Lady of the English (14 page)

Adeliza made a small sound in her throat.

“He says he will not stand for any more and until she learns the error of her ways and is willing to yield to his authority, he will not take her back.”

Adeliza bit her lip. “She did not want this match. I think she still grieves for the position she had before.”

“But it was her duty to see her new marriage succeed. I will have my children fulfil their obligations, because they owe me the very breath in their bodies.” His lips were so thin and tight with displeasure that they had almost disappeared. “I will have my son-in-law know his duty too. If he is not man enough to control his wife, then in what other ways is he not a man?”

Breathing hard, Henry snatched the letters out of her hand. “I want you to go to Normandy.”

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“Me?” Adeliza stared at him in trepidation.

“I cannot leave England to deal with this stupidity. I have too much business. I will send envoys to Geoffrey while you deal with my daughter. I want you to find out what has happened, and then do your best to effect a reconciliation.”

Inwardly she quailed. “What if I cannot? What if it has gone too far for that?”

He gave her a sharp look. “I trust to your skills, my dear. It is the task of a queen to be a peacemaker. Indeed, smoothing the path is one of the most important duties she can perform.

If you cannot give me a son, the least you can do is bring my daughter back into the fold.”

Adeliza tried not to flinch but felt as if he had struck her. “As you wish, sire,” she said feeling lightheaded. “I will have my baggage packed immediately.” She darted him a look. “Will you write to her too?”

“Indeed, this very minute.” He stumped from the chamber, his tread hard with temper and assertion. Adeliza shivered and pressed her hands to her temples, then pulled herself together and ordered her women to begin packing. If she kept her thoughts on practical matters such as what she needed to bring and how long the journey would take; if she stayed on the surface, she could cope.

ttt

When she arrived in the courtyard, cloaked for her journey, Will D’Albini was standing at her palfrey’s head. The horse had been groomed until its hide shone like silk and he was talking softly to the beast and stroking its nose. He wore a sword at his hip and his fur-lined travelling cloak was pinned at his shoulder by a round gold brooch. As one of several young knights at court and a deputy to his father’s office, the task of escorting Adeliza had fallen to him because he was competent and avail-able. A flush crept over his broad cheekbones as he bowed 104

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to her and assisted her into the saddle. Adeliza thanked him graciously but with preoccupation, paying him little notice.

As Will turned to his stallion, Brian FitzCount emerged from one of the buildings and hurried over to them, his expression concerned and grim. He bowed to Adeliza and straightened.

“Madam, I have just heard the news from the king about the empress. I am sorry to hear it.”

The sight of his agitation jolted Adeliza. “Indeed, it is sad news,” she said. “Is there something you wanted to say, my lord, that you come out to me?” Her tone was gentle but firm with warning. Before Matilda’s marriage, she had sometimes noticed a subtle undercurrent running between Brian and Matilda at court. Nothing that could be pinned down, and never the slightest hint of impropriety, but nevertheless an awareness, like a passing soft breath of air. Brian took a step backwards and nodded. “Of your kindness, I ask you to wish the empress well and tell her that she is in my prayers.”

“She is in all our prayers,” Adeliza replied, “but I will give her your message.” She gathered the reins. “Messire D’Albini, I am ready.”

William gestured the cavalcade to move off and Adeliza attended to her mare, giving Brian FitzCount no further opportunity for words or looks. The situation was fraught enough without adding complications.

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Thirteen

Rouen, September 1129

A deliza was horrified when she set eyes on Matilda.

Her face was a patchwork of fading yellow and purple bruises and she moved with the hunched care and slowness of an old woman. Her eyes, though, were fierce with challenge and reminded Adeliza of a wounded wildcat she had once seen, backed into a corner, but still spitting defiance through her terror and pain.

“Oh, my love!” Still wearing her cloak and riding boots, Adeliza crossed the chamber and took Matilda in her arms.

“What has happened to you?” When Matilda stiffened in her embrace and gasped, Adeliza stepped back. “What’s wrong?”

“My ribs…” Matilda grimaced. “They are still healing.”

“Your ribs?” Adeliza stared at her in growing dismay.

Matilda shrugged. “They are no worse than any other part of me.”

Adeliza was lost for words. She could not believe that Geoffrey of Anjou had done this to her, yet the evidence was before her eyes, and she was aware of a terrible feeling of guilt for pushing Henry’s wishes on to Matilda. “Oh, my love!” she said again, and tears welled in her eyes.

Matilda’s eyes remained dry. “I suppose my father has sent you to talk to me.” She gestured Adeliza to a seat and eased LadyofEnglish.indd 106

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herself down on to a padded bench against which leaned a walking stick with a knob of polished jet.

Servants brought Adeliza perfumed water to wash her hands.

Someone removed her boots and slipped delicate embroidered slippers on to her feet. She was offered wine and small cakes.

“Indeed he has, but that is only part of it.” Leaving her chair, she came and sat beside Matilda, curving towards her so that their knees touched. “I am here because I am worried about you—the more so now.” She held Matilda’s hands. “You are not wearing your wedding ring.”

Matilda raised her chin. “I am not going back to him.”

Adeliza turned and dismissed the servants with a graceful but peremptory gesture.

“I mean it,” Matilda said as the door closed behind the last one.

The fire ticked in the hearth as the logs settled. Externally the scene was one of two women sitting together in companionable harmony, but Adeliza felt as if she were being blown about in a wild storm. What was she going to do? Henry had ordered her to persuade Matilda to reconcile with her husband, but she had no idea how to begin, or even if she should.

Adeliza noticed how rough and dry Matilda’s hands were—

uncared for and untended, which was so unlike the Matilda she knew, who was always well groomed and used her appearance to commanding effect. She fetched a small ivory pot of salve from her baggage and removed the lid. A faint herbal scent drifted up from the surface. Taking Matilda’s hands in hers again, she began rubbing the unguent into her skin, concentrating on the cracked, dry webbing between the fingers. “Tell me,” she coaxed softly. “I cannot help you if you will not speak to me.”

Matilda did not answer. Adeliza looked up from her task and saw that her stepdaughter’s chin was trembling. “You will feel better if you cry.”

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Matilda shook her head. “It hurts to cry.” Her voice was a tight whisper, but the dam had broken and a sob was drawn from her, then another and another, in reluctant painful heaves that gave little respite, and she had to clutch her rib cage, certain it would shatter.

Adeliza folded her in a compassionate embrace and tears swelled her own throat, yet she had to swallow them and not think about her personal situation, knowing if she did, she would find it unbearable. “Tell me,” she said again, fetching a napkin from the food table to dry Matilda’s eyes. “Otherwise, I will have to ask others, and they will not give me the truth, either because it does not suit them, or because they do not know.”

Matilda swallowed and with an effort controlled her breathing. It was difficult to speak at first. She had told no one beyond Uli and Emma, although she was certain that the gossip had spread far and wide and Adeliza must have heard a version of the story already. She did not know how Adeliza would take the tale, because although she was loving and kind, she was also her father’s wife. Matilda spoke in a low voice, and it was as if her words were about someone else, or of a vivid nightmare that wasn’t real. Her bruises were proof that it had happened, but how could it be true when she was an empress and the daughter of England’s king?

Adeliza held her hand, listened in shocked silence to the litany of abuse, and grew pale.

“I care not,” Matilda said when she had finished. “It is no longer of concern to me.”

“But it is of concern to everyone else, especially your father,”

Adeliza said. “Nor do I think it true that you do not care. That is not the woman I came to know when you dwelt at court.”

“Perhaps I am no longer that woman,” Matilda replied, tight-lipped. She looked down at their joined hands and when she spoke again her voice was more conciliatory, but still 108

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determined. “I cannot make peace. I know it is what you want from me, but it is impossible.”

“You need to heal; I understand that,” Adeliza soothed, “and you need time. There are many wrongs here that must be set right.” Her voice strengthened with emphasis. “Your father will do all he can, but I tell you now, he will not allow you to annul this marriage.”

Matilda withdrew her hand from Adeliza’s. “I will not go back to that…that preening boy,” she said flatly.

“Perhaps if you treated him like a man, he would act like a man.”

Matilda rose and walked away to the window. “You do not know,” she said, her back turned and her arms folded. “You cannot begin to imagine…My father has never beaten you, or fondled you in public before his barons, or left the bedchamber door ajar while he enjoys your body. Am I supposed to submit to this?” She swung round and pointed to her fading bruises.

“To curtsey and smile and say, ‘You were right to beat me, my lord.’ When I was married to Heinrich, I was treated with deference and respect and decency. Now look at me. Would you walk in my shoes? Would you?”

Adeliza rubbed her temples. “In truth I would not,” she said wearily. “We should not speak of it any more tonight. I want to talk to you of ordinary things and I do not want to lose your friendship…please.” She made an imploring gesture, tears filling her eyes.

Matilda’s expression softened. “Do not,” she said in a trembling voice, “or I will cry again and drown us both.” She returned to the bench and embraced Adeliza. “I am truly glad to see you, and I want to talk of ordinary things—you do not know how much.”

“I have brought you something from England,” Adeliza said as they parted from the embrace. “Something that belongs 109

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to you and that you need.” Once more she went to her baggage, returning this time with a painted leather case. Inside was Matilda’s crown of sapphires and gold flowers. “I sent to Reading for it,” she said as she gave it to Matilda. “It has lain on the altar under the protection of the monks, but I felt…no, I knew I had to bring it here for you.”

Matilda swallowed. “Thank you,” she whispered and wiped her overflowing eyes. This time the tears came more easily and gave more relief.

“This is what you are,” Adeliza said. “And no one can take that away from you—ever.”

ttt

It was a late November afternoon, the sky red and cold and the trees bare, the last of their leaves strewn in a crisp golden tapestry under the hooves of the horses as Matilda and Adeliza rode along the forest paths of Henry’s manor at Le Petit-Quevilly on the outskirts of Rouen.

Drawing the frozen air into her lungs, Matilda felt invigorated and alive. Her bruises had faded and her body had healed in the days of busy tranquillity spent in Rouen. She had begun to find her sense of worth again and to think about her future—

a future her younger brother had not had. Tomorrow was the anniversary of his drowning in the seas off Barfleur, and tonight she would attend a vigil in the cathedral to pray for his soul.

“I must soon think of returning to England,” Adeliza said. “I must be there for the Christmas feast. Your father expects it of me and I have duties, much as I wish I could stay longer.” She glanced at Matilda. “You are sure you will not come with me?

I would welcome your company.”

Matilda had expected Adeliza to return to England sooner than this, perhaps to be with her father for the anniversary of William’s death, but her stepmother had chosen to stay in Rouen and be her companion and support, for which Matilda 110

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was deeply indebted. She and Adeliza were very different, but there was friendship, even affection between them, and the bond of kinship. Matilda knew Adeliza was not only here to support her, but to glean information for her father and act as peacemaker, but since each woman knew where the other stood, there was mutual understanding.

“My father will keep Christmas at Westminster with you,”

Matilda said. “I will do the same in Rouen, thus both England and Normandy will be served by our family. The Church and the barons will grow further accustomed to my authority as my father’s deputy here.” She spoke fiercely because she knew many would take persuading.

“As you wish,” Adeliza said, “but I will miss you.” Suddenly she exclaimed and drew rein because her gelding had started to limp on its offside hind foot.

“Madam.” Will D’Albini, who had been heading their escort of serjeants, dismounted and hastened to look. He ran a competent hand down the horse’s leg and picked it up. “Stone in the frog,” he said and, drawing his knife, proficiently winkled out the offending piece of flint. A sharp edge had bruised the inside of the hoof. “He’ll need to be led.” D’Albini looked at Adeliza.