Matilda Empress Read online

  Adeliza had heard tell of Geoffrey’s fine looks. She finds it difficult to credit that I did not fall prey to his attractions.

  I shook my head. “Imagine pure, nascent manliness, but devoid of all warmth. The count’s blond hair is shorn of all its grace; he considers long locks to be a sign of immodesty and feminine weakness.” A forcible bellow from the field emphasized my remark.

  Her Majesty has always admired masculinity. “Short locks better festoon the beauty of the male face.”

  I inhaled the hot air, trapped under our awning. “My knees go weak when I study the brush of Stephen’s amber tresses against the curve of his shoulders.”

  Adeliza looked cooler than I felt. “If you still direct your thoughts inappropriately, it is no wonder that your marriage disintegrated.”

  “Oh, do be a friend to me, Your Majesty. So close to my beloved, I burst forth into bloom.”

  She smiled, but ruefully. “It ill behooves me to incite your recklessness, despite my sympathy.”

  In front of our pavilion, one knight straddled another, and began to strike him about the neck and shoulders. An older, more seasoned member of the royal garrison cried out some remonstrance, but the victorious wrestler did not cease to punch his weaker comrade. Finally, he stood, but gave one last kick of his boot to the other’s temple, smirking to have distinguished himself as a warrior. He strode off, to the consternation of his peers, having violated the elaborate code of conduct for this sort of martial game.

  My maid scurried to side of the defeated fellow, then knelt to smooth his brow as he moaned.

  I swallowed against my thirst. “My husband’s perversions undercut any chance we had at happiness.”

  Adeliza cocked her neck to the side. “Empress, it takes enormous, daily efforts to be a fond, but seemly wife.” We both imagined her crushed under the weight of my father, the old goat. The queen flushed. “You did not strive hard enough to please your young, randy earl.”

  I noted that blood stained Gerta’s sleeves, and stood out red against her pale crinkled linen. I shrugged my shoulders. “I will no longer prostrate myself before that Plantagenet ruffian! It excites him to hit me, and supplant me with a slut, both at his table and in his bed. Would that I were a witch, to cast a spell over his member, and make it disappear.”

  Gerta resumed her position by our side, in time to hear this vulgar outburst. She wagged her finger at my intransigence. “Ah, Empress, you must be the gaily painted shield, and his hard wood the lance that cannot shatter. Permit him to unseat you with the force of his thrust.”

  “I refuse to allow him to dominate me.”

  The queen squinted at me in the bright light. “Dearest! It cannot be so awful, to be overpowered by a virile husband. And, even so, your tie is not thereby expunged in the sight of God. The match was consummated. And it is not merely sexual congress that makes a union valid, but whether or not the marriage was undertaken in good faith, and with the consent of both parties.”

  Her disbelief nettled. “His intentions were never gallant or virtuous. He is the ideal knight, ‘Geoffrey the Fair,’ for everyone but me.”

  †

  Here at Windsor, a newly fashioned maze much intrigues me. Just at vespers, when the cowardly lock their doors and windows against the coming of evil spirits, I slink away to the labyrinth. Making sense of the puzzle placates my frustrations. I enjoy the privacy of these dusk forays; I parade through the green lanes without the irritating presence of busybodies or snivelers.

  At my insistence, Gerta murmured this secret to my cousin’s page. Last night, Stephen waylaid me at the center of the garden.

  Though the evening rapidly closed in, I could see his copper hair etched against the lavender sky. “Ah, Count. You have found an opportunity for us to speak discreetly.” This was disingenuous; I rather hoped to entice some indiscretions from him.

  Stephen inclined his head at my condescension. “Indeed, Empress, the maze grants us magical protection.”

  How I wished that it might be so! “Here we escape the confinements of the castle. The entanglements of the labyrinth permit more liberty of action.”

  Accepting my blatant invitation, my cousin embraced me, pressing my lips with his own. Almost at once, he pushed the veil off of my head, uncovering my braids. He began to tug at my girdle, attempting to unwind it from my waist. “Behold the slender sapling of your waist, the fulsome swell of your peaches above, the cooing of your voice, the starlight in your eyes.”

  What coarse, indiscriminate verse! The haste of his overtures disturbed me. I had returned his kisses, but now I stiffened. “I willingly offer myself to you, but you must swear to me that you will not cruelly neglect me afterward.”

  “I am deeply enamored of you, my sweetheart. Cannot you measure the extent of my delirium?” He handled me roughly, rubbing himself against me, so that I should verify the magnitude of his lust.

  I ached to believe him, and allowed him to ravish me. At the touch of his fingers, the blood coursed through my veins. My tears welled up, for I was in the arms of my chosen knight, whatever the nature of his feelings for me. Love begins with such demonstrations, but how does it end?

  †

  Fall

  The court relocates to Northampton. On my account, the English king commands the presence of all his major vassals, convening a great council meeting to address the dissolution of my marriage and the threat that this poses to our empire. My father remains unsympathetic to my grievances against Geoffrey and my plea to be free of him. The need for a legitimate heir directs his policy in all things. Thinking little of my rights to his throne, he insists that I fulfill my responsibilities to the crown in childbirth.

  I apprehend that someone, perhaps Maud, has divulged my adultery to His Majesty. Neither Adeliza nor Gerta would betray me, but my cousin and I trysted brazenly, out of doors. Surely, Maud’s spies inform her of his duplicity. Or perhaps she has fed her husband a slice of bread, discreetly etched with my initials. If he had any difficulty swallowing it, she ascertains his guilt.

  Tears of frustration watering her fleshy cheeks, she must have thrown herself at the king’s feet. I imagine the countess wore her tightest, skimpiest corsage and her flimsiest, most diaphanous bliaut, with a scrap of a veil that did not fully conceal her golden tresses. My father, admiring her abundant favors, must have promised the despairing damsel to put an end to a relationship that threatens them both.

  This morning, I awoke to find, among the twists of bedding, a lodestone, a magnet to test my chastity! My maid rested beside me, and her fury at such a sneaking attack is even greater than my own. Although Gerta judges me impure, it ill suits her to be bested in the womanly crafts. She plots to invade the countess’s solar, and smuggle in some insult, in return. She waffles between various repugnant ingredients, which she might encase in an amulet: a piece of human feces, some timber from a gallows, the carcass of a black mouse. Let it not be said that an empress and her familiar are incapable of intrigue and soothsaying.

  †

  Last Sunday, the court attended Mass at an abbey just outside Northampton town. The sanctity of the church recalled my wedding to Geoffrey and the farce he has made of our religious vows. My mood grew heavy and resentful. The chants of the monks could not appease my ill humor. My father, stiff and authoritarian, stood beside me. I found it difficult to regret my own sins, stewing instead over the misdeeds of others.

  A bishop intoned the words of the service: “I believe, therefore, I know.”

  I believe, but still I question the wisdom of heaven’s arrangements, and strive to reshape them. I believe, but no longer only in what old men tell me. I believe, but trust most in the purity and goodness of my Holy Mother. Who else but Mary is fit to be my model and my interlocutor?

  My cousin and his kin were positioned just next to us. Throughout the liturgy, I suffered the sight of the Lady of Boulogne, fussing with an impatient Eustace. Bile rose in my throat as I observed Stephen’s outsized prid
e in his son. Maud preened in her extravagant costume, a gaudy yellow jacket, embroidered at the trim with green leaves. It shone as bright as the stained glass window above us, depicting a magnificent peacock, meant to be read as a radiant Christ.

  The countess’s garishness and simpering also distracted His Grace from his sermonizing. He launched out in a familiar diatribe against female whorishness. “She who is wont to decorate her lustrous curls with lace and ribbons, she who stains her comely face with pigments, she who rings her fingers with gems and hangs her neck likewise with sumptuous chains, will yet putrefy, nothing more than food for worms and vipers.”

  Maud blushed and settled down considerably.

  I felt surer, then, that the Virgin witnessed my suffering, and struck this blow for me. I closed my eyes, focusing on this sense of Holy Communion with She whom I adore above all.

  At last, the bishop dismissed the congregation. “May you, even the greatest of princes, go forth in fear of hell’s fire and in hope of the cool waters of paradise.”

  †

  Not one to procrastinate, Gerta coiled a dead, black snake, representing vicious sexuality, under Maud’s bedcovers. This evening, sometimes betwixt compline and midnight, the countess’s shrieks echoed throughout the keep. We chortled as quietly as we could.

  I suppose it must be conceded that my triumph over that bitch is incomplete. Finding the lodestone, I had only my maid to succor me, while the countess has Stephen’s endearments and reassurances. My beloved is sequestered in his wife’s keeping. It is small comfort to know that he belongs properly to me, when he remains at her daily disposal.

  †

  Today, the council assembled in the stark, forbidding great hall of Northampton Castle. I presented myself in a resplendent, bejeweled bliaut of dark red, the color of English royalty. The intensity of the carmine jolted the eye in the spare, somber, monochromatic chamber. I felt buoyed by its forceful color, empowered by its symbolic blazon.

  Supposing that I would receive a daughter’s welcome, I was aggrieved by my father’s cold mien. His rebuff set the tone, encouraging the severity of his ministers and vassals. I was asked for my testimony, and told to plead my case. Losing courage, I became anxious lest the men assembled there should hear the thumping of my heart inside my ribs.

  I reminded myself that I was properly Matilda Empress, for all that I was once and again a mere girl, unadorned with the protection of a husband or a crown. Mistletoe was tucked under my girdle, so shielding me from false condemnation in court. Swallowing my fear, I looked about me. “Marriage cannot be considered a sacrament when its stability is undermined. Although my match has been consummated, there has been no commingling of the soul between the parties concerned. There was unity by consent, but now there is separation by consent. What should be sacred and permanent, but cannot be, is most properly annulled.” I felt some satisfaction as I projected my voice across the vast room.

  Several church elders then spoke about the nature of the nuptial tie, including my cousin’s malevolent brother, the bishop of Winchester. “Marriage is a bond of charity, a generous condescension on the part of the husband toward his wife. Just so, the link between Christ and his bride, the holy church, is not to be understood as love, but as a spiritual oversight on the part of the exalted, the saved, for the welfare of the lowly, the blind.”

  Such well-worn phrases, sermons threadbare from over usage! My retort was firm. “The count was indifferent to my well-being. His devotion to me was extremely sporadic.” I assumed that such euphemisms were necessary to the solemnity of the occasion.

  His Grace turned down the corners of his mouth, as if to suggest that my words were indecent. “An upright man looks to limit his conjugal carnality. The Lord unleashed the Flood in response to man’s sinful excess.”

  I stood taller, lifting my chin. I would not be cowed. “The Angevin forsook me for the pleasures of a harlot. Should I have genuflected before him, in submission?”

  King Henry grimaced. “A man acts as befits him; a woman is merely a woman, as is proper. You have had your chance to advocate, Matilda, and must cede the floor.”

  The bishop of Winchester could not resist tormenting me further. “A wife is not prohibited from taking the veil, if she finds herself too entwined in the paths of immorality to return to her spouse in goodness. Let me remind you of the hierarchy of feminine perfection, in which every woman aspires to the purity of a virgin, or a holy sister. Widows may wash their flesh clean of stain, but wives must tiptoe among the temptations of marital obligation, so as not to fall into defilement.”

  At least His Majesty did not permit him to sully my reputation. “There has been no misbehavior on the part of the Countess of Anjou. My daughter has been an exemplary wife. But although Geoffrey may have strayed from the paths of righteousness, their bond of matrimony cannot be effaced on this account. Fornication, whether here, there, or anywhere, is not the issue. Mary and Joseph were wed, and yet without knowledge of one another.”

  Then, to my shock, I was instructed to retire from the hall, so that the council could deliberate further. Despite my fury at the general tenor of the discussion, and my abrupt dismissal, I swept slowly out of the chamber in my gorgeous scarlet gown. Perhaps a white mantle, as Adeliza had suggested, should have completed the costume. Would the assorted barons and clerics measure me innocent and true?

  I passed the next several hours in my solar, with Gerta and the queen at my side. Finally, FitzCount arrived to report on the outcome of the convocation. As he entered my chamber, his sobriety told the tale against me. “The king rules that the empress must return to Anjou.”

  I was more distraught than incredulous. “Did no one speak for me?”

  Brian brightened. “Your brother of Gloucester suggested that perhaps you might find another partner, better suited to you, but the idea was quickly discarded.”

  “No one found such a notion reasonable?”

  “I would not offend you, my lady, by repeating all of their affronts.”

  I waved my permission, and FitzCount continued. “Many persons are under a delusion with regard to you, and denounce you as a notorious harpy. They worry that the Angevin will not agree to reconcile with such a shrew.”

  Adeliza defended me. “How can they have found Matilda in the wrong, for fleeing from a house of iniquity?”

  Brian blushed. “Empress, whatever your husband’s errors, the English want to be rid of you. They find it difficult to accept your formidable character. They think of their queens more softly.”

  I clutched my ruby skirts. “A gentle queen would weaken their peace.”

  Brian knelt before me, hanging his head in obeisance. “It is my continual honor to protect the throne of the Lady of the English. All my strength, fervor, and prudence are yours to command.” The knight’s eyes mounted to mine. What I would give to see his expression in my cousin’s face!

  Turning on my heel, I began to pace. I noticed that FitzCount stayed on the ground. Some of my frustration subsided. “I am reassured by your adherence to your word of fidelity. How is it that the others disown so easily the princess that they have sworn to hold dear?”

  “Your father decrees that his vassals are to undertake a second oath of allegiance to you. This ceremony of fealty will follow on the morrow.”

  “That is some recompense for this ignominy and my mortification. I trust that Geoffrey’s name is not to be mentioned; he will not usurp my rights. The vows of service will be to me and to my heirs, alone. “

  At my prompting, Brian arose. “His Majesty does not mean to elevate a man in your place.”

  †

  I accept the renewed promises of my people, in return for my banishment from their shores.

  Unexpectedly, my husband concurs with the English. There is some disorder among the Angevin’s barons, who disapprove of the ousting of a royal wife and the promotion of the daughter of a minor nobleman. He finds that the consolidation of his local power depends upon his
having married well. Denise slakes his lust, but she cannot stoke his ambition. The trollop has born him bastard twins, a girl called Marie and a son, Hamelin, but Geoffrey’s messengers guarantee that I will be received with all the dignities that are my due, including a spacious solar.

  To signal his good faith, the count delivers a regal present, an enormous, handsome, honking swan. From around its snowy neck, I unfasten a sealed scroll, and the creature ruffles its feathers, content to be liberated from its burdensome collar.

  Finally, the knave composes a poem for me. It begins: “Staunch despite Fortuna’s wiles, noble still without her smiles, my queen inhabits majesty…” I give no weight to such newfound admiration, but his pledge, this magnificent bird, delights me.

  Greedily, my father urges me to hand it over to the castle cook. Will the Angevin’s courtly deference be as short-lived? The minstrels aver that there is no chivalry that does not spring from love, but my husband’s heart has long been given over to another.

  With the help of Mother Mary, ruminating on Her humility and strength, I steel myself to remember what recommends my husband to my notice. Certainly, his body is harmoniously formed, and he conducts himself with caution and good sense, even when he sins. He is indisputably literate and vastly intelligent; he spends his resources with prudence. He is steadfast and dependable in his opinions. He is an able horseman, a talented warrior, and a respected military commander. He appreciates the arts and values the companionship of women; he is a master of the hunt and excels at falconry. He has a reputation as a knight of distinction.

  Why am I so loathe to resume my place by his side? The law has joined us, and our bond is found to be inflexible and irrevocable. I consider the example of the Holy Virgin. Where does Her mercy direct me? Can it steer me all the way from one the arms of one man to another? I find, in prayer, that She dries my tears. I cling to my love, but I attempt to separate it from my dynastic arrangements.