Matilda Empress Read online

  †

  My husband continues to treat me with noticeable harshness. Lonely for a man’s company, I am grateful for the amity of my brother, now lodging with us in Angers.

  As today was bright and mild, he accompanied me and my two sons on a walk through the meadows near the castle. Young Geoffrey’s short hair, the picture of his father’s, shone yellow, almost white, resembling the patches of dead grass that rot among the new green sprouts. Henry’s shouts rang out, as bright and insistent as a clanging bell. Robert smiled as the boys scampered around us, then sprinted past.

  Hampered by my pregnant girth, I veritably waddled, despite Gerta’s admonition that a lady of high station must never tread too heavily, nor take excessively wide or long strides. I carried a basket in which to garner fresh herbs and whatever else I might find of use. To increase their efficacy, it is best to pick herbs barefoot, and in silence, but at least I have been celibate for the previous week.

  Gloucester steadied my swollen form through some particularly marshy ground. “Our new king bombards me with a torrent of messages, enjoining me to come to do him homage or forfeit my estates. My wife appeals to me, repeatedly urging me to submit to him. Amabel attended the Easter assembly, but her presence was no equivalent for mine, and Maud gave her many broad hints about the favorable reception that I would encounter at court. For my compliance, I am to obtain all that I wish. Of course, the queen also foreshadowed our coming impoverishment, if I did not soon swear myself to their new dynasty.”

  “Hussy! Queen of England, indeed! I am the queen of England.” Sniffing, I sank awkwardly down to the ground to collect a pile of goose droppings. Geese manure cures baldness, and Gerta has begun to trade salves and ointment for scandal. I remembered to gather them with my left hand, so that they might operate with the most potency.

  The earl pulled me upright. He opened up my hamper. “You remain Empress of the Romans. We have been outmaneuvered. Perhaps there is no point in isolating myself from the center of events. What good will it do our cause if I lose all my great fortune?”

  I wrapped my handful of brown pellets carefully into a scrap of red cloth, and then placed the bundle in a corner of the basket. “Is your fidelity for sale?”

  Robert slammed my case shut. “Without allies or resources, there is nothing to be gained by opposing the pretender. If I am to build up a party of our supporters, I must answer his call. I will abate his suspicions now and surprise him later.”

  I looked my brother in the eye. “You will give him the kiss of faith.”

  Gloucester kept my gaze. “I shall negotiate to serve him conditionally, for as long as he keeps the agreements between us, and protects my dignity entire. Trust to my diplomacy.”

  I flushed to remember how he had warned me against my cousin. “Ah, well. I am familiar enough with the traitor’s disposition to prophecy that his vows to you will be worthless.”

  “Then it is no evil to offer empty assurances to him in return.” The earl pinched a spider that was climbing up my gown.

  I considered the creature. “Give it to me. I will stuff it into a plump raisin. Swallowed, it eliminates the ague.”

  Robert laughed low. “That medicine sounds worse than the ailment.” He held out the bug, now curled defensively into a ball.

  I quashed its round mass between my thumb and forefinger. “The Count and Countess of Boulogne will deeply value your recognition. They will think to have trampled on both my pretensions and yours. You were long his fervent rival for my father’s favor. It will be painful for me to hear of my brother in obeisance to the man whom he has always hated. Some day you will bend your knee to me, who loves you in truth.”

  †

  Summer

  The pretender received the scroll that our dunce of a lusty monk transported in his commodious beard. He response traveled in the saddlebags of another journeyman priest, finally reaching me in the new season.

  Following my lead, my unworthy lover discards our pseudonyms. In response to my charges, the knave chooses to forward his Oxford Charter of Liberties of the Holy Roman Church. It upbraids my defiance, commencing:

  I, Stephen, by God’s grace elected king of England, anointed by exalted archbishops, welcomed and applauded by worthy subjects, and afterward consecrated by the holiest of holies, the pope, out of piety and duty, vow that the Church shall be free, and confirm to it the fidelity and service that I owe.

  The usurper dares to affirm the privileges, revenues, and fiefs that the church held at the death of the conqueror. He shall not confiscate vacant sees, as His late Majesty saw fit to do. He envisions a glorious alliance between Church and State, as between himself and his brother, king and bishop. It is pronounced: the kingdom of England shall be one with the Kingdom of God.

  Does he imagine that he impresses me with his imposition of regal authority? I discount these pledged concessions from a dishonorable knight who keeps none of his oaths to me. How can his brother trust him to uphold the validity of canon law when he dispenses with his honor and his word, subjugating them to his ambition? My mind is in an uproar at these alterations; my cousin disposes of what is mine to accord or to deny.

  Tucked within the larger curl of parchment, I discover another scrap of paper. Hastily scribbled, it reads: “I approve of the plans for Gervase.”

  †

  At the end of the hot months, my pains brought me to bear of another son, whom the Angevin names William. Throughout my confinement, young Marie kept vigil at my side. Her interest in my shuddering disfigurement aggravated Gerta, but served to distract me.

  As one of my torrid moans subsided, the girl marveled. “You resemble a gargoyle; you make deformed, obscene faces.”

  “If my nature is polluted, these pangs will cleanse it.” Another cry escaped me.

  The child’s composure never wavered. “Now, I see. Your strength is the strength of stones.”

  The Matter of the Crown

  Scroll Eight: 1137

  What queen can cease to hunger for power, once she tastes it? What lady can desist from passion, once she commences to listen to her heart? Only bloodshed could abate the empress’s ferocity after she tallied up the injuries that she had sustained at her enemy’s hands. Then she reveled in the onslaught of civil war. Matilda had lost her grandeur; in vengeance, she would devastate the land. O, let us give thanks to the angels who put obstacles in the way of those who sin against them! A great conflagration would envelop the empire, but the first hostilities were short-lived. The empress ought to have rejoiced in peace, but instead she schemed to engulf her people in destruction.

  †

  Spring

  Lately, I enjoy the pleasures of the hunt with the Angevin and his favorites. My husband is bemused to see me relish his blood sport, for I have never been receptive to his brutality. Yet, after a long winter of preserved meats, I willingly brave the mud and damp for the chance to slaughter fresh game in the clean wind. In the chill of the dawn, I gladly depart our stuffy castle for the physical exertion of the chase.

  In the hills and valleys outside Angers, the sun shines brightly over the splendid view of the winding Maine. The foxes and harts cast off caution, for they too are itching to be out in the open, foraging among the new foliage. Geoffrey’s huntsman has an easy time of it, stalking the quarry with our dogs, and almost immediately sights the animals in a clearing. The greyhounds strain at their leashes, even before the horn sounds. Each of our resident vassals has had an opportunity to make a kill, either with a lance or an arrow.

  The Count of Anjou dotes upon his falcon, Euphemia, and caresses her with calm affection, setting her bells to jingle. I have heard him laugh more often in the past month than I have in the eight years since our marriage. In this season, Denise does not figure first among his diversions.

  This morning, we had a bracing run. At sunrise, we scurried to gulp down wine-sopped bread in preparation for a long day in the saddle. My husband spilled a few drops of claret upon his mant
le, then brushed off the beads of red liquid. “It is quite a different matter to smear one’s coat with Bordeaux, than to stain it with the blood of another knight.”

  I offered Geoffrey a flagon of drink, to replenish his cup. “Today, you may look to your coverts for amusement. Leave it to heaven to strike down our enemies in reproof. I have heard that the traitorous archbishop of Canterbury meets his death, in punishment for his broken vows to me and to my father.”

  Alert, Denise essayed to offend me. “No, it is His Majesty who falls ill, carousing alongside his subjects.”

  I scoffed at her information. “You rehash rumor, and rely too heavily on the nonsense of the jongleurs.”

  The Angevin had little patience for our bickering. “The story is widely accepted. Relying on His Majesty’s demise, and the cessation of crown authority, many of his vassals presume upon anarchy, and look to strengthen their positions against their neighbors. In an infectious spirit of rebellion, barons raid and pillage all the fiefs within their vicinity.”

  Geoffrey rose from the table and pulled on his leather gauntlets, adjourning us to the stables. “Your fool of a cousin marches against some, compelling them to surrender, but then pardons them. Why does he vacillate, rather than forfeit their property? What worthy knight lets slip through his fingers that which he has taken by force? Castles will be held against him, again and again, if there is to be leniency for the defeated.”

  As we rode after our dogs, I considered the usurper’s idiocy. If English men of birth are restless, and ready to resist the pretender, then the hour of my revenge is at hand.

  A black spotted greyhound, leading the pack, caught the scent of a buck. Enmeshed in my thoughts, I trotted at the same slow pace, suddenly heedless of the chase. My destrier gradually dropped to the rear.

  A hue and cry went up among the hunters, as the stag emerged from the woods. I did not swivel in my seat to watch the hounds close in. My mind was full of the adventures of my rogue cousin. How to disarm him? I felt full of daring do, but the energy I might have expended on the hunt flowed outward, up out of Europe, over the Channel, and down upon my island of England.

  A cheer erupted, as Geoffrey thrust his spear into the wounded animal. The greyhounds only ceased their braying once the beast was skinned and their share of the meat had been laid out on its hide.

  A lull had come over our party. I glanced up, and noticed a vulture making lazy circles in the air above us. I caught my husband’s eye and pointed upward. He motioned to one of his men, an archer, who took down the raptor in one smooth shot. The large, ugly bird dropped to the earth with a thud. I trotted over to it, eager to lay claim to its carcass. Gerta and I can use its skull, brains, kidneys, and testicles. I instructed one of the squires to secure my portion and deliver it to my maid.

  Slowly, I rejoined the mass of my husband’s entourage, offering up my congratulations. The Count of Anjou, flushed in his success, aroused by his bloody, finishing stroke, vaulted from his great steed. He strode over to Denise’s horse, and lowered his delighted mistress to the ground. Together they wandered into the thick underbrush. Our attendants disbanded, to stretch their legs while Geoffrey fornicated.

  One of my husband’s squires helped me to dismount. Noting that I perspired, the boy drew off my mantle, draping it over my saddle.

  I set off on a stroll down a small hill, to a copse of trees. I dropped down upon a mossy log, and fussed with the trailing hem of my bliaut, to free it from dirt and twigs. Quite by happenstance, I scraped the toe of my boot into an anthill, alarming its colony. The ants swarmed over my foot, and I stood up to stamp them out.

  Suffused, in a moment, in flashing red ire, verily trembling with fury, I smote them down. I chased after those who tried to escape me through the grass. I circled back around to their home, and scraped it flat with a stone. I scattered their small corpses to the wind.

  Finally, my head cleared, and I ceased to plague them. I was drenched in a cold sweat, but was myself again. I scrambled up over the hill to the clearing.

  †

  In this season, Gerta and I proposed to pay another visit to Avera. Indifferently, Geoffrey accorded us his permission and a small company of knights. When Denise was informed that the Angevin had sanctioned our journey, she maneuvered to join us. Thus, a beautiful spring morning found us trotting next to one another, on our way down the river.

  Beneath her veil, Denise’s fiery curls burst out of their plaits. Unfortunately, her manners were just as ill composed. Her red mouth minced her words. “Are you yearning for news of Good King Stephen? Is this why you consult a soothsayer?”

  Why must I continually spar with the wench? “The Count of Boulogne’s transgressions are no secret. The minstrels cannot seem to find another topic for their wit. Again and again, he destroys the trust of those who pay him credence.”

  The slut bit her lip, in mock dismay. “Oh, Empress, I know how he repudiated all of his vows to you!”

  That sally was easy to parry. “Why yes, he did. He swore to protect and defend my claims to my fiefdom. He pledged to fight for my rights to the throne.”

  The bitch snorted. “He is keeping your crown warm on his own head.”

  Irritated, I dismissed her to fall back and ride among my guards.

  With envy, I had taken note of the trollop’s pale skin. Was the sun browning my own complexion? I reached into my sleeve, withdrawing the distilled juice of pressed walnuts that my maid had given me to stave off freckles. I rubbed it onto my cheeks and nose.

  At my behest, Denise took the first turn with the enchantress, while I poked about outside Avera’s hovel. Was it possible to eavesdrop? Surprisingly, all was silent from within. From the harlot’s sly smile and full basket, it was afterward clear that she had transacted her business successfully.

  Without Gerta, I entered the fetid hut. Avera was thinly dressed, although heavily painted. She wore many rings, presumably bartered by women lacking ready money.

  I could still see the youth in her face. “You need only give useless herbs to my husband’s concubine. The Count of Anjou still clamors for her.”

  The witch raked her eyes up and down my figure. “The girl worships her valiant hero. She cannot be blamed for her jealousy. Your wars will take him from her arms. He will fight for your son instead of hers.”

  Suspicious of good tidings, I mulled this over. “Tell me something of importance, what cannot be guessed. Enlighten me with what is imperceptible.”

  Avera’s expression clouded. “I am enslaved to an ecstasy that may wash over me, day or night. I cannot always command it.”

  How well I understood her. “When I pray to Our Mother Mary, Her knowledge permeates my soul, without the help of my five senses. I do not see Her figure with my eyes, or hear Her voice with my ears, or touch Her robe with my fingers, or smell Her perfume. She has no communion wafer, for me to taste.”

  “But you have left Her altar, to come to me, as if you were my disciple.”

  I blushed. Why had I fallen in with a witch? Had she transformed me into a golden ass?

  The enchantress closed her large eyes. “I scan the skies, clear and stormy, hazy and starry. Under what conditions will you meet your destiny?”

  Goosebumps rose on my forearms. “My destiny is the crown.”

  Avera exhaled, opening her lids. “Unwind your shroud; your lovely face is a death’s head.”

  Did she accuse me of vanity, or of atrocity? “It is the Count of Boulogne who lays waste to the empire.”

  The hag stood mute. My heart thumped in my chest.

  Her voice tolled in the silence. “You idolize this dark horseman of doom; you make with him two sons. You are in league with him, to bring evil to the world. Is this your fate?”

  I stamped my foot. “I cannot choose whom I love.”

  “No, you are wise there, my lady.”

  †

  Summer

  In the torrid heat, Geoffrey tolerates the shrieks and silliness of our thre
e young boys more than I would have supposed, given his aloofness and his erratic temper. The state of our marriage swings with his moods, from hearty dislike and poisonous conflict to banal respect and a settled normalcy. I do not stoop to potions or coquetry, but I am capable of lessening my contempt for the Angevin when I see him encouraging my sons and paying them proper regard.

  †

  My hour is at hand. My husband and I are united now in our crusade against the pretender; at last, the Count of Anjou prepares to abet his wife’s reconquest of the Continent. The heralds’ announcements hail down upon us; disorder plagues Normandy. Every one of its noble magnates endeavors to increase his influence and territory at the expense of the others, in advance of Angevin incursions.

  Leaving England, the usurper lands in the duchy and is immediately consumed by the chaos. Stephen liberally grants castles and pensions, attempting to mollify the greed of his vassals. Luckily for my cousin, the Norman barons have as much to gain from the English royal treasury as they do from the spoils of battle. The Count of Boulogne even bribes his own elder brother to fight alongside him, paying Theobald of Blois two thousand marks of silver for his adherence.

  In accord, Geoffrey and I abhor my rival’s treaty of friendship with the French King. Stephen and Eustace kneel before Louis VI, in return for formal recognition as the once and future Dukes of Normandy. My husband’s furor at the conniving pretender who undercuts his own dream of a dukedom matches my searing desperation that the young Plantagenet’s rightful title and property are transferred to Maud’s boy. The knave! No English king gives himself in fealty to the French crown. My father’s many victories on the field proved that Normandy is rightfully a part of our own realm, no fief of the Franks. My beloved’s deliberate and indecent negligence unravel Henry I’s empire and clearly illustrate his unfitness for the throne.

  †

  We raise an army of several thousand knights, bowmen, and foot soldiers. Each day more men pour into Angers to swear their allegiance. The townsmen make an easy profit, selling weapons and provisions to the throng. Glittering shields and stiff trappings of new leather litter our castle courtyards. I keep a close watch on young Henry and Geoffrey, who scuttle among the lances and swords. My sons thrill to see their father parading about in his gleaming armor, directing an extensive war enterprise.