Fifty-two
The English Channel, March 1147
G ripping a halyard and leaning forward, the wind ruffling his copper-gold hair, Henry watched the English coastline grow out of the haze and take on solid shape and knew it was a portent, because this land would one day be his. The sea slapping against the strakes of the ship was a choppy grey edged with whitecaps, and reflected the state of the sky, and the wind was so raw that his face was numb, but he was exhilarated, both by what lay on the horizon and by the sound of the soldier’s banter behind him on the ship. He was bound for England with a small band of mercenaries. He had no ready money to pay them beyond a few coins and jewels of his own that he had scraped together, but had promised them rich pickings when they arrived.
He was a week short of his fourteenth birthday, but he knew he was a man. Indeed, boyhood had always been a trial because he had never seen himself as a child and hated it when others did.
He had organised this mission without parental knowledge or consent, but he intended to show them that he was a contender now, and could do his part. Besides, he was needed in England.
King Stephen had the upper hand and that had to change. He had to prove he was a leader of men and show the barons he was England’s rightful king, especially as Stephen was attempting to have his own son Eustace crowned to succeed to the throne.
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Thus far Rome and the archbishop of Canterbury were resisting, but Henry knew he had to make himself the only choice. He was not simply undertaking this voyage to stir up trouble with armed conflict. He intended taking a diplomatic approach too because a king had to be able to negotiate, as well as fight.
Gulls circled over the ship, crying their message of approaching land, and two fishing boats were casting their nets a little off the steerboard side of the bows. Very soon the news of his landing would be spreading like wildfire. Henry smiled a little and pinched his upper lip, where a soft coppery moustache was beginning to grow in. His first intent was to spread rumours, and watch them grow in the telling. Thus could fifty men become five hundred, or even five thousand.
ttt
Will knelt in Arundel’s chapel and prayed for the safe deliver-ance of Adeliza and their unborn child. The midwives had been with her all night and into this blustery March morning with rain spattering in the wind. She had not fared well while carrying, and except for the round swell of her womb and her engorged breasts, she was skin and bone, with exhaustion-shadowed eyes. Pressing his clasped hands to his forehead, he swore to God that if she survived this birthing, he would not seek her bed again, no matter how much she entreated him, or how much he desired her, because her safety and well-being far outweighed a few moments of intimacy, physical pleasure, and her driving need to prove she was fruitful.
When eventually he made to rise from his knees, the pain and stiffness was so great that he could scarcely move. He walked slowly round the chapel, easing feeling and movement back into his limbs, and then went to the door. Outside, the children were playing tag, their voices bright and eager. Wilkin, his light brown curls tamed by a recent haircut, was ducking and twisting as Adelis sped after him, her skirts kilted up like a peasant’s. She 448
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was as fast and lithe as a boy, with vibrant, delicate features.
Godfrey danced after them, shorter-legged but determined, and three-year-old Reiner ran along last, happy to be shouting and using his little legs, but not really involved in the game. Their youngest sister, Agatha, aged twenty-two months, and conceived on their visit to Rising, was asleep on a cushion, being watched over by her nurse. Will swallowed. Each of his sons and daughters was a precious gift. He thanked God for their lives and their good health, because he knew how precarious both could be.
Not many families went unmarked by the loss of a child, or of a woman in childbirth. He and Adeliza had been blessed five times already and he was afraid that such grace was running out.
Glancing beyond his playing offspring, he saw Juliana coming towards him, and his stomach knotted. She had been bringing him reports throughout the morning and they had not been particularly encouraging. The baby was big, and Adeliza was struggling. Juliana’s face was pale and serious and he did not want to hear what she had to say.
“Sire, the countess has been safely delivered of a son,” she announced.
He stepped sideways so that he had the support of the wall at his back because he was shaking. “You speak truly? Adeliza…
is she…?”
“She is weak, sire, and very tired, but God willing she will recover. The infant is strong and lusty.” She gave him the ghost of a smile.
“Praise God.” He had to pinch tears of relief from his eyes.
Juliana curtseyed and returned to her duties. Drawing himself together, Will cuffed his eyes and summoned the children from their game to tell them that their mama had given them another brother. With the nurses in tow, he brought them to the chapel to light candles in gratitude for Adeliza’s life, and that of their new sibling.
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Later, alone, Will climbed the stairs to the confinement chamber, hesitated outside, then, taking a deep breath, went in. Adeliza was lying in bed, propped up on numerous pillows.
Her hair, stranded with grey, lay on her breast in a single braid, bound with a purple ribbon. She was awake, but her face was white and exhausted. The baby lay in a crib beside her, swaddled and sleeping. Gingerly, Will leaned over to kiss her.
“I was worried about you,” he said gruffly.
“God and Saint Margaret saw me through,” she said with a faint smile.”
“Perhaps, but we should have no more.”
“When I wed you, I thought I might not bear any at all,” she whispered.
He picked up her hand to kiss the wedding ring he had set there. “I never doubted you would.”
“I would not deny any of them their lives. They are God’s gift.” She directed his attention to the cradle. “I want him to be named Henry.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Henry,” he said flatly.
“To honour my first husband, and be insurance for the future,” she said. “Stephen cannot object because it is the name of his uncle and his brother, and fitting…and it is what I want.” Fatigued, she lay back against the bolsters.
His expression softened. “As you wish.” He leaned over the cradle to touch the baby’s cheek. “I will attend to his baptism tomorrow. I…” He raised his head and looked towards the door where Juliana was conducting an urgent whispered conversation with Adeliza’s brother.
“Joscelin?” Adeliza struggled upright again. “What is it?” Juliana stepped aside and he entered the chamber, his expression sombre. “I do not want to trouble you,” he said. “I will talk to my lord outside.”
Will started to rise.
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“No,” Adeliza lifted her hand. “If the matter is urgent enough to bring you to my confinement chamber, I will hear what you have to say. I will only fret more if something is wrong and you will not tell me.”
Joscelin grimaced. “Henry FitzEmpress has landed a large invasion force of ships and men at Wareham.” Adeliza gasped.
“What?” Will stared at him. “Who told you that?”
“A horse-trader. He says he heard it from a customer who saw them disembarking. One of them made a point of telling him they were here in full force and would be needing good mounts.”
“Who is leading them?” Will demanded. “Surely not the Count of Anjou?”
Joscelin shook his head. “No, Henry FitzEmpress, as I told you.”
“But he’s barely fourteen years old!”
“That is all I have heard. If it is true, the king will be calling for support.” Joscelin turned to the bed and opened his hands.
“I am sorry.”
“It is a good thing our son is being named Henry,” Adeliza said faintly.
Will grunted. “Whether he’s arrived at the head of an invasion fleet or not, it means nothing. No one is going to heed a boy. I doubt he has that many with him. To entrust an entire expedition to a child is madness and whatever Geoffrey of Anjou may be, he is not mad.” He gestured. “I cannot see hordes of seasoned fighting men flocking to a boy’s banner—
nor to his mother’s. In the end it will make no difference save to cause more destruction.”
“It will make a difference because he is here,” Adeliza contradicted, summoning her strength. “He is but fourteen as you say, and Stephen is forty years older. Experience may hold the day for now, but youth will eventually triumph, so who 451
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truly has the advantage in this?” The men looked at her, plainly startled. “You may not agree with me,” she said as she closed her eyes, “but you should consider.” ttt
Matilda watched her brother pace her chamber at Devizes Castle, his temper evident in his hard footfall and the deep frown lines scored between his brows.
“Henry is a young fool,” he growled. “No good can come of this idiotic scheme.”
“Indeed, but he has shown initiative and courage,” Matilda defended her son. News had arrived of Henry’s “fleet” landing at Wareham, from where he had marched inland and made an attempt on a castle at Purton and been beaten off by the garrison. She was anxious and cross, but unlike Robert she was also proud and amused by her eldest son’s escapade. He had energy and daring.
“He is a danger to himself and others. If he comes to grief, then what of our future plans? What does it say to the opposition when they see his inept attempts at warfare?” Robert snapped. “They must be laughing up their sleeves.”
“Or they may be watching with interest. Robert, he is born of lions. Do not expect him to be a mouse.”
“I do not.” He shot her an angry look. “I saw to his tutoring and training when he was here before. I know his abilities, but I also know that he wants to run before he can walk. We cannot condone this!”
“It concerns me as much as it does you,” she retorted.
“But it is not a disaster, and you should not act as if it were.” She frowned at him. His second son Philip had recently let him down. The young man had been forced to surrender the strategic keep of Farndon of which he was constable, which had caused the first rift between father and son. Following a fierce argument, Philip had gone over to Stephen, and then 452
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abandoned everything to go on crusade. She knew Robert had been deeply upset by his son’s actions, and his health and his temper had suffered as a result.
“Do you think his father had a hand in this?” Matilda gave a vehement shake of her head. “Geoffrey would never allow Henry to do something so foolhardy.” She felt slightly sick as she thought that at Henry’s age, Geoffrey had been preparing for his betrothal to her. Where did the child end and the man begin?
“He has to be reined in and shown that we will not tolerate such recklessness. He cannot stay here in England. We do not have enough resources to support ourselves, let alone provide him with protection and a household.” Robert’s voice rose a notch. “Who is paying for the soldiers he has brought with him, if you say Geoffrey has no notion?”
“He is bound to come to Devizes,” she said, “and we will speak to him then.”
ttt
The next morning she sat in the window embrasure in her chamber, reading various pieces of correspondence. As yet there was no more news of Henry’s exploits. A letter had come from Adeliza saying she had been safely delivered of a son named Henry in memory of a glorious king and in salute to another who would surely follow in his grandfather’s footsteps.
That made Matilda smile but saddened her too. It was eight years since she had seen Adeliza, and of the six children, only the first had been born. Letters, while they warmed the soul, only served to point up the long separation.
She was pondering what to send as a christening gift when her chamberlain, Humphrey de Bohun, interrupted her.
“Domina, the lord Henry and his men have ridden in with the marshal.”
She was immediately filled with relief and apprehension.
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What was Henry doing in the company of her marshal?
“Very well,” she said in a neutral tone. “Put him in the solar and tell him I will be with him soon, but bring the marshal to me first.”
While she straightened her gown and added a few rings to her fingers, she considered what she was going to say.
Her marshal John FitzGilbert was swift to arrive, rapping briskly on the door with his rod of office and entering with a decisive tread. As always his manner was controlled and courtly, but she could sense an atmosphere around him—a simmer of anger like a heat haze on a hot day.
“I am told you rode in with my son,” she said.
He fixed her with a hard stare from his undamaged eye.
“Domina, I discovered him fleeing an unsuccessful attempt to take the castle at Cricklade, using my equipment and horses, purloined from my keep at Marlborough in my absence.” He spoke with clipped control. “I thought it best to escort him here where he would be less of a danger to all, including himself.” Matilda could now understand the reason for her marshal’s anger if Henry had been helping himself to his equipment behind his back.
“Cricklade,” she said.
“Apparently Purton was a similar disaster.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said sharply. “I am aware.”
“His mercenaries are mostly untried youths and men down on their luck. I am astonished they have come so far with so few injuries.”
The word “injuries” made her recoil. “The lord Henry?”
“Domina, he is well and in good spirits.” There was an irritated edge to her marshal’s voice. He shook his head. “He is courageous but foolhardy.”
“You are a man of similar traits yourself,” she said.
“Ah no, domina.” He gave her an astute look. “I always 454
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know the odds and I wager accordingly. What may look foolhardy to others has only been my road when I have had no alternative. I always weigh the odds.”
“Sometimes you have to take a road even when the odds are against you.”
“Indeed, but never without being aware of where you might tread.”
“My son knows his destiny,” she snapped. “He will be king.” He bowed to her, the hint of a dour smile on his lips.
“Indeed,” he said. “I believe he will.” Her marshal dismissed, Matilda heaved a sigh and went to talk to her scapegrace golden son. Entering the solar attached to the hall she found him pacing the room like a caged lion and stopped in shock. In her mind’s eye, she had been seeing the image of the toothy eleven-year-old to whom she had bidden farewell three years ago, but here was an adolescent on the cusp of manhood. He had a fledgling coppery beard and his limbs had lengthened and grown strong. He was as tall as her and he had his grandfather’s eyes, clear grey with a flash of Geoffrey’s aquamarine in their depths. She could feel the energy whirling around him like a fresh breeze. His cloak was pinned high on his shoulder with a round gold brooch and he wore a sword at his hip, even though he was not yet knighted.
“Henry,” she said as she came towards him, and the word held pride, censure, and affection all at once.
“My lady mother.” He knelt to her and bowed his head.
The copper-gold tangle of his hair filled her with a surge of tenderness. She stooped to give him a formal kiss of peace, then drew him to his feet and embraced him with joy. She knew she should be furious, but that was not the emotion uppermost.
Taking his arm she led him to the embrasure so she could see him properly. “You are almost a man.” Henry’s chest expanded. “I am a man,” he replied with a 455
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spark of indignation that he should be thought anything else.
“And I am here to fight for my kingdom.”
“So I am told.”
He eyed her through his thick sandy lashes. “I would have taken Purton and Cricklade if I had had the resources. With the right men and money, I could make a big difference.”
“Men and money.” She gave a bitter laugh. “So could I, so could your uncle Robert, but we struggle for every penny.
What does your father say about this?” His complexion darkened. “He refused to give me aid and said I was not to go, so I raised everything myself.”
“So you disobeyed him? Do you not have responsibilities in Normandy and Anjou?”
“They do not need help as England does,” he said tersely.
“My father will understand when I tell him.” She raised her brows at that. She suspected Geoffrey would be less than sanguine. “And Cricklade and Purton are your notion of helping?”
He bunched his fists. “If I had been properly equipped, I could have taken them easily.”
The conversation had gone round in a circle. She was elated to see him but he could not stay, and in truth what he had done was rash and dangerous. “If the only money you have is that which you raised yourself, how are you going to pay your men?”
“I have brought them to you so you can use them under my command.” He set his shoulders defensively. “I did not need the marshal’s safe conduct here.”
“He seems to think you owe him horses and equipment.” His eyes flashed with anger and irritation. “I want to help.
Doesn’t anyone understand?”
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of this. I cannot afford to pay for your men, or to set you up here, because you will have to be protected and given the means to live, and I do not have those means. You are creating difficulties for all of us. When you went back to Normandy, it was to finish your education and training and to be kept safe until the time was right.”
“I did not think I would have a kingdom left to claim by then,” he retorted. “I had to do something. By the time I am old enough by years of reckoning, it will be too late. I am old enough now.” Matilda reined in her anger and, sighing, went to sit down on a window seat. “I am glad to see you,” she said, rubbing her forehead, “even if I am angry too. You fill my heart with joy, but you cannot stay; you must see that. I have no money to pay for your men, and whether you think you are old enough or not, you are not ready.”
He gave her a long look and it jolted her to see the temper in his eyes; but beyond that temper lay a shrewd and determined mind. He might not have the maturity of experience yet, he might have made mistakes in his eagerness and impatience, but he was right. He was no child. “If I do return to Normandy,” he said, “that would be expensive as well.” She rubbed her brow “How much?”
“I owe each man a shilling a day for following me, and their provender and expenses. We’d have to hire the ships to take us back too.”
She made the calculations in her head. It was far more than she could afford without compromising her own people; it would be a huge drain on her resources and a total waste. “I cannot afford that kind of sum,” she said.
He set his jaw. “My uncle Robert could.”
“And he would have to take money out of another pot to do so. Ask him if you wish, but I can tell you what his answer will be. He is already heartsick over the defiance of his own 457
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son and he has no time for young men’s rebellions.” She took his slender young hands in hers, unmarked by years, not yet toughened by fighting. His narrow wrists were dappled with freckles and gilded with fine hairs. “Take your men home and ask your father to pay, and while you are about it, ask him to send me more money too, because I am in sore need.” His expression became set and still.
Geoffrey was going to be furious with him, she thought, but that was the price paid for disobedience. “Every action has consequences,” she said, “and you must learn to deal with them and think everything through.”
“Did you do that at Westminster, Mama?” he challenged.
“I am giving you the benefit of my wisdom in hindsight.
Learn from your own mistakes and those of others. Sometimes the lessons are harsh indeed—as I have cause to know, and you are finding out.”
He narrowed his eyes. Then he fixed her again with that knowing, calculating look. “I have been rash,” he admitted. “I have some thinking to do.”
Matilda received the impression that Henry had indeed absorbed a lesson from their conversation, but she was not entirely sure it was the one she intended. The look on his face was determined and wilful rather than contrite.
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Fifty-three
March 1147
W ill was playing dice with Stephen, Robert de Beaumont, Earl of Leicester, and William Martel the steward. Outside a dark March day was drawing towards dusk and servants were lighting fresh candles and refilling the oil lamps. The shutters were latched against the bitter weather and the old man who tended the fire for a wage of four pence a day was keeping it well stoked with logs and charcoal. The venison stew and force-meats, the fruits in honey and spices, had left everyone feeling warm and befuddled. Stephen was in a genial, expansive mood.
The threat from Normandy had proven to be so much piss in the wind, and there had been no sign of the Angevin lordling or his rabble since they had been put to flight at Purton and Cricklade.
Will threw a pair of sixes and, with a triumphant laugh, scooped up the pile of silver in the middle of the table.
“Will that be enough to build some more fancy latrines?” jibed Leicester. Everyone had been highly amused by the refinements Will was building at Rising.
“You are just jealous,” Will said equably. “Or your wife is.” Leicester rolled his eyes. “I dare not tell her, or else we would be inundated with the things. Thank Christ you have built your little folly off the beaten track, D’Albini. At least she won’t come visiting and covet everything she sees.” LadyofEnglish.indd 459
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Will shrugged. “It is my haven,” he said. “Somewhere I can create a thing of beauty to honour my wife, and not be disturbed.”
“How is your lady?” Stephen asked.
Will was silent for a moment and Stephen’s look sharpened.
“She is but recently out of confinement,” he said. He was worried about Adeliza because she had still been very fragile when he left to come to court.
“You have named the boy Henry have you not?” Will reddened. “It was my lady’s choice, for the king her first husband.”
“Of course,” Stephen said blandly and picked up the dice.
“Another game?”
An usher entered the chamber and hurried over to the gaming table. Bending to the king, he murmured in his ear.
Stephen’s gaze widened. Then he gave a short bark of laughter. “Bring him,” he said. As the usher departed, Stephen looked round at his companions. “Well, when I said another game, I did not quite have this in mind, but it seems that my nephew of Anjou is here to pay his respects.” They all stared at him in shocked surprise, but Stephen was still chuckling. “I will say this for him, the lad has nerve, even if he is a fool.”
Moments later the usher returned, leading a handsome red-haired youth. He was not as tall as the usher, but his physique was robust and he had presence. He wore serviceable travel clothes without embellishment: a thick winter cloak and a quilted gambeson over the top of a fine but plain tunic, and stout hunting boots rising to mid-calf. To look at him, Will would have guessed he was well to do, but there was nothing regal about him. His expression was open, with a slight curve to his lips, and there was not an iota of tension in the language of his body or the set of his jaw.
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“Dear God, he looks like the Angevin but without the gilding,” William Martel muttered into his chest.
“He also resembles his grandsire, the empress’s father,” Will said. Despite Stephen’s remark, he did not think this young man was a fool at all. Indeed, he thought it might just be the other way around.
“Sire.” Henry went down on one knee to Stephen and bent his head. “My lord uncle,” he said in a light, adolescent voice.
Stephen cleared his throat. “Nephew,” he responded. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Henry gave them all a smile as bright as the sun. “I thought to pay my respects before I returned home,” he said. “I have only ever been told my mother’s side of matters and my uncle Robert’s, and I want to find out for myself.”
“Is that so?” Stephen said, but his lips were twitching.
Will was amused too, and taken aback at the youth’s daring in walking into the lion’s den. It was a rash move, but not without its merits. Will found himself approving of the youngster, even while he should have been appalled. It was good news that he was leaving, but the motive for being here, spoken with such an open, smiling countenance, was perhaps suspect.
“And what makes you think you will return home?” Stephen asked, but cleared a space at the trestle for Henry to sit. “Why should I not take you prisoner or dispose of you now that you have put yourself in my power?”
“Because I am your nephew and your guest and the rules of hospitality are sacred,” Henry said. “Because I have come under a flag of truce to talk.”
Stephen raised his eyebrows. “To talk about what?” Henry shrugged. “You have only heard rumours about me from my own side. Perhaps you want to find out about me too.
If I were you, I would.”
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“Perhaps Cricklade and Purton speak for themselves,” Stephen said mockingly.
“That was folly; I realise that now. I should not have attacked them.”
A servant arrived with food and drink for the “guest” and Henry set to with an adolescent’s hunger and a complete lack of self-consciousness.
“Is this to spite your mother?” Stephen asked. “Or perhaps to make her pay attention to you?”
“Not at all,” Henry said between rotations of his jaw. “She will be vexed when she hears about this, but I do my best to fulfil my duty towards her.” He paused and rested his knife against the side of his dish. “And anyway, she is right; I should leave England.”
ttt
Henry displayed no inclination to leave straight away, however.
Indeed, he settled his feet under Stephen’s table, making himself agreeable and amenable to all. He took part in the roistering of the court at night with a ribald, masculine sense of humour that everyone appreciated, including Stephen, who rose to the challenge. Henry undertook wrestling matches with the older squires and displayed tremendous aptitude and skill.
He conversed with the barons and chaplains, revealing the depth of his education and intelligence. He even proved an adept dancer.
Will wondered what Matilda had thought of his relaxed ways and mannerisms, the direct opposite of her stiff regard for propriety. Henry would sit on a stool, knees apart, cup dangling between them, and talk as easily to the pot boy as he did to the king. Henry had his own opinions but was eager to listen and learn, being deferential without ever losing face. And always the big smile and the constant energy. He sustained himself on very little sleep and wore everyone out. He would ride out for 462
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a day’s hunting and still be fresh at the end of it despite many rigorous hours in the saddle. Beside him, Stephen’s own swift energy appeared as a diminished trickle dwarfed by a strong silver waterfall.
On the third evening of his visit, Henry sat down in a window embrasure with Will to play chess. “How is my grandmother the queen?” he asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“She is well,” Will replied, not seeing any need to discuss Adeliza’s fragile health.
“And all my little uncles and aunts?” Will grunted with amusement. “All are thriving,” he said.
“Your youngest uncle was born just a few weeks ago on the feast of Saint Agatha.”
Henry smiled and then said, “And your castles? I understand you have at least two projects under construction.” He flashed a grin. “I even heard something about the latrines at one of them.” Will sighed with exasperation. “Who has not heard and mocked?” he asked, but under the influence of good wine and the youth’s genuine interest in the castle buildings, he told Henry not only about Rising, but also discussed the fortress he was building at Buckenham on a more suitable site than the former one, which he had donated to the Benedictine Order as land for a priory. The new castle was a circular shell keep, set on a high mound with walls eleven feet thick. As with Rising, Will was in the process of building a village too and encouraging people to settle and work. Already there was a tannery on the outskirts of the fledgling plots.
Henry listened and absorbed everything like a sponge.
“Are you not afraid that what you are building up will all be destroyed?” he asked.
“Indeed I am,” Will replied, “but if I did not build and have faith in God’s protection, what would remain? Rising is a palace 463
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to honour my wife, not a great fortress, so there is no reason for anyone to attack it, and the new keep at Buckenham poses no threat because it is purely for defence.” He gave Henry a severe look. “All of my castles exist to defend my territory, not as bases to steal or encroach on other men’s. Disputes have never been at my instigation. I serve the king because I am his sworn vassal and I will never go back on my word.”
“But what of the future, my lord?” Henry said. “To whom will your own sons swear their oaths of allegiance?”
“I do not think this is a matter for discussion here,” Will said curtly. “It is not something to be decided over a game of chess.”
“Oh, but it is a game of chess,” Henry said with one of his disarming smiles, “and we are both players.” Will gave him a dark look. “If you take my advice, you will be careful to whom you say such things.”
“I intend to be very careful indeed,” Henry replied with a glint in his eyes that left Will feeling uneasy. The youth had run rings around him but he was not quite certain how.
ttt
The following day, Henry left Stephen’s court, laden with gifts of horses and supplies. Stephen had given him silver for his expenses and paid off the mercenaries in his employ. Many of Stephen’s barons had raised their eyebrows at such leniency and largesse. Some had muttered that it was like the time the empress had landed at Arundel all over again, but Stephen shrugged them off, saying he could not imprison the youth without risking an attack from Anjou and Normandy, and it was too dangerous to keep him here. People might start believing that Stephen was going to accept him as his heir.
Will considered these points as he counted the loss of the ten marks and a packhorse that had been his own contribution to the young Henry’s departure. Everyone had been told by 464
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Stephen to donate towards the youth’s leave-taking so that the royal coffers did not have to stand the entire sum. Will suspected that the damage was done. Men had had a chance to assess the empress’s son and had been impressed by his calibre. Stephen’s own son Eustace had no such charisma to call upon; he was an ordinary youth of small talent, whereas Henry’s personality blazed as brightly as his hair. Stephen was trying to have Rome acknowledge Eustace as the heir to England, but the pope was turning a deaf ear, as was the archbishop of Canterbury. No one here was going to desert Stephen; they had been with him for too long; but many had been given food for thought concerning the succession. Will wagered that the conversation he had held with Henry over the chessboard had been repeated many times throughout the ranks of Stephen’s barons.
“It is suddenly very quiet, isn’t it, Will?” said Robert, Earl of Leicester, joining him in the stable yard, where he was looking at the empty stalls left by the animals Henry had taken with him.
Will glanced at Leicester, whose brother Waleran de Meulan now served the Angevin cause in Normandy. “Stephen is certainly relieved.”
Leicester smiled. “I think we all are, but a little flat too—if anyone dared admit as much.” He approached a bay stallion tethered outside while the groom mucked out its stall. “So what do you think?” he asked, running his hand down the animal’s neck.
“About the horse? A fine beast.”
“Oh come.” Leicester gave him a sharp look. “Do not play the wide-eyed fool with me, D’Albini. Neither of us is going to desert Stephen, but it will not be long until that boy is a man in body as well as in mind. How many here are likely to follow Stephen’s heir, and how many that red-haired youngster, if it comes to the crux?”
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Will made a face. “It is a great pity all this could not have been settled ten years ago without a war.”
“In hindsight yes, but not at the time,” Leicester said. “We were not to know what the empress’s son would become, nor Eustace. Now we have been given a chance to judge.” He gave Will an astute look. “Henry FitzEmpress knew exactly what he was doing when he turned up here. However disastrously his escapade in England might have begun, he has turned it to his advantage. How many others here are having the same discussion as us in quiet corners? The time is not right even now, but it is coming, and it is our duty not to squander it—for all our sakes.” ttt
Matilda bit her lip as the messenger bowed from the room. She did not know whether to laugh or be appalled that Henry had gone to Stephen to ask for the money to return home.
“It is audacious, you must admit,” she said to Robert, who had received the news in stony silence.
“That is one way of putting things,” he growled. “You might as easily say foolish and wilful. What if Stephen had cast him in prison? What if he had been killed? This has been a hare-brained enterprise from beginning to end.” Matilda tapped her forefinger against her chin. “At the outset it was, I agree with you, but now he has been able to infiltrate Stephen’s camp more deeply than we ever could even with the most accomplished of spies.”
“And what sort of impression do you think Stephen’s barons have garnered?” Robert said with a jaundiced curl of his lip.
“They will have seen his daring and initiative—that he was able to persuade funds out of Stephen.”
“That would not be difficult. Look at the way Stephen drained your father’s treasury in the early days.”
“Yes, but his men will view it as a further example of his weakness, not largesse. By believing he is ridding himself of a 466
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bothersome gnat while showing magnanimous scorn, he has misread the situation.”
“Then let us hope you have not,” Robert said, then heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know Henry’s presence has put new heart into our men, but he is not ready for full command.” He gave her an exhausted look. “You may believe me to be hostile towards him, but in truth I am not.
I will welcome the day when he is old enough to take this burden from my shoulders.”
“I know you are not hostile.” She came to embrace him, worried by how grey he looked. “I welcome it too. When I hold the imperial crown between my hands, it is Henry I see wearing it. But I am still the bearer and the custodian, and it is because of that duty I must carry on. It is like finding the final scraping in the bottom of the barrel when you thought there was nothing left.”
“Yes,” Robert said wearily. “The final scraping.” 467
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Fifty-four
Devizes, November 1147
Brian rode into Devizes, his stomach churning and his lips pressed tightly together. Twice on the journey from Wallingford he had had to dismount and vomit at the roadside.
He felt as if he was losing himself and becoming his own shadow. Matilda’s people watched him ride by, their faces filled with trepidation before they looked at the ground or away. In a few eyes he saw sparks of relief, and turned away in shame, because he was here to add to the burden, not relieve it.
In the castle bailey, the grooms greeted him with mumbled words. The few people about hurried to cross the open ground and avoid the blustery spatters of rain. Brian dismounted from Sable and watched the old horse being led away to a straw-filled stall. He was showing his years, his muzzle silvering and his once broad rump beginning to resemble the bony rear end of a cow. After this, they had one more long ride to make, and then their journey was done.
In the hall, William Giffard, Matilda’s chancellor, was working at a lectern by the light from a window. A brazier stood nearby, the heat keeping his writing hand warm. When he saw Brian, he stared through him for a moment, before recognition dawned. “Sire, I did not know you.” Hastily he rose and bowed his tonsured head.
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“Well, that is no surprise, because I do not know myself either these days,” Brian said heavily. “I am here to see the empress.” Giffard gave him a pained look. “Since we heard the news about the Earl of Gloucester, she has kept to her chamber except to go to church. She has taken his loss very hard indeed.”
“It is a grief to us all.” Brian signed his breast, but the gesture felt empty, because he was empty. “Will you at least tell her I am here?”
Giffard swiftly set his quill back in the ink well. “Indeed, sire,” he said. “I will bring you to her. She may even talk to you as she has not done to others.” He led Brian up a twist of stairs, along a gallery, and rapped on a closed oak door with his chancellor’s staff of office.
“Domina,” he called out, “my lord FitzCount is here.” There was a long silence. Giffard looked at Brian and shook his head. Brian took the rod from him and banged on the door again with the brass knurl on the end. “Domina, I must speak with you and I would rather not shout my business through four inches of oak.”
Giffard raised his brows but said nothing. There was another long silence. Brian leaned his head against the door and closed his eyes. “I am prepared to wait all day and night.”
“Sire, you cannot stay here,” Giffard said reluctantly.
Brian rounded on him. “Then fetch soldiers and have me dragged away, because I will not leave of my own accord. Do you think I mean harm to the empress after all I have done?”
“No, sire, but…”
The door opened and Uli stood to one side of it. She silently beckoned him into the chamber. Brian thrust the rod into Giffard’s hands, turned, and stepped over the threshold.
Matilda was standing in the middle of the room, isolated like a lone tree. She was wearing one of her German court robes and everything was bound up and stiff and overlaid by jewels.
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Her face was tight, her skin grey as stone, so she might almost have been her own effigy. She fixed him with an empty stare.
“Robert is dead,” she said in a distant voice. “How can that be?
Why isn’t Stephen dead instead? Why not me?” Brian swallowed, feeling the sickness rise in him again. He wanted to embrace her, but feared she would push him away as she pushed everyone. And he would deserve it. Her knight Drogo had once said to him that she had a hard exterior sheltering softness within, but no one would ever knew how soft, because she refused to let anyone close enough to find out. His voice emerged as a hoarse croak. “It is the will of God you should live, domina. I too would more than gladly have taken his place.”
“And why was it God’s will that he should die?” Her chin trembled. “When last I saw him he was tired, as we all are, but still whole and strong, so I thought. To die of a congestion…I thought I would see him again and we would be together for our brother’s anniversary and that of our father. He was supposed to be here to help and guide Henry and be his backbone…as he was mine. What am I going to do now he is gone?” A shudder ran through Brian and he was suddenly riddled with guilt. What if she asked him to be her backbone when he did not have one himself?
“I brought him to this by relying on him,” she said. “I should have seen beyond my own cares and known he was unwell, and now it is too late to do anything but say ‘should have.’” She pressed her palm across her mouth.
“Don’t,” Brian said. “It was his cause too. He was never going to rest while Stephen was on the throne.”
“I will have to be Robert now, as well as myself, but how, when he was the better part? No one can take his place. Those who remain with me were already here when he was, so how can we make up for what is gone?” She made a soft, anguished sound.
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He came to her and set his arms lightly around her and for a moment she laid her head on his breast and they stood as close as lovers. Brian’s grief deepened. He ached beyond belief with emotion for her, but it was part of a much greater pain. “I do not know what to tell you.”
“And you were always so good with words.” Her voice was brittle. “Have you none for me now?”
“They are all ashes in the wind,” he said hoarsely. “I burned them as you bade me—all the ones that mattered anyway.” She drew back to look at him, then her gaze dropped to the base of his neck and sharpened with concern. She reached to touch his throat and he felt her cool fingers burn on the sores there before he could pull away.
“Dear Jesu, Brian, a hair shirt!” Her eyes filled with shock.
“It is between my conscience and God,” he said tautly, “and no concern of anyone else’s. Not even you.”
“How long have you been wearing this?”
“Does it matter?” Leaving her, he went to the open window and stood in the cold draught. “It helps me stay sane,” he said bleakly. “Sometimes I think the dark thoughts in my head will send me mad, but this keeps them at bay—after a fashion.
While I have torment of the flesh, it lessens the torment of the mind.”
She had suspected for a while that something was wrong, but his words alarmed her, as did his appearance. This was not the vigorous, bright-eyed man who had met her on the road when she returned from Germany and raised a tent on a windy night.
He said, “When I was a little boy in Brittany, I had the freedom to run wild. Then my father arranged for me to be raised at the English court by your sire. It would be a fine opportunity, he said. I would be educated and trained and if I worked hard, I might one day be a great and important lord. I wanted to please him and I wanted to learn; I was always eager 471
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then for new experiences. I loved my lessons and I loved your brother. I was even fond of Stephen then, when we sat drinking wine on long summer evenings and dreaming of our futures—
of what we would become.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “I do not think any of us imagined it would come to this, not even Stephen.”
“Brian…”
“Is it worth it? Is any of this struggle worth the cost?”
“To do the right thing is never a waste.” Her throat was tight with tears.
“But what is the right thing?” he demanded. “To put a sword through a man because he opposes you? To burn down a village because it lies in your path and its occupants are beholden to another lord? To ignore the screaming women and children as you throw torches into their thatch and put spears through their menfolk? To rob merchant trains because they are on their way to enrich your opponent’s lands?” He raised and lowered both hands in a desperate gesture. “How does that benefit anyone? Does it make God smile? I have done all of those things and more, and my soul is sick.” He turned over his right forearm and looked down at his wrist where the veins stood proud. “I swore to serve you to the last drop of my blood. I know what you think of men who renege on their oaths, and too many have done so…”
He hesitated and she felt a tightening of dread in her solar plexus. “And you are about to renege on yours? Is that what you have come to tell me?”
He shook his head. “No, domina. I will serve you for as long as you desire.”
She did not want to see the desperate, hollow exhaustion in his eyes and turned away, rubbing her arms. She was so cold.
“Then I have things to tell you also,” she said. “The bishop of Salisbury is still badgering me to return Devizes to the see. I 472
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have promised him compensation and told him I will give the castle to him as soon as I am able.”
“You are surely not handing it over…” She heard the ghost of the old Brian suddenly thread through his voice.
“Not in the near future, of course not, but I have to show I am willing to conciliate. I cannot dislodge Stephen from my throne; I no longer have the men or the commanders to do so. If I could not accomplish it with Robert, then how am I to do it without? Even keeping a stalemate is hard. I must hold fast until Henry is old enough, and that means fostering strong relations with the Church—other than that snake the bishop of Winchester.” Her lip curled as she spoke of him. “Theobald of Canterbury is not inclined to crown Stephen’s son as the future king, and I must strengthen and encourage his resistance.
Everyone must look upon Henry as England’s rightful heir.
I have to keep up pressure on Stephen’s lords too. Even if I cannot field an army, I can still undermine his position. It is a different kind of war I am waging now.” She paused to draw a deep breath. Behind her the fire crackled in the hearth and Brian was so silent, she only knew he was there because she could feel him. “My mistakes cost me my crown,” she said, “but even had I been made queen, I would never have been accepted. A woman may be the power behind a man, but she is not allowed to take power for herself.” She turned to look at him. Still clad in his dark travelling cloak, his hood pushed back on his shoulders, he resembled a monk save for the tonsure. “Once I have made arrangements and spoken to all, I am going to Normandy to raise support. I am not leaving the fray, but the military side must be overseen by someone else. Henry is almost ready and I can do no more here. I have been thinking about it for a while, and now, with Robert’s death, it is time to let go of the rope and grasp it again in a new place.” As she spoke of rope, she thought of 473
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her escape from Oxford in the snowy night. That had been a triumph wrung out of a disaster. She was swinging on that rope in the darkness now, afraid but still defiant and resolute. Brian’s expression was unfathomable—or perhaps stupefied. “Have you nothing to say?”
“I thought you might ask me to take up the yoke of command,” he confessed, looking at her and away again. “I would have done so because I have made a promise, but I fear I would have failed you.”
“You have never failed me.” She dared not think in that direction, because she would have to confront her own fear that she had let down not only him but also England and her son.
“I beg to differ.”
“The differing is your choice, but I refuse to let you beg.” He swallowed. “Then let me ask you to release me when you sail.”
She stared at him.
“I desire to make my peace with God and retire from the world.” He bowed his head. “As I stand now, I cannot go before my maker on Judgement Day and expect His mercy. I have no heirs. My wife intends entering the nunnery at Bec.
William Boterel will serve at Wallingford as he always has done.
Nothing will change there.”
“Where will you go?” She felt numb.
“Your uncle David has granted Reading Abbey the Isle of May in return for prayers and attending to pilgrims who come to worship at Saint Adrian’s shrine. I shall go there and live out whatever time is left to me in God’s service.”
“And you will take vows?”
“If I am deemed worthy…and if you will release me.”
“What use will you be to me if I do refuse?” she said with a break in her voice.
“No one rides a lame horse,” he agreed.
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Going to him, she took his hands in hers and turned them over. “Then go with my blessing when it is time, and commend me in your prayers, and ask God’s grace that my son become king…” Her voice shook. “And write to me. I want to think of you with ink-stained fingers.”
“But not putting up a tent.”
It was meant to lighten the moment and make her smile, but her eyes filled. “You are wrong,” she said. “I shall remember that of you first and always for the rest of my days.” 475
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Fifty-five
Arundel, February 1148
A deliza woke to the sound of soft conversation in her chamber. Beyond the bed curtains pale winter daylight entered the room through the open shutters. A brazier twirled scented smoke towards the ceiling.
She knew she must have slept for a long time, because it had been twilight when she retired exhausted to bed, and now it was plainly morning. She still felt bone-weary—
almost as if she had not slept—but her mouth was dry and her body ached with lying for so long a time. She had experienced bouts of debilitation before, but they had always eased after a short while. This current one, however, showed no sign of ending. It had been two months now, and was growing worse.
“Is there nothing you can do?” Will was asking on a pleading note.
The reply in a slightly higher tone came from Magister Vital, a physician who had been attending her ever since the lethargy had begun. “Sire, it is a wasting disease of the female embers.
Sometimes the fire dies so low in the body that it cannot sustain the energy needed for life and there is nothing that can be done. I have tried to revive the flame with poultices and bleeding to make the blood rise, but to no avail.” LadyofEnglish.indd 476
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“I refuse to believe there is no cure!” Will hissed. “I will not let this happen!”
“It is God’s will, my lord. It is to Him that you should pray for a miracle. For the rest, she should have a regime of peace and quiet and contemplation, with food rich in hot elements to stimulate her humours. Ask others of my profession if you so desire, but they will give you the same answer.”
“Get out,” Will snarled. “What use are you to me if you do not have the skills to make her better? She is my life!”
“Sire, I wish I could help. She is a great and gentle lady.” Tears seeped from Adeliza’s eye corners and trickled into the pillow. She heard the door close behind Magister Vital.
Breathing raggedly, Will went to the window, pressed his head against the wall, and struck the stone with the side of his clenched fist. “I cannot bear this,” she heard him whisper.
“Why her?”
Beyond the window she could hear their children shouting joyously as they played. The sound of their brightness seemed to come from far away and she knew what she had to do. She had had plenty of time to think of late.
Will sighed and, leaving the window, came to the bed and looked down at her with eyes full of anguish and anger. She returned his gaze.
“I heard,” she said, and her voice was hoarse and dry because she had been asleep for so long. “I cannot bear this either.”
“I will not let you be like this,” he said. Leaning over, he put his arms around her and helped her to sit up against the bolsters.
Her stifled gasp of pain made him tense and draw back. “There has to be a cure.”
She gestured weakly to the flagon at the bedside; he poured her some wine and then helped her to drink.
“Look at you. You are not even strong enough to hold a cup.” She swallowed and felt the liquid warm its way down to 477
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her stomach. “I have asked myself what God is saying to me by visiting this curse upon me,” she whispered. “What does He want me to know? What does He want me to do?” She wrinkled her forehead. “Why is He taking my energy back to him while my body is still here? I will willingly give Him my soul if He asks it.”
He made a sound in his throat. “I do not want to lose you.” Adeliza touched his cheek, feeling the burr of stubble under her fingertips and the warmth of his skin. He was strong, healthy, bursting with life, just like their children.
“This is no good for either of us,” she said. “What kind of a wife am I for you, and what kind of example as a mother to our children? I do not want them to see me like this.”
“I will not have you say such things,” he said fiercely. “You will get better.”
“I have been sick for a long time and I am not improving,” she said, and prayed she would have the strength to fight this through. “I cannot continue as I am. I would be better off elsewhere, so that the part of me that is still whole can do something of benefit.”
“What do you mean ‘elsewhere’?” He eyed her suspiciously.
She closed her eyes. “To the convent at Afflighem,” she said.
“I am still able to pray.”
“No!” He instinctively recoiled because Afflighem was where her kin were buried, and it solidified the notion of losing her. “I will not allow it!”
“Then what will you do, my husband?” She raised her lids again and fixed her gaze on his contorted expression. “Watch me lie here and fade away before your eyes and those of our children day upon day? Let me at least end my time usefully.” He left her side to pace the room, digging his hands through his hair. He felt as if he would burst with pent-up emotion while she lay there like a wan and beautiful effigy. He thought 478
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of the struggle he had had to make her leave Wilton to marry him. Perhaps God had only allotted him this short time and it was at an end like a tree blossoming in springtime and shedding its leaves in autumn.
Her devotional stood under the window with its candles and crosses and one of her crowns: a delicate thing worked in spikes of gold adorned with pearls and small sapphires. Beside it was a jewelled cross he had given her not long after their marriage.
He had been so proud to see her wear it. A beautiful object for a beautiful woman. His wife. His queen. The light of his life.
Now she was asking him to let her go. He curled his fingers into his palm and looked at his clenched knuckles. “Strong Arm,” some called him at court. But what use was such power in the face of this request? Whether he refused or consented, he was going to lose her.
He turned and came back to her, and slowly unfurled his fist into an open hand. “Very well,” he said. “If that be your wish, go to Afflighem. Make your arrangements. We will tell the children that, as a patron, it is your duty to visit the nunnery, and that you are going there for contemplation and prayer. All those things are true, and I would not lie to them.” Her eyes flooded with relief. “It is for the best.”
“Not for my best,” he said. “I am losing the better half of myself.”
“I will just be in a different place, and that is nothing new to our marriage. You are often away at court while I am here.
Now you will be at court, and I will be at Afflighem.”
“But you will not be here waiting for me within riding distance, or sharing my bed and my thoughts, or teaching the children…”
“No.” She looked towards the window and bit her lip.
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task, and I trust you. They have Juliana and Melisande, and their uncle Joscelin. I will not allow them or you to watch me decline further than this.”
He swore under his breath and took her hand, gripping it in his as if he would imbue her with his vitality. He would have drained himself for her, and he felt impotent that he could do nothing.
“Sire.”
He turned at the interruption, ready to bellow at whoever dared disturb them, then bit his tongue as he saw that it was Rothard, Adeliza’s chamberlain, and his expression was wide with concern. “There are heralds at our gate from the empress,” Rothard said. “She requests leave for her and her household to bide here for a night. My lord FitzCount is with her too.” Will drew breath to snarl that he would not countenance having them under his roof, but Adeliza forestalled him, pressing her hand down on his and gathering herself to lift her voice. “Tell them they are welcome,” she said.
Will stared at her in furious astonishment as Rothard departed. “Are you mad? I will not become embroiled again!
Do you want Stephen descending on us with an army? Shall I lose Arundel as well as my wife? Is that what you want?” He made to pull away, but she continued to grip his hand.
“This will be the last opportunity I have to see her,” she said.
“She is not here with an army. This is a personal visit, and one she must have risked much to make, because this is not safe territory. It is not about war and political manoeuvring.”
“You said that nine years ago,” he snapped, “that it was just a visit between kin, and look where it led.”
“That was not the beginning, as well you know. What can she do now? She has no army and Robert is dead, God rest his soul. If you do not want her within the castle, then put me in a litter and I shall go to her. I mean it, husband,” she added 480
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as he began to shake his head. “I may lack the strength, but I certainly have the will. Will you grant me this?” His mouth twisted. “When have I ever refused you?” he said and, turning on his heel, banged out of the room.
Adeliza closed her eyes, summoned what small strength had trickled into her bones from the wine she had drunk, and had Juliana and Melisande help her rise and dress. Her clothes hung on her and the women had to draw the lacings to their tightest to fit her figure. She had them flush her cheeks with a tint of alkanet ointment, and placed a dab on her lips. She drank more wine and managed to eat a crust of bread while the maids put fresh covers on the bed and burned more incense on the braziers to freshen the room.
Then she sent Melisande to organise the kitchens and prepare sleeping space for the guests, and prayed that she could hold herself together for the duration of their visit. Much as she wanted to see Matilda, she hoped her stay was going to be a short one.
ttt
Matilda faced Will in the great hall. Last time they had been in each other’s company was in the snowy courtyard of Abingdon Abbey.
“Domina,” he said with a curt bow. He did not kneel and she let it pass.
“Thank you for opening your gates,” she said, her tone gracious but frigid.
“Do not thank me,” he replied. “I would have refused you, but Adeliza insisted and while I could so easily deny you, I cannot find it within me to deny her.” Matilda gave him a narrow look. “I will not stay long, but in the interests of all she has done for me and meant to me, it would be discourteous of me not to bid farewell.” He whitened and his hazel eyes shone with such antagonism 481
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that Matilda recoiled and Hugh Pluckenett and Brian FitzCount hastened to her side, ready to defend her.
“Tact was never your strong point,” Will said, “but that is crass even for you.”
Matilda gazed at him in affronted amazement. “What is crass about wanting to see Adeliza before I leave for Normandy?” Colour flooded back into his face. “You are leaving? I thought you meant…ah, nothing.” He gestured towards the stairs. “Go, speak with her.”
Matilda stared at him. “Thought I meant what? What is wrong with her? Is she ill? There has been no mention in her letters.”
“She would not make a parade of it for others,” he said, and turned his head, refusing to engage further.
Filled with apprehension, Matilda climbed the stairs to Adeliza’s chamber and found her sitting in a chair by the hearth.
Her cheeks were rosy, but the colour looked painted on and beneath it she was like a wilting flower.
“Forgive me if I do not rise,” Adeliza said, “but you are welcome, whatever impression Will may have given to you in greeting. He is as grumpy as a bear just now.” Matilda hurried over to her and kissed her cheek, and felt the dusting of cosmetic against her lips. “Oh my love, why did you not say you were unwell?”
“What would be the point of telling you about something you could not change?” Adeliza shook her head. “It would only have added to your burdens, but I am truly glad to see you before I leave. I have a letter half written…”
“Before you leave?” Matilda looked at her in surprise. She had come here to say her own farewells, and this reception at Arundel had thrown her off balance. She had prepared herself for many responses, but not this one. Nor had she bargained for finding Adeliza in such a weak physical state.
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she struggled to assimilate the news. “At least there I can pray and be of value, rather than lie here feeling like a useless husk.
Will has accepted my choice, but it is a raw wound for him. I know it is the right thing to do, but he is not yet convinced.” Her voice faltered. “The baby is but a year old. If there was another way, I would take it…”
“Perhaps there is another way. Have you tried—”
“The physicians have done everything they can,” Adeliza said wearily. “Now it is in God’s hands and that is why I must go.”
“When will you leave?”
“As soon as arrangements are made. Will is likely to drag his heels, but I will find the strength to chivvy him.” Matilda shook her head. “I did not realise you were sick. I came to tell you I am returning to Normandy.” Now it was Adeliza’s turn to stare. “Why?”
“I need to raise money and troops. With Robert gone, there is no one to command an army, unless Geoffrey or Henry take on the mantle. Henry is almost of an age to rule. Next month he will be fifteen; that is older than his father was when he married me and became Count of Anjou.”
“It is still perilously young to govern,” Adeliza said with concern.
“I agree, but he has abilities beyond his years, and even if I cannot lead an army, I can still advise him. There are many who will help him in the field, but he will be their uniting emblem.” She looked at Adeliza. “Like you, I have little choice. Henry must come to the fore. I was furious with him when he crossed the Narrow Sea and made that foolish attack on Stephen’s castles, but I was proud too. That was a year ago, and he has grown and matured in that time. He will be king, I know it with all my being. Men such as your husband will support him, where they would not support me. It is not defeat,” she added, setting her jaw. To admit defeat would make this terrible, 483
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bloody war worthless and, at the same time, set its price beyond anything that could be repaid.
“No,” said Adeliza. After a moment she said, “You could sail from Arundel with me. Your baggage is at Wareham, I know, but you have some things with you here, and I would welcome your company on the voyage.” She bit her lip. “It also means Will would have to let me go instead of striving to delay me, which I know he will try to do.”
Matilda looked taken aback, but then grew thoughtful. “I cannot tarry,” she said. “I am not leaving England because I am abandoning it to Stephen but because I need to organise resources in Normandy, and I need to begin straight away.”
“The sooner the better.” Adeliza’s chin dimpled, but she controlled herself. “The moment there is a fair wind for a crossing.”
Matilda nodded. “In that case I will send word back to Wareham, and help you to pack what you need.” ttt
By the castle jetty on the river Arun, a ship rode at anchor. The wind was strong and bitterly cold, but the weather was clear and the master had assured his charges that they would be safely ashore in Normandy well before nightfall.
Will stood with Adeliza, waiting for the sailors to complete their final preparations. She was wrapped in a thick, fur-lined cloak to protect her from the wind and sea spray. Above the bulk of the rich blue wool, her face was as wan as a lily and her eyes enormous. He kept striving for normality, telling himself that she was only going to Afflighem for a short time to pray and recuperate and that she would soon return, but it was like a bandage over a wound that would not stop bleeding.
He was glad Matilda was accompanying her on part of her journey. He had no love for the empress, but there was a special bond between the women and he knew, with Matilda’s 484
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strict rules concerning routine and order, Adeliza would be well looked after, and at least the empress would be out of the country and his way. Even the blackest cloud had a silver lining.
He took Adeliza lightly in his arms. She was so fragile that he feared to use his full embrace on her. Grief engulfed him because he knew he was bidding farewell to something he would never have again. He cupped her face and stroked it for the last time. Her skin was still smooth despite her five and forty years. All the damage was on the inside.
“I have something for you,” he said. “Something I want you to remember me by when you pray because we can be together in God if nowhere else.” Opening her right hand, he placed in it a string of rock crystal prayer beads, adorned by a cross set with red gemstones, and then closed her fingers over it. “The bible says that a virtuous wife is more precious than rubies,” he said hoarsely. “I will love and honour you all the days of my life, no matter how long I live.”
She looked down at his gift, and then up into his eyes. “You have enriched me beyond all material wealth. I will love you all the days of my life also.”
They stood together, their hands still linked and their bodies lightly touching. He remembered the time he had first knelt to her at court when she came to marry Henry: a slim, lithe girl, her eyes filled with fear and touching bravery. He had been a couple of years older than her, but still very much a junior member of the court. That first sight of her had struck a pang in his heart because he thought her perfection. So modest and gentle, but with an underlying strength and refined poise. To have her as his wife and give him children of her womb had been living a dream, and now he was waking up and it was bitter. This was the last time, the last touch. When he returned to Arundel, and sat by the fireside, he would be alone. He had sat thus on many occasions, but this time it would mean 485
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something different and he would have to deal with it well, for the sake of the future, and the six beautiful children Adeliza had borne to him of her grace.
In the final moment, Adeliza continued to hold his hand, even though she knew she had to let him go and release them both. In some ways it would be easier to be apart from him, because his need for her to get better on top of her illness had been so hard to bear. At Afflighem she could have peace and tranquillity. She was going to miss him desperately. His admiration for her and his need had always been balm for her soul.
Making a supreme effort, she disengaged and turned to the waiting children. They were lined up with their nurses, descending in height from oldest to youngest. Wilkin, so much like his father, tall and strong for his age with a mass of brown curls and golden-hazel eyes. Adelis, save for her fair hair was like Will too, robust and strong, and she was glad to see that trait in her eldest daughter, for it would stand her in good stead. Godfrey and Reiner, fair and slender, like her brother and father, and the youngest children, still folded in their infant pudginess. They would not remember her except through the stories of others.
She fixed them all with a long look as if she could burn them into her mind’s eye and make them as indelible in her sight as they were in her heart. She had given each child something to remember her by. There were books for the oldest boys and rings to be set by until when they were men; rings that one day they might pass on to their wives or daughters if God was merciful. Her jewelled belts had gone to her daughters. She had given Adelis the gown in which she had married Will, and waiting for Agatha was a magnificent court dress crusted with pearls and rock crystals.
“Be good for your father,” she said as she kissed each child in turn. Little Henry was held in his nurse’s arms because 486
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Adeliza did not have the strength to hold him herself. Agatha reached up a chubby hand to grasp Adeliza’s hand. “Mama,” she said. “Mama.”
Adeliza closed her eyes. “Bless you,” she whispered. “Bless you all the days of your life.” She stooped to kiss Agatha’s small fingers, curled them over the love, and turned away.
Agatha began to wail, as if knowing instinctively that her mother was not coming back, and the sound shredded Adeliza’s heart. Will went to the nurse and took Agatha in his own arms.
“Hush,” he said, his voice breaking, “Hush. I am still here, little one; I always will be.”
Adeliza’s core was so tight and painful with grief that she could barely walk. Matilda had been standing well apart, waiting while Adeliza made her farewells, but now she came forward and took her arm, assisting her up the wide gangplank and on to the ship.
“Come,” said Matilda when Adeliza’s knees almost buckled.
“We are almost there. Do not fail now.” Adeliza braced herself and made a final effort. Strong hands reached down to help her aboard the galley and assist her to an oar bench where she could still see the jetty. The last of the servants and attendants boarded and the crew slid in the gangplank and cast off the mooring ropes, severing the ship from the land.
Adeliza gazed at Will, still holding Agatha in his arms and with the rest of the children clustered around him. The boys were all waving vigorously and shouting. Adelis clutched Will’s other hand, and waved, looking solemn.
“It feels like betrayal,” Adeliza whispered, yet knew it could be no other way. With a great effort, she rose from the bench and held herself erect as the wind hurled into the sail and an open area of milky green water surged between jetty and ship.
“Ah Jesu!” she gasped.
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“Courage!” Matilda was immediately at her side, holding her up, shaking her slightly. “Do not let their last view be of you collapsed and weeping. You were my father’s queen and you are still your husband’s. Do not fail him. Never forget that there is still a crown on your head, do you hear me? Never!” The words were like a slap and Adeliza drew on the last of her reserves, straightened up, and stood tall. She raised her hand in farewell and, for a fleeting moment, she felt the weight and radiance of a diadem on her brow and knew that it was no earthly crown. She wondered if they could see it on the shore and thought that they could, for Adelis pointed urgently towards her and looked up at Will, tugging his sleeve, and saying something in an animated voice.
Adeliza remained standing until they were out of sight, and then the last of her strength drained out of her, and she slumped to the deck. Her attendants hastened to take her inside the shelter, where Matilda dismissed them, saying she would tend Adeliza herself. She bathed her face with rose water, chafed her hands, then covered her up with warm furs, and thought about what they had both achieved and what they had lost in the journey from young womanhood to these middle years of supposed wisdom.
“Did I succeed?” Adeliza asked softly without opening her eyes.
“Indeed you did,” Matilda said, swallowing.
Adeliza said nothing more, but tears trickled from her eye corners and seeped into the pillow.
The wind freshened as the galley made its way down the channel and out to sea. Matilda quietly left Adeliza’s side and went to take a long look at the receding shoreline. She knew she was never going to return. England was her son’s kingdom to fight for now. She had done what she could. She had made many mistakes, but she had always been battering at 488
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a closed door. The times she had won through were when it had accidentally been left open. Her feeling of frustration and helplessness receded and turned to relief as the land became the horizon and then slipped from view. Gone. Her eyes grew dry with staring and began to sting. Abruptly she turned back to the deck shelter and Adeliza.
ttt
The warm wind whipped the daisy-starred grasses against the hem of Brian’s dark Benedictine habit as he took the path from the chapel of Saint Adrian to the shores of the loch on the western side of the island. It was nesting season and the comical Lundy birds with their brightly striped beaks and ungainly short-winged flight were returning from the sea to make their burrows, lay their eggs, and raise their young. They made good eating, but Brian was not out to trap them today, and besides, that was Brother Anselm’s task.
Soon, following the birds, the pilgrims would come from far and wide to worship at the chapel, give alms, and store up advantage in heaven, and the monks would tend to them between their prayers and devotions, providing food, water, and sleeping space. Some pilgrims, like himself, would come to bathe in the loch, believing it had healing properties.
Arriving at the shores of the loch, Brian shed his robe and alb, removed his shoes, and, shivering in the cool early May air, waded into the icy water. The shock of the cold was like a knife and seized his breath, but it was exhilarating too. He ducked his head and sluiced himself again and again until he grew accustomed to the cold. Then, neck-deep, he stood to pray.
Since arriving on the island, two months ago, the terrible dreams had diminished. He only woke in a cold sweat one night in four, and no longer felt the necessity of wearing the hair shirt under his robe. His daily immersion in the pure, icy waters of the loch had cured the abrasions and sores caused by 489
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the shirt, and it felt good to be cleansed. Each day when he bathed was an affirmation of his new life and a step away from the old, like a repeated baptism. At midsummer, he would take holy vows and shed Brian FitzCount, lord of Wallingford, as if casting away a threadbare cloak.
Eventually he left the water and dried himself vigorously on the rough towel he had brought with him, and then put on his clothes. As he tied his belt, he glimpsed the ink stains mapped in brown ink on forefinger and thumb. Even the water in the loch could not erase those. A faint smile curved his lips and then was gone. When he had finished his daily tasks and prayers, he would write her a letter, and he would not burn it…and when that was done, he would be completely free.
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Fifty-six
Le Petit-Quevilly, Rouen, Autumn 1148
T he leaves had begun to turn with the shortening of the year, casting the world in shades of tawny, amber, and soft pale gold. The air was still, the sky a hard, clear blue, and residual summer warmth still clothed the sun. In Rouen, at the ducal retreat at Quevilly, Matilda had been sitting in conference with her husband and her eldest son, and now their business was almost finished.
Geoffrey rose from the table and stretched his limbs to ease the kinks. He had matured in the years of her absence from a young Adonis to a golden man in his prime. Soon he was returning to Anjou to deal with rebellious vassals while Henry stayed in Normandy to prepare for his return to England with men and supplies to continue the fight for his crown. Matilda was to act both as a regent for Normandy and as an administrative and diplomatic bridge for all their lands. She would rule and advise from Rouen, and continue to cultivate the Church and bring it as much as possible under their influence.
Geoffrey gestured round the room. “So you intend to settle here,” he said to her.
She returned his look with an arched brow. “I certainly do not intend returning to Anjou.”
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He gave a wry smile. “Good, because I have no intention of asking you to do so. I meant here at Quevilly; you know I did.”
“Is the answer not obvious?”
He shook his head, still smiling. “When you went to England, I missed you badly. I am no longer ashamed to confess it. No one else would stand up to me as you did. No other woman would fight me into bed and give as good as she received.” His eyes gleamed at the memory. “Not once did I best you, even when I thought I had. I can look back on that time without anger now. What matters is the future.” She was a little thrown by his admission because she had been expecting him to make a barbed comment, when instead he had given her a kind of compliment, while being pragmatic about where they stood now. He needed the gravitas of their marriage to bolster his standing in the world and her confidence rose as she realised she was more vital to him than he was to her.
“I will see you generously provided for,” Geoffrey said.
“You need but ask.”
“Would that you had said such things in years gone by,” she said tartly.
He lifted her hand and kissed her wedding ring and then mouth in a hard salute that left their lips dry but tingling. “You do not disappoint me even now,” he said with a smile. “Always the sting and never the sweetness.” He left the room and she watched him go, and felt a brief pang of regret, but it did not last beyond his fading footfalls.
Henry had lingered to talk to a couple of household knights while she and Geoffrey had been speaking and she called to him. He left his companions, came over to her, and bowed in filial respect. “Mama,” he said.
She could see he was eager to be off and about his preparations for England; that he was champing to seize the rest of his life. “Henry,” she said, and her voice filled with affection and 492
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pride. “I bless you because you are my child, and I bless you because you have the impetuousness of your youth—as I once did—but you must temper it with strength and industry. There can be no more escapades like your last one in England. Your father will say the same thing.”
He looked up and gave her a hard smile. “There won’t be.” Today, his eyes were his grandsire’s diamond grey, full of knowing and virile manhood. The downy facial hair of eigh-teen months ago was now a fine, ruddy beard.
“You must set your stamp on the land like a royal seal. Men will look for justice and strong leadership and you have to give them that if you want them to follow you. Stephen has provided them with neither and you must prove that you can.
It is not enough to say these things. You must do them.”
“I know, Mama,” he said with a glimmer of irritation.
“I am not just lecturing you like a scolding tutor,” she said brusquely. “I know you have greatness within you and the potential to succeed.” She gave him a long look. “Come, there is something I want you to have.”
She led him to her chamber and took him to an iron-bound chest at the foot of her bed. Having unlocked it with a key hanging from her girdle, she lifted out an object wrapped and protected by a fringed stole of fabric woven with thread of gold.
Henry’s breathing quickened as Matilda slowly unwound the cloth to reveal the great crown she had brought from Germany.
“This was worn by a reigning emperor,” she said, “and it passes to another of the same name and future greatness. It is yours now, and you shall wear it to your coronation when you become England’s king.”
Henry took the crown from her hands and held it between his own, and his eyes were the same grey as the rock crystals set in the gold.
Matilda saw him swallow with emotion and tears stung her 493
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own eyes. “Tomorrow, before your father leaves, we shall attend mass at Bec and your crown will be blessed and laid on the altar there until you are ready to send for it as England’s king.” He replaced the diadem in the cloth, reverently refolding the stole around it. “It is yours too, Mother,” he said softly. “It holds your spirit.”
Matilda smiled at him, tears in her eyes. “Yes,” she said, proudly lifting her head. “It does.” 494
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Elizabeth Chadwick's books
- A Brand New Ending
- A Cast of Killers
- A Change of Heart
- A Christmas Bride
- A Constellation of Vital Phenomena
- A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked
- A Delicate Truth A Novel
- A Different Blue
- A Firing Offense
- A Killing in China Basin
- A Killing in the Hills
- A Matter of Trust
- A Murder at Rosamund's Gate
- A Nearly Perfect Copy
- A Novel Way to Die
- A Perfect Christmas
- A Perfect Square
- A Pound of Flesh
- A Red Sun Also Rises
- A Rural Affair
- A Spear of Summer Grass
- A Story of God and All of Us
- A Summer to Remember
- A Thousand Pardons
- A Time to Heal
- A Toast to the Good Times
- A Touch Mortal
- A Trick I Learned from Dead Men
- A Vision of Loveliness
- A Whisper of Peace
- A Winter Dream
- Abdication A Novel
- Abigail's New Hope
- Above World
- Accidents Happen A Novel
- Ad Nauseam
- Adrenaline
- Aerogrammes and Other Stories
- Aftershock
- Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Can)
- All in Good Time (The Gilded Legacy)
- All the Things You Never Knew
- All You Could Ask For A Novel
- Almost Never A Novel
- Already Gone
- American Elsewhere
- American Tropic
- An Order of Coffee and Tears
- Ancient Echoes
- Angels at the Table_ A Shirley, Goodness
- Alien Cradle
- All That Is
- Angora Alibi A Seaside Knitters Mystery
- Arcadia's Gift
- Are You Mine
- Armageddon
- As Sweet as Honey
- As the Pig Turns
- Ascendants of Ancients Sovereign
- Ash Return of the Beast
- Away
- $200 and a Cadillac
- Back to Blood
- Back To U
- Bad Games
- Balancing Act
- Bare It All
- Beach Lane
- Because of You
- Before I Met You
- Before the Scarlet Dawn
- Before You Go
- Being Henry David
- Bella Summer Takes a Chance
- Beneath a Midnight Moon
- Beside Two Rivers
- Best Kept Secret
- Betrayal of the Dove
- Betrayed
- Between Friends
- Between the Land and the Sea
- Binding Agreement
- Bite Me, Your Grace
- Black Flagged Apex
- Black Flagged Redux
- Black Oil, Red Blood
- Blackberry Winter
- Blackjack
- Blackmail Earth
- Blackmailed by the Italian Billionaire
- Blackout
- Blind Man's Bluff
- Blindside
- Blood & Beauty The Borgias
- Blood Gorgons
- Blood of the Assassin
- Blood Prophecy
- Blood Twist (The Erris Coven Series)
- Blood, Ash, and Bone
- Bolted (Promise Harbor Wedding)