Matilda Empress Page 18
I moved my hands down over the Angevin’s taut back. For a moment, admiring his perfect form, I forgot the strife between us.
He stroked my hair, spreading its dark mass upon the pillows.
Unbidden, ugly memories of his preferences washed over me. I froze, awaiting what was to come. Would Gerta’s cosmetic art be enough to conceal the bruises I was likely to sustain?
The Angevin smacked my hip. “Your rival’s laxity incapacitates him; we only conquer when we stiffen our resolve.”
†
Finally, the Earl of Gloucester journeys to Argentan, to devise our invasion strategy. Everyone is in a celebratory frame of mind. My spirit illuminates with the thought that I may someday find myself the mother of my people. Robert believes that we will prevail against our hated, disloyal cousin. Geoffrey counts on his future importance in Normandy. Denise gives thanks for the promise of my impending absence. The serfs, cheering the likelihood of a plentiful harvest and the restoration of their common pasturage, fall in with our mood.
The holy season gives our court an excuse to express our optimism. Yesterday, Lammas Day, Argentan’s baker prepared sumptuous loaves from the first ripened grains of this year’s crop. At our feast, the breads presented far outnumbered the platters of viands. I stuffed myself on the flaky, buttery wastel, the pink saunders buns flavored with sandalwood, and the noble pandemayne, marked with the Lord’s cross. Trumpets heralded the arrival of the Lamb’s Wool, a deliciously spicy apple cider. Our thirsty retinue emptied barrel after barrel.
I did not hold myself aloof from the ritual games. Our entire entourage circumnavigated the great hall, flourishing loaves speared with lighted candles. Children wove in and out of the flickering ring. I heard many murmur their approval of the spectacle.
Later, the castle steward snuffed the tapers, and the more abandoned dancing commenced. As the musicians struck up a carole, my ladies and gentlemen joined hands to form a circle in the center of the cavernous chamber, and began to sing, while skipping round quickly. Next to my brother, I cavorted to the jaunty, whistling tune and the raucous clapping and stamping.At long last, Robert and I collapsed upon one of the benches lining the wall.
The earl panted, his cultivated features distorted by his labored breathing. “You must excuse me. I have not danced so heavily since I courted Amabel. Women hop and leap for what they want; men wield their arms.”
I fluttered my skirts, trying to cool myself. “Gloucester, are you angling for a compliment? You dance masterfully, yet with grace. You must have been the cream of the usurper’s court, floating above their swill approximation of royal manners.”
Robert stretched his legs, as the laughing ring romped past us. “When at his leisure, the king’s various talents are most evident.”
Geoffrey and Denise, flush in their beauties, whirled by us. I sighed. “If I had married him, we might have ruled wisely and well.”
The earl looked me full in the face. His eyes posed a question. “Very few make any claim for His Majesty’s character.”
My voice quavered. “Boulogne’s errors of judgment are legion. I say nothing of the pretender’s honor, which he discards, only of the knight that he might have been under other circumstances.”
Gloucester clenched his knuckles. “So many men of our generation fling their integrity aside.”
I nodded. “Gentle knights are unhorsed. Their steeds circle the field, with empty saddles and swinging stirrups.” The chirping, galloping music began to grate on my nerves. I rose to retire to the dais.
Robert accompanied me, and settled me under the canopy.
I cast a glance over the rambunctious crowd. Henry, Hamelin, and Marie darted among the groaning boards of food. Geoffrey had collapsed onto the musicians’ platform; Denise sprawled on top of him. He fondled her while she mopped his brow with her sleeves.
The earl reclined his arms on the back of my chair, and fingered my veil.
The touch of his small hands made me uncomfortable, and I stiffened. “How the vanities of this world differ from the simplicities of eternity.”
Gloucester massaged the base of my neck, under my flowing hair, where I had perspired during the exertions of the festival. He wound damp strands between his fingers. “Sister, now is the time to overwhelm England.” My brother’s grasp supported my head. “I receive numerous messages, assuring me that the country will be ours, that the throne will by yours, within six months.”
“Many who back us in southern England have been vanquished by Stephen.”
The music wound down. The dancers cleared the floor, making room for the gymnasts and tumblers. The sun had set, but the torches on the walls were left unlit, to cool the room. I was glad that the dim light and the acrobatic performance accorded us more privacy.
Robert’s words swirled around me. “His Majesty manages badly without his cunning brother as his chief advisor. More and more discontented subjects stand ready to fight for our dynasty. On our return, we shall carry with us only one hundred and forty adherents, a small army for so enormous an enterprise. But we are awaited with great expectation, by the high and the low.”
The rhythmic thumping of the tumblers enlarged itself, and became for me the drumbeat announcing the arrival of our army. “Where shall we land our expedition and find welcome and safe haven?”
Gloucester knelt down beside me, so that his mouth was level with my ear. “Our enemies watch the southern harbors day and night, to intercept us upon our arrival.”
I shuddered. My beloved would be apprised of my every move, from the very moment that I appeared on the other side of the Channel.
Now my brother whispered. “We cannot travel around Land’s End to Bristol, for it is too long and dangerous a trip.”
The pounding beat clarified my intention. “I have a better idea, which shall blindside them.”
†
Fall
We came ashore at Portsmouth. I had not reckoned upon the banality of our homecoming. No crowds materialized to toss flowers or otherwise formalize my disembarkation; no multitude of glittering knights appeared to escort us to a place of security. With dispatch, we betook ourselves to Arundel Castle, Adeliza’s dower gift from my father. My dear friend unlocked her doors to us, in shock as much as in support, for I had not wanted to compromise her, or risk refusal, by requesting hospitality in advance. Immediately, Robert and twelve of his men repaired to Bristol along rustic and unused byways. I stayed put at Arundel with Amabel of Gloucester and the rest of our excursion force.
Adeliza is remarried now, to William of Aubigny, Earl of Sussex, an intransigent promoter of the Count of Boulogne. Well-contented, the dowager cleaves to a knight worthy of her admiration. I notice her blushes, as she stands by the side of her virile, patrician husband. The earl’s gray hair distinguishes him, while his full mouth and beaked nose suggest that the queen has been introduced to the pleasures that she once chastised.
Today, buffeted by a strong wind, we stood upon the battlements of their keep, searching for any signs of the pretender’s auxiliaries. Chivalrous William commended his wife: “His Majesty does me a great service, wedding me to my fair and royal lady. Her superiority, which is yet without inflated grandeur, her noble speech, her agreeable company, the delight her sweet expressions bring me—all these I owe to your cousin.”
I gazed out upon the countryside of Sussex, ablaze in the colors of the season. “Well should you praise and value her pure heart.”
Antsy, Amabel adjusted the veil framing her widely spaced, cornflower blue eyes. “The dowager’s modesty merits our approbation.”
My friend’s white cheeks mottled with pink. “I reject reverential regard, now that I am no longer England’s queen.” She stretched out her hand for Aubigny. “King Stephen also grants me a boon. Heaven blesses my new family, my husband and son.”
I wondered at the handsome pair: Adeliza, wrapped in a light green wool mantle trimmed in fox fur, and William, gathered up in a darker green surco
at. Draped in her newly found happiness, the queen seemed remote. Did I still matter to her? “Beware the patronage of the usurper. All his promises are made in bad faith.”
Amabel chewed her bottom lip. “Fortune smiles on those who sit atop of her revolving wheel, wallowing in their success. But she grows disgusted with them at last, sets it to spin, and knocks them off.”
The earl slammed his palm down upon the rough wall of his ramparts. “I am His Majesty’s satellite. My wife offers refuge to you dissidents, but I do not countenance her generosity. I earnestly desire to wish you ‘God speed.’”
†
Unexpectedly, my perfidious lover encircles the fortress of Arundel. Demanding my surrender, he plants a large army of well-seasoned soldiers outside Aubigny’s walls.
From the small window of my solar, I often catch a glimpse of his red hair beneath his chain mail coif. My stomach churns. I yearn to signal to him, even to prostrate myself before him. If he would greet me with kisses, I could submit to some compromise. I essay to stay out of sight, so that he does not have the satisfaction of seeing my liberty restrained by his might. Yet, again and again, I am drawn to his figure.
This afternoon, I loitered by the opening, mesmerized by his desultory movements.
The dowager entered my chamber, sitting down upon one of my wardrobe trunks. Her face displayed none of its usual serenity. “Empress, royal messengers urge your capitulation.”
I dragged my gaze back inside. “Two years ago, the count and I met in amity. Does he not transmit to me some token of his regard, some private communication?”
Adeliza startled. “You cannot still worship your enemy?”
I thought of her potent earl. “Out of love he besets me, ignoring the greater threat at Bristol.”
My friend shook her head. “Matilda, you pose a bigger danger to him than the Earl of Gloucester does.”
“The castle at Bristol is impregnable. Some number of his counselors surely are sagacious enough to perceive the strategic importance of winning it. Under the sway of his passion, the pretender jettisons their foresight.” If I could not convince myself of my cousin’s devotion, how should I persuade Adeliza, or Stephen himself?
The queen argued carefully. “We stand such a small garrison here, despite the addition of your brother’s unit. As of yet, His Majesty declines to bombard our tower, although he knows that it is not equal to the force that he brings to bear upon it. We, you, must come to terms with him. The king grants you safe conduct, back to Robert’s custody.”
In frustration, I kicked at my skirts. “Why do you speak for my despised rival, whom you never respected in the past?”
“I cannot defy the crown. I cannot sacrifice Arundel.” Adeliza sank to her knees on the rushes. “Empress, I beg this favor of you.”
I towered above her delicate form. “I return to England—I return home—to guarantee that King Henry’s will be done.”
The dowager’s eyes filled with tears. “His Majesty swears to me that knights of high repute will guide you safely to your brother.”
With chagrin, I understood that my lover’s word of honor was more credible when it was directed to my father’s widow than to me. “Do you deny our confidence in one another?”
The queen flushed, weeping. “Matilda, you do intrude upon me. I succor you, and His Majesty graciously ignores my treason, in return for my husband’s unwavering allegiance.”
“Against my claims!” I did not permit her to rise, but stalked back toward the aperture in the wall.
Without my leave, she did not presume to quit the floor. Her tone was wistful. “You weigh me a fickle comrade, another who plays you false.”
I picked out the pretender, surrounded by his battalion, laughing uproariously at some joke. “Someday soon, you will no longer have to degrade yourself before the Count of Boulogne. I will sit upon the English throne, and he will fret in misery. He will come to know what it is to be abandoned.”
†
Stewing, furious, I balanced atop my fidgety warhorse. Arundel’s massive winch creaked round. The drawbridge slowly lowered over the moat, to the stone ramp on the far side of the water. Adeliza and William stood behind me in their outermost ward, ensuring that I decamped their custody. I could feel their relief between my shoulder blades.
Erect in the saddle, I spurred my horse forward, under the portcullis and onto the wooden planks. Traversing the bridge, Amabel rode beside me. The usurper and his mounted retinue came into focus. Henry of Winchester, appointed to guide us to Robert, sat adjacent to the false king.
My sister-in-law smoothed her gloves down over her wrists, although there were no wrinkles in the leathers. “We were wrong to suppose that His Majesty no longer confides in his bishop.”
On the far side of the moat, we inched up the stone incline, reining in several paces from my rival and his entourage.
His Grace heaved himself off his horse and stepped slowly forward, to give me his ritual kiss of protection. I pulled off my gauntlet and extended my arm downward, stretching and elongating my fingers. Henry, surely aggravated to find that I did not dismount, and greet him as I would a spiritual father, pressed his rough lips against the back of my hand, signaling his promise to safeguard me to Gloucester’s care. As soon as I dared, I drew on my glove. Relieved to be going home, Amabel smiled down upon the bishop, and received a much more distinguished ceremonial buss.
The Count of Boulogne’s expression was sober. “Empress, let us parley alone, before I turn you over to the keeping of your contingent.”
My breath caught in my throat. I forbore to assent.
We trotted some distance away. Impetuously, I yearned to gallop off with him, out into the wide world, but he came to a halt still within sight of our retainers.
His eyes matched the color of the sky on a cloudy day. “Those who care for us both do not know where to pledge their troth.”
My emotion ran high; I dispensed with politeness. “I do not want the tribute of buffoons, but of honest men who hail their rightful queen. You were once my first vassal. Damn your apostasy!”
My cousin began to unfasten a tangled ribbon on the embellished mane of his stallion. He frowned, either at the complicated knot, or at my ill humor. “Do not lambaste me, Matilda!” The pretender raised his gaze to mine. For a moment, there was only silence between us. He exhaled, and shrugged his shoulders. “You should exalt me; in your arms, I am the master of joy.”
I scoffed aloud, some guttural noise that was unintelligible, even to me.
“Or dread me, then; in the throes of combat, I am the master of pain.”
I could have ripped off my cloak, baring myself. In the same moment, I burned to plunge a dagger into his corrupt heart. “What of our two sons? Henry Plantagenet begins his own military training. Would you have him grow to adulthood to ride against you on the field?”
Annoyed, the Count of Boulogne flounced his amber hair, long again, over his shoulders. “I have been elected, anointed, confirmed. Why do my subjects heinously desert me, or dare to raise their swords against me? By Christ, I will never be a fallen king!”
I glanced back at the restless swarm of courtiers, impatiently awaiting the end of our conference. “There are many who rally in my defense.”
Regaining his composure, Stephen grinned. “The Lord in His mercy suffuses me with enough energy to overcome every trial.”
His inflated self-regard sickened me. “Let heaven confound you with doubt and lamentation.”
The pretender finished straightening his animal’s plumage. “I have it on good authority that the Almighty has installed me upon the English throne. Who would presume to question the ways of the Lord? Who would dare to subvert the will of heaven?”
I clenched my fist, pulling the mane of my mount, which sidestepped, so that my lover’s legs and my own were pinned together between our horses’ flanks. I looked into his face, and poured out all my hate. “You are a false, debased monarch, tainted by wicked debau
chery and stolen glory. Your crown is steeped in wanton vice and bloated with ungrateful pride. The Holy Mother is vexed to anger against your realm. Confusion and sorrow torment Britain. But I will wash England clean. Your vile sins, against my father, against me, against our sons, shall be expunged.”
Engulfed by an immense hunger for him and a prodigious ire, I spun my destrier around and cantered back toward the keep.
†
We traverse the bishop’s diocese, and have stopped to rest at Wolvesey, his sumptuous palace in Winchester.
My grandiose accommodations stagger me; domestic luxury usually requires a woman’s hand. Gerta whistles at the stately, brown silk bed hangings, the cushioned niches below the windows, and the rich, cultivated tapestries decorating each wall. Wolvesey is clearly a house of earthly, not spiritual, plenty.
After bathing, and some calculation, I dressed myself in a crimson silk bliaut and a gray corsage stitched with a honeycomb pattern of silver fancywork. My pointed sleeves dripped all the way to the hem of my skirt. My maid wound silver ribbons into my hair, left hanging down my back.
At supper, I inspected His Grace’s nondescript, but displeasing visage, comparing it with his brother’s elegant symmetries. In Henry’s face I see my cousin transformed into a man who no longer holds any appeal. Lifeless orange strands replace rich russet tresses. A permanently astringent expression twists fine lips. Dark sacks beneath comely gray eyes rob them of all of their magnetism.
Repelled, I stared none the less at a pink rash that rose from the collar of his tunic. He should know to refrain from scratching until the sun had set, and then to spit three times upon his bloody fingers. Winchester was no friend to me; I would not advise him.
And yet, given our close proximity, I was forced to converse with him at length. Amabel flirted assiduously with some minor baron, and did not pay any attention to our remarks.
Enjoying a joint of meat, glistening in its own grease, His Grace discoursed upon the sin of gluttony. “It was an idle, nosy woman, ravenous of stomach, who ate the apple, and destroyed Eden.”