Lady of the English (30 page)

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Riding away from Wilton, Will squared his shoulders and kept his head high. She had not refused him outright; she had said she would think on the matter, and while there was hesitation, hope remained. She was so fine and rare that he felt like a foolish, shambling bear in her presence. He wished he had the urbane refinement of Brian FitzCount and Waleran de Meulan, or the pugilistic arrogance of the Earl of Chester, but neither were a part of his steady, cheerful nature. She would go and pray to God for an answer and all he could do was pray in his turn that God gave her the right one.

On his return to Winchester, he was dismounting in the courtyard of his lodging house when his knight Adelard came running to tell him they had received news that Robert of Gloucester had renounced his oath to Stephen. “He’s declared for the empress and shut Bristol against the king!”

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Will was dismayed but not surprised. Everyone had been expecting Gloucester to renounce his oath ever since the Normandy campaign when Stephen had returned to England and Robert had stayed at Caen, nursing his grievances. It would give impetus to other rebellions, and because Gloucester had lands on either side of the Narrow Sea, both areas would be destabilised. It was bad news, yet, at the same time, Will felt a twinge of excitement. The onus on the king to reward the men who remained loyal to him would be keener still, and who knew what other riches lay in store beyond an earldom and marriage to a queen?

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Twenty-seven

Fortress of Carrouges, Normandy, Summer 1138

Matilda sat down on the bed in her chamber at Carrouges. Her crown was making her head ache. It might look a delicate thing, but she been wearing it for most of the day amid formal ceremonies and celebrations; the weight was beginning to tell on her neck and the band was squeezing her temples. Even so, she had no intention of taking it off, because while she wore it, she was a queen and an empress and she had authority.

Fetching his small stool, Henry wandered over to the sideboard and stood on it so that he could look at the two engraved silver cups standing there. They had been presented to him and his brother by the people of Saumur in exchange for a charter.

“When can I drink wine out of mine?” he asked, looking round.

“When you are a man,” Matilda replied. “They are no ordinary drinking cups, but tokens of an agreement between our family and the people of Saumur.” Her voice held a warning note. If she knew Henry, he’d be having his dogs drinking out of them or worse. “And you are not to touch William’s either,” she added as she watched his hand stray towards his youngest brother’s cup. The reason there were only two, not three cups was that Geoffrey, her middle son, was being raised in the household of her husband’s vassal Goscelin de Rotonard.

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It did not do to keep all of one’s eggs in a single basket. William would go for fostering too when he was older but for now, at not quite two years old, he was still kept close in the women’s chambers. Henry ignored him because he was only a baby and Henry knew he was the heir and the most important.

Geoffrey entered the chamber. A gold coronet embraced his brow, not as ornate as Matilda’s but still a symbol of his rank, and he was wearing a blue silk tunic embroidered with small gold lioncels. Henry’s tunic had been cut from the same piece of fabric. Geoffrey unbuckled the sword he had been wearing for ceremonial purposes and hung it over the back of a chair.

Moments later, Matilda’s half-brothers Robert and Reynald followed him into the room with Baldwin de Redvers.

Robert went to his nephew and admired the silver cup with serious interest. “If you drink from a silver cup, you will never be poisoned,” he said.

Henry gave him a severe look. “Mama says this isn’t a drinking cup. She says it’s a token of agreement.”

Robert’s lips twitched. “She is right, but it is still true that you should always put a silver coin in your flask to keep your drink sweet. Did you know that?”

Henry shook his head, but absorbed the detail as he absorbed all knowledge, sucking it up like a sponge drawing up water.

“You are a fount of knowledge, Robert,” Geoffrey said drily.

“My father believed in educating us all.” Robert leaned his elbow on the sideboard. “Why be at the mercy of priests and charlatans when for the sake of a little study you can be armed to the teeth?”

Matilda said, “When you are a woman, having an education makes you realise how much at the mercy of priests and charlatans you are.”

“So are you saying you would rather have remained in ignorance, wife?” Geoffrey asked with a sardonic gleam.

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“I am saying it is twice as important that a woman should be educated, and twenty times as difficult for her to be heard.” She looked round at the menfolk of her family and knew they would never understand, much less want to do so. That her place was above theirs, that she was the only one of them born of a ruling king and queen, was cause for envy, not worship. Had she been male, she could have led the discussion about to begin without a second thought. As it was, although she was a figurehead, they did not expect her to contribute to the dialogue, any more than they expected her to gird on a sword and don a mail shirt.

Geoffrey was here with his army, amply fortified by the two thousand marks Stephen had given to him the previous year. He wanted to talk tactics with Robert, not her.

Matilda cleared her throat. “I have drafted letters to the pope, to my uncle of Scotland, and to my stepmother.” She held up the sheaf of parchments lying by her right hand. “We must lobby the pope to reverse his ruling on Stephen’s right to the crown; I will be working closely with the bishop of Angers on that matter and Brian FitzCount is writing a treatise from a secular perspective on my right to rule.”

“But we need more than words,” Geoffrey said and turned to Robert. “Will FitzCount go so far as to renounce Stephen?”

“Yes,” said Matilda firmly. “He will.”

Robert nodded in confirmation. “FitzCount will help however he can. He is being circumspect for the moment but as soon as we set foot in England he will declare for us. We can count Wallingford as ours. Miles FitzWalter has indicated he will come over too, and John FitzGilbert the marshal.

He has control of the Kennet Valley with Marlborough and Ludgershall.”

Geoffrey eyed Robert keenly. “Tell me,” he said. “If Stephen had proved himself a model king and promoted your interests, would you be here today?”

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Robert flushed. “I am not proud that I broke my oath to my father and to my sister; indeed I deeply regret it, but sometimes circumstances overtake the best of intentions. I thought perhaps it was God’s will, but I was wrong.” He looked at Henry, who had stepped down off his stool and was now playing with his toy wooden knight and horse on the floor. “I will not renege again.”

The company settled around the fire to discuss their plans.

The time was not yet ripe time for an invasion of England; there was still much to be done in the way of preparation and recruiting allies, but the following year seemed a possibility.

“You say you are in contact with the dowager queen,”

Robert said to Matilda. “I had heard she had retired to a nunnery and was occupied in succouring lepers.”

Matilda nodded. “Yes, but it is no more the entirety of her life than being a patron of Bec is mine.”

“A little more than that, since she lives amongst them. I even heard it suggested when my father died that she intended taking vows.”

Matilda shook her head emphatically. “That is far from the truth. She is still concerned with what happens at Arundel and her other estates. The only trouble is this.” She handed Adeliza’s most recent letter to her brother, who studied it and, with pursed lips, handed it on to Geoffrey.

“D’Albini?” Geoffrey raised his brow.

“His father is one of the royal stewards and lord of lands in Norfolk, including the castle at Buckenham,” Robert said.

“Will he be willing to swear for us?”

Robert frowned. “I do not know. If you saw him, you would think of a big friendly dog. He is intelligent and strong, but not complex.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I would not mark him down as a man for subterfuge and I would say he will do what he must while hoping for 237

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a quiet life. I suspect he will stick to his oath to Stephen, and if he becomes lord of Arundel, that could be difficult for us.”

Matilda gnawed her lip. From her slight acquaintance with him she knew William D’Albini was good-natured and amenable. Despite his size and strength, he was agile and light on his feet and had a delicate touch at mixing wine. Women liked him. He exuded an earthy, wholesome virility, but seemed not to notice it himself or use it consciously, and thus it was not a threat. Even so, it was difficult to imagine the ethereal Adeliza sharing a marriage bed with him. “How good a strategist is he?”

Robert shook his head. “I doubt he has ever been tried beyond bringing the Albini men to the king to perform feudal service, but that only tells us he is inexperienced—it does not mean incompetent. He is an unknown quantity and that could be dangerous.”

Matilda sighed. “I will keep writing to Adeliza. Whether she marries D’Albini or not, she has no love for Stephen. She will do what she believes is right.”

“Well then, have a care what you do write,” Geoffrey said.

“We cannot afford to have our plans brought to naught by women’s gossip.”

Matilda glared at him. “Do not worry, my lord,” she snapped. “I intend any ‘gossip’ I exchange with Adeliza to be of benefit. You do not understand how much the wheels of your endeavour are greased by such exchanges. Deal with your campaigns and your men, but leave this matter to me. I know my stepmother as you do not.”

He exhaled down his nose with irritation. “Do as you will,”

he conceded, “but be cautious.”

“I know my business,” she retorted. “Do yours and leave me to mine.”

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Robert clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “We still have much to plan,” he said. “This is only the beginning.” He flicked his gaze between Matilda and Geoffrey. “The first thing I propose is a lasting truce.”

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Twenty-eight

Wilton, Wiltshire, August 1138

A deliza took the letters she had just read and carefully fed them to the fire in her chamber. She watched them until they were ash and then turned away, hugging herself. Outside it was a hot August afternoon, but the chill was in her soul, not her bones.

Matilda wrote that she was preparing to come to England and challenge Stephen for his crown. The plans were still in the making but, when the time came, she wanted Adeliza to admit her to Arundel. Adeliza bit her lip. Matilda was the rightful queen and little Henry the heir to the throne.

Adeliza would not dream of turning down the request, but she was frightened of what such a stand might cost. She was still struggling to come to terms with the recent happenings at Shrewsbury. The castellan there had risen against Stephen, who had marched to put down the revolt and hanged every last member of the garrison. There had been no leniency. She knew such things happened in warfare, but Shrewsbury was her town, given to her in dowry when she had married. To know she had been unable to intervene and save lives filled her with a terrible burden of guilt. There had been other uprisings round the country too, all stamped out like small bonfires, but still new areas kept flaring up. A Scottish army had invaded LadyofEnglish.indd 240

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and been defeated in a fierce battle at Northallerton. King David had narrowly escaped with his household guard. She had known him well when she was queen and had counted him a good friend. One of his scribes had written a history of Henry’s reign for her. To think of him now as the enemy made her feel sick.

The last of the parchment flaked into ash. Adeliza left the hearth and, drawing a deep breath, went to look out of the door that faced on to a courtyard with covered walkways and benches surrounding a grassy area with a cherry tree planted at the centre. Juliana and Melisande sat on a bench, talking to each other as they worked on chemises to go in the clothing chest for the leper hostel.

She heard young Adam’s voice raised in bright chatter, and a moment later the boy hurtled round the corner, attached by a lead to a large adolescent dog galumphing at full speed. A little behind boy and hound came Will D’Albini, his stride long, but measured and deliberate. Adeliza suppressed the urge to run away. After all, she had summoned him here.

“Madam!” Adam attempted a bow while the dog strove to lunge after a cat that had been sleeping in a flowerbed. “I have brought you a visitor!”

“So I see.” She faced Will with a pounding heart, but her tone was calm and gracious, betraying no sign of her flustered state. “Messire D’Albini, you are welcome.”

He performed a small, serious bow. “Madam.” He smiled and indicated the dog and child. “Both have grown beyond measure.”

“Indeed, they are thriving.” Adeliza dismissed Adam with a word of thanks, and as he and his charge ran off, dragging each other by turns in their preferred directions, she walked along the path and sat on a bench away from her women. He joined her side, and as he took a moment to adjust his cloak out of the 241

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way, she cast a swift glance at him in profile and noticed the healing cut along his jawbone. He had lost weight and his hair was shorter, although it still retained its curl.