Lady of the English (51 page)

6/9/11 5:35 PM

Lady of the English

She left the room, followed by the maid with the used water.

A different girl arrived with a fresh bowl, a chemise of clean linen, and an old-fashioned gown of dark red wool with a simple braid belt. Matilda removed the various layers of garments in which she had travelled, washed, donned the chemise and gown, then sat down on the bed and put her face in her hands. She wanted to cry, but her eyes were dry, and besides, tears were a waste of time. She had to think her way out of this. What was going to happen to her? What was she going to do now? Wallingford was a safe haven but she could not stay here indefinitely. She could do nothing until Robert arrived, but what after that? She could see no way out of the forest.

Leaving the bed, she sought distraction by drinking a cup of wine and looking at the books and scrolls of parchment on the shelves. Some of the writing was in the hand of a scribe, but she recognised most of it as Brian’s neat, swift script. She realised that this was Brian’s chamber—his private place—and the notion both disconcerted and comforted her. She picked up a small book bound in plain leather and found herself gazing at a copy of a treatise expounding her right to be queen of England.

She put her hand to her mouth as she read the erudite Latin.

Brian argued with the incisiveness of a lawyer, the simplicity of a monk, and the elegance of a man whose lifeblood was ink.

Reading the words, feelings of grief and love assailed her in equal measure. She was in his chamber, at the heart of the man, and she was between the words and the fire.

She lay down on the bed with the treatise clasped in her arms, curled her knees towards her chest, and closed her eyes.

Breathing in she inhaled his scent from the sheets, mingled with a faint aroma of incense.

ttt

“She is still asleep,” Maude said to Brian. She stooped to pick up the newest version of Rascal and fondled the pup’s silky 405

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ears. They were standing in the hall before the fire and the servants were setting up trestles for the main meal of the day.

“Leave her,” he said. “She will wake when she is ready.”

He looked at her with his eyes full of wonderment. “Do you know what she did? Escaped out of a window at Oxford Castle by rope, crossed the frozen moat and the river, walked to Abingdon, and then made her way here through the night.”

“Indeed, she has great fortitude and courage,” Maude said, and pressed her lips against the top of the dog’s head.

“More than anyone I have ever met.”

She gave a small sniff. She admired the empress for fighting for what was hers by right, but Brian never stopped to think that those same qualities had to be applied to the daily grind.

To portion out rations and keep a level head whilst constantly surrounded by enemies and with the castle in a state of semi-siege. Month upon month; year upon year. Sometimes she felt like a donkey, staggering along under a heavy burden of firewood, while Brian ignored her to look at the fancy glossy horses prancing past on the road with bells tinkling on their harness. Her own fortitude was about to be severely tested by the arrival from Cirencester of Robert of Gloucester and his entourage. Providing food and lodging for such numbers was no simple matter and she loathed all the pomp and ceremony.

“How long will the empress stay?”

“For as long as she has need,” Brian said, giving her a sharp look. “She is entitled to all the help we can give her.”

Maude said with quiet conviction, “She will destroy you.

I can see the hunger in your eyes.”

Brian gave her an impatient look. “No,” he said. “You do not understand. She is what keeps me alive.”

“Then you should find other sustenance before it is too late,”

Maude retorted and, the dog in her arms, walked briskly from the hall.

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Brian watched her leave and clenched his fists. He did not want any other sustenance and it was already too late. Either she would feed him, or he would die, and be glad to do so.

ttt

Three days later the snow was still thick on the ground, but the wind was less cold and there had been no fresh falls. Standing in the outer bailey Matilda studied the selection of horses milling in the enclosure, their winter coats plush and thick and their breath clouding the air.

“Choose any you want,” Brian said.

She perused the animals with a keen eye. Most were in the slack condition of winter stalling, but she considered the underlying conformation. She wanted a horse that had stamina, a good pace, and even temper.

“Just one?” She gave him a half-smile.

His mouth curved in reply. “You may have them all, but you can only ride one at a time.”

Matilda indicated a mare with a rich golden coat and pale mane and tail. “That one,” she said

Brian had her tacked up and fitted with a lady’s saddle. Matilda mounted from the block in the yard and took the horse on a circuit of the training ground. The mare was smooth-paced and strong, but tugged to the right and Matilda felt her spine twist and jar. Unsuitable for a long journey, she thought. Returning to Brian, she accepted his aid to dismount and, stepping out of his grasp, indicated a grey gelding. “Now this one,” she said.

Brian gave a wry smile. “So you do intend to try them all?” He gestured to the groom and the men set about changing the tack.

“At least until I find the right one.” She gave him a sidelong look.

Brian was relieved to see that sudden gleam. Oxford had taken so much out of her. Despite all the sleep she had had, her eyes were still ringed with exhaustion. The look she had given 407

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him was at least a sign that somewhere deep within her spirit still burned.

Matilda tried out several horses, but finally returned to settle on the grey. “Definitely this one,” she said, riding back to Brian and patting the horse’s neck. “The roan is too headstrong. A man might say such a horse can be mastered with whip and curb, but why ride something unruly when you can have a good mount that will not cause you trouble?”

Brian patted the grey and ran his hand down its shoulder. “A pity this horse is not England.”

“Indeed,” she agreed.

Taking the bridle, Brian led the grey back to the stable with Matilda still mounted, then he tethered the horse to a post and helped her dismount. For an instant they stood pressed closely together with his hands either side of her waist. She touched the side of his face, and he turned so that his lips kissed her palm. He grasped her fingers to hold her there.

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Brian,” she whispered.

“Dear God…” She tugged her hand free and pulled away from him. Her limbs felt weak and heavy. She wanted to kiss his mouth and the place beneath his ear where his hair lay in a vulnerable curl, but knew it was crossing a boundary, and once it happened, there would be another step and another on the forbidden side and no turning back. Already they stood on the cusp of scandal.

“This can never be,” she said. Making a tremendous effort, she turned away and walked swiftly towards the keep.

“I wasn’t tempting you,” Brian said wretchedly to the space where she had been. “I was torturing myself.”

ttt

Matilda retired to her chamber, washed her face and hands, and changed her stout boots for soft indoor shoes. She was trapped here, she thought, and in this room which was Brian’s through and through and gave her neither respite nor tranquillity.

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Riding the horses had lifted her spirits for a short while, but knowing she could not just leave as she chose, knowing that her every move was being observed and judged, made her feel like a prisoner.

The lady Maude entered the room. Her dark gown was flecked with dog hairs as usual and she smelt faintly of the kennel. “Heralds from the Earl of Gloucester have arrived, domina,” she said. “He will be here by noontide.”

A great wash of relief swept through Matilda and she felt as if a crushing weight had lifted from her chest. “Thank God, thank God! That is great news!” With Robert here, Wallingford would feel more like a court and she could begin the business of governing again in earnest. She needed to talk to him and find out what had happened in Normandy, and especially how much aid Geoffrey had sent, even though he had obviously not come himself. They could take stock and regroup; recover and evaluate.

Maude made a stiff curtsey. “If you will excuse me, domina.

The castle is going to be full at the seams and there is food and accommodation to prepare.”

Her voice was neutral, but Matilda sensed the resentment lurking in the impassive gaze. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“I know this is a hardship for you.”

“It is my duty, domina.” Maude raised her head proudly. “I am lady of Wallingford, and have been since well before your father of blessed memory was a crowned king.”

“Nevertheless, you have my gratitude.”

Maude curtseyed again, woodenly, as if Matilda had offered her an insult.

ttt

Matilda prepared for Robert’s arrival. She dressed in one of the gowns she had brought from Oxford, worn as an underlayer that snowy night. It was of red wool, the sleeves and neck 409

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trimmed with silk of the deep royal purple that was the hue of a western sky at midnight, and stitched with jewels. She wore her father’s sapphire ring and a large glossy ruby that matched the gown. She had brought her crown of gold flowers from Oxford, and she set this on her head, over her silk veil. The feel of the band across her brow reassured her, carrying as it did the pressure of regal authority.

An usher came to tell her that the Earl of Gloucester and his entourage had arrived and were dismounting in the outer bailey. Matilda smoothed the dress and, with mingled feelings of relief and apprehension, went to greet her brother.

There was no sign of Brian, who had gone out to meet the party and escort Robert to the hall in honour, but Maude was there, and she too had changed her dress for one of plain but clean blue wool. Jugs of wine had been set out on a table together with baskets of bread and pastries.

Robert entered the hall with his customary vigour, the manner of his stride emphasising his height and his strong body.

However, there were tired pouches beneath his eyes and far more grey in his hair than Matilda remembered. She hastened to embrace him, but stopped in her tracks as she saw the boy standing a little behind him and to one side like a squire. He was sturdy, with golden-red hair, freckles, and brilliant grey eyes. “Henry,” she whispered, close to disbelief. “Henry?”

“I have brought you a rare and precious Christmas gift,”

Robert said, smiling.

“My lady mother,” Henry said and knelt to her.

Matilda stared and stared. She wanted to bend down and scoop up the little boy she had left behind, but in his stead was this older being, self-contained and already marked for manhood. It was as if she had put down a precious object and returning to it a while later had discovered it utterly changed.

All the emotion she had been suppressing as she battled to 410

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survive and keep hope alive now threatened to flood up and overwhelm her. Her chin wobbled and her mouth moved in different directions as she tried to control herself. She had a position to uphold, and knew she should not be acting like this in public, in front of her son. People were gazing at her in consternation.

“Mama, don’t cry,” Henry said, looking at her askance. “I am here now. All is well. I will protect you.”

She tried to hold back her tears and failed. “I am so pleased to see you, I am overcome,” she choked. “Let my lord FitzCount show you to your chamber and I will come and talk to you in a little while.”

Henry blinked for an instant, then adapted his mental stride and bowed to her again, and when he stood up, gave her a smile as bright as the sun.

“Come, sire.” Brian gave Matilda a worried look, but smoothly dealt with matters. “There is a fine chamber prepared for you and my lord of Gloucester, right up near the battlements.”

“Can I see the dungeons too? And the armoury?” Henry’s voice filled with excitement, his meeting with his mother already losing its importance in the face of more interesting, masculine fare.

“You can see the entire castle and I will show you where everything is and answer as many questions as you can ask,”

Brian replied, “but first your chamber. Give your mama a moment to herself.”

As Brian left with Henry and Robert, Matilda allowed Maude and her women to help her to her room, but once there, she shrugged them off, furious at her own weakness. She gestured everyone to leave, and lay down on her bed with the curtains closed. Dear God, she thought. What sort of example was this to set to her son? She wrapped her arms around a pillow and held it against her body with her fists, trying to 411

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stem the spasms as other memories welled to the surface. All the things she had dammed behind the façade of being the empress now poured out of her. The flight from Winchester; the jolting over rough ground; the pursuit and the terror that she might be caught. Climbing down from the tower at Oxford into the bitter air. The long, dark drop and the fear that she was going to die. The moments with Brian when she had pulled back from intimacy and denied herself that comfort, choosing to walk alone. The nugget of concentrated emotion she had felt on seeing Henry so grown up had breached the flood banks and suddenly she had become a mother and a person. She couldn’t let Henry see her thus. He must not think she was weak.