Matilda Empress Read online

  With a sigh, I dismissed him, wondering whether he felt the pull of an attraction. Was he agitated by my presence, or did he merely play a courtly game?

  †

  Several days passed without my capitulation. Then, today, the sly king sent his queen to represent him. I am clear-sighted enough to understand that Adeliza’s affection for me is surpassed by the importance she ascribes to her royal duty.

  Finding me with my maid, sorting my gems, she took up one especially large brooch, a cluster of cabochon rubies. She marveled at it with a question in her eyes.

  I am not as proud of it as I once was. “Henry V presented it to me on our wedding day. Its seven stones symbolize the seven gifts of God. The emperor graced me with all of heaven’s bounty.”

  Gerta snorted at my first husband’s munificence. “An empress may flaunt her lovely white throat, her shining white cheeks, and her slender white fingers, but she must hide everything else of note beneath a tightly pinned mantle.”

  Her Majesty caught her pink upper lip between two small ivory teeth. “Empress, I regret that my barrenness will keep you from another contented union.”

  I turned my gaze to the queen. “His Majesty has transferred valuable fiefs to his nephew. How is it that he does not approve of him?”

  My friend relaxed her pinched expression. “There are worthier knights than Stephen of Boulogne. Very few truly esteem the man that you prefer. Envious of his rapid advance in power and wealth, many of the barons doubt his capabilities. They would not wish to bow down to him as their superior.”

  I smiled to speak on his behalf, to defend him. “His fairness and his gregariousness have established his reputation as one of the lights of our court.”

  Adeliza scoffed. “Oh, yes, he is vastly pleasing, quite the gallant chevalier! I do not doubt that he has been tutored in the seven liberal arts, or that he has memorized the seven wise precepts and mastered the seven knightly skills. But the other magnates rightly distrust his smooth manners.” Here the queen paused. “The church’s commandments are clear: thou shalt not covet another’s husband. Whatever the poets claim, your cousin should know better than to cast his eyes upon you.”

  I began to fasten the ornament to the leather of my girdle. It took some effort to work the point through, as I did not wish to force it, so marring the belt. “Since we were children, Stephen and I have regarded each other warmly. The depth of my current passion for him disconcerts me. I am not even certain that he returns my feelings.” I had established the brooch somewhat crookedly and would have to redo it.

  Her Majesty stayed my hand. “As always, he makes too much of himself. But, my dearest dear, you will have to give him up. Henry’s authority must not be questioned. You shall travel to Anjou, and be the ideal wife, ravishing Geoffrey’s senses, but remaining chaste, discreet, and pious.”

  Although averse to control, my mutinous spirit faltered. The queen saw that she had breached the tower. She laid down her womanly arms, coming forward to embrace her defeated foe. I consented to be comforted, although her arms were no substitute for those of the Count of Boulogne.

  I am morose to be exiled to a boy’s bed in Anjou, just as my desire for a man awakens. Maud remains at the center of England’s affairs, frolicking with my Stephen. If only the king would banish the inconvenient bitch to a convent, and leave me mistress of the field.

  †

  His Majesty is pleased with my surrender, for Clito’s star rises again. Some villain assassinated Charles the Good, Count of Flanders, as he prayed at the altar of the church of Saint Donatian, in Bruges. The king of France, feudal overlord of the region, claims the right to appoint his Flemish successor, choosing Clito. Whenever possible, Louis VI works against my father’s interests. Of course the English sovereign thinks to baffle this scheme.

  A frenzy of preparation engulfs Windsor castle. My wedding cortege departs posthaste, so that the soldiers who accompany us to the Continent can then go on to fight for Flanders. Stephen is to lead the armies against Clito, as his wife’s county of Boulogne borders the Flemish principality. Haphazard in his anxiety to see his general set off on the road, His Majesty sends my beloved in my train. Stephen seems gratified to be part of our procession; Adeliza hints that he yearns to prove his mettle in battle. The king travels separately, in his own caravan, and will join me in Normandy for my wedding.

  Despite my impending nuptials, I can scarcely understand my good luck. Maud is furious to be apart from her husband as she awaits her confinement, and barely appeased by the honor that falls to him.

  Gerta admits to conniving on my behalf, sewing Maud’s initials onto a scrap of linen, setting the fabric alight, and dropping the ashes into the castle moat. So it is that the slut has been compelled to remain behind as we set off on our adventure.

  †

  My own wealth is depleted now, my widow’s dower spent, and I am reduced to selling off precious stones to augment the small annual incomes from my few German estates. With these reduced monies, I somehow maintain the knights and servants of my household.

  Fortunately, my father’s gratitude loosens his purse strings. With gold from the crown coffers, I order bolts of fabric from London, to make up into new gowns and cloaks, suitably sumptuous for my nuptial celebrations and my new life in Anjou. Gerta and I sew busily indoors, as the earth renews itself outdoors. With the change of season, the wind of fashion blows, necessitating that we redo my wardrobe, almost from scratch. The most elegant women suddenly decry their simple woolen gowns, preferring floor length, crinkled chemises, known as bliauts, layered under more elaborate, short, sleeveless jackets, termed corsages. The costumes are finished with ornamented girdles. Thankfully, the new style continues to permit tight waists and wide, trailing sleeves, both of which set off my slender figure to advantage.

  Today, running her needle through the embroidered trim of a new bliaut, Gerta whispered the name, “Geoffrey the Fair,” searching for rhymes. Too quick for her, I proposed “Knight of Despair,” and “Lord of Nowhere.” Stitching a honeycomb of fancywork onto a corsage, the queen seconded my maid’s attempts, suggesting “The Ladies’ Snare,” and “Enemies Beware!” Yet, as I draped luminescent Turkish and Spanish silks over my shoulder in admiration, I thought only of the effect that they might have on my cousin. I will not wait until marriage to wear such magnificence.

  †

  Summer

  My brother Robert and another of my sworn vassals, Brian FitzCount, also accompany me to the Continent. The illegitimate son of the Count of Brittany, Brian spent long stretches of time at our court when we were children. I remember him playing at war with William. Physical games were always second nature to Brian, and his rangy athleticism would have brought him effortless victories, but somehow he arranged it so that my less able brother won most of their footraces and mock jousts. I see now that FitzCount is no mere toady; his mild, loyal nature ensures his popularity among the warrior earls and their retainers.

  Brian has grown into a handsome man, but retains much of the puppy about him. To my taste, his features loom too large for his face, but many noble ladies and several serving girls moon over him. They judge him the perfect specimen of knight, heroic on the battlefield and unfailingly polite at the high table.

  Gloucester’s wife, Amabel, grieves over her beloved’s impending absence. A pretty heiress, she endowed the earl with her fortune and her fertility. She is extremely distinguished in appearance, with a high forehead, wide cheeks, and delicate features. Yet I cannot make peace with her, for she resents Robert’s allegiance to my claim to the throne, believing a king’s natural son to be a more suitable heir than a legitimate daughter. Although my brother wishes us to be friends, she is stilted and uncomfortable in my presence. Her cold expressions wear out my patience. I no longer endeavor to win her over, and I am not sorry that she is left behind.

  †

  Today, for our departure, I wore one of my new pleated chemises, trimmed with elegant bouquets of blu
ebells at the neck, wrists, and hem, underneath a blue corsage, laced vigorously to mold itself to my torso. Gerta questions the wisdom of subjecting such fine silken garments to the sun and the rain, but I overruled her objections and Adeliza’s, who came to bid me farewell in private.

  The queen and I swore to be eternally devoted and faithful to one another; she is the one soul in England whom I leave with any sorrow.

  Her Majesty’s own eyes brimmed with tears. “With the five fingers of my right hand, and the five fingers of my left hand, I send fifty-five angels after you, so that they festoon and trumpet your arrival at the Gate of Happiness.”

  Is it so? Do the fifty-five angels who bolster celestial paradise now hold aloft King Henry’s plan for the English succession? Are we everything, on earth as it is in heaven? In Germany, I never doubted my divine rights. Despite the oaths given to me, my supreme confidence sometimes falters. Will I ever feel wholly myself again?

  As our traveling procession assembled in the outer ward of the castle, I maneuvered my mount near to the Count of Boulogne’s, wanting to witness his final embrace with Maud. Preoccupied, he hurried through their adieus. The countess soon quit the raucous scene, the stomping animals and packed carts jostling for space in the crowded enclosure.

  As I fussed with my horse’s trappings, I tried to let my cousin have a glimpse of my ankles. The minstrels assure us that ladies’ ankles are irresistible, and mine are quite fine. I would give my general something more to think on than his upcoming military campaign. I wished there was a way to show him my knees, but such disarray could not have escaped the glances of the others in my retinue.

  †

  The days on horseback energize me. I feel more in health than I have in a long while. I am young, and on a voyage. I wear an amulet of rosemary, which shields me from the malfeasance of evil spirits. The knight who sets my heart aflutter is always in my sights. I sit tall atop my prancing steed, unfazed by the droppings of manure, the swarm of flies, the raw skin between my fingers and the bruising of my posterior.

  Southern England is in full flower. I am surprised at how much the beauty of the countryside invigorates me. I breathe deeply of the grasses, waving tall in the wind. The grazing livestock, the sturdy wildflowers, and the swarms of buzzing insects enchant me. Ah, the glory of Christ’s largesse! Drinking in the landscape, I am suffused with His grace.

  As we progress, Stephen ignores me, but Brian FitzCount grows especially courteous. I purposely avoid riding alongside him. He is sure to compliment the trappings of my mount or my own refined apparel. I smother a smile each time that he commends its indigo hues, for it is fast fading, just as Gerta predicted. Adeliza’s charming embroideries are stained with my sweat. Now, my maid insists that I wear this ensemble for the rest of our sojourn, so that I do not spoil any other precious clothing.

  †

  The talk among our party is all of the military engagements to come in Flanders and the future of our empire. The Flemish accept William Clito as their ruler. Now that he commands port towns on the Channel, he could easily invade our island. English barons who, a generation ago, supported his father, the Duke of Normandy, and whose lands were therefore forfeited to the crown, would be on hand to join Clito’s marauding armies. If he prevailed, he could return their lost patrimonies. Other nobles who favored my father, and have prospered under his reign, might not fight against Clito’s succession, and risk disinheritance.

  The newly great and the once great are all motivated by avarice, hungry for wealth and honor. Few of our adherents speak of personal fidelity to His Majesty or to me, despite their recent oaths. Henry I cemented his alliances with rich gifts, but also created a class of landless men who have nothing to lose and everything to gain from allegiance to another cause.

  Stephen’s own counties were assembled from those who stood for the Duke of Normandy at the battle of Tinchebrai. Therefore, like the king, he is an intractable enemy of the incubus Clito.

  †

  My cousin begins to forget the family that he left behind, and I have long been ready to deny the marriage that I travel toward. Our horses keep pace, ostensibly so that we might discuss our mutual foe.

  Today, whatever my words, I thought more of love than war. “I trust that you do not rank Clito too highly. The Flemish themselves have already trounced him. In Bruges, the townspeople barricaded their city, until he granted them a charter that promised to eradicate road tolls and property tariffs. In Saint-Omer, the burghers negotiated for similar liberties and even spoke of your powers to tax their cloth at your ports in Boulogne. Clito had to promise that if he fell, their privileges would not be overturned.”

  The count’s tone remained neutral. “It is no shame to parry with townsmen. Their satisfaction ensures prosperity. The wealth of cities strengthens counties, and the men who rule them.”

  Despite my ardor for him, I disagree with his politics. “The fathers of many freemen tilled the land as serfs, and bowed down to their overlords in gratitude. You forget your place in God’s hierarchy.”

  Stephen shook his russet locks out of his eyes. “Power can be won with influence, just as easily as with brutality.”

  I smacked at a gnat that harassed my neck. “Patronage and favors are the arms of women, and women rarely dominate. Aggression and ferocity are the weapons of men, and men do triumph.”

  My cousin grinned at this assessment.

  In silence, we rode on for a few moments, long enough for his good humor to recede. He turned his destrier aside from mine. “I doubt not that you will master the man to whom you grant license.”

  I kept to the highway, mystified again by his flirtation. Had he divulged an interest in me? Or did his flattery mean as little as a troubadour’s compliments?

  †

  We traverse the Channel, from Romney to Boulogne, on a small fleet of vessels. Traveling on my boat, Stephen boasts to me of his city and castle, and the welcome that he will offer our entourage. Neither one of us mentions Maud’s name, though it is her childhood home that will shelter and restore us. Falling in with our serenity, the water is as calm as a stagnant pond. There is no sickness for anyone on board. Even Gerta forgets to chasten me, as she enjoys the placid trip.

  Just now, my cousin and I stood alongside the wooden railing, enjoying the view, sipping ale ladled from a barrel. Robert crosses with us on the same ship, the better to spy upon our trifling, and all the while he darted reproving glances in our direction.

  Stephen withdrew below, and Gloucester and I remained alone on the deck. I tried to tease him, not to offend him, but to overthrow the pall that he casts on our merrymaking. “Your long face is out of sorts with the high humor of our band.”

  The earl did not smile. “The climate is indeed temperate, but the somber purpose of our journey should not be forgotten.”

  Why must he depress my own spirits, titillated by the clean air, the gentle breeze, and Stephen so near to me? “These past days, I have been counting my blessings.”

  Robert’s light eyes were clouded. “I had hoped that this pilgrimage would renew your strength of purpose as our Lady of the English. Make these days of reflection.”

  I stretched my arms out, arching my back. “I prefer to look neither forward, nor back, but to live in the moment. I am not yet ready to resign myself to the injustice of my royal duty.”

  Gloucester put his back to the wind and to the expanse of the sea and sky. “How can you resent your fate, one that I would have embraced so willingly? I cannot help but notice, Empress, that you have been given so much, yet you still ask for more.”

  The serious earl darkened my mood. I sighed. “I will try to adapt myself to circumstances. But today you cannot dissuade me from bliss. Do you not know what it is to pine for the caresses of another?”

  “Lust and obsession do not come well recommended, not even in the Song of Songs.”

  I shrugged my shoulders at his prudery. “Express your affection to your countess; your worthy passi
on will honor and please her.”

  “A wife is not the usual partner in such foolery, or the source of such misery.”

  If Robert had hoped to take divert my thoughts, he has succeeded. I wonder with whom such a courtly knight might be entranced. Gossip always places Gloucester above suspicion. Amabel’s beauty and her husband’s probity seem to guarantee connubial bliss. My brother is handsome; his lank, dark locks, shrewd green eyes, and small mouth assemble together harmoniously. His regal features are too fine and his hands are too small for my taste, but he personifies distinction. Could the earl be infatuated with Queen Adeliza? Both are models of virtue; I assume that their stateliness has never been sullied by wrongdoing.

  †

  This morning, on our way to Stephen’s fortress, we wended our way through the town of Boulogne. I admired its noisy spectacle and its teeming market stalls, all vending assorted delights. Like some naïve girl, sick with her first crush, I purchased unnecessary adornments, haggling with a crone whose booth displayed ribbons dyed every imaginable shade. I held various strips of silk against the back of my hand, enjoying their rippling shimmer of color against my skin. I could not settle on what hues I wanted or needed, and ended up purchasing red, green, blue, silver, and gold, undeterred by Gerta’s pout at my heedless expenditure.

  Maud’s birthplace is a splendid structure, sweet smelling and cool, despite the heat of the summer. Gerta and I have been assigned a most agreeable chamber. Our comfortable surroundings speak of a woman’s hand. I suspect that my bedroom is Maud’s.

  With admirable efficiency, my cousin’s servants delivered water, so that we could wash away the dirt of the journey. His retainers filled a bathing basin, stirring in fragrant orange rinds. I exhaled as my maid peeled my worn and stinking chemise from my body.

  As I sat in my rival’s tub, her husband strode into the apartment, no longer shy around me, but quite the reverse. “You are welcome here, Empress. I hope that I will be able to amuse you.”