Lady of the English (23 page)

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Lady of the English

and an enquiring mind that absorbed information at a gargan-tuan rate. He was sturdy and robust with his royal grandfather’s build and stamina, and copious amounts of energy. Matilda foresaw that when the time came for his lessons it would take stern use of the rod to keep him in his seat. His baby brother was somewhat more placid, although since learning to walk had to be constantly watched. Her monthly time was overdue, but it was too soon to be certain of a third pregnancy. She hoped not, but suspected that hope was going to be thwarted. Her breasts were sore and the taste of mead made her feel nauseous.

There was a sudden commotion at the chamber door, and her young half-brother Reynald burst into the room.

Matilda sat up so rapidly in alarm that she sent the perfume bowl flying off the maid’s knees, splattering the aromatic contents far and wide.

Reynald was mired from travelling the winter roads and red-cheeked from the abrasion of the wind. She rose to face him, her hair unbound and tumbling down her back. She was only wearing a chemise and swiftly picked up her cloak to cover herself. “What is it?” she demanded. The last time she had seen him had been in Rouen, living in comfort as a hearth knight in her brother Robert’s retinue, and for him to be here now meant something terrible must have happened.

Beneath the windburn, Reginald’s complexion was grey with exhaustion as he knelt to her. “Sister, I am sorry to bear grave news, but our father is dead of a sudden sickness while at his hunting lodge.” He twisted a ring from the middle finger of his left hand and held it out to her.

Matilda stared at the great blue sapphire that was one of her father’s favourite jewels. She felt her breath stop and then start again, stop and start. Her legs buckled and her women reached for her, but she forced herself upright again, shaking them off; refusing wine; refusing to sit down. “Tell me,” she said.

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Reynald relayed what he knew, which was not a great deal because, although he was Henry’s son, he had been on the periphery of what was happening, but it was enough for her to know that her father was dead and traitors were claiming he had absolved them of their oaths to her and her son as he died. Yet more damning was the fact that it was Reynald who brought the news and not an entourage intent on offering her the crown of England and the duchy of Normandy. While it might yet happen, the omens did not bode well. All she had was her father’s ring, and that was a frippery.

“Why did no one send to me when he first fell sick?” she demanded.

Reynald shook his head. “At first we thought he might rally…and then—well, I do not know.” He lowered his gaze and looked shame-faced.

“I do,” she said with angry contempt. Amid a gathering of men all fighting for position, the rights of a woman in Anjou and an infant prince must seem small and distant—a godsend when other agendas were at work. Turning away from Reynald, she paced the room, trying to think, but her mind was a labyrinth leading to dead ends.

“There is more,” Reynald said unhappily. “William Martel left the court on a fast horse within an hour of our father’s dying.”

Matilda stopped pacing. For a moment her mind went blank as even the labyrinth ceased to exist. She felt the hard gold pressure of the ring inside her palm.

“Sister?” Reynald cleared his throat.

Awareness returned like the sun bursting out from behind a cloud, flooding everything with harsh clarity. “Where is Stephen?” she demanded, and knew the answer already. From the port of Wissant in Boulogne, it was only a short sea crossing to England.

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Reynald said diffidently, “Martel might have been taking the news to Count Theobald.”

Matilda threw him an exasperated look. “Is it likely? Let me ask you another question. Where is the bishop of Winchester?

Where is the bishop of Salisbury? Where is our father’s treasury?”

Her half-brother swallowed. “Surely not.”

“‘Surely’?” Matilda scoffed. “I can think of nothing more likely.” Her first impulse was to pack her baggage and ride straight for Rouen, but she knew it was important to think matters through. If Stephen had preempted everyone and made a grab for England, then she had to work from a firm foundation. She had to organise and prepare. She had to know who her allies were and what support she had. “First I must find out what has happened,” she said. “And secure what I can. If Stephen has made a bid for England, then it leaves Normandy open, does it not?” Turning, she went to Henry and picked him up. “My son is the true heir to England and Normandy, sworn three times before God, and his right comes through me. My father would not disinherit his own grandson. I will let no one take my son’s right away—no one.” She sent Reynald a fierce look.

“No one!” Henry repeated in a loud shout.

Reynald took a step forward and knelt at her feet. “You have my allegiance,” he said.

She set her free hand on his shoulder. “I will make you an earl when I am queen. This I swear to you, but I have a boon to ask of you now.”

“Name it and it is yours,” he replied, his expression fierce with eagerness, chagrin, and youth.

“I need you to go back to Rouen,” she said, and then she told him why.

ttt

Geoffrey sat Henry on his knee and bounced him up and down.

“Ride!” Henry yelled. “Ride a horse!”

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“We have to take Domfront, Montauban, Exemes, and Argentan now, and swiftly,” Geoffrey said. “We dare not delay.”

Matilda felt light-headed with exhaustion, but she couldn’t lie down or rest. There were still letters to write, allies to muster, lists to tally, strategies to devise, and baggage to pack.

Reynald had already left on his errand, taking the swiftest courser in the stables. “I agree,” she said, “but what if they refuse to open their gates?”

Geoffrey paused to bounce Henry again and make him laugh, then he said, “They will acknowledge you because they are too close to the borders of Anjou and they do not want a hostile army under their walls. You have your father’s ring, and if we move swiftly, there will be no time for our enemies to send a countermand to the constables. Warrin Algason has overall responsibility for those castles and he is predisposed towards us anyway.”

She made herself concentrate. Geoffrey was speaking sense.

There were times when she hated him with every fibre of her being, but he had become an astute battle commander and skilful strategist. He had been as dismayed as she was about what had happened at her father’s deathbed, but he had not been surprised. “The house of Blois was always going to have plans,” he said. “And so will others. There will be more schemes abounding just now than lumps of gristle in siege-time soup.”

“My father would not absolve men of an oath he had made them swear three times,” she said, her eyes dark with anger.

“It does not alter the fact that the lords of Normandy and England are prepared to go along with the lie for the moment.”

“Henry and I have to go to Argentan alone.”

He arched one tawny eyebrow.

“I am their liege lady. If I arrive at their gates with an Angevin army led by you, what does it say? You must follow on with the troops but only after they have given their allegiance to 180

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me. That is the best policy.” She steeled herself to argue, but Geoffrey merely looked thoughtful.

“You are right,” he said. “And there is no point us being together when split up we can do more. You take the homage of Argentan, Montauban, Domfront, and Exemes. I will ride as far as Alençon with you, then go on to Mayenne and enlist the support of the lord Juhel, and join you later.” He fixed her with a clear blue-green stare. “Our differences often run deep and wide, but we have a common purpose in this that binds us beyond our quarrels. If our son is to have Normandy and England when he is a grown man, it is up to us to obtain it for him.”

She gave him a hard look. “They will be mine, first.”

Geoffrey’s expression filled with exasperated amusement. “As you will, but you have to win them, and you cannot do that without my help. If you are to rule England and Normandy, you will need an able deputy and, whether you like it or not, you will have to delegate. Normandy does not come with a crown, but it is the key to unlock everything else.” He gestured to the bench at his side. “Christ, sit down before you fall down, woman. There is nothing more you can do until the morning.”

She remained upright. “Yes there is,” she said. “I must pray for my father’s soul.”

Geoffrey curled his lip. “Your father’s soul may need all the prayers it can garner, but you will be no use to yourself or anyone else if you do not take some respite.”

She did not answer him, but left the room and made her way to the chapel. Geoffrey was right, but she was stubborn and this was her duty. The December night was cold and she shivered as she prostrated herself before the altar. The only source of heat in the chapel was from the candles burning on the altar and in the devotional sconces and her breath rose in white vapour.

Gold shimmered in the reflection of the flames from the 181

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jewelled cross on the altar and the enamelled triptych depicting the Virgin and Child enthroned. The tiles of the chapel floor were cold under her knees. Her stomach was queasy because she had not eaten all day. “Why?” she asked. “Why, my father?

Did you truly absolve men of their oaths? Did you ever intend me to be queen, or was it all just another game to keep us on a leash?” She remembered him dandling Henry on his knee, smiling fondly, calling him a fine little king, but with that look in his eyes that said no one was a king but himself. Now he was no longer a king in the living world, just a naked soul in the afterlife. The grip had left the reins, and those who would ride would have to fight tooth and nail to mount the horse and stay in the saddle. Her heart ached, her chest was tight, but she did not give in to tears, because tears were a sign of weakness and she had to put aside all such chinks in her armour. She had a kingdom and a duchy to claim. Arms outspread, body prostrate, she prayed to God and His Holy Mother to give her the strength to carry this thing forward and see it through to the end.

ttt

By the time the walls of Argentan came into view, Matilda was wilting in the saddle. Ten days ago, she had thought she might be with child again. Now she was certain, because the sickness was fully upon her and a deep, weary exhaustion. She could not afford to be ill with this pregnancy. She had to secure southern Normandy and show she was a force to be reckoned with, because if they dismissed her, they dismissed Henry too, and all her future lineage.

Geoffrey had escorted her as far as Alençon, and then ridden eastwards to secure the support of Juhel de Mayenne, first giving her a strong escort of heavily armed knights and serjeants. However, she had met with neither resistance nor hostility. Travellers she had encountered were wary and deferential. The peasants had kept 182

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their distance. Lords of estates and small castles had come to pay their respects and homage, which was encouraging.

As she approached the town walls, she banished a thread of trepidation and straightened her spine. Argentan was hers by right. She came not as a supplicant, but as its sovereign lady.

Word must have gone ahead, for the gates stood wide and an entourage of knights bearing banners came trotting out to greet her two by two. At their head rode the marshal, Warrin Algason, a dour-faced man of middle years as solid as his strong dappled horse. “Domina, I bid you welcome.” Dismounting, Algason knelt to her, his knights following in a jingle of mail and weaponry. Held out across the palms of his hands were the castle keys.

Matilda bade him rise and come to her, and then stooped to give him the kiss of peace and accept the keys from him.

“What news?”

Algason shook his head. “There is no word from Rouen, domina, beyond that of your lord father’s death.”

She said nothing, preferring to wait until she had been escorted to the fortress and shown to a well-appointed private chamber. Her women fetched warm water so that she could wash her hands and face and Algason had wine and pastries brought. “You should know, domina, that your lord father left instructions that in the event of his death, I was to hand over your dower castles.”

“A pity that he set such terms when he could have done it in life,” she replied tartly, but felt vindicated that her father had given his border marshal such an instruction, because it meant he had still intended the crown to be hers.

Algason looked uncomfortable. “It was my duty to obey him, as now I obey you.”

“And if he had ordered you to close the gates against me, would you have done so?”

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“I am a simple man, domina. I follow my orders and I remain loyal to my liege. My life is yours now.”

She reassessed him with a tactical eye. He said he was simple, and perhaps in certain ways he was, but that did not mean unintelligent. He was a marshal and that meant he was an astute and accomplished soldier, well able to cover many tasks at once.

She believed him when he said he would remain loyal.

The weariness she had been holding at bay seeped over her now that she was safe and her dower castles claimed. She could do nothing else until she knew more. Just watch and wait, prepare and rest, so that when the moment did arrive, she was ready.

ttt

Two days later her brother Reynald arrived at Argentan, his horse stumbling with exhaustion. Concealed under a blanket on the crupper were two decorated leather cases, and although his face was smudged with weariness, he was triumphant.