Lady of the English (47 page)

With halting steps he returned to the main chamber. He did not really want to be there in Matilda’s presence, because he felt he had failed her. She was asleep, covered by her cloak and a blanket. Her face was careworn with deep frown lines between 371

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her brows even in slumber. She should be ruling England as its queen, not huddled on this bench, a wretched fugitive.

Brian slumped by the fire and put his head in his hands. He had a terrible feeling they were all doomed, and there was no way out. In his mind’s eye, he saw a deep chasm before him with a crumbling edge. The darkness beyond was clean and calm—and terrible. It lured him and terrified him at the same time because it would be so easy to plunge into it. But she needed him, and she thought he was strong, and he couldn’t let her down.

ttt

Matilda was woken just before dawn by Brian gently shaking her shoulder. She was so stiff and sore that she could barely move and was unable to stifle a groan. Aware of his anxiety and the unease of the other men, she tried to rally. If she had been able to ride away from Geoffrey after he had beaten her, she could manage this. The servants brought warm water for her to wash her hands and face and she ate some bread and honey, washed down with buttermilk, even though she was not hungry. Conscious of Brian watching her every mouthful, she gave him a hard look. “Will you cease staring at me the way people do when gathered around a deathbed,” she snapped.

Brian swiftly lowered his gaze. “I am concerned, that is all.

You are our lady and our queen. I have selected one of the marshal’s horses for you to ride. It is fresh but placid and has a smooth gait.”

In her turn, Matilda dropped her gaze. It would be so easy to cry. “Thank you,” she said, and hoped her aching body would stay the distance.

It was still barely light as the small, battered party prepared to leave Ludgershall. Her horse was a pale dun with the fluid stride of an ambler. Although a compact horse, Matilda still struggled to mount him and had to stifle her cry of pain as her raw thighs 372

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touched the saddle again. Letting out her breath on a hard gasp, she hung over the reins for a moment, recovering.

“Are you sure you are—” Brian began.

“Yes,” she cut him off. “Get on with it.” She looked up at a shout.

A knight was clopping through the gate on a salt-caked, exhausted horse. She recognised him as one of Robert’s men, Alain de Caen. He was swaying in the saddle, his face streaked with blood and dirt. Drawing rein, he slid from his mount and then leaned against it briefly to recover his balance before falling to his knees. “Domina,” he croaked.

“Bring him a drink,” she commanded. “Quickly!”

When the wine arrived, the knight gulped it with clumsy desperation, the liquid spilling down his chin like blood.

“Domina, grave news. My lord of Gloucester has been captured and taken prisoner. I know not what has happened to the Earl of Hereford and the king of Scots, save that their men have scattered and fled. I escaped by the skin of my teeth and hid in the woods until I thought it safe…”

Cold shivers ran through her at this fresh news of disaster.

She could see the dismay on the faces of her escort; her own emotion was despair. With their chief military captain taken prisoner and no knowledge of the whereabouts of the others, what were they to do? She had suspected last night when Robert did not come that something was wrong, but had hoped against hope he had found a bolt hole somewhere. At least he was still alive; that was a small mercy.

Reynald, ever the optimist said, “But the empress is free and clear and so are we, and Stephen is still a prisoner in Bristol.

Even if it is a setback, a battle is not the end of the war. We are not defeated.”

But it felt like defeat to Matilda. She told the young knight to seek food and rest and join them in Devizes as soon as he 373

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was able. And then she drew herself up and put on a brave face.

“We shall win through,” she said. “I promise you.” And knew her words were so much chaff in the wind.

She rode out of Ludgershall sitting tall in the saddle. She was still lady of the English; nothing could ever take that from her.

But inside, as they rode along, beneath the bandage of pride she was bleeding. With Robert a prisoner, her plans were in ruins because none of her other commanders were of his calibre.

She had lost London; she had lost Winchester and in so doing had failed herself, her allies, and her son. It was too much to bear, yet bear it she must. Her vision blurred and whitened.

She swayed in the saddle and heard Brian’s shout of alarm. She was dimly aware of him catching her, of the feel of his arms around her. She tried to tell him she was all right, that she had just fallen asleep in the saddle, but she couldn’t speak. If not at the end of her courage, she had exceeded the last frayed strand of her bodily endurance.

Her escort constructed a litter for her, woven from willow branches piled with blankets and furs. They strapped her to it and bore her back to Devizes almost as if bringing home a corpse and Matilda tumbled into an exhausted darkness that was both a wasteland and a blessed relief.

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Forty-three

Arundel, December 1141

A deliza clung to Will, rising to meet the surge of his body, pleasure flooding her loins. He gasped her name and called her his love, his queen, his soul, and she clung to him all the tighter, because in this moment they were as one, giving and receiving each to the other without conflict.

When it was over, he lay down at her side, stroking her body, until their breathing had eased and their hearts ceased thundering. Then, sighing, he eased to his feet and began to dress. She watched him from the bed. Perhaps it was a little bit sinful to have made love in broad daylight, but she had needed the affirmation of the bond between them. “Will…” She bit her lip.

He turned and placed his foot on the coverlet to tie the thongs on his shoe. “What?”

“Can you not stay here?”

His gave her a look from under his brows. “You know I have to go. It would be disloyal of me not to greet Stephen on his release. I owe him my allegiance while he is our anointed sovereign. If God had intended Matilda to be queen, she would be on the throne by now.”

Adeliza looked away. “There will be more bloodshed,” she said bitterly. “More pointless killing and burning.”

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“If I stay here, how can I help make policy? I cannot be a force for good if I am not in the council chamber. If I shun the court, then it isolates us. To be a good lord, a good husband, and a good father, I must go out into the world, not retreat from it. He leaned over, took her face between his hands, and kissed her. Then he left the bed and, fastening his belt, went briskly from the room.

Adeliza rose, draped a cloak over her chemise, and went to look out of the window.

Will had reached the courtyard and was talking to his groom.

She loved him deeply, but he frustrated her with his stubborn-ness. For a time after Lincoln she had thought he might change his mind and bring himself to swear for Matilda. But then the Londoners had driven her out of Westminster, followed by the debacle at Winchester and the capture of Robert of Gloucester.

Matilda had escaped but everything had fallen apart. She still ruled her areas of influence from her court at Devizes and she still held Oxford, but the greater power had slipped through her fingers.

They had heard terrible things about Winchester. Parts of the town had been razed to the ground. The abbeys of Hyde, Holy Cross, and Wherwell were ashes. Numerous ordinary folk had been killed, or rendered homeless and destitute. Everywhere she looked outside of her own lands there was chaos and death and destruction. That she and Will had thus far succeeded in maintaining stability in their parts of Sussex and Norfolk was by God’s grace and their own efforts, even if there was often friction between them. But she knew it could change any day and nowhere was truly safe. Robert of Gloucester was being exchanged for Stephen and the fighting could only escalate.

ttt

Three weeks later, Adeliza stood in the nave of Westminster Cathedral, feeling sick as she watched King Stephen receive his crown from Theobald of Canterbury in reaffirmation of his 376

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kingship. She would rather have stayed at Arundel, but Will had wanted her with him, and as the former queen of England, it was her duty to attend. Stephen’s queen had worn her own crown throughout the ceremony, a delicate affair of gold spires and lilies set with pearls that looked incongruous adorning her matronly form. She carried her head high, a look of satisfied pride on her face. As well she might, Adeliza thought, even while feeling resentful. Maheut had managed to keep that crown on her head through thick and thin and, in so doing, prevent Matilda from gaining the throne.

Everywhere Adeliza saw reminders of her own life as a queen. Once it would have been her playing a major part at the ceremony and the feast. Smiling graciously, speaking and mingling; receiving petitions. Now it was Maheut’s role and Adeliza was part of the background. Any attention paid to her was in deference to memory.

Stephen looked unwell, she thought. His face was gaunt and his gaze darted watchfully between his courtiers. His captivity had sucked out the bluff good humour that had lightened his personality. So many attendees had abandoned him during the months following Lincoln and pursued their own advantage that he must be wondering whom he could trust. The camaraderie was shattered. And men must wonder whether a once-defeated king might not be defeated again. Stephen was not steadfast. He would sway like a grass stalk in the wind. Matilda had angered people with her brusque ways, but she had always been resolute. Will could talk all he liked about it being the natural order to have a man on the throne, but what kind of man? No matter what ceremonies were performed, the gleam of his crown was forever tarnished.

In the Rufus hall at Westminster Palace after the ceremony, Adeliza sank in a curtsey as Stephen and Maheut paused to speak with her and Will. She kept her eyes lowered, fixing 377

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them on her gown, which was one she had worn when she had been England’s queen and lady of the English.

Maheut raised her to her feet and gave her the kiss of peace.

“It is good to see you here. It has been a long time since we have shared company.”

“Without a doubt,” Adeliza replied, thinking that it was not long enough.

“At least today is a time for celebration and peacemaking,”

Maheut added. “We can begin restored and anew.”

“Indeed,” Adeliza said. “The birth of the Christ Child is always an occasion for joy in the world whatever our sorrows and tribulations. I pray that peace will prevail for the sake of all who suffer.”

“Amen to that,” said Maheut, a little narrow-eyed now.

“By our actions and our prayers should these things come to fruition.” She and Stephen moved on, and although Maheut followed her husband it was by her will that they paced forward, like a snail with its shell.

Adeliza knew she was going to vomit, and pressed her hand to her mouth. Blessedly Will noticed her predicament and hurried her from the hall. She stooped over in the bitter winter cold and heaved and heaved, feeling utterly wretched.

Will supported her as she straightened, and offered her a napkin to wipe her mouth. “What is wrong?” he said anxiously.

Adeliza pressed her hand to her belly. “I think I may be with child again, although it is too early to be certain.”

Immediately he was all tender concern. “You should have said. I will take you to our lodgings.”

“I only began to suspect when we were on the road. I knew you wanted me to attend this crown-wearing, and it is so long since I have been to Westminster. I wanted to see the palace again and worship in the abbey.” She shook her head sadly.

“Perhaps it was not so fine a notion after all. We can never go back, can we?”

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Forty-four

Devizes Castle, Wiltshire, Summer 1142

Matilda tapped her fingers on the arms of her chair and scowled at the men gathered around her. Beside her, a scribe had just finished reading out a letter from her husband responding to her request for his aid in which he had declined to send her extra men and supplies without knowing more, and had refused to come himself. He said he was not averse to providing aid, but had no intention of setting his foot on English shores until fully informed. However, if Matilda wanted to send the Earl of Gloucester to him for consultation, he would listen to what he had to say.

She was furious with Geoffrey for procrastinating and playing shy. She needed him here, now, to turn the tide.

Stephen had recently been very ill. For a while it had seemed as if he might die, but her spies reported he had rallied and was improving daily. It would not be long before he was actively campaigning again and the last thing she needed was to lose Robert in Normandy for a month if not more.

Robert threw up his hands. “Perhaps I should stay here,”

he said. “I do not want to leave you unguarded with strategies unprepared and I have no desire to ride through hostile territory and risk being captured again—for both our sakes.”

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fight without men and horses and money. I can only stretch the resources so far, and they are close to breaking point. We do not have time to send a different envoy to the Count of Anjou only to have him refuse us again. Someone has to go and persuade him, and it is best if it is the man he asked for.”