Matilda Empress Read online

  I stamped my foot on the path, but then caught the heel of my boot in the hem of my mantle. “Oxford will be left with a paltry garrison!”

  FitzCount drew up his fists. “We will defend this keep with our lives. No one can penetrate the waters that encircle us, dismantle these outworks, or dismember our tower.”

  From the bower, I could see part of Oxford Castle’s sturdy wooden palisade. The turgid flowers at our feet seemed more tangible than our defenses. “No fortress stands impregnable.”

  Gloucester paused. “Sister, you could withstand everything except a fire.” He had come to a decision. “Stephen ails; now is the time for me to plumb the depth of your husband’s fealty.” He handed me the posy, and bowed over his pointed boots.

  I received it with a curtsy, but tremble to think that I am no longer the object of my brother’s chivalry.

  †

  Summer

  The earl’s convoy sailed from a harbor near Wareham Castle. Although a great storm racked the waters, so that some of my brother’s ships were lost at sea, and others were pushed out of their path by the winds, Gloucester’s own vessel landed without trouble.

  In his saddlebag, Robert carries a gift from me to my husband, an enormous ring, set with five opals around a center diamond. On the interior of its gold band, it is inscribed, “The Word became Flesh,” promising invincibility in combat. I mean the jewel less as a bribe than as a token of princely enrichment to come, the rewards I shall shower upon the fidelity of my closest confederates.

  †

  Robert tarries, writing to me of Geoffrey’s enormous learned charm and various elaborate military projects. Apparently, in this season, he aims to reduce all the rebel strongholds in southwest Normandy. Together, the earl and the Angevin have already invested, stormed, and defeated ten castles, including Stephen’s Mortain.

  No thanks are sent, and no credit is given, to my talisman.

  I lag behind, nursing my sore and impassive purpose.

  †

  I have not been able to shake the malaise that haunts me. Eager to combat my cantankerous temper, Gerta seeks out various doctors. I deem them all fools in Phrygian caps, and bemoan their extortion of exorbitant fees, but my maid persuades me to submit to their arts.

  Today’s leech, misshapen, suffers from a curvature of the spine; his chin rests against his collarbone and his left arm curls up into a crook beside his jaw. It does not seem likely that he sees beyond his own two feet. Yet he is a creature of ceremony, presumably out of respect for his own university credentials.

  He inched into my solar, then bowed many more times than the situation required. Without waiting for my permission, he lowered himself onto a stool.

  The grotesque seemed certain of my symptoms, before he had been in my presence for a minute. I suspect he bribed one of my women to describe the irresolution and pique that perplex me.

  He glanced at Gerta, as if to dismiss her. “In order to alleviate your despondency, Empress, I would taste your piss.”

  My maid grimaced.

  Would he also insist sniffing the solid waste in my noisome chamber pot? I snorted, rather scandalized. “I do not wish to slake your curiosity.”

  The doctor frowned. “I examine Your Majesty’s urine, merely in order to determine whether you suffer some imbalance of the humors. Are your humors a lion, roaring ferociously within you? Do they scatter forward and backward, like a crab? Do they canter, like a stag, or bleat as a sheep? Do they claw within you, like an angry bear?”

  “The queen cannot allow you to investigate her water,” Gerta interjected. “It is nefarious to suppose that she is possessed by animal spirits.”

  The physician coughed up some phlegm, spitting it out on my rushes. “If the empress is querulous and impaired, her illness may be the work of the devil.” Then the cunning charlatan began to recite a mess of botched Latin, Greek, and cipher.

  “No, no, I see now that you are a master of your profession. By all means, sample my malodorous pee.” Hurriedly, I relieved myself, splashing my legs under my bliaut.

  The quack swirled his finger in the pot, then licked it, smacking his lips. “Ah, you are much afflicted. However, if you drink only beer flavored with licorice, I can vouch for your recovery.”

  Gerta clucked at his diagnosis. “With what largesse can we repay such good news?”

  †

  The pretender arises from his sick bed and retakes the field against me. Aware that I lack Gloucester’s protection, my cousin attempts to eradicate my rebellion, once and for all. He sacks Wareham, thwarting Robert’s plans to land there on his return. Isolating me further, he bombards fortresses all over the west and southwest, scattering my battalions to the far corners of the island. I try to focus on the fact that Oxford Castle still dominates the Thames valley, commanding the north-south route from Northampton to Winchester.

  In this hour of danger, I beg the earl to come back and succor me. I send off so many scrolls to the continent that I have expended all of my trusted couriers and exhausted all of my supplies of ink. Proud of my industry, I mix up a new batch, using rainwater, tree sap, and the larvae of caterpillars.

  Ever assiduous, my maid submerges herself in the castle kitchen, busy with another recipe. She promises that this sweet water will lift me out of my doldrums. This will be an easy prescription to swallow, as I relish its taste: young, green licorice, figs, and crystallized sugar, all stewed with barley. The castle cook convinces Gerta to make a second pot, to fatten up the chickens for the royal table.

  †

  In advance of my brother’s long-awaited arrival, letters sail back to me across the Channel, alerting me to my husband’s harebrained scheme. The Angevin packs off the Plantagenet, to accompany his uncle. My mind spins; is this stupidity or shrewdness? Does Geoffrey dispose of Henry, so that our second boy, his namesake, can inherit Normandy and Anjou? Has he understood that my russet haired son is not his own?

  Robert values the youth as a figurehead; the lawful heir must boost morale among our adherents. Knowing my secret, does Gloucester intend to substitute his nephew for his sister upon the English throne? I begin to comprehend the appeal of abdication, but Henry is only ten years old, and does not belong in the eye of the storm. Deaf to my misgivings, the earl counsels the boy’s presence among us, arguing that my son stands to acquire a more thorough knowledge of Britain, and should play a part in the fight to regain it.

  How can a mere adolescent make a difference? So many of my vassals, seasoned warriors all, have been unable to turn the tide of civil war.

  †

  Fall

  Putting aside all other things, Stephen marches against Oxford, at the head of a great battalion, one thousand knights strong. He arrives at the Thames, to our south, at the ancient ford of Saint Frideswide. Very deep, in the best of circumstances, it has flooded over with the summer rains. Still, he plunges his troops through the churning current.

  We sound the tocsin, and my foot soldiers stream downriver to meet their adversaries. My loyal bowmen dash alongside, stumbling onto a muddy plain, ready to launch their arrows.

  Just now, my valiant men-at-arms are driven back by the invaders, inside the walls of our stronghold.

  †

  I stand on the castle battlements, engulfed by dissonant yells and cries. The pretender’s force murders, pillages, and fires the town. Evading his bombardment, some of the burghers cling to our gates, clamoring for refuge. I smuggle a few of the more prominent ones inside the keep, although how I shall feed them during the siege to come is beyond my ken.

  I do not doubt that my once beloved violates his share of unwilling women. Does he gnash his teeth at the thought of me?

  †

  This morning, at dawn, we lowered our drawbridge to admit my rival’s heralds. Stephen’s messengers stayed only long enough to demand that I return with them, as a prisoner of the crown. In return, His Majesty will pull back from the investiture of Oxford. Acknowledging my adamant ref
usal, nodding soberly, they remounted and cantered back across the wooden planks.

  In the same moment, a few of the most scurrilous of our hangers-on scudded out of the fortress, to escape the hardships likely to follow.

  †

  It has been a month. Our foes still blockade the castle, pelting us with stones and debris, battering our walls with their war engines.

  Today, I surveyed the damage to the outer bailey, under cover of FitzCount’s protection. A small parcel thudded into the dust before me. I snatched it up, and saw that it was addressed to the Lady Dameta. Furtively, I tucked it up into my long, commodious sleeve.

  Brian raised his eyebrows. “We have no Dameta here.”

  “You do not know her, sir. She is a local woman who cowers from men, still in shock after her abuse at the hands of Boulogne’s militia.” My mind raced; would this satisfy him?

  My vassal did not look convinced. “Go within. The catapult extends its reach.”

  I listened to the patter of shrapnel streaming down upon the ward. FitzCount’s shield dwarfed me; he held it close and stood very near. I might have stayed put, under the aegis of my stalwart champion, but I was anxious to open my letter in the solitude of my solar.

  Still Stephen’s dupe, I shivered to read of his derision and his perfidy.

  I cannot forgive you my chains. I would subjugate you if I could, the better to revenge myself upon you, and have my way with you. I no longer admire you in any way that can make a difference, yet I flit about you, slighting other concerns. I despise you and crave you. I would mistreat you, even snuff you out, but I cannot desert you.

  I was young, whole, and pure, when I lay with you, before the time of my domination. You say that we might sustain our empire in righteous union and place the crown upon its fruit. This dream is not possible, after all that has come before. When I rid myself of you who have tainted me, I will find myself complete once more.

  Hastily scanning his message for the first time, I only perceived his indefatigable passion for me. My chest tightened; I shook all over, thrilled to have bewitched him, my supposed apathy all but forgotten. The second time through, parsing the note more carefully, I was overwhelmed by my cousin’s odium, how he shuns the happiness that is ours for the taking.

  I glory in his debilitating despair, for I have had more than my portion. I am outraged by his willful denial of our connection, yet understand that it behooves us both to travel down new and disparate roads, away from each other. These, then, are our separate fates. My reviled beloved sinks into hell, where sorrowing and gleeful beasts await him with open mouths, while I float upward, to Christ’s kingdom.

  †

  We starve, as our supply of foodstuff dwindles under the depredations of our unmanageable guests from Oxford. Despite my angry protestations and the dire warnings of my knights, the burghers sneak into the storerooms to assuage their rumbling stomachs. They are unable to discipline themselves, not even through prayer.

  The Count of Boulogne’s army cuts off every avenue of approach to the city. We have no hope of reinforcements or provisions. From the aperture in my solar, I can see the paths running through the neighboring landscape; enemy regiments crowd the overland routes. The usurper’s patrol boats clog the surrounding waters.

  This evening, a royal herald deposited an odiferous package into my solar.

  My maid, delighted, seized and ripped open the gift of viands. “Oh, Empress, your scoundrel repents.”

  I held my nose at the congealed fat, plastered to the flesh, and the unmistakable stench of high meat. “He endows me with scraps unfit for his hunting dogs.”

  “We cannot be so choosy in this hour.”

  “Eat it, if you must. I will not take his leavings.”

  Gerta tore into the food, unmindful of her smeared cheeks.

  I closed my eyes, remembering the sacrifices of our Mother Mary. “Hail, Holy Virgin, Hail.”

  My maid finished off the nasty victuals. “Does She hear you, you who have so long neglected Her counsel? Does She forsake you, you who have only turned to Her so late?”

  I said nothing, for what defense could I make?

  Gerta laughed bitterly. “Your evil familiar does not forget you. He hopes for no other advantage than your notice, and fears no other loss than yours.”

  †

  Last night, after all were asleep by the wan light of a crescent moon, my despicable cousin appeared in my chamber, fully disguised as one of my own guard. Had he struck a bargain with a demon, and traded his king’s mantle for a cloak of invisibility?

  Sighing, I thought he was a hallucination, born of my strangled desire. Only Gerta’s gasp shook me out of my mistake.

  Harshly, Stephen whispered. “Do not howl, woman, before you are sure that your lady wishes you to alert the garrison.”

  A wail formed itself at the back of my throat, but I snuffed it out. I quivered, and my voice choked. “Retire. Report nothing.”

  “For love of you, Empress, I will commit this sin.” My maid rolled away from me, inching open the door to my solar. Its hinges squeaked. “But beware!”

  In the darkness, the pretender disrobed, peeling off my colors and pieces of chain mail. “I have been sequestered under your pallet, cramped and miserable, for hours on end.” He began to stretch, twisting his slender torso to the right and left. “Maud challenges the single-mindedness with which I invest your citadel. She will have noticed my absence from our tent, and I will have to apologize most abjectly.”

  Now Boulogne wore only a linen chemise, resembling the pilgrim’s white shirt of atonement. His pale legs glowed faintly.

  Titillated, furious, I clutched my pillow to my chest, hiding its emaciation. “Her acrimony matches my own; you have made us mirror images of one another.”

  Stephen tangled his fingers into my hair. “I cannot achieve a perfect rapport with her, or commune with my honor.”

  “One last time, I ask you to dispose of her.”

  “She is my family and my kingdom.”

  The count climbed over me.

  Despite my longstanding enmity and my newborn renunciation, I returned his kisses more wildly than I ever had. The voluptuous blackness of the night cloaked our viciousness.

  He spent little time on the preliminaries. Almost immediately, Boulogne was inside me, rutting ferociously. Suddenly, he pulled himself out of my depths, soiling my thighs.

  Bereft, I placed the flat of my palm on the flat of his abdomen. “You have been enriched by our love, but I have been impoverished by it.”

  The usurper moved to my side. “I trespass against the Lord, driven on by some emptiness of spirit. But I have His promise. I may fall seven times and rise again, if I sink into contrition and righteousness. I shall not forfeit the name of a just man.”

  I laid hold of his manhood, shriveled and sticky. Had the Virgin interceded, and forbidden him to fill my belly with his seed?

  Stephen inched away from me, and rose up from the bed. “Even a wicked man abhors the greatest wrongs. I am ready to grovel before my wife and heaven.”

  I knew then that we had exchanged our last caress. “When have you ever sated your appetites?”

  †

  Blessed be the Virgin’s grace! My brother and son cruised smoothly over a waveless Channel. All fifty-two of their fleet came to shore safely. Robert marches at the head of four hundred knights, both English and Norman.

  Advancing to Wareham stronghold, encamping before its walls, the earl oversaw the construction of siege weapons. Almost immediately, he received word that its royal battalion wished to forsake the false king.

  How simple it can be to take a tower from the pretender!

  †

  It is crushingly cold. Snow covers the scorched city, and whitewashes the desecrated landscape. The spring that supplies our fresh water freezes solid, as does the river. We have no more wood for our hearths, having already chopped up and burned all of our furniture. The throbbing in my stomach seems less o
f a burden now that I can barely feel any sensation in my limbs.

  All yesterday, I abased myself, prone upon the frigid floor of the chapel, in supplication to the Holy Mother. My jutting hip bones ached to be pressed against the icy stone. “Mary, have pity on the sorrowing sinner. Redeem me from this disgrace. I would be like you, a mother of wondrous fame.”

  The Virgin answers my beseeching call, suffusing me with valor and the germ of a devious plan to extricate myself from this fortress. Gerta, FitzCount, and I shall be robed in white, from head to toe. Our men-at-arms will let us down by a thick rope, over the stark wall, into the snowy landscape. Stealing across the Thames, we will creep through our opponent’s camp, then slip into the surrounding woods.

  †

  Two nights ago, I wiggled out from under the usurper’s thumb.

  An enormous white cape and a copious white veil entirely masked my identity. I wore thick gauntlets, to buffer my hands from the rough cord that I gripped as I was lowered into the darkness. Safely delivered into Brian’s grasp, I regarded Gerta’s descent. Slung over her shoulder, a white satchel transported my blue casket and cache of parchment rolls. Tense with adrenaline, delirious with liberty, I perspired, although my breath formed clouds in front of my mouth.

  In silence, the three of us padded over the frozen waterway.

  FitzCount tightly clamped my upper arm, anxious that I not trip and split the ice beneath us. Once upon the further side, unseen in the snow banks, we shuffled past the edge of the royal pavilion, clearly marked with Stephen’s heraldic device.

  My ears pricked at the sound of Maud’s squeals and giggles. I pawed at Gerta, to slow her steps. Reaching into her sack, I slid out my enamel box, opening it up to the night.

  Urgently, Brian shook my shoulder.

  Shrugging him off, I thrust my gloves at him.

  From the casket, I pinched the amber lock of hair. For the last seven years, it has been my most cherished treasure and my most poisonous source of affliction. Anxious to set my soul free, I flung it down, very near to my cousin’s tent. It stood out against the crystal ground cover, like a stain. Thus divesting myself of his relic, I discarded my enemy’s worthless love.