Lady of the English (25 page)

For fifteen years she had been queen of England, the consort of one of the greatest kings in Christendom. Now all that was stripped away. She had her dower estates and her lineage, but no longer was she the hub of the domestic court. She had been little more than a child when she married Henry. Now she had to discover the woman within the girl, and if that involved becoming a nun, so be it. There were so many things in the world that made her want to turn her face from it and look inwards to a life of contemplation. She would write to Matilda; she would do what she could to support and comfort her, because she still had a stepmother’s responsibilities, but beyond that, she would embrace the life at Wilton and see that the adjoining lazar house at Fugglestone flourished. She would put away her sleek silk gowns and be humble before God, and in the fullness of time, God would show her what He wanted of her.

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Matilda squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and pushed for all she was worth in a final effort to expel the baby from her womb.

Beyond the walls of the great keep at Argentan, the July heat was stultifying, and although the thick stone kept the worst of the heat at bay, her hair was plastered to her skull with sweat and her body shone as if she had been anointed. As always, the labour had been difficult and she had sent numerous prayers and 192

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exhortations to the Blessed Mary, asking her to help her safely deliver this third child. Geoffrey had spent most of the last few months on the battlefield in a campaign tent; now it was her turn to fight.

The senior midwife told her not to push, but instead to pant.

She did so and felt a stretching soreness between her legs, and then a sudden gushing release. An instant later the woman held up a wailing, slime-covered infant. “A fine boy,” the midwife said with a beaming smile. “Madam, you and your lord have another son.”

Matilda lay back against the bolsters, spent. “Geoffrey wanted a daughter this time for his marriage policies,” she panted, smiling at the same time. “He will call me contrary, but I doubt he will complain further than that.” Indeed, she suspected the boastful cockerel side of him would be crowing from every dung heap in the vicinity that three times he had sired a son on her, proof of the outstanding virility of his seed.

“How is he to be named, madam?”

“William,” she said straight away. “For his grandfather, who conquered England and Normandy.”

“Not Fulke then, for the count’s father?”

Matilda gave the midwife a sharp look, but decided not to reprimand her for questioning the decision. “That I have a middle son named for his Angevin heritage is sufficient,” she said curtly. “My father-in-law may be king of Jerusalem, but Jerusalem is far away and England and Normandy are not.”

“Yes, madam.” Chastened, the woman cut the cord and gave the baby to her assistants to wash while she delivered the afterbirth. Matilda glanced towards the window. The sun was past its zenith now, but the world outside continued to bake.

There would be storms soon, she thought, of all kinds.

Eventually, the bathed and swaddled newborn was handed to her. Matilda cradled him in the crook of her left arm. His 193

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minute lashes were dusted with gold and his little mouth made pursed sucking motions. She praised God that he had come safely into the world. Now she had to pray for her own recovery. Childbirth was so debilitating. Three sons in four years. Whether Geoffrey wanted daughters or not, Matilda was determined that this was the last time she risked herself in the birthing straw. She would not lie with him again because she had a country and a duchy to win and, if not for this baby, her efforts would have begun much earlier.

“Bring my other sons,” she ordered her women. “Let them see their new brother.”

Henry and Geoffrey were duly escorted into the confinement chamber. Henry was eager to see the baby, but, having looked, soon lost interest. He was a big boy, and felt no strong affinity for the infant in his mother’s arms. There was a slight squirm of jealousy in his stomach because her arm was curved around the baby and not him, but he wasn’t overwhelmed by the feeling, because he knew he was still the best. He pressed a dutiful kiss to the infant’s forehead and then ran off to explore the chamber, clambering up on to the window seat and peering through the arrow-slit. Geoffrey stayed on the bed with Matilda and did his best to say the word “William.”

Matilda looked at her three sons. Future kings, dukes, and counts, but only if she and Geoffrey could secure that future for them, and there were so many setbacks to overcome.

In April the pope had ruled that Stephen was justified in taking the crown and had issued letters of sanction. The king of France had acknowledged Stephen’s claim. She intended contesting the papal decision, but it would take time and while the diplomatic battle was being fought out, Stephen was becoming ever more entrenched. Not long after the pope’s ruling, her brother Robert had capitulated and sworn his oath to him. She hoped it was a temporary measure born of 194

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expedience, and that while at court he would talk to others and bring his influence to bear, but it still felt like betrayal and desertion, especially after he had been willing, with others, to offer the crown to Stephen’s brother Theobald.

Her third son had fallen asleep in her arms, making little crowing sounds as he breathed. She handed him gently to a midwife to be settled in his cradle where he at least could slumber for the moment in peace and innocence.

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Twenty-three

Argentan, Normandy, September 1136

M ama, look—look at me!”

Matilda turned from talking to the saddler and watched Henry sit upright in the saddle of a small bay pony.

He struck a pose and lifted his chin. The September breeze ruffled his red-gold hair and turned his irises the hue of sea-coloured glass. He had begun riding lessons two weeks ago and was enjoying every moment. For now, the tuition consisted of having one of the grooms lead him round the courtyard at a sedate walk. A saddle had been especially made to fit his size so that he would not slop about between pommel and cantle.

He would not be allowed to take the reins on his own for a while to come, nor would he have the strength and stature, but he was already confident around horses, and was developing balance, knowledge, and maturity.

“Indeed you look very fine,” she replied proudly. “Every inch a king.”

“I want to gallop!”

“And so you shall, but not quite yet. You have to learn a few more things first and grow a little more.”

“But I’m a big boy now!”

Her lips twitched at the indignation in his voice. “Indeed, but you need to grow bigger yet.”

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The groom led the pony off at a sedate walk. “Faster,”

Henry cried. “I want to go faster.”

She glanced towards the battlements as she heard a shout.

Moments later, a soldier came running towards her from that direction. “Domina, there is an English lord at the gate begging entrance. Sir Baldwin de Redvers and his company.”

Matilda drew a swift breath. Baldwin de Redvers was the sole English baron to have refused to swear to Stephen. He said he had given his oath to support her and would keep it until his dying breath. Stephen had besieged him in his castle at Exeter and de Redvers had been forced to surrender when the wells ran dry in the blistering summer heat. When last heard of, he had been holding out at Carisbrooke Castle on the Isle of Wight and interfering with Stephen’s shipping between England and Normandy.

“Admit him,” she commanded, “and bid him welcome.”

The gates opened upon a troop of horsemen on jaded horses.

The men themselves were dusty from their journey and their equipment showed hard wear, but their armour was cared for and the men themselves, although obviously weary, had made an effort to look spruce and proud.

“My queen.” De Redvers dismounted and knelt at her feet with bowed head. His men followed his lead and the women too, for they had brought their wives and children into exile with them.

“Get up,” she said. “All of you.” She raised de Redvers herself and gave him the kiss of peace on his sunburned cheeks.

A swift command sent servants running to prepare food and drink. More orders set others to finding stables and lodgings for the newcomers. She welcomed the rest of the entourage briefly, and beckoned to Henry’s groom to lead over boy and pony.

“This is my son and heir,” she said. “The future Duke of Normandy and king of England. Henry, these are our loyal men. What do you say?”

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“God’s greeting,” Henry piped. “Be welcome.” He bowed in the saddle.

De Redvers knelt again, and his entourage followed suit.

Matilda tapped his shoulder in a wordless command to rise.

The knight’s hard mouth wore the trace of a curve. “My lord is already a fine little knight,” he said.

“Every day he grows nearer to the crown that is his birth-right,” Matilda replied. “One day he will be a well-grown king, and we will not forget the service you do us. Come within, and give me your news.”

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De Redvers washed the dust of the road from his hands and face and drank deeply from his goblet. “I have come to offer you and the Count of Anjou my sword and my services,” he said. “I cannot sustain my position in England. I have lost my lands. All I have is what I have brought with me on the back of my packhorses. But while I have breath in my body, I will fight for you, and for your son.”

“I thank you for your loyalty,” Matilda replied. “As soon as I am in a position to reward you and your men, I will do so.

For the moment, you are welcome to food and lodgings for yourself, and your dependents. I have a skilled armourer in the castle. Your equipment will all be refurbished and replaced.”

De Redvers bowed his thanks. “I have heard of the skills of Robert of Argentan,” he said. “And seen his work. The Earl of Gloucester wears hauberks of his fashioning.”

“He has no access to them while he is at court,” Matilda said curtly.

“I think it is only a matter of time before he leaves Stephen, domina. When I was besieged at Exeter, I heard and saw many things. The king is pushed this way and that by those who would be the power behind his rule. He treats the Earl of Gloucester with courtesy, but he shuts him out of his councils. The Beaumont 198

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brothers are the stars in the firmament—and the bishop of Winchester, although there is antagonism between him and the Beaumonts because both want to be Stephen’s right hand.”

Matilda sat down and gestured Baldwin to do so too. This was the kind of news she needed—direct and from a man who was fiercely loyal to her. “Enough to split the court asunder?”

“Not as yet, domina, but there are cracks that can be worked upon. The Beaumonts and the bishop of Winchester are vying for control of the king and the bishop of Salisbury is busy with his own agenda because he fears losing his grip on the treasury.

Winchester has his eye on the see of Canterbury when William de Corbeis dies—and it won’t be long now. Corbeis is very frail—but the Beaumonts have their own candidate in mind.

The Earl of Gloucester and William of Ypres do not see eye to eye. Some who have bent the knee out of expediency are only waiting their moment to change allegiance.”

“And Brian of Wallingford?” She felt an ache deep within her, because he too had sworn and he had betrayed her.

“He has been little in the king’s company, domina. I have heard say he is busy on his estates attending to his own concerns, but I would say he too has been displaced at court.”

So there were conflicts to be exploited. Matilda stowed away the information to consider later. Divide and conquer. She hoped Robert was doing that at Stephen’s court and had not deserted her. She needed to go to England herself, but first she had to be certain of her footing. To strike from this small corner of southern Normandy was impossible. “The Count of Anjou is preparing a campaign,” she said. “Stay here and refurbish your arms, then join him when he crosses the border. He will appreciate seasoned troops.”

“Domina, it is you I serve,” Baldwin said with a frown.

She gave him a tight smile. “Which I acknowledge and you have my sincere gratitude. But for now you will best serve me 199

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by liaising with my husband. When I come to England, I will make you an earl and you will have all restored to you and more, I promise.”

He looked fierce. “I do not do this for wealth and prestige. I do it because I took an oath on my honour that only my death will break.”

“Bless you,” Matilda said, and had to swallow the lump in her throat. So many had sworn, but so few had kept their word, even those she loved and trusted. Everyone was out for gain, so to have de Redvers give her everything for loyalty stirred her deeply.

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Matilda placed her foot in Baldwin’s cupped hand and accepted his boost into the saddle. Around them the men of Argentan were mounted up and ready to ride. The morning sun flashed on hauberk rings and lances, turning the gathering into a silver shoal. Horses pawed and whinnied. Banners snapped in the stiff autumn breeze.

In the background the nursemaids held up Henry and little Geoffrey to watch the entourage ride out. Even the baby was there, cocooned in his nurse’s arms. Matilda looked over her shoulder at her sons, and then faced the front, her jaw set with determination. A scout had arrived from Geoffrey the previous evening, asking for her to bring reinforcements to Lisieux as swiftly as she could. King Stephen had sent an army under Waleran de Meulan to defend the town and there was a danger that Waleran might turn and threaten Argentan itself.