Lady of the English (48 page)
Matilda forced herself to face her marshal. During the fierce fighting around Winchester, he had taken a desperate stand at the nunnery of Wherwell and lost one eye when lead from the burning abbey roof had dripped down and terribly scarred half his face. Looking at him was like looking at the living and the dead combined in one man. She would do him the honour of not pitying him, nor showing compassion, because he had never pitied himself nor asked for favours. “I am aware of the situation,” she said curtly, because he was right. Geoffrey would refuse to talk to anyone but Robert because he had that petty streak within him, and because as far as he was concerned, his own campaign in Normandy was more important and a success, whereas hers was in ruins.
Robert heaved a sigh. “If that is what is necessary then I shall go. I can understand his point of view, even while I do not condone it.”
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Geoffrey of Anjou fixed his brother-in-law with a cold aquamarine stare. “The key to England’s crown is Normandy,” he said. “Until I have a secure grasp, it is folly for me to come to England and divide my attention.”
They were sitting in a sunlit chamber in Robert’s keep at Caen on a glorious afternoon in early September. Swallows stitched the sky, gorging on the last flies of summer before their departure. Geoffrey glanced at his nine-year-old heir who sat at a lectern in the golden light, busy with quills and coloured inks while the men talked strategy. His hair sparkled like fine-spun metallic thread in the rays slanting through the window arch.
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Only a week ago, Geoffrey had taken the castle of Mortain from Stephen’s constable. It had been a good campaigning season. Tinchebrai and Vire had fallen too, and more than half a dozen others. “One more effort will see Normandy secure for my son and his heirs,” he said. “If I widen my focus now, I will undo all my work—all that I have achieved, and surely we have had enough of that already.” He watched Robert’s lips tighten. Geoffrey did not dislike his brother-in-law. He found Robert rather wooden and staid, but he was intelligent, a decent battle commander, as proven on their recent campaigns around Normandy this summer, and staunchly loyal to Matilda. Such endurance and tenacity was to be admired. “I am not finding fault with you,” he said smoothly. “I know how contrary and difficult my wife can be when she takes the bit between her teeth, and you have had your share of ill luck and treacherous barons and prelates to contend with. However, it is pointless for me to come to England, and dangerous. The English barons will mutter about an Angevin upstart, and while my wife might welcome the men and money I provide, she won’t welcome me.
If you are having problems keeping men’s loyalty, how much more difficult will it be if she has her Angevin husband in tow?”
Robert scowled. “If that is your stance, then it was foolish and pointless to summon me to Normandy. You could have said all this by letter. Each day I am gone makes the situation in England more precarious.”
Geoffrey shrugged. “I needed to know what was happening, and who else should I ask but my wife’s own brother? Letters and messengers are all very well, but they do not tell the whole of it. I have had no direct contact with Matilda for three years, in which time she has had her fingertips on the crown and by all accounts lost it through her own obstinacy, so who then is the fool? I must know that if I commit men and money to England I am not throwing everything into a bottomless pit. Besides, 381
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having seen you as a commander here, it does not dispose me to come to England.”
Robert stiffened.
“You take me the wrong way,” Geoffrey said, although with a gleam in his eyes to show that he had been deliberately baiting Robert. “You are an accomplished general, and you would object to my interference in your theatre. If we are being honest with each other, you no more desire me in England than I desire to go there.”
“I could go,” Henry piped up from his lectern. “I am going to be king of England and I should be there. It’s not fair that Mama should be fighting when I’m not.”
Geoffrey eyed his precocious son with amused pride. “Think you so?”
Nodding, Henry left his window seat and brought his parchment to his father and uncle.
Geoffrey studied the sketch of a castle under siege with arrows flying towards it across a ditch. Bodies bled copiously through their mail shirts, and men were hurling stones off the battlements. A ribbon of blue was evidently water because there were fish swimming through it. Henry started pointing out the weaknesses of the defences and how he would go about the siege and capture. “It’s the Tower of London,” he said.
“But you have never seen the Tower of London!”
“Then I need to.”
Geoffrey chuckled, but then he sobered and shook his head.
“England is a dangerous place. It would be unsafe to let you go.”
“No place is safe,” Robert replied harshly. “Bringing him to England might just tip the balance. We need to show the people that this child is their brightest hope for the future. He shines with kingship.”
Geoffrey frowned, reluctant to take the conversation further.
He had often been told of England’s magnificence in the days 382
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of the old King Henry, the peace and fertility of the lands, the brimming treasure chests, but that was all gone. Stephen had squandered the gold on his mercenaries and his cronies, and what he had not spent, his bishop brother had stolen. There was war, and the fields were black with a barren harvest of ash. It was no place for a sane man to go, much less a vulnerable child.
While Henry was here, he was under his eye, his influence and his tutelage.
“I want to go,” Henry said with a stubborn jut to his chin and a steely glint in his eyes that reminded Geoffrey entirely of his wife. “I want to learn about war.”
“Have you not learned enough about it in Normandy?”
Geoffrey demanded. “I can show you everything you need to know, and explain it.”
“But it does not come with a crown,” Henry replied with inarguable logic. “I want to see Mama, and I want to see England.”
Geoffrey tightened his lips.
“I will look after him,” Robert said earnestly. “I swear on my life that he will come to no harm. Only give me the men and supplies to help us through this. You are right that Normandy may be the foundation for your son’s victory, but what point is a foundation if you do not build the house?”
“That is up to you and my wife, and thus far whatever you have built, you seem determined to raze the next day,”
Geoffrey snapped.
“And your wife and I know that we need aid from Normandy and that it would be greatly enhanced if Henry returned with me—since you will not come yourself.”
Geoffrey gave Robert a strong look, but eventually sighed.
“Very well. I will give you three hundred men and sufficient provisions to fill fifty ships. I expect you to provide for my son and guard his safety with your own life as you have sworn. You 383
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will return him to me the moment I ask for him. And on those conditions alone, you may have him for a brief while.”
Joy shone from Henry’s eyes as he uttered a whoop of triumph, and immediately dashed off to tell his brothers that he was going to claim his kingdom.
Robert’s face sagged with relief. “Thank you,” he said. “You have made the right decision.”
“I hope so,” Geoffrey said grimly. He was far from relieved himself because he knew that, even with the most rigorous safeguards, England was a dangerous, difficult place and Robert could not protect Henry from everything, and that began with the sea crossing. It only took one mistake from the helmsman and one rogue wave. What really made his heart sink, though, was knowing how much he was going to miss the daily presence of this bright, vibrant child, who lit his world like the sun.
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Forty-five
Arundel, Autumn 1142
F eeling exhausted but triumphant, Adeliza gazed down at the infant nestling in the crook of her arms, clean and freshly swaddled. The birth had been hard work because he was a large, robust baby and had taken his time and a deal of effort to push out, but she had him in her arms now and the miracle was as fresh as the first time: a golden moment that made a trivi-ality of the pain and blood and danger. She had been barren; now she was fecund. She only wished Will could see him, but he was away on campaign. Having recovered from the serious illness that had laid him low throughout the spring and early summer, Stephen had once more taken to the field.
She and Will had spent the first six months of the year in Norfolk, at their new castles at Rising and Buckenham, watching the progress of the builders and attending to matters of estate, dealing with business pertaining to the Church and their various foundations and patronages. She had watched her eldest son turn from a pudgy infant into a proper little boy with strong limbs and the speed of a deer. His sister Adelis had become an imperious toddler with pink cheeks, riotous golden curls, and her father’s wide candid stare. But in August, Stephen’s summons had broken their idyll and, once again, she had watched Will ride away to war, to fight for a man she regarded as a usurper.
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Juliana went to answer a knock on the door and Adeliza heard her speak to Rothard the chamberlain. Then she came over to Adeliza. “Madam, the earl has just ridden in,” she said with a curtsey.
Adeliza gasped and struggled to sit up in the bed. “What?”
A firm masculine tread sounded a fast beat on the stairs outside her chamber, and Will entered, still clad in dusty travelling gear and wearing his sword.
Flustered at his sudden arrival when she was unprepared, Adeliza pulled the covers up around her body. “I did not know you were coming!” she said. “You should have sent word!”
He made an awkward gesture. “I knew you were in your confinement chamber and would only fuss if I did. This way was better.” He advanced to the bedside and she inhaled the odours of outdoors and pungent hard travel on him. His lips were cold and his whiskers sharp as he kissed her. Then he looked at the swaddled baby.
“Another son,” she said proudly, but with a slight frown of exasperation. She had not decided whether his not telling her was thoughtful, or thoughtless. She placed the baby in his arms. Watching him trace the delicate little eyebrows with his forefinger and stroke its cheek, her expression softened.
“You are well?” he asked.
“The better for having you home,” she said, “whether you choose to tell me or not.”
He looked up from the baby and his eyelids tensed at the corners. “I can only stay a little while,” he said.
She searched his face. “How long is ‘a little while’?”
He hesitated. “It depends on circumstances, but I hope to be here for your churching.” He returned the baby to her arms.
“You should rest; I will return later and we’ll talk.” He kissed her again and left.
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had exhausted her and all she wanted to do was sleep. He was right, however. They would certainly talk later.
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In the morning, Will bore his new son to Arundel’s chapel and had him baptised and christened Godfrey, for Adeliza’s father.
Her kinswoman Melisande and her husband Robert stood as godparents. Following the ceremony, Will returned his son to the confinement chamber. Even as he walked up the stairs, he was still undecided about telling Adeliza his news. Her health had been challenged enough by the birth, and he knew she would fret.
When he entered the room, she was out of bed, sitting on the window seat dressed in a loose silk robe. Her chamber attendants had set out food on a trestle—bread, honey, warm curd tarts, and a jug of hot wine—so he knew she wanted him to stay awhile. “Young Godfrey has the voice of a bull calf,”
he said with a chuckle as he kissed the baby’s cheek and handed him to his nurse. “I thought he was going to roar down the roof when Father Herman baptised him. He is certainly going to be heard across a battlefield.”
“Pray God that he will not need to utilise such a skill,”
Adeliza replied with a shudder. “Better he should use it to sing God’s praises than for fighting.”
Will prudently held his tongue and escorted her to the trestle, making a fuss of her and ensuring she was comfortable. He poured her wine and served her himself with bread and honey.
Adeliza ate well but daintily and as always Will was fascinated by the way she managed not to let drop a single crumb. He sucked honey off his own fingers and surreptitiously fed crusts to Teri under the table.
Adeliza rinsed her mouth with wine and then turned to him. “Tell me what you did not tell me yesterday,” she said. “I know you were holding something back.”
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He thought wryly he should have known he could not hide anything from her. He picked up his own cup and turned it round. “Stephen is besieging the empress at Oxford.”
Her eyes widened in dismay.
“We crossed the Thames last week. A local guide found us a fording place, although we had to swim the horses across. The garrison tried to stop us, but we had their measure and they were unable to close the gates against us.” He spoke without inflection, avoiding her gaze.
Adeliza felt queasy. She knew what happened to the people when the gates were forced open by the enemy.
He opened his hands, palms spread outwards. “With Robert of Gloucester away in Normandy, it is Stephen’s best opportunity to take her and end all this. Oxford’s castellan died three weeks ago, and there is no one of sufficient military standing there to take the fight to Stephen. It will be over as soon as the castle runs out of supplies.”