Lady of the English (9 page)

Geoffrey felt a frisson. He might not desire the marriage, but the notion of such power filled him up as if he were drinking the sun. What it would be to have an empress at his beck and call. What it would be like to fill her belly with his child.

“So I ask you again,” his father said. “Are you man enough in mind and body to do this thing?”

Geoffrey glinted him a look. “Yes, sire,” he said. “I am.”

Fulke nodded approval. “Good. Then we will go forward with this. I will have my scribe write a reply now.”

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ttt

Matilda sat in the garden of Winchester Castle, watching a small flock of sparrows flutter and splash in a stone bird bath.

Droplets sparkled and flashed to a bustling accompaniment of chirrups and tweets. She remembered walking in the gardens at Speyer with Heinrich. Arm in arm they had planned the beds and talked of nurturing the trees so that they would bear fruit for years to come. Little had either of them known.

She had come outside to enjoy the spring freshness, to finish a piece of sewing in clear daylight, and to think. There had been a strange atmosphere in the castle of late. Something was afoot. Her father was snappy and on edge while Adeliza was full of attentive kindness. Robert was always too busy with other matters to talk to her and she had barely seen Brian at all. It did not take much wit to guess the reason why.

A movement at the garden gate caught her attention and she saw her father dismissing her attendants with his usual air of authority. Putting his head down like a small, charging bull, he made his way towards her bench. He was swinging a staff of polished oak and his expression was benign but purposeful.

Matilda straightened up and her heart began to pound.

“Daughter, a fine spring day to be enjoying the garden,” he said, joining her. He chuckled at the sight of the bathing sparrows. “They remind me of certain courtiers.”

Matilda smiled. “I was thinking of Heinrich just now, and the gardens we planned at Speyer. He always loved this time of year.”

He rested the staff across his knees. “Time now, though, to plan a new garden, and turn your thoughts to the future. I have some great news for you and I hope you will be well pleased when I tell you.”

“I think I know what this is about.” Her voice was steady, concealing her apprehension.

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“Do you indeed?” His eyes twinkled, but they were hard too—like bright chips of stone.

“You would not dismiss the servants for a trifling matter.”

He gave an amused grunt. “I suppose the planning has been obvious, although few know the details. Time enough to broach it to all once I have told the most important person in this.” He took her nearest hand between his and patted it.

“So whom am I to marry?”

He smiled and chose to draw out the moment further. “You will have a fine income and a splendid home; you will not want for anything. You will go to your new husband with all the glory to which a future queen is entitled. You will have a train of wealth and luxury. No one will say I have stinted my daughter.”

So the treaty was already drawn up; it had gone that far. Her stomach curdled at this information so casually given. “Where am I going?” she demanded with a bite in her voice. “And who am I to wed—tell me!”

Her father beamed, and she shivered. “You are to marry the son of a man who is about to become the greatest king in Christendom.”

She stared at him, blinking, trying to think whom he could mean.

“Fulke of Anjou is to marry Princess Melisande and become king of Jerusalem. When he leaves for Outremer, his son Geoffrey will become Count of Anjou in his place. He is a fine young man and he will make you strong heirs while securing our boundaries and curtailing the ambitions of the French.”

The greenery and the flowers blurred around Matilda.

“Geoffrey of Anjou,” she said in disbelief. “You want me to wed Geoffrey of Anjou?” Nausea surged.

Now the twinkle was gone from his eyes and only the bright hardness remained. “I expect your obedience and your acceptance in good grace.”

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She swallowed, unable to believe he was demanding this of her. “He is a child.” Her lip curled. “You want me to marry a boy, the son of a common count? You would disparage your own daughter?”

His complexion darkened. “Mind your tongue. Angevin support is vital to the security of our lands. Geoffrey of Anjou’s youth is an advantage. He will very soon be a man.”

“But he is not a man now; he is an untried youth of what—thirteen?”

“Almost fourteen. He will be of an age to consent when you meet to be betrothed.”

She pushed herself to her feet. “Do not do this to me.”

“It is your duty, daughter.” He too stood up; she was tall and they were eye to eye. “You will do as I say. What use are you to me otherwise? I might as well have left you in a German nunnery. There is no better match for you than this. The boy matters little save that he fills your womb and you bear sons to inherit. As soon as that is accomplished, you may live your own life.”

Matilda almost gagged. She could not go beyond the notion that she was being told to wed a boy the same age as the spotty youth who emptied the latrine pots; she felt as if her own father had smeared her with ordure. “I was an empress and you bring me down to this,” she spat. “I refuse to consent.”

Stubborn fury surged through her as it always did when she was frightened or cornered. “Small wonder you did not bring it before all the barons!”

“My closest advisers agree it is sound policy,” he said through clenched teeth.

“But your closest advisers are expected to think like you and agree with all you say,” she spat. “Surely there are better men than a boy like Geoffrey of Anjou if all you want is a stallion?

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for others to make their play for your crown, and I had never marked you for a fool—until now.”

“By God, I will not tolerate this insubordination from you,”

he choked, and lifting the polished staff, he shook it in her face.

“I will honour you with this rod across your back unless you obey me, do you hear? I order you to get down on your knees and pray for forgiveness for defying your father and your own liege lord. I brook no such behaviour from my subjects and I will certainly not brook it from my own child, who should be an example to all!”

Tears of shock stung Matilda’s eyes, but she refused to cry and continued to face him. “And how will the state be served by marrying me to an Angevin whelp?”

He struck her across the face with the back of his hand, the sound making a loud crack. The sparrows flew off chirping in alarm. “Go!” he snarled. “Get out of my sight and seek God’s mercy. We will speak again tomorrow, and by all that is holy you will give me a different answer or suffer the consequences.”

Matilda turned without a curtsey, and walked away, her head high. Her cheek was numb from the blow, but she could taste blood where the inside of her mouth had met her teeth. Her mind was in turmoil. As a little girl she had not wanted to go to her marriage in Germany, but she had been too small and powerless to object. Now, she
was
old enough to object, but still powerless, because what sort of power did a woman have except that which was filtered through men?

Entering the cathedral, she felt as if she were a walking effigy of herself because she had turned to stone. How could he? How could he! How was she supposed to bear this? Prostrating herself before the altar, she tried to compose herself, and consider her father’s will as a dutiful daughter should, but there was no submission in her, only grief and rage. She was to be married to a boy almost half her age. Anyone with any reason could 66

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see that it was ridiculous. Her father said that his inner circle had agreed with him and that must mean her brother Robert and Brian FitzCount at the least. She had been betrayed. She had thought better of them, but plainly they too saw her as a woman to be put in her place. A breeding vessel for the next generation. And this…this boy! His head must be swollen with the power and the prestige such a match would make for him.

Her thoughts turned again to Heinrich as she stared at the candle flames wavering on the altar. If only he were still alive.

She would be valued and protected. Heinrich would never have treated her like this. But she had no one. She would have to protect herself, but how? She had nowhere to turn. There was only God left and He seemed to have abandoned her too.

If He had been merciful and allowed her baby son to live, she would have had a purpose and a place in life. She could have been the power behind her former husband’s throne, instead of a storm-tossed pawn.

On returning to the castle, she retired to her chamber and ordered her ladies to make up her bed, saying she intended to sleep and was not going to dine in the hall.

“Madam, are you unwell?” asked Uli.

“Yes,” Matilda snapped. “I am sick to the soul. Leave me, all of you. I will call for you if I have need.”

“Madam—”

“Go!” she screamed. She listened to the click of the door latch, and then climbed on to the bed to lie with her back to the wall.

ttt

Matilda was roused by the sound of Adeliza talking to her maids, and the waft of savoury food smells. Moments later, the bed curtains parted and Adeliza stood in the space between them with a tray bearing a bowl of broth, steam curling on its surface, a small crusty loaf, and a portion of saffron-glazed 67

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chicken. The maids bustled about, lighting candles and closing the shutters against a lavender spring dusk. As Matilda sat up, Adeliza set down the tray on the coffer. She had brought a folded napkin and a small fingerbowl of scented water.

“I am sorry to hear you are unwell,” Adeliza said softly.

“Did my father send you?” Matilda snapped.

Adeliza gave her a reproachful look. “Of course not. When I told him I was coming to speak with you and bring you food, he was exasperated with me.” She gave Matilda a woman-to-woman look. “He said you didn’t deserve to eat and that a spot of starvation would help put your mind in order, but he did not gainsay me when I insisted.”

Matilda glared at the beautifully arranged tray. “Indeed, I would rather starve,” she hissed. “And I’m not hungry.”

“I do not believe that!” Adeliza remonstrated. “You have a good appetite and you will need your strength.”

Matilda continued to scowl. She truly did not feel like eating, but it was another way of defying her father since he had not wanted Adeliza to bring her food. “You are right, I suppose I will,” she said and reached for the bread.

Adeliza poured wine for both of them and sat down at the bedside. “Ask yourself what good this is doing you. Where will you go from here if you defy your father?”

Matilda tore the bread into small pieces. “You agree with him then.” She gave Adeliza a bitter look. “You are taking his part like everyone else?”

Adeliza shook her head. “I am concerned for both of you.

I know how difficult this is for you. You have lost a good husband and your position at the heart of the imperial court.

But you must look to the future and think about the long term.

Here, drink and be consoled.”

Matilda thrust away the wine, making it slop over the edge of the cup. “You think I will find consolation in wine? Is that 68

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what I should do?” She laughed scornfully. “Drink myself into oblivion?”

Adeliza mopped up the spillage with her napkin and gazed sorrowfully at the red stain. “I think you will find consolation in the Church, and in your children in the fullness of time.”

“I may find strength in God, but no comfort, and certainly no consolation from men of God,” Matilda spat and felt both triumphant and guilty as her young stepmother recoiled. “As to children—I had no such consolation from my marriage with Heinrich, and neither have you with my father. Why should I put my faith in the solace of being a mother?” Her voice strained and almost cracked. “I bore Heinrich a child, and buried him on the same day.”

“I’m sorry.” Distress filled Adeliza’s gaze. She reached out to Matilda in sympathy, but Matilda drew back. Adeliza lowered her arm and smoothed the bedclothes instead until there was no sign of a crease. She said hesitantly, “Perhaps a man only has so much good seed in his body. A younger one…” Her cheeks reddened. “I am not being disloyal to your first husband or your father, but I say to you as one woman to another that your womb may more easily quicken this time.”

Matilda gave Adeliza a long look. “Would you change places with me?”

Adeliza’s blush brightened her entire face. “I would think on my duty to those who desired me to make the match. I would think on the good things that might come of it. That I might bear children and grow to love a young husband as he became a man. The difference in age between us would soon close up and matter less.” She set her lips. “You learn to live with what you cannot alter and find ways to thank God for what you do have. In truth, what are your alternatives? Your father will not change his mind once it is set. If you refuse, he will make one of his Blois nephews his heir and consign you to a convent.

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You came home from Germany rather than become a nun.

Would you choose the cloister now?”

Matilda blinked tears from her eyes, furious that she was crying. “Just for once…” she said hoarsely, “just for once, I want him to see
me
, but he never will except as a tool.”