussle and play with boy and dog as naturally as a child himself.

“You like children, my lord,” she said as eventually they walked to her lodging to take refreshment.

He smiled and shrugged. “They are easier to deal with than adults. As are animals. If you love them, they will love you, and their needs are easily read. I enjoy them for that wholesome simplicity.”

She felt a pang at his words. There was very little of that in the world.

“I have something to ask you,” he said as they reached her door.

“About the leper hospital?” She looked up at him and was trapped in his bright hazel stare. No, not about the leper hospital, she thought, because that subject would not fill his gaze with such intensity or bring such a flush to his face.

Adeliza stumbled on the threshold and he caught her arm to steady her. She felt the span and strength of his grip.

“No,” he said, “or not directly.”

Adeliza had Juliana take his cloak and pour wine, and then dismissed all of her women, telling them to wait within call.

Folding her hands in front of her like a nun, she said, “What do you want to ask?”

His complexion was fire-red by now. He gathered himself, and spoke in a rush. The words emerged like a speech, so she knew he must have been rehearsing them for some time—probably 229

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since riding away last week. “I have long admired and esteemed you,” he said. “If it would be an honourable estate for you, then I offer my hand to you in marriage. I have the king’s permission to pursue my suit, and should you agree, he will bestow an earldom upon me so that you shall not be disparaged.” Adeliza opened and closed her mouth. She had been queen to one of the greatest kings in Christendom for fifteen years, and had known what to say on every occasion, but now she had no voice, only a stare.

“I have shocked you,” he said. “Forgive me; I am too blunt.” She struggled to draw her scattered wits together. She had suspected this was coming ever since he said he had something to ask her. Wilton was a safe haven where she could hide from the world and coddle herself. His masculine vitality frightened her. When he entered the room, he filled it with earthy life and she had grown accustomed to spiritual delicacy. And yet she had asked God to give her a sign, and perhaps this man was it. Not a shining miracle, but something spun of everyday cloth—something she had never had. “I am honoured, my lord,” she said and had to clear her throat as her voice caught,

“but I cannot give you an answer now. I must consult with my heart and with God and pray upon what you have asked.” She saw his face fall, but he swiftly mastered himself. “I understand,” he said. “I was hoping you would give me an answer now, but I was not expecting it. I have thought upon the matter for a long time, but I know you have not.” He made a face. “In truth, I would not want you to think for as long as I have, but I have the patience to wait on your reply.” She gave him a bemused look. “Why me, my lord? Why choose me?”

He flushed. “To choose anyone else would be to look at second best. You are beautiful and gracious, and a queen. You are no termagant. With you at my side, I could build great 230

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castles and found monasteries and hospitals. I could sit by the fire at night and be content to talk with you and watch you sew…or hold our child in your lap.” Those last words shot through her like a fiery arrow and her knees almost buckled. She wondered if he knew the effect such a speech would have on her and thought he probably did.

“And,” he added in a voice that was soft but filled with knowing, “were you to ask why you should choose me, I would answer that I will protect your lands. I will fill your life with companionship—and your lap with children.”

“Only God can do that,” she replied unsteadily. “He did not see fit to grant me that privilege with my first lord husband, despite him having many children with other mothers. What if I am a barren wife?”

A spark kindled in his eyes. “I doubt that very much.”

“But if I were?” she insisted. “What then?”

“I am prepared to take that risk, and I will still have you, and all that you are.”

She felt as if she were drowning in a shallow sea. The talk of children made her loins heavy as if the potential was already curled within her, waiting. She was pragmatic enough to know that the statement “all that you are” involved more than just her physical person. It was the glamour of her former position as England’s queen that attracted him, and the wealth she possessed. Arundel, Shrewsbury, Bicknor. For the moment she could please herself, but if she remarried, she would have to obey a husband again. “What did Stephen say when he gave his permission?” She could not bring herself to call him the king.

He looked down, but she caught a flash of something in his eyes—chagrin? Embarrassment? “He wished me success.” Stephen would, she thought. This man was his loyal supporter and promoting him would be useful.

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Will cleared his throat. “I will leave you to your talk with God,” he said. “Send to me when you have decided. I hope it will not be too long, but I am prepared to wait.” She could see that he was. But whether it was the persistence of a hunter outside a burrow or the gentler patience of a farmer attuned to the seasons remained to be seen.

Once more she saw him to the stables. Adam emerged, carrying the licking squirming bundle of puppy, christened Rex because he had come from the royal kennels. Will ruffled the boy’s hair, tussled the pup in similar wise, bowed to her, and turned to his horse.

When he had gone, Adeliza felt a momentary surge of relief, followed by a shiver, as if she had forgotten to don her cloak on a chilly day. Biting her index finger, she turned towards the church. She tried to envisage being married to Will D’Albini and felt awkward. It was like having a new dish on her plate that was so different, she could barely pluck up the courage to taste it.

ttt

Riding away from Wilton, Will squared his shoulders and kept his head high. She had not refused him outright; she had said she would think on the matter, and while there was hesitation, hope remained. She was so fine and rare that he felt like a foolish, shambling bear in her presence. He wished he had the urbane refinement of Brian FitzCount and Waleran de Meulan, or the pugilistic arrogance of the Earl of Chester, but neither were a part of his steady, cheerful nature. She would go and pray to God for an answer and all he could do was pray in his turn that God gave her the right one.

On his return to Winchester, he was dismounting in the courtyard of his lodging house when his knight Adelard came running to tell him they had received news that Robert of Gloucester had renounced his oath to Stephen. “He’s declared for the empress and shut Bristol against the king!” 232

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Will was dismayed but not surprised. Everyone had been expecting Gloucester to renounce his oath ever since the Normandy campaign when Stephen had returned to England and Robert had stayed at Caen, nursing his grievances. It would give impetus to other rebellions, and because Gloucester had lands on either side of the Narrow Sea, both areas would be destabilised. It was bad news, yet, at the same time, Will felt a twinge of excitement. The onus on the king to reward the men who remained loyal to him would be keener still, and who knew what other riches lay in store beyond an earldom and marriage to a queen?

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Twenty-seven

Fortress of Carrouges, Normandy, Summer 1138

Matilda sat down on the bed in her chamber at Carrouges. Her crown was making her head ache. It might look a delicate thing, but she been wearing it for most of the day amid formal ceremonies and celebrations; the weight was beginning to tell on her neck and the band was squeezing her temples. Even so, she had no intention of taking it off, because while she wore it, she was a queen and an empress and she had authority.

Fetching his small stool, Henry wandered over to the sideboard and stood on it so that he could look at the two engraved silver cups standing there. They had been presented to him and his brother by the people of Saumur in exchange for a charter.

“When can I drink wine out of mine?” he asked, looking round.

“When you are a man,” Matilda replied. “They are no ordinary drinking cups, but tokens of an agreement between our family and the people of Saumur.” Her voice held a warning note. If she knew Henry, he’d be having his dogs drinking out of them or worse. “And you are not to touch William’s either,” she added as she watched his hand stray towards his youngest brother’s cup. The reason there were only two, not three cups was that Geoffrey, her middle son, was being raised in the household of her husband’s vassal Goscelin de Rotonard.

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It did not do to keep all of one’s eggs in a single basket. William would go for fostering too when he was older but for now, at not quite two years old, he was still kept close in the women’s chambers. Henry ignored him because he was only a baby and Henry knew he was the heir and the most important.

Geoffrey entered the chamber. A gold coronet embraced his brow, not as ornate as Matilda’s but still a symbol of his rank, and he was wearing a blue silk tunic embroidered with small gold lioncels. Henry’s tunic had been cut from the same piece of fabric. Geoffrey unbuckled the sword he had been wearing for ceremonial purposes and hung it over the back of a chair.

Moments later, Matilda’s half-brothers Robert and Reynald followed him into the room with Baldwin de Redvers.

Robert went to his nephew and admired the silver cup with serious interest. “If you drink from a silver cup, you will never be poisoned,” he said.

Henry gave him a severe look. “Mama says this isn’t a drinking cup. She says it’s a token of agreement.” Robert’s lips twitched. “She is right, but it is still true that you should always put a silver coin in your flask to keep your drink sweet. Did you know that?”

Henry shook his head, but absorbed the detail as he absorbed all knowledge, sucking it up like a sponge drawing up water.

“You are a fount of knowledge, Robert,” Geoffrey said drily.

“My father believed in educating us all.” Robert leaned his elbow on the sideboard. “Why be at the mercy of priests and charlatans when for the sake of a little study you can be armed to the teeth?”

Matilda said, “When you are a woman, having an education makes you realise how much at the mercy of priests and charlatans you are.”

“So are you saying you would rather have remained in ignorance, wife?” Geoffrey asked with a sardonic gleam.

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“I am saying it is twice as important that a woman should be educated, and twenty times as difficult for her to be heard.” She looked round at the menfolk of her family and knew they would never understand, much less want to do so. That her place was above theirs, that she was the only one of them born of a ruling king and queen, was cause for envy, not worship. Had she been male, she could have led the discussion about to begin without a second thought. As it was, although she was a figurehead, they did not expect her to contribute to the dialogue, any more than they expected her to gird on a sword and don a mail shirt.

Geoffrey was here with his army, amply fortified by the two thousand marks Stephen had given to him the previous year. He wanted to talk tactics with Robert, not her.

Matilda cleared her throat. “I have drafted letters to the pope, to my uncle of Scotland, and to my stepmother.” She held up the sheaf of parchments lying by her right hand. “We must lobby the pope to reverse his ruling on Stephen’s right to the crown; I will be working closely with the bishop of Angers on that matter and Brian FitzCount is writing a treatise from a secular perspective on my right to rule.”

“But we need more than words,” Geoffrey said and turned to Robert. “Will FitzCount go so far as to renounce Stephen?”

“Yes,” said Matilda firmly. “He will.” Robert nodded in confirmation. “FitzCount will help however he can. He is being circumspect for the moment but as soon as we set foot in England he will declare for us. We can count Wallingford as ours. Miles FitzWalter has indicated he will come over too, and John FitzGilbert the marshal.

He has control of the Kennet Valley with Marlborough and Ludgershall.”

Geoffrey eyed Robert keenly. “Tell me,” he said. “If Stephen had proved himself a model king and promoted your interests, would you be here today?” 236

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Robert flushed. “I am not proud that I broke my oath to my father and to my sister; indeed I deeply regret it, but sometimes circumstances overtake the best of intentions. I thought perhaps it was God’s will, but I was wrong.” He looked at Henry, who had stepped down off his stool and was now playing with his toy wooden knight and horse on the floor. “I will not renege again.” The company settled around the fire to discuss their plans.

The time was not yet ripe time for an invasion of England; there was still much to be done in the way of preparation and recruiting allies, but the following year seemed a possibility.

“You say you are in contact with the dowager queen,” Robert said to Matilda. “I had heard she had retired to a nunnery and was occupied in succouring lepers.” Matilda nodded. “Yes, but it is no more the entirety of her life than being a patron of Bec is mine.”

“A little more than that, since she lives amongst them. I even heard it suggested when my father died that she intended taking vows.”

Matilda shook her head emphatically. “That is far from the truth. She is still concerned with what happens at Arundel and her other estates. The only trouble is this.” She handed Adeliza’s most recent letter to her brother, who studied it and, with pursed lips, handed it on to Geoffrey.

“D’Albini?” Geoffrey raised his brow.

“His father is one of the royal stewards and lord of lands in Norfolk, including the castle at Buckenham,” Robert said.

“Will he be willing to swear for us?” Robert frowned. “I do not know. If you saw him, you would think of a big friendly dog. He is intelligent and strong, but not complex.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I would not mark him down as a man for subterfuge and I would say he will do what he must while hoping for 237

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a quiet life. I suspect he will stick to his oath to Stephen, and if he becomes lord of Arundel, that could be difficult for us.” Matilda gnawed her lip. From her slight acquaintance with him she knew William D’Albini was good-natured and amenable. Despite his size and strength, he was agile and light on his feet and had a delicate touch at mixing wine. Women liked him. He exuded an earthy, wholesome virility, but seemed not to notice it himself or use it consciously, and thus it was not a threat. Even so, it was difficult to imagine the ethereal Adeliza sharing a marriage bed with him. “How good a strategist is he?”

Robert shook his head. “I doubt he has ever been tried beyond bringing the Albini men to the king to perform feudal service, but that only tells us he is inexperienced—it does not mean incompetent. He is an unknown quantity and that could be dangerous.”

Matilda sighed. “I will keep writing to Adeliza. Whether she marries D’Albini or not, she has no love for Stephen. She will do what she believes is right.”

“Well then, have a care what you do write,” Geoffrey said.

“We cannot afford to have our plans brought to naught by women’s gossip.”

Matilda glared at him. “Do not worry, my lord,” she snapped. “I intend any ‘gossip’ I exchange with Adeliza to be of benefit. You do not understand how much the wheels of your endeavour are greased by such exchanges. Deal with your campaigns and your men, but leave this matter to me. I know my stepmother as you do not.”

He exhaled down his nose with irritation. “Do as you will,” he conceded, “but be cautious.”

“I know my business,” she retorted. “Do yours and leave me to mine.”

For a moment the atmosphere was strung with tension. Then 238

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Robert clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “We still have much to plan,” he said. “This is only the beginning.” He flicked his gaze between Matilda and Geoffrey. “The first thing I propose is a lasting truce.”

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Twenty-eight

Wilton, Wiltshire, August 1138

A deliza took the letters she had just read and carefully fed them to the fire in her chamber. She watched them until they were ash and then turned away, hugging herself. Outside it was a hot August afternoon, but the chill was in her soul, not her bones.

Matilda wrote that she was preparing to come to England and challenge Stephen for his crown. The plans were still in the making but, when the time came, she wanted Adeliza to admit her to Arundel. Adeliza bit her lip. Matilda was the rightful queen and little Henry the heir to the throne.

Adeliza would not dream of turning down the request, but she was frightened of what such a stand might cost. She was still struggling to come to terms with the recent happenings at Shrewsbury. The castellan there had risen against Stephen, who had marched to put down the revolt and hanged every last member of the garrison. There had been no leniency. She knew such things happened in warfare, but Shrewsbury was her town, given to her in dowry when she had married. To know she had been unable to intervene and save lives filled her with a terrible burden of guilt. There had been other uprisings round the country too, all stamped out like small bonfires, but still new areas kept flaring up. A Scottish army had invaded LadyofEnglish.indd 240

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and been defeated in a fierce battle at Northallerton. King David had narrowly escaped with his household guard. She had known him well when she was queen and had counted him a good friend. One of his scribes had written a history of Henry’s reign for her. To think of him now as the enemy made her feel sick.

The last of the parchment flaked into ash. Adeliza left the hearth and, drawing a deep breath, went to look out of the door that faced on to a courtyard with covered walkways and benches surrounding a grassy area with a cherry tree planted at the centre. Juliana and Melisande sat on a bench, talking to each other as they worked on chemises to go in the clothing chest for the leper hostel.

She heard young Adam’s voice raised in bright chatter, and a moment later the boy hurtled round the corner, attached by a lead to a large adolescent dog galumphing at full speed. A little behind boy and hound came Will D’Albini, his stride long, but measured and deliberate. Adeliza suppressed the urge to run away. After all, she had summoned him here.

“Madam!” Adam attempted a bow while the dog strove to lunge after a cat that had been sleeping in a flowerbed. “I have brought you a visitor!”

“So I see.” She faced Will with a pounding heart, but her tone was calm and gracious, betraying no sign of her flustered state. “Messire D’Albini, you are welcome.” He performed a small, serious bow. “Madam.” He smiled and indicated the dog and child. “Both have grown beyond measure.”

“Indeed, they are thriving.” Adeliza dismissed Adam with a word of thanks, and as he and his charge ran off, dragging each other by turns in their preferred directions, she walked along the path and sat on a bench away from her women. He joined her side, and as he took a moment to adjust his cloak out of the 241

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way, she cast a swift glance at him in profile and noticed the healing cut along his jawbone. He had lost weight and his hair was shorter, although it still retained its curl.

“Your letter reached me in the field with the king,” he said.

“This is almost the first time since midsummer I have been out of my armour—and I do not suppose it will be for long.” An attendant brought them wine and napkins containing dainty hot wafers sprinkled with rose water. The breeze ruffled the leaves of the cherry tree and the scent of lavender and gillyflowers wafted from the borders.

“Were you at Shrewsbury?” she asked in a tight voice. “Is that where my letter found you?”

He grimaced. “Yes it was. I know your connection to the place, and I am sorry. The king had reached the end of his patience.” He stared into the distance, and his eyes grew bleak.

“These are difficult times. I want to protect you and keep you safe.”

Adeliza looked down at her cup. “But the walls of Shrewsbury castle were no defence for its garrison, were they?”

“They were soldiers who took their chance, not women,” he said. “They had rebelled against the anointed king.” A usurper king, she thought, but said nothing. Something must have shown in her expression, because he said, “You wrote to say you had decided to accept my offer of marriage.

Have you then changed your mind?”

She could feel his tension and her own matched it. Even now, even when she had committed herself in written words, she was still unsure.

“I swear if you accept me, I will do everything I can to be fair and just.” He took her hand in both of his, making a warm, enclosing shell.

She shook her head. “I have not changed my mind. I have asked God for His advice and He has sent you to me. I have 242

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thought about taking holy vows, but there are things beyond the cloister that I must do.” She gave a troubled frown. “It is such a difficult step to leave these walls and take up the reins again.” He stroked her captive hand with a gentle movement of his thumb. “My own choice was very simple,” he said.

After a moment, she raised her free hand to touch his face in a gesture as light as a breath. “Then I hope you have made the right one.”

“I am certain of it.” He took one hand from hers and curved his arm around her shoulder, and she felt herself fit into the cup of his palm as if it was meant to be. Tentatively, she leaned against him.

He continued to stroke her hand as he gazed across the tranquillity of the sunny courtyard. “We will have days like this, together,” he said. “You and me, and our children. I promise you that.”

She made a small sound in her throat. “If you can give me those things,” she said, “then indeed I will know my choice is the right one.”

ttt

Adeliza gazed down at her shoes. They were of soft lilac fabric with fashionably pointed toes and were stitched all over the surface with silver thread and gems. The shoes of a queen. She had not worn them since the last occasion she and Henry had sat together in state at a court feast before he left to go hunting and never returned.

She had spent the morning in prayer with Herman her chaplain before the altar in the chapel at Arundel and, although she had risen from her knees, she was still praying now. “God help me in this,” she whispered. “Help me to heal my heart and do the right thing.” She was still uncertain about becoming a wife and mate again. At the time, she had not fully appreciated how Matilda felt when she was sent to marry Geoffrey of 243

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Anjou, but now she understood a little more, and it wasn’t a comfort, because she had seen what had happened to Matilda and Geoffrey’s marriage.

She took a step, and then another, watching her shoes appear and disappear beneath the flaring hem of her silver silk gown.

This was the path God wanted her to take, or else He would not have sent Will to her. He was a good man, even if he was loyal to Stephen. It was up to her, with God’s help, to find a path through this. Will had promised her days of peace and offspring to fill them. The notion of the latter both spurred her forwards and held her back. She was desperate to conceive and at the same time terrified she would not. Fifteen years of being a barren wife to a man who had been siring bastards almost until the moment of his death had flattened her expectation and left her with terrible scars.

Will was waiting for her at the church door with the barons and knights of the Albini household and a host of gathered wedding guests, including the king. The bishop of Worcester was present to conduct the ceremony, his surplice shining as white as a gull’s breast in the sunlight and flashing with thread of gold. Head high, eyes downcast, Adeliza made herself keep walking.

Will stepped forward to take her hand in his and, as in the garden at Wilton, she felt the warmth and vitality emanating from him and surging into her. When she raised her eyes to his, the intensity of his stare was almost too much to bear. Henry had not once looked at her like that.

“You will always be a queen,” he said, his gaze leaving hers to rest upon the delicate crown set upon her veil of light silk.

She felt herself blush like a girl despite being a mature woman of five and thirty.

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the wedding mass. Many of the same people who had attended her marriage to King Henry were present now. The same faces had been at Reading for his funeral, but she would not think of that. Today was a time of celebration.

At the formal feast following the mass, she accepted the congratulations of the guests, and wished she were somewhere else. She wondered if the smiles on people’s faces were genuine.

Were they happy, or was it just an act for them too? When they turned their backs did they still smile?

“I am pleased for both of you,” Stephen said, kissing her on either cheek. “William D’Albini is a fine man and you will be well protected by my new Earl of Lincoln. Eh?” He gave Will a slap across the shoulders.

Well guarded was perhaps closer to Stephen’s meaning, she thought, concealing her antipathy behind a wan smile. Well, they would see. He might have Will’s oath of fealty under his belt, but he did not share his life, his bed, and his board as she was about to do. She looked into Stephen’s face. His geniality was strained and his features wore new lines of tired experience.

Perhaps he was discovering that wearing a crown was a heavier burden than he had expected. Perhaps he did not sleep well at night. Whatever he did, he would never fill Henry’s shoes in terms of ability. “Indeed, sire,” she said.

Stephen’s wife, Maheut, small and dumpy, kissed her too.

“Life will seem very different to what it was before,” she said.

“But I know you have the fortitude to adapt.” Adeliza murmured a bland reply, her stomach tightening.

Once Maheut’s power had been hers as queen of England, but now it was all diminished. Of the things particularly dear to her that had been taken by this small, tenacious terrier of a woman, the patronage of Waltham Abbey was still the main hurt. Maheut now had it as a reigning queen’s privilege, and Adeliza no longer had the influence to fight that corner.

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More people spoke to her informally and she smiled until her cheeks were stiff and she felt as if that smile would drop off and be trampled underfoot.

Brian FitzCount was kind to her and one of the few to understand how difficult it had been for her to leave Wilton and rejoin the world. “I often think I would have taken to a life in the cloister,” he said. “My father was in two minds whether to give me to the Church when I was a boy, but then the king took me because he wanted youths to raise as companions for his son. If not…” He spread his hands.

Adeliza managed another smile, this time less strained. “You would doubtless be an abbot by now—or a bishop.” He shook his head and his peat-brown eyes were pensive. “I am not sure I would be worthy of such robes.”

“Then that in itself makes you fit.” He looked wry. “Madam, you always think well of people.” He lowered his voice. “I am glad you will be at Arundel.

Perhaps, if you are still a patron of the arts, you will permit me to write to you sometimes?”

Adeliza dropped her gaze. She knew what he meant and he was not talking about the books and works of poetry she had sponsored in the past as queen of England. Brian was a skilled poet and writer of tales that had been read out at court of an evening, but he was not intending to send her stories or poems now. “Providing the content is suitable,” she said.

“I would send you nothing of which anyone could disapprove.” He inclined his head and still in a lowered voice asked,

“Do you ever receive news from the empress?” Adeliza risked an upward glance and saw the anguish in his eyes. “Yes,” she said. “She is my family still.” She laid a sympathetic hand on Brian’s arm. “I know your loyalty, but keep your vision clear.”

“Madam.” He bowed to her, his colour high.

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His wife arrived fresh from a conversation with Waleran de Meulan about hunting dogs. Her face was as shiny as a new apple, and wisps of grey hair escaped out of the side of her wimple, which was slightly lop-sided. “My lord of Meulan says he has a fine black alaunt dog that he’ll lend us to breed greater size into the pack at home,” she said, loud with enthusiasm.

“Two of the bitches are due in season any day.” Brian looked mortified. Unabashed, his wife addressed Adeliza. “Do you hunt with hounds, madam?” Adeliza shook her head. “I do not have a pack,” she said faintly, “but I believe my husband does.”

“Well, if he needs advice on breeding, you must let me know.”

Adeliza promised she would and made her escape. Brian FitzCount’s quiet request had flustered her. For the moment she knew she must keep it to herself until she had had time to work upon Will. And then there was the troubling matter of allegiance. She had vowed a wife’s loyalty to Will, but before that, such loyalty had been to Henry and she had sworn an oath before God to uphold his daughter.

During and after the wedding meal, there was music and entertainment. There were tumblers and jugglers, singers of songs, tellers of tales, and dancing too. For Adeliza it was like being at court again but it was also very different. She could almost feel Henry standing just beyond the reach of fire- and candlelight and it gave her a frisson of unease as she imagined what he might think of all this—none of it positive.

The time arrived for the bedding ceremony and suddenly Adeliza’s hands were icy and her chest so tight that it was difficult to breathe. Memories of her first wedding night surged over her. The crowds in the chamber, the stares, the comments.

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unclothed. She could not bear to think of being thrust naked into a bed with Will D’Albini in front of all these people. She was a dowager queen, yet she felt as powerless as a chicken being chased round the yard because someone wanted it for the pot.

As she and Will were tumbled into their chamber by a merry crowd of revellers, she seized his arm. “Get rid of them!” she hissed. “I cannot bear this. It is too much!” He gave her a perplexed frown. “They are not causing harm.”

Adeliza shook her head. “I cannot,” she repeated. “I will run mad. They have escorted us here, and they have all seen the bed. Let that be enough. What else is there to see?”

“It is tradition,” he said, eyeing her as if she was making an unnecessary fuss. “It will soon be over.” She tightened her grip. “Please. For my sake.” He looked at her a moment longer; then his gaze softened and he sighed. “For my sake too,” he said with a small shake of his head. “I do not want a madwoman in my bed tonight.” Turning, he spread his arms and began gathering up and ushering the guests from the room, thanking them for their good wishes, being by turns assertive, polite, jesting, and rueful, but never taking no for an answer until the cloak of the last one had flipped out of the door and he was able to close it behind them and shoot the bar across. Leaning against the wood, he folded his arms. “There,” he said. “Is that better?”

“Thank you, yes.” She gave him a wan, grateful smile. “I thought it would not matter, but suddenly I could not face the thought of them all staring at us. It brought back too many memories.” She shivered and, rubbing her arms, went to the hearth.

“Now they will speculate to themselves,” he said, adding wryly, “undoubtedly led by Lady Maude of Wallingford. Small 248

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wonder that my lord FitzCount used to spend so much time at court.”

“You should feel sorry for her too,” Adeliza said. “She and Brian FitzCount are as mismatched a pair as were ever yoked to an ox cart.”

“And what of our own ox cart?” He checked that the door was secure and took a few steps towards her before stopping again, as if she were a wild creature and he was unsure how best to approach her.

“If I did not think we might manage to draw a straight furrow between us, I would never have consented to wed you.”

“I want to make new memories for you,” he said softly. “If you will allow me…but I do not know where to begin.” She looked at him standing there, doubtful now, when a few moments ago, for her sake, he had driven everyone from the room with authority. “Then let me help you.” Facing him, she unfastened the brooch at the neck of her gown, and then the one lower down. She lifted her arm and showed him the tight lacing from armpit to hip.

“My hands are too big for such a delicate task,” he said gruffly, but nevertheless came to unfasten the ties.

She did not ask him if he had ever done this before because she did not want to know. “No, see, they are not. You are deft when you choose to be.” She gave a little laugh and tried not to flinch as he accidentally tickled her. “There.” Easing the gown off her shoulders, she stepped out of it.

Very gently he removed her crown so that he could unpin the veil from her long, ash-brown hair; but then he replaced it on her head and took a backstep to look at her. “I have never seen anything so beautiful,” he said softly.

Adeliza stood very still beneath his scrutiny. His swift breathing and flushed complexion kindled a glow in the pit of her belly.

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“I am glad you asked them all to leave,” he said. “Because otherwise I would not have seen you like this.” He came closer again, cupped her face using one hand, and kissed her. His lips were warm and she could feel the heat and strength of his body. It was a good thing, she thought. Women’s humours were known to be cold and to sap a man’s strength. They needed a man’s heat to complete them, and if one’s mate was not sufficiently hot in his humours, then his seed might prove ineffectual. She had read every medical treatise she could while trying to conceive with Henry. She gave herself up to the kiss, and it was pleasant, as was the strength of his arms; yet he held her as delicately as he had held the crown, and she felt protected and secure.

With great ceremony he left her and, going to the bed, drew back the sheets, opening the covers for her like a gentleman.

When she was settled, he sat on his own side and turned discreetly away to remove his clothing. He had broad shoulders and the relaxed loose muscles of a quiescent lion. Nothing like Henry, who had been stocky with a hard paunch and age-crêped flesh. This was a young man, virile and eager. He turned towards her, and she almost gasped at the sight of his broad chest and the stripe of hair feathering down his body and curling at his groin. Very virile and eager indeed. She did not know whether to avert her eyes, or stare in wonderment. And then the sheets fell across and she was rescued from her dilemma.

“I have a sin to confess, if sin it be,” he said as he leaned towards her.

“Then you should see a priest,” Adeliza whispered. Fascinated by the sight of his smooth, bare skin, she reached out to touch his shoulder and arm. His muscles had the gleam and definition of youth. Her fingertips encountered the glossy dark coils at his nape and her senses began to swim.

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“What if I cannot grant you absolution?” She wound her index finger round a cluster of his curls.

“Then I will be lost.” He set his palm at her waist. “I confess I have loved you and desired you for a long time. You are so beautiful. I confess to envy of the king your husband even while I knew you were as far beyond me as the stars. And now I have you, I cannot believe my good fortune. How many men wish for the stars and have their wish granted? You shine, and I am dazzled.”

She traced the outline of his lips with her fingertips. Such words were gems. Henry had never spoken thus to her. The times they had bedded had been a matter of business. Henry’s preference was for buxom, big-breasted women who looked fecund and ripe.

“You are so slender and small,” he said, his eyes following the path of his hand up and down her flank. “I fear that if I breathe out too hard, I will blow you away.”

“I am strong enough to bear your weight,” she said, feeling as if she would dissolve within the intensity of his stare. “I absolve you.” She rolled into his arms and set her lips against his collar bone and hid her face. Above her, she heard him hiss through his teeth.

With Henry the act of procreation had often been uncomfortable. His needs had been bullish and practical. He expected her to please him and for her the experience had been a duty—

one that she had performed gladly because it was God’s will and her responsibility as a wife, but she had never understood why it should put a sparkle in people’s eyes and lead them into sin. Indeed, sometimes it had been so painful, she had wept into the pillow afterwards, knowing it was all her fault. Men of science said that for a woman to conceive, she must release her seed, and the outward sign that such a release had happened was that she would shudder in a crisis of pleasure. Adeliza had 251

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never experienced such a thing with Henry, but now, tasting Will’s skin, feeling it so supple and warm under her fingers, hearing his soft groan, she began to shiver with feelings that were utterly delicious.

She wanted to explore his body, and he was equally keen to investigate hers. “Mine,” he whispered as he cupped her breasts and thumbed her nipples, then bent his head to stroke them with his tongue. “My queen now.” She arched towards him and gasped. She had never imagined that a man’s mouth and hands could work such alchemy on her body. It was like a poem; it was like the Song of Songs. The sensuality, the beautiful tension. And the act itself, for which she had learned to hold herself rigid against the pain, was a fluid thing of give and take, although she had never felt so full in her life. He took his weight on his arms so that he would not crush her and he did not lunge with the full force of his body but treated her with delicacy, and he called her his queen again, and his light and his joy.

She cried out beneath him and shuddered in his arms, overcome by ripple upon ripple of sensation. She clutched him, and felt him stiffen against her and buck. That part of the act was familiar to her, and yet at the same time it was wondrously different. And still he held his weight off her while he dipped his head into her shoulder, and gasped for breath as if he had run across a field in his mail shirt. After a moment, he withdrew from her and fell on to his side.

She drew her legs together and bent her knees towards him and he reached for her hand, kissing her knuckles and then her palm. “That was very fine,” he said with a broad smile in his voice. “Very fine indeed.”

“Yes,” she said. “It was.” She was still assimilating what had happened and marvelling. Small, pleasant aftershocks continued to undulate through her body. Earlier she had watched people 252

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laughing and had wondered if they were happy, and what it felt like. She had wondered what was wrong with her, but now she thought she knew a little of what they did. If the wonderful sensations she had just experienced meant that her body had released its seed to join with his, then the first part had succeeded. Perhaps this would be the time. Maybe now, with this new man and marriage, God would favour her with a big belly. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself in that condition, proud and fecund.

He left the bed and went to investigate the food and drink that had been left out for them under a cloth. Through half-closed eyes, Adeliza studied his loose-limbed grace and was again reminded of a proud male lion.

He brought her wine in a green glass, and a platter of delicate rose-water pastries, presenting them in a white napkin. Adeliza smiled at the incongruous contrast. He was so big, and yet he could be so precise and delicate too.

“We must make the best use of this time together to come to know each other,” he said. “It won’t be long before we have a full nursery to disturb us.”

Adeliza flushed and wondered if he had said it deliberately, or whether it was of the moment and his own needs. He was a newly created earl, and an heir would be high on his list of priorities. “Indeed, I hope it is true, my husband,” she said, and the last two words were as sweet as the rose-water pastry on her tongue, because of what he had given her now, and what might be in the future.

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