Lady of the English (19 page)

An infant’s thready wail filled the chamber as the woman lifted up the bawling, mucus-streaked baby for his mother to see. Matilda felt no immediate burst of maternal love, but there was satisfaction at a task accomplished and enormous relief that she had borne a living baby this time, whole of limb and wailing with lusty lungs. That was what brought a sob to her throat.

Two women cut the cord and took the infant aside to bathe him in a bowl of warm water, while two more stayed with Matilda to attend to the delivery of the afterbirth. She was so tired that it was difficult to raise the strength to expel the dark, liverish mass, but she managed. The women made 143

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her comfortable, removing the soiled bedstraw on which she had laboured, binding soft linen rags between her thighs to absorb the bleeding, and making up the bed with clean linen sheets. Matilda drank a small cup of hot wine infused with fortifying herbs and closed her eyes. She heard the soft splash of water as the women bathed the newborn in a large brass bowl, and the senior midwife cooing to him as she wrapped him in swaddling bands.

The peace of the moment was broken by a commotion at the door and Geoffrey burst into the room like a storm. “Where is the child?” he demanded. “Let me see him. Where is my son?”

The midwives gasped and clucked at the unseemly intrusion, but Geoffrey ignored them and strode over to the freshly swaddled baby lying on his fire-warmed blanket. “Unwrap him,” he commanded. “Let me see that he is a boy with my own eyes.”

Through her exhaustion, Matilda was filled with amused scorn and indignation. “Where would be the advantage in lying to you?” she said. “Do you really think we would say you have a son if it was a daughter?”

“I would put nothing past you,” he growled, his complexion high.

“I have laboured long to bring him into the world,” she said.

“And before that, I carried him inside my body. I am glad to have borne a boy because he will have an immediate advantage in this world. Why should I bear a girl to spite you, when I would be spiting her too because of her very sex?”

Geoffrey looked at the unwrapped baby, taking in the evidence with his own eyes. He reached out a forefinger and touched his son’s soft cheek. The infant turned his head in a rooting motion that made him smile. “I own him as mine,” he said. “He is indeed a fine boy. Now we can begin to make real plans for the future. Name him Henry.” With a brief nod in Matilda’s direction, he left the room as briskly as he had arrived.

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Matilda slumped against the pillows and fought not to cry as a maid closed the door behind him. “Bring my son to me,” she said. “Let me see him.”

The midwife rewrapped the baby in his swaddling and carried him gently to Matilda. She rested him in the crook of her arm and gazed down at this child whom she had not wanted to conceive because of fear, because of anger, because her life was a battleground over which she had so little control. Now the field had changed. Her fight was for him now, and she felt as if a part of her that had been hollow and hungry for a long, long time was full and warm and satisfied. “You have done well, little one,” she whispered to him. “Henry.” Although Geoffrey had spoken as if the naming were his sole prerogative, their son could have been called nothing else, and she was content. “You will be a great king one day,” she said. “Greater even than your grandsire.”

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Seventeen

Rouen, Christmas 1133

A deliza knelt on the sheepskin rug and gently rolled a ball of coloured felt strips towards the delightful red-haired baby sitting in front of her. He laughed at her, showing four teeth in each gum, and his eyes sparkled.

With deliberation he leaned forward, picked up the ball, and bounced it back to her. She laughed in return and praised him, feeling joy and an underlying sadness and sense of failure. By marriage she was his grandmother, when, given God’s grace, this could have been her own son. She was glad for Matilda and for Henry, who doted on his grandson, but she ached to know the kick of a baby’s feet against the walls of her own womb. Henry’s recent mistress, Isabelle de Beaumont, had borne him a daughter a month ago and Adeliza tried not to think about it.

Hearing a sound from the curtained-off bed behind her, she looked round as Matilda parted the hangings. Despite having slept for several hours, her stepdaughter’s eyes were dark-circled and she still looked exhausted. She had removed her headdress in order to sleep and her long dark hair fell in two loosely plaited ropes to her waist. Adeliza sent a maid to fetch a hot tisane. “You still look tired out,” she said with concern.

Matilda had travelled from Le Mans to join her father and the LadyofEnglish.indd 146

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court for the Christmas feast in Rouen, bringing baby Henry with her. Geoffrey had remained in Anjou to see to his affairs.

Adeliza suspected that the separation was a relief to both parties.

Having arrived that morning, Matilda had pleaded weariness from long days on the road, and had gone to lie down, which was very unlike her.

The baby held out his arms to his mother and squealed for her attention. She picked him up and kissed his fluffy copper curls. “I am with child again,” she said.

Now that she had spoken, the slight swell of her belly was plain to see. Adeliza swallowed a sick feeling of envy. “I am so pleased for you.” She forced herself to smile. “You see I was right about marrying a younger man.”

Matilda shifted Henry on to her hip and, grimacing, said nothing.

“When is the new babe due?”

“Somewhere around the feast of Pentecost.”

“In the full spring then. That is always a good time to birth a child. Will you return to Anjou?”

“Not if I can remain in Rouen.” Matilda put Henry down to play with his ball. “Geoffrey and I…” She heaved a sigh. “Let us say we will not miss each other. I have borne one son in Anjou.

It will be a good thing to birth this one in Normandy.”

Adeliza continued to smile, although she could feel the strain at her mouth corners. By the time Pentecost came she would be used to this, she thought, and to the fact that, in all likelihood, she was looking at the future king of England. “You know your father intends the Norman barons to swear to you again at the Christmas feast—and to this little one.”

“Yes, he wrote to say so. That was one of the reasons Geoffrey wanted me to come to Normandy. We may not agree on many things, but in matters of policy we are as one, especially where our son is concerned.” She rolled the ball towards 147

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Henry and he picked it up in his chubby little hand, and held it like a coronation orb.

The servant returned with the tisane and Adeliza made Matilda sit down and put her feet up on a cushioned stool.

“You will be well cared for,” Adeliza said firmly. “I want to see those shadows banished from your eyes, and roses blooming in your cheeks.”

“Yes, Mother.” Matilda’s face warmed with a smile as it always did when she addressed Adeliza thus. Adeliza merely looked pained.

ttt

Henry sat at a trestle table in his chamber, eating small sweet cakes off a linen napkin. He had broken a piece off the one in his hand and given it to his grandson, who was mumbling it between his recently acquired front teeth.

“He’s a fine boy,” he said to Matilda and gave her a shrewd look. “And I hear you are with child again.”

“Yes, sire.” The news did not take long to travel, she thought. Her father had been eager to meet his grandson, and proud, but she had sensed a strange reserve in him too. As if his infant namesake were almost a threat because he was a reminder of the march of time.

“I also hear you are going to stay in Rouen for your confinement.”

She nodded. “It will give me time to renew my connec-tions with the court and to study matters of government at your side. It will be sensible also if I stay for a while after the birth, and return to Anjou in full summer when the roads are good.” She hesitated. “I need to talk to you about my dower castles too.”

Her father’s expression hardened. “This is not the time for business,” he said. “We can talk another day. For now I want to enjoy the pleasure of ordinary company and conversation.”

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Matilda narrowed her eyes. It was different when he wanted to discuss serious matters and others were at their leisure. She knew he was trying to slip out of a discussion on the subject, and it did not bode well. “As do I, my father,” she said, “but I cannot do so until this matter is settled. I am asking you to turn over the castles that were due to me when I married Geoffrey.

Exemes, Argentan, Domfront, and Montauban.”

He fed his grandson another morsel of cake. “I know full well their names and what they are.” He gave her a warning look. “You do not need to enumerate them to me as if I am some witless old man.”

She fixed him with a steady gaze and refused to be brow-beaten. “I am glad of that, sire, but anxious too, because it makes me wonder why you are withholding them from me and my husband.”

“I withhold nothing,” he snapped. “The Angevin had good English silver for your dower and riches beyond measure in the items you brought with you to your marriage. Those castles were indeed vowed to you, but you will receive them at a time of my choosing, not yours.”

Matilda lifted her chin. “You manage to give crumbs of cake to your grandson; can you not see fit to do the same for me? If you do not honour my marriage agreement, then what else will you not honour? How can you expect men to keep their vows to me if you do not stand by your word?”

His complexion darkened. “Have a care what you say to me, daughter. I will not stand for your haughty words and high-handed behaviour. You shall have those castles when I see fit and not before. You have no notion what you are asking of me. It will mean displacing people. It will mean having to make new arrangements and deal with consequences.”

“But there will be consequences too if you do not hand them over.” She scooped her son into her lap. He laughed and 149

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reached to the platter of honey cakes. Laboriously he grasped one, took a bite, and then offered his mother the rest.

Her father wiped his hands on the napkin at his side and threw it down on the table in a screwed-up heap. “I told you, this is not the time to speak of such things,” he growled as he stood up. “We will debate on a more appropriate occasion.”

“In other words you are refusing to turn over those castles to me and Geoffrey. You are reneging on your promise.”

“Daughter, I am telling you I will do so in my own time, not when you and that meddlesome husband of yours dictate.”

He stalked off, shoulders back and expression pugilistic. Matilda sighed heavily. She had not expected him to agree; this was only the first bout and she had months in which to keep at him, like water wearing down rock. He had to be made to see that the situation would only degenerate if he did not deal with it.

He could not rein back time for ever.

ttt

A third time the barons knelt and swore fealty to Matilda and on this occasion to her baby son too, perched upon her knee, his coppery hair gleaming on his soft round head almost like a halo or a crown. The Madonna and child was a potent image that Matilda exploited for all it was worth. The gathering was smaller than the previous two and consisted mostly of Norman barons, although Robert of Gloucester and Brian FitzCount had arrived from England on the morning of the ceremony and had added their vows and their voices to the other oath-takers gathered in Rouen Cathedral.

“So this is England’s future king,” her brother said, chucking Henry under the chin. “You and I should become better acquainted, young man.”

“Indeed he is,” Matilda replied firmly. “He will receive a full education as befits his destiny, and learn from the men who will guide and support him. He will know the law and all he needs 150

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to protect himself and his lands. He will learn to know friend from foe, and good counsel from bad.”

“You speak fiercely, sister.” Robert said, smiling.

“Because I must,” she answered, and looked at Brian, who was gazing at Henry with a pained look in his dark eyes. “I am hoping he will learn judicious matters of exchequer from you, my lord FitzCount,” she said, adding playfully, “but I will have others teach him how to raise a tent.”

Brian’s expression lightened. “I thought I succeeded rather well, given the circumstances, and I learn from my mistakes. I could give him the benefit of my experience.”

Matilda’s face grew warm. “I am sure there is much of value he can learn from you,” she said.

Brian inclined his head. “Whatever you deem he needs from me, I will be honoured.” He bowed and moved away to speak with some barons he had not seen in a long time.

Robert gazed after him. “It is a pity he has no heirs of his own.

His wife is too old now to bear him sons or daughters.” He gave her a cautionary look. “Be on your guard with him, Matilda.”

She stiffened. “In what way? I hope you are not suggesting…”

“No, no, of course not.” He raised his hand to stay her indignation. “He is a good friend and a powerful ally. He cares for you deeply, anyone can see that, but he is loyal to his position and he has great personal integrity—you both do. Keep within those bounds and all will be well. Give no one cause to talk of scandal—because they will if they get the opportunity.”

Matilda drew herself up, prepared to be furious with him, but her thoughts were swift and by the time she exhaled she was more pensive than annoyed. “When you say ‘no one,’ do you mean anyone in particular?”