Lady of the English

Forty-two

Oxford, Summer 1141

M atilda drew back to Oxford and set up her court in magnificent splendour in order to expunge the humiliation of London. She held formal feasts in the great hall there and at each mealtime and when conducting business she wore her crown and sealed her charters as Lady of the English.

She made men earls of the realm and dealt out largesse in titles and honours, even though she had little to spare in terms of money and power. She dealt with all matters as if presiding over a royal court, but deep inside, in her soft and vulnerable places, she ached with frustration and misery. She had had several stormy exchanges with Bishop Henry. Having avoided the debacle in London, which she suspected he had been forewarned about, and perhaps even involved in, he had ridden off to Winchester and she was highly suspicious of what he was fomenting there. He had come briefly to court on behalf of Stephen’s wife and her eldest son, asking Matilda to recognise the youth’s rights to his father’s lands. At the time, Matilda had still been smarting from her flight from London, her flux had been upon her, making her ill with cramps and headache, and the bishop’s slippery prevarication had been the final straw.

She had refused his request and in a backlash of white anger had ordered Stephen to be put in fetters in captivity at Bristol.

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Bishop Henry had departed in a fury of his own, and refused all summonses to come back to court.

In late June, a detail of Angevins arrived in Oxford, sent to her aid by Geoffrey and headed by his close friend Juhel de Mayenne. Matilda welcomed the group cordially enough, but was wary because although the extra men were useful, it meant Geoffrey had an increased presence and influence at her court. Nevertheless, she was pleased with Juhel’s news about Geoffrey’s successful progress in Normandy.

“Since hearing about Stephen’s imprisonment, the Norman barons are arriving daily to treat with the Count of Anjou and sue for peace on his terms,” he told her. “Stephen’s grip is weak and each day brings new adherents.” Matilda was delighted at de Mayenne’s report on her sons.

“Growing well, domina,” he said. “My lord Henry keeps pestering the count to let him come to England. He would have sailed with us given half the chance. I would not have been surprised to discover him stowed away in one of our baggage carts.” De Mayenne smiled. “Your son is so eager to wear a crown and rule England you might find yourself with a new challenger from inside the family. He is so bright, he could do it.”

Matilda glowed at his words. “But likely not tall enough yet,” she said. It was good to feel her spirits lift with pride and humour. “What of my other sons?”

“They are fine strong boys, domina, although with Master Geoffrey being fostered I have seen less of him. I hear he is progressing well with his lessons and his training and the count is pleased. The lord William is swift to learn and reads fluently.” She bit her lip. When she had left for England, William had scarcely been out of smocks, his wrists and hands still chubby with baby fat. And now he was a scholar. She could not call this fight for their future time wasted, but it was time lost that 359

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she could have spent watching her sons grow while supervising their development, and that filled her with bitter sorrow.

Waleran de Meulan arrived in Oxford to tender his submission on a thundery, sweltering August afternoon. Receiving his request for an audience, Matilda was interested but cynical. He had always been one of Stephen’s staunchest followers, even if he had fled at Lincoln. Many of her own supporters had changed their allegiance to her as a result of the machinations of Waleran and his brother Robert. For him to be here now was akin to having a live snake thrown into the middle of her private chamber.

She changed her everyday gown for a regal one of blue silk and bade her ladies arrange her flower crown over her veil. She called for her sceptre and adorned the middle finger of her left hand with her father’s ring. In the great hall, she took her place on the high dais in the great chair where she was accustomed to sit and render judgement. Bronze statues of lions stood on either side of her seat, and on the wall behind was a cloth of red samite embroidered with golden leopards. Only then did she bid the ushers admit de Meulan.

As he entered the hall, the atmosphere thickened with tension. He still walked with a swagger as if he owned the world. Matilda watched him with narrowed eyes and thought how easy it would be to ram her sceptre through his treacherous heart.

Standing at the side of her throne, de Mayenne muttered,

“He has no choice but to make his submission, domina. His lands in Normandy are about to be swallowed up by your lord husband.”

De Meulan knelt and Matilda felt vengeful triumph. “I see you have accepted the inevitable and come to yield to me,” she said haughtily, but after a moment gestured him to rise.

“Domina, I am here to tender my allegiance,” he replied but gave her a hard upward look out of light green eyes.

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“As you did before?” She gripped the armrests of her chair.

“Three times you swore your oath to me, and when my father died, you went back on your word. Why should I trust you now or treat well with you?”

“Because I will no longer oppose you in England. Because I will swear to be your vassal in Normandy and fight for your son’s cause.” He spoke in a carrying voice in which there was no submission. “Because I am a pragmatist. If I stay with the queen and with Stephen, I will lose all of my lands in Normandy and my English estates are not enough compensation, burned and harried as they are. My support in Normandy will be invaluable to you.”

“You are here because your position in England is untenable,” she said icily.

He did not give ground. “I am here to strike a bargain.

Whether you accept it is up to you, but even my enemies here will advise you to do so, although of course,” he added, his lip slightly curled in contempt, “you might not want to take their counsel.” His expression and body language suggested without words that he was referring to her contrariness.

“Why should being rid of you not be to my taste?” she retorted. “I can think of few things I would like better in this world, my lord. What of your brother? Where does he fit into your schemes?”

“He will stay in England and keep his allegiance to Stephen on his own lands.” De Meulan spread his hands. “It is a sensible division.”

Matilda would have liked to string him up but she recognised that de Meulan’s words were sensible. She was irritated that he had only come to tender his submission after Geoffrey had sent reinforcements. It might seem to some as if he respected Geoffrey’s authority above hers—which she suspected was his intention. Nevertheless, if she sorted this out now, it would 361

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leave her free to deal with the bishop of Winchester should it prove necessary. Waleran knew it too; she could see it in his eyes and disliked him even more because, whatever happened, he could not lose.

“Very well,” she said, “on those terms, I accept your submission. It is a great pity you did not bring your brother to submit too, but that would have been too much to expect.” Meulan bowed. “Indeed, domina,” he said archly, “it would.”

ttt

Once de Meulan had gone, Matilda retired to her chamber to remove her crown and change back into a less ornate dress.

She had not invited de Meulan to stay at court, but had let him depart in the teeth of a heavy thunderstorm. She hoped he got soaked to the skin and caught a chill.

She pressed her hands against her face for a moment.

Outside, the thunder was growling away towards the west and fresh green smells curled tendrils through her window. She ought to be buoyed up, but everything seemed such a struggle and she felt as if she could sleep for a week. Forcing herself to focus, she began to read the correspondence awaiting her attention, one of the items being a letter from Adeliza, who wrote that her husband was keeping to his lands and recovering from Lincoln, which had laid him very low. He had not ridden to join Stephen’s queen, but neither was he disposed to swear for Matilda, although she believed in time he might come round.

For the moment they were concentrating on their family and their religious foundations because in these times, there was need of charity and compassion for the suffering people.

Matilda made a face as she put the letter to one side. Adeliza was doing her best, she knew, but it did not alter the fact that there would be no help coming from that quarter beyond prayer and she had hoped for so much more. With prayer in mind 362

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herself, she summoned her ladies and went to the castle chapel, hoping to find God in a receptive mood to her entreaties.

Brian FitzCount was already there, kneeling before the altar, his head bent on his clasped fists, and his lips moving in an impassioned whisper. She hesitated, wondering whether to leave, but he raised his head as he sensed her presence.

“Domina,” he said. His voice was hoarse and his eyes were suspiciously wet. “I should leave.”

“No.” She made a swift gesture. “I have interrupted your prayers, and the house of God is for everyone.” She touched his arm. He hesitated for a moment, but as she sank to her knees before the altar, he bowed his head once more. She wondered what had brought him to such a pass of emotion, but knew she could not ask, and suspected he would not speak of his own accord.

Eventually she rose and went to light a candle. He followed her example, and for a moment they stood side by side, linked by flame as he lit his from hers. His hand shook slightly and wax dripped in small clear circles that swiftly cooled and turned opaque on the iron surface of the stand.

“I have heard from Adeliza,” she said. “D’Albini refuses to come over to us, but she thinks she can keep him neutral for the time being.”

Brian grimaced. “I could have taken him prisoner, but I did not count him a threat.”

“The ransom would have come in useful,” she said with a frown.

“Perhaps, but there had been enough fighting and bloodshed that day.” His expression grew bleak.

“I—”

They both turned at the sound of rapid footsteps. Moments later, Robert strode into the chapel with Miles of Gloucester and John FitzGilbert hard on his heels. Her heart began to 363

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pound because she could tell before anyone spoke that the news was bad.

“It’s Winchester,” Miles said grimly. “The bishop has turned on us and is besieging the castle.” She stared at him in consternation and as the words took on meaning, her anger began to burn. The bishop of Winchester had handed the castle over to her not three months ago, promising her his loyal support and that she would be queen. “How dare he!”

“He never had any intention of yielding to you unless you made him the power behind your throne,” Robert growled.

“I know what he is about. He is trying to take the castle to use as a bargaining piece to buy himself back into favour with Stephen’s wife.”

“Then we must go to Winchester and stop him,” she said, urgency mingling with her rage. “Go and muster everyone you can and make haste.”

Robert departed to issue orders to the men. Brian swept her a bow before departing with the marshal, and Matilda returned to the hall so that she could be at the centre of the hub as preparations were made to ride on the city and deal with the perfidious bishop.

ttt

Arriving in Winchester, Matilda discovered that the bishop’s troops had drawn off and shut themselves inside his palace beside the cathedral. Whether Bishop Henry was there or not was another matter. Matilda hoped he was, but suspected he had pulled back to better safety. What was evident was that he had reinforced his palace extensively since March and turned it into a fortress. With grim determination, Robert settled down to besiege the new stronghold and Matilda took up residence in the castle.

On the morning of the third day, Brian came running to 364

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tell her that the soldiers defending the bishop’s palace were catapulting flaming balls of pitch over their walls and had set fire to the adjacent Benedictine Abbey of Hyde and the nunnery of Saint Mary’s. “Our scouts are reporting that Stephen’s wife and William D’Ypres are bringing up an army from Kent and we are likely to be encircled and besieged in our turn,” he panted.

Matilda hurried with him to the castle battlements and looked out in dismay at the gouts of smoke and flame that were spreading from the nunnery to the suburbs as thatched roofs and timber buildings, dry from the summer, caught light.

All was chaos with the monks, nuns, and citizens desperately trying to quench the flames and still the catapults shot out more fireballs to add to the destruction and confusion.

“A townsman reported seeing the bishop riding out with his entourage,” Brian said. “I suspect he has gone to join his sister-in-law.”

“I had to yield London.” Matilda clenched her fists. “I will not give them Winchester too.”

Brian shook his head. “It may not come to that, but we should pack the baggage in readiness. All this burning and wasting means we are being denied ground cover and supplies, and the closer D’Ypres and the Countess of Boulogne come to Winchester, the greater the problem becomes. There will be more hungry mouths to feed and homeless folk with nowhere to find succour.”

“While we have Stephen in chains at Bristol, we have the upper hand,” she said curtly, but her heart sank, because for every gain, there seemed to be a corresponding setback. At midsummer she had been one day away from wearing the crown of England. That day had become weeks and months and she could see the opportunity fading into darkness and becoming never.

ttt

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She was in her chamber dictating letters to a scribe when Brian came to break the news that the forces assembled by Stephen’s queen were making a concerted assault upon Winchester from the London road, while mercenaries under the command of William D’Ypres were heading down from Andover, which they had sacked.

“We must leave now,” he said urgently. “If D’Ypres gets past the marshal’s outpost at Wherwell, we are trapped. The Londoners are already in the suburbs. Robert will create a diversion, but Reynald and I have to get you out.” He was breathing hard. “We’ll make for Ludgershall and then on to Devizes, but we have to cross the Test at Stockbridge, and we must do it before the trap closes. You will need stout clothes and shoes; it is going to be a hard ride.” The look in his eyes was bordering on fear and it gave her a jolt. She had the bitter experience of being driven out of Westminster to tell her that she dared not stay. Without a word she hastened to change her clothes. By the time she reached the courtyard, her horse was saddled and Brian was waiting for her clad in his black hauberk.

Robert strode up to her as she was gathering the reins on her mare. “Ride hard, sister,” he said. “Miles and I will protect your rear. We’ll meet you at Ludgershall and ride on to Devizes.” She leaned down and they clasped hands and exchanged a swift kiss. Then she reined about and set her heels to the mare’s flanks. Brian had sent soldiers ahead to scout the way and give them early warning of trouble. He set out at a rapid trot but he was tight-lipped because he knew the pace was not fast enough. The north gate out of the city was the most direct route, but would lead them straight into the jaws of the enemy troops coming down the Andover Road, unless the marshal had held them at Wherwell, and he doubted that, because even with his formidable fighting skills, John 366

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FitzGilbert did not have sufficient men to hold back an entire army of Flemings.

Brian knew they had to clear the causeway at Stockbridge before D’Ypres did and before they were seized by the troops overrunning Winchester. His upper chest was tight and it was difficult to breathe. Recognising panic, he was ashamed. The sensations had been coming upon him with growing frequency as the fighting continued and increasingly difficult burdens were laid upon his shoulders, including those of dependency and expectation. He was not the brave soldier and hero people thought he was. He could stick a lance in a man if he had to, he could kill, but it was not natural to him; the images stuck to his brain like scale to the side of a sewage chute and sickened him.

Behind them, he heard yells, screams, and the clash of battle, and acid burned his throat. “We must press on, domina,” he shouted, almost gagging. “Go in front!” She slapped the reins on the mare’s neck and swayed in the saddle as the pace increased. She was a fine horsewoman, but could only go so fast riding side-saddle and if their pursuers reached them, all was lost. The ford was eight miles away and they could so easily be caught by hard riding troops. “Domina, you must ride astride,” he shouted. “We are losing ground!” Reynald sent some men back to watch the road and hold up the pursuit. Brian dismounted and put Matilda up on Sable.

Fumbling in haste, he discarded her side-saddle and mounted her mare. There were no stirrups, but the saddle cloth was secure and he could grip the breast strap as well as the reins.

“Hah!” he shouted, digging in his heels, and they were off again at a hard pace.

Tight-lipped, Matilda urged Brian’s big black. Now that she was astride, she could indeed go faster and it was like galloping to the hunt, but the pace jolted her limbs and strained her thigh muscles and her flesh rubbed against the hard sides of the saddle.

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She dared not think about what was happening in Winchester and how Robert’s rearguard was faring. She had taken him for granted for so long but he and the handful of men defending her retreat were her backbone. She prayed under her breath, asking God to keep them safe and to strike down Henry of Winchester with a thunderbolt. A brief look over her shoulder showed her plumes of smoke in the city, but no sign of imminent pursuit. Easing the black down to a fast trot, she turned to Brian. “We should conserve the horses, because we are not going to find remounts along the way.” He shook his head. “We have to reach Stockbridge ahead of the Flemings if we are to escape.” He leaned across to Sable and unfastened the costrel hanging from the saddle and brought out a silver goblet from the baggage roll on the crupper. The sight filled her with bitter humour. She was an uncrowned queen, drinking at a jog trot from a silver cup on the road to God knew what future with her enemies in hard pursuit and her dreams of a coronation in flames.

The wine was potent and revived her strength. “One day I will make you a great earl,” she said to Brian, returning the cup.

“Domina, I want no such lustre,” he said in a choked voice.

She raised her brows. “To serve me is enough?”

“What would I do with a title except encourage envy?

Where would be the point when I will never have an heir?

Your father raised me from the dust and all that I have is his daughter’s.” He lashed his reins down on the mare’s neck, thereby terminating the conversation, and once again they galloped for the ford.

Several times, looking over their shoulders, they saw pursuers in the distance. Matilda had to use her spurs on the black, but when they reached the causeway at Stockbridge at a lathered canter, the way ahead was still clear and they were able to cut off and take the track across the Downs where they 368

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swiftly vanished amid the grassy humps and hollows. They had covered eight miles at a punishing pace but still had fourteen more to reach the precarious refuge at Ludgershall and another twenty after that to the greater safety of Devizes.

ttt

By the time Ludgershall came in sight, Matilda was clinging on in a state of exhaustion. Her thighs were chafed raw against the saddle, her spine was screaming for respite and she was unable to think beyond the engulfing pain and despondency that had encroached on her as the heat of the chase dissipated. When she drew rein in the courtyard, she could barely move. The horses were staggering and almost foundered. Summoning the last of her will power, she managed to swing her leg over Sable’s back to dismount. Reynald and Brian caught her, otherwise she would have fallen.

The castle of Ludgershall belonged to her marshal, and its constable, like its lord, was efficient, and swiftly provided them with food and succour.

“You should lie down, sister,” Reynald said anxiously.

“No!” she said with vehemence. She could not be found lacking. To be a queen and rule men, she had to prove she was as strong as they were.

“At least put your feet up,” Brian urged, gesturing to the padded bench and footstool the servants had brought. “It is no disgrace to rest.” He stooped to plump the cushions himself and she caught the acrid scent of his sweat and saw the dark circles under his eyes. In the dull candlelight, his features were almost cadaverous.

“I must be strong.” Her throat constricted on the words.

“Tomorrow, yes,” Brian said, “but there is nothing you can do for the moment save rest. You have to know when to delegate.” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze, and then tucked it under the blanket. “I will return in a moment.” 369

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She watched him leave the room. He was right that each person had their duties, but she should be giving the orders, and by not doing so, she felt a failure. Something was troubling Brian. She could sense it in him, although he was trying to hide it. It was as indelible as those ink stains on his fingers, but more difficult to interpret. And she was tired, so tired.

ttt

Brian climbed to the wall walk with Reynald and the constable and stared into the late dusk. He sought signs of pursuit: camp fires that might speak of an enemy drawing in on them, or torches and lanterns borne by night travellers, but there was nothing, and no sound to be heard beyond the walls but the bleating of sheep and the sough of the wind through the grasses of the Downs.

“We should never have come to Winchester,” Reynald said bitterly. “The bishop lured us into a trap. He wanted us to advance and be destroyed. He besieged the castle to draw us there and then set the fires himself so that he could escape and at the same time signal to the queen.”

“It is easy to be wise after the event,” Brian said.

“But why should he turn his allegiance now?” Reynald asked in bewilderment. “Surely his quarrel with my sister could have been mended.”

“He did it because Waleran de Meulan has yielded to us and gone to Normandy, so at one fell swoop an influence and an enemy is gone from the other court. With Stephen in prison, he can take over and rule England on Maheut’s behalf. Maheut will forget his transgressions and lean on him because of his skills. He has the knack of making expedience look like the common good.” Brian strained his eyes in the darkness and turned to Ludgershall’s constable. “You should post lookouts at every window with two people to a window, one an observer, one a back-up.”

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“Sire, it shall be done.” The knight bowed, and after a hesitation added, “You have no news of my lord FitzGilbert?” Brian shook his head. “No, but he must have succeeded in holding off D’Ypres at Wherwell because we were not caught on the road.”

“There is no sign of my lord though.”

“He would not come here. He would draw the enemy away from the empress, not towards her.” Brian did not add, “If he still lives,” but the unspoken words hung in the air.

“And what of Robert and Miles?” Reynald asked, his eyes straining in the darkness. “They should have been here by now.

And my uncle of Scotland.”

“There are many reasons why they might be delayed,” Brian said, for his own reassurance as much as Reynald’s. “They may have split up because it would be unwise to bring a large number of men here. Ludgershall does not have the same defensive capabilities as Devizes or Oxford. While there are but a few of us divided in many directions, it keeps the enemy guessing and chasing hither and yon.” It also meant they were scattered and ineffectual, but Reynald must know it.

The young man chewed his lip. “The horses will be in no condition to ride on to Devizes tomorrow.”

“We have little choice. The marshal has a few stabled here we can use, but we dare not stay. Ludgershall is not strong enough to hold against Stephen’s wife and D’Ypres.” He bunched his fists on the wall. Every time he started thinking of ways out of the dilemma, he realised he was only tidying it round the edges, and making it smaller did not make it better. Doing so merely showed their predicament in its true, desperate light.

With halting steps he returned to the main chamber. He did not really want to be there in Matilda’s presence, because he felt he had failed her. She was asleep, covered by her cloak and a blanket. Her face was careworn with deep frown lines between 371

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her brows even in slumber. She should be ruling England as its queen, not huddled on this bench, a wretched fugitive.

Brian slumped by the fire and put his head in his hands. He had a terrible feeling they were all doomed, and there was no way out. In his mind’s eye, he saw a deep chasm before him with a crumbling edge. The darkness beyond was clean and calm—and terrible. It lured him and terrified him at the same time because it would be so easy to plunge into it. But she needed him, and she thought he was strong, and he couldn’t let her down.

ttt

Matilda was woken just before dawn by Brian gently shaking her shoulder. She was so stiff and sore that she could barely move and was unable to stifle a groan. Aware of his anxiety and the unease of the other men, she tried to rally. If she had been able to ride away from Geoffrey after he had beaten her, she could manage this. The servants brought warm water for her to wash her hands and face and she ate some bread and honey, washed down with buttermilk, even though she was not hungry. Conscious of Brian watching her every mouthful, she gave him a hard look. “Will you cease staring at me the way people do when gathered around a deathbed,” she snapped.

Brian swiftly lowered his gaze. “I am concerned, that is all.

You are our lady and our queen. I have selected one of the marshal’s horses for you to ride. It is fresh but placid and has a smooth gait.”

In her turn, Matilda dropped her gaze. It would be so easy to cry. “Thank you,” she said, and hoped her aching body would stay the distance.

It was still barely light as the small, battered party prepared to leave Ludgershall. Her horse was a pale dun with the fluid stride of an ambler. Although a compact horse, Matilda still struggled to mount him and had to stifle her cry of pain as her raw thighs 372

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touched the saddle again. Letting out her breath on a hard gasp, she hung over the reins for a moment, recovering.

“Are you sure you are—” Brian began.

“Yes,” she cut him off. “Get on with it.” She looked up at a shout.

A knight was clopping through the gate on a salt-caked, exhausted horse. She recognised him as one of Robert’s men, Alain de Caen. He was swaying in the saddle, his face streaked with blood and dirt. Drawing rein, he slid from his mount and then leaned against it briefly to recover his balance before falling to his knees. “Domina,” he croaked.

“Bring him a drink,” she commanded. “Quickly!” When the wine arrived, the knight gulped it with clumsy desperation, the liquid spilling down his chin like blood.

“Domina, grave news. My lord of Gloucester has been captured and taken prisoner. I know not what has happened to the Earl of Hereford and the king of Scots, save that their men have scattered and fled. I escaped by the skin of my teeth and hid in the woods until I thought it safe…” Cold shivers ran through her at this fresh news of disaster.

She could see the dismay on the faces of her escort; her own emotion was despair. With their chief military captain taken prisoner and no knowledge of the whereabouts of the others, what were they to do? She had suspected last night when Robert did not come that something was wrong, but had hoped against hope he had found a bolt hole somewhere. At least he was still alive; that was a small mercy.

Reynald, ever the optimist said, “But the empress is free and clear and so are we, and Stephen is still a prisoner in Bristol.

Even if it is a setback, a battle is not the end of the war. We are not defeated.”

But it felt like defeat to Matilda. She told the young knight to seek food and rest and join them in Devizes as soon as he 373

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was able. And then she drew herself up and put on a brave face.

“We shall win through,” she said. “I promise you.” And knew her words were so much chaff in the wind.

She rode out of Ludgershall sitting tall in the saddle. She was still lady of the English; nothing could ever take that from her.

But inside, as they rode along, beneath the bandage of pride she was bleeding. With Robert a prisoner, her plans were in ruins because none of her other commanders were of his calibre.

She had lost London; she had lost Winchester and in so doing had failed herself, her allies, and her son. It was too much to bear, yet bear it she must. Her vision blurred and whitened.

She swayed in the saddle and heard Brian’s shout of alarm. She was dimly aware of him catching her, of the feel of his arms around her. She tried to tell him she was all right, that she had just fallen asleep in the saddle, but she couldn’t speak. If not at the end of her courage, she had exceeded the last frayed strand of her bodily endurance.

Her escort constructed a litter for her, woven from willow branches piled with blankets and furs. They strapped her to it and bore her back to Devizes almost as if bringing home a corpse and Matilda tumbled into an exhausted darkness that was both a wasteland and a blessed relief.

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Forty-three

Arundel, December 1141

A deliza clung to Will, rising to meet the surge of his body, pleasure flooding her loins. He gasped her name and called her his love, his queen, his soul, and she clung to him all the tighter, because in this moment they were as one, giving and receiving each to the other without conflict.

When it was over, he lay down at her side, stroking her body, until their breathing had eased and their hearts ceased thundering. Then, sighing, he eased to his feet and began to dress. She watched him from the bed. Perhaps it was a little bit sinful to have made love in broad daylight, but she had needed the affirmation of the bond between them. “Will…” She bit her lip.

He turned and placed his foot on the coverlet to tie the thongs on his shoe. “What?”

“Can you not stay here?”

His gave her a look from under his brows. “You know I have to go. It would be disloyal of me not to greet Stephen on his release. I owe him my allegiance while he is our anointed sovereign. If God had intended Matilda to be queen, she would be on the throne by now.”

Adeliza looked away. “There will be more bloodshed,” she said bitterly. “More pointless killing and burning.” LadyofEnglish.indd 375

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“If I stay here, how can I help make policy? I cannot be a force for good if I am not in the council chamber. If I shun the court, then it isolates us. To be a good lord, a good husband, and a good father, I must go out into the world, not retreat from it. He leaned over, took her face between his hands, and kissed her. Then he left the bed and, fastening his belt, went briskly from the room.

Adeliza rose, draped a cloak over her chemise, and went to look out of the window.

Will had reached the courtyard and was talking to his groom.

She loved him deeply, but he frustrated her with his stubborn-ness. For a time after Lincoln she had thought he might change his mind and bring himself to swear for Matilda. But then the Londoners had driven her out of Westminster, followed by the debacle at Winchester and the capture of Robert of Gloucester.

Matilda had escaped but everything had fallen apart. She still ruled her areas of influence from her court at Devizes and she still held Oxford, but the greater power had slipped through her fingers.

They had heard terrible things about Winchester. Parts of the town had been razed to the ground. The abbeys of Hyde, Holy Cross, and Wherwell were ashes. Numerous ordinary folk had been killed, or rendered homeless and destitute. Everywhere she looked outside of her own lands there was chaos and death and destruction. That she and Will had thus far succeeded in maintaining stability in their parts of Sussex and Norfolk was by God’s grace and their own efforts, even if there was often friction between them. But she knew it could change any day and nowhere was truly safe. Robert of Gloucester was being exchanged for Stephen and the fighting could only escalate.

ttt

Three weeks later, Adeliza stood in the nave of Westminster Cathedral, feeling sick as she watched King Stephen receive his crown from Theobald of Canterbury in reaffirmation of his 376

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kingship. She would rather have stayed at Arundel, but Will had wanted her with him, and as the former queen of England, it was her duty to attend. Stephen’s queen had worn her own crown throughout the ceremony, a delicate affair of gold spires and lilies set with pearls that looked incongruous adorning her matronly form. She carried her head high, a look of satisfied pride on her face. As well she might, Adeliza thought, even while feeling resentful. Maheut had managed to keep that crown on her head through thick and thin and, in so doing, prevent Matilda from gaining the throne.

Everywhere Adeliza saw reminders of her own life as a queen. Once it would have been her playing a major part at the ceremony and the feast. Smiling graciously, speaking and mingling; receiving petitions. Now it was Maheut’s role and Adeliza was part of the background. Any attention paid to her was in deference to memory.

Stephen looked unwell, she thought. His face was gaunt and his gaze darted watchfully between his courtiers. His captivity had sucked out the bluff good humour that had lightened his personality. So many attendees had abandoned him during the months following Lincoln and pursued their own advantage that he must be wondering whom he could trust. The camaraderie was shattered. And men must wonder whether a once-defeated king might not be defeated again. Stephen was not steadfast. He would sway like a grass stalk in the wind. Matilda had angered people with her brusque ways, but she had always been resolute. Will could talk all he liked about it being the natural order to have a man on the throne, but what kind of man? No matter what ceremonies were performed, the gleam of his crown was forever tarnished.

In the Rufus hall at Westminster Palace after the ceremony, Adeliza sank in a curtsey as Stephen and Maheut paused to speak with her and Will. She kept her eyes lowered, fixing 377

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them on her gown, which was one she had worn when she had been England’s queen and lady of the English.

Maheut raised her to her feet and gave her the kiss of peace.

“It is good to see you here. It has been a long time since we have shared company.”

“Without a doubt,” Adeliza replied, thinking that it was not long enough.

“At least today is a time for celebration and peacemaking,” Maheut added. “We can begin restored and anew.”

“Indeed,” Adeliza said. “The birth of the Christ Child is always an occasion for joy in the world whatever our sorrows and tribulations. I pray that peace will prevail for the sake of all who suffer.”

“Amen to that,” said Maheut, a little narrow-eyed now.

“By our actions and our prayers should these things come to fruition.” She and Stephen moved on, and although Maheut followed her husband it was by her will that they paced forward, like a snail with its shell.

Adeliza knew she was going to vomit, and pressed her hand to her mouth. Blessedly Will noticed her predicament and hurried her from the hall. She stooped over in the bitter winter cold and heaved and heaved, feeling utterly wretched.

Will supported her as she straightened, and offered her a napkin to wipe her mouth. “What is wrong?” he said anxiously.

Adeliza pressed her hand to her belly. “I think I may be with child again, although it is too early to be certain.” Immediately he was all tender concern. “You should have said. I will take you to our lodgings.”

“I only began to suspect when we were on the road. I knew you wanted me to attend this crown-wearing, and it is so long since I have been to Westminster. I wanted to see the palace again and worship in the abbey.” She shook her head sadly.

“Perhaps it was not so fine a notion after all. We can never go back, can we?”

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Forty-four

Devizes Castle, Wiltshire, Summer 1142

Matilda tapped her fingers on the arms of her chair and scowled at the men gathered around her. Beside her, a scribe had just finished reading out a letter from her husband responding to her request for his aid in which he had declined to send her extra men and supplies without knowing more, and had refused to come himself. He said he was not averse to providing aid, but had no intention of setting his foot on English shores until fully informed. However, if Matilda wanted to send the Earl of Gloucester to him for consultation, he would listen to what he had to say.

She was furious with Geoffrey for procrastinating and playing shy. She needed him here, now, to turn the tide.

Stephen had recently been very ill. For a while it had seemed as if he might die, but her spies reported he had rallied and was improving daily. It would not be long before he was actively campaigning again and the last thing she needed was to lose Robert in Normandy for a month if not more.

Robert threw up his hands. “Perhaps I should stay here,” he said. “I do not want to leave you unguarded with strategies unprepared and I have no desire to ride through hostile territory and risk being captured again—for both our sakes.”

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fight without men and horses and money. I can only stretch the resources so far, and they are close to breaking point. We do not have time to send a different envoy to the Count of Anjou only to have him refuse us again. Someone has to go and persuade him, and it is best if it is the man he asked for.” Matilda forced herself to face her marshal. During the fierce fighting around Winchester, he had taken a desperate stand at the nunnery of Wherwell and lost one eye when lead from the burning abbey roof had dripped down and terribly scarred half his face. Looking at him was like looking at the living and the dead combined in one man. She would do him the honour of not pitying him, nor showing compassion, because he had never pitied himself nor asked for favours. “I am aware of the situation,” she said curtly, because he was right. Geoffrey would refuse to talk to anyone but Robert because he had that petty streak within him, and because as far as he was concerned, his own campaign in Normandy was more important and a success, whereas hers was in ruins.

Robert heaved a sigh. “If that is what is necessary then I shall go. I can understand his point of view, even while I do not condone it.”

ttt

Geoffrey of Anjou fixed his brother-in-law with a cold aquamarine stare. “The key to England’s crown is Normandy,” he said. “Until I have a secure grasp, it is folly for me to come to England and divide my attention.”

They were sitting in a sunlit chamber in Robert’s keep at Caen on a glorious afternoon in early September. Swallows stitched the sky, gorging on the last flies of summer before their departure. Geoffrey glanced at his nine-year-old heir who sat at a lectern in the golden light, busy with quills and coloured inks while the men talked strategy. His hair sparkled like fine-spun metallic thread in the rays slanting through the window arch.

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Only a week ago, Geoffrey had taken the castle of Mortain from Stephen’s constable. It had been a good campaigning season. Tinchebrai and Vire had fallen too, and more than half a dozen others. “One more effort will see Normandy secure for my son and his heirs,” he said. “If I widen my focus now, I will undo all my work—all that I have achieved, and surely we have had enough of that already.” He watched Robert’s lips tighten. Geoffrey did not dislike his brother-in-law. He found Robert rather wooden and staid, but he was intelligent, a decent battle commander, as proven on their recent campaigns around Normandy this summer, and staunchly loyal to Matilda. Such endurance and tenacity was to be admired. “I am not finding fault with you,” he said smoothly. “I know how contrary and difficult my wife can be when she takes the bit between her teeth, and you have had your share of ill luck and treacherous barons and prelates to contend with. However, it is pointless for me to come to England, and dangerous. The English barons will mutter about an Angevin upstart, and while my wife might welcome the men and money I provide, she won’t welcome me.

If you are having problems keeping men’s loyalty, how much more difficult will it be if she has her Angevin husband in tow?” Robert scowled. “If that is your stance, then it was foolish and pointless to summon me to Normandy. You could have said all this by letter. Each day I am gone makes the situation in England more precarious.”

Geoffrey shrugged. “I needed to know what was happening, and who else should I ask but my wife’s own brother? Letters and messengers are all very well, but they do not tell the whole of it. I have had no direct contact with Matilda for three years, in which time she has had her fingertips on the crown and by all accounts lost it through her own obstinacy, so who then is the fool? I must know that if I commit men and money to England I am not throwing everything into a bottomless pit. Besides, 381

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having seen you as a commander here, it does not dispose me to come to England.”

Robert stiffened.

“You take me the wrong way,” Geoffrey said, although with a gleam in his eyes to show that he had been deliberately baiting Robert. “You are an accomplished general, and you would object to my interference in your theatre. If we are being honest with each other, you no more desire me in England than I desire to go there.”

“I could go,” Henry piped up from his lectern. “I am going to be king of England and I should be there. It’s not fair that Mama should be fighting when I’m not.” Geoffrey eyed his precocious son with amused pride. “Think you so?”

Nodding, Henry left his window seat and brought his parchment to his father and uncle.

Geoffrey studied the sketch of a castle under siege with arrows flying towards it across a ditch. Bodies bled copiously through their mail shirts, and men were hurling stones off the battlements. A ribbon of blue was evidently water because there were fish swimming through it. Henry started pointing out the weaknesses of the defences and how he would go about the siege and capture. “It’s the Tower of London,” he said.

“But you have never seen the Tower of London!”

“Then I need to.”

Geoffrey chuckled, but then he sobered and shook his head.

“England is a dangerous place. It would be unsafe to let you go.”

“No place is safe,” Robert replied harshly. “Bringing him to England might just tip the balance. We need to show the people that this child is their brightest hope for the future. He shines with kingship.”

Geoffrey frowned, reluctant to take the conversation further.

He had often been told of England’s magnificence in the days 382

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of the old King Henry, the peace and fertility of the lands, the brimming treasure chests, but that was all gone. Stephen had squandered the gold on his mercenaries and his cronies, and what he had not spent, his bishop brother had stolen. There was war, and the fields were black with a barren harvest of ash. It was no place for a sane man to go, much less a vulnerable child.

While Henry was here, he was under his eye, his influence and his tutelage.

“I want to go,” Henry said with a stubborn jut to his chin and a steely glint in his eyes that reminded Geoffrey entirely of his wife. “I want to learn about war.”

“Have you not learned enough about it in Normandy?” Geoffrey demanded. “I can show you everything you need to know, and explain it.”

“But it does not come with a crown,” Henry replied with inarguable logic. “I want to see Mama, and I want to see England.”

Geoffrey tightened his lips.

“I will look after him,” Robert said earnestly. “I swear on my life that he will come to no harm. Only give me the men and supplies to help us through this. You are right that Normandy may be the foundation for your son’s victory, but what point is a foundation if you do not build the house?”

“That is up to you and my wife, and thus far whatever you have built, you seem determined to raze the next day,” Geoffrey snapped.

“And your wife and I know that we need aid from Normandy and that it would be greatly enhanced if Henry returned with me—since you will not come yourself.” Geoffrey gave Robert a strong look, but eventually sighed.

“Very well. I will give you three hundred men and sufficient provisions to fill fifty ships. I expect you to provide for my son and guard his safety with your own life as you have sworn. You 383

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will return him to me the moment I ask for him. And on those conditions alone, you may have him for a brief while.” Joy shone from Henry’s eyes as he uttered a whoop of triumph, and immediately dashed off to tell his brothers that he was going to claim his kingdom.

Robert’s face sagged with relief. “Thank you,” he said. “You have made the right decision.”

“I hope so,” Geoffrey said grimly. He was far from relieved himself because he knew that, even with the most rigorous safeguards, England was a dangerous, difficult place and Robert could not protect Henry from everything, and that began with the sea crossing. It only took one mistake from the helmsman and one rogue wave. What really made his heart sink, though, was knowing how much he was going to miss the daily presence of this bright, vibrant child, who lit his world like the sun.

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