Matilda Empress Page 6

  Biting her lip, Gerta washed my hair with a vengeance.

  I pulled my neck out of her way, eager to be gracious in my turn. “Your castle will fortify me for the rest of our travels.”

  The count laughed. “Tonight I shall offer you a banquet. The wine will flow more freely than the currents of the Channel did.”

  Gerta grunted in displeasure and yanked my locks. As my idol bowed out of the room, she could not contain herself. “He will ruin you, Empress. His eyes were where they should not have been! For him to speak of drink and glance at you so brazenly!”

  “A nobleman attends the bath of all his guests of high rank.”

  My maid spit on the floor. “An honorable knight would not have entered here.”

  I lectured Gerta, who usually enlightened me. “To have disregarded my ablutions would have been a disreputable omission of hospitality. Stephen withdraws to attend upon the Earl of Gloucester, Brian FitzCount, and the other barons. He will speak of tonight’s celebrations with them all.” I rubbed my feet under the water and the clear bath began to cloud. I churned the liquid, to refresh its aroma.

  Frowning, my maid watched me. “My lady, do not partake of too much wassail this night. Although, it twinkles at us through the glass, it is no better than poison. We have often heard it compared to penitents’ tears, but wiser men have named it snakes venom.”

  I scraped the dirt out from under my toenails. “Ah, but Aristotle tells us that women are unlikely sots. What shall I wear to this devil’s feast? Perhaps my green silk bliaut, with the short chartreuse jacket, embellished with golden leaves? I shall leave my tresses hanging loose, with my golden circlet atop my head.”

  Roughly, Gerta began to work a scrap of cloth along my neck and shoulders. “Green is the color of seduction. It is clear that you have not overcome your weakness for this man. The purity of gold will not be enough to protect you against yourself.”

  I stuck out my tongue and reached out onto the floor for a vial of olive oil. When I poured it into the bath, the color of the water changed to a gilded verdigris.

  Gerta sucked in her breath. “Heretics transform the color of liquids!”

  An iridescent glaze coated my skin. “Do not the angels hold golden censors in their hands, to waft the scent of spices into the presence of the Holy Father? I shall green myself, and be born again, moist and whole, pure and wet.”

  “You shall not be reborn without atonement, and you are in no wise reformed. Do not rate the arts of poetry more highly than the blessings of virtue, my lady.”

  †

  Last night, Boulogne Castle’s great hall felt crowded and overly warm. The royal visitors at the high table sat under an extravagant baldachin, woven by Maud’s mother. The lower tables were loaded with lesser guests, as the Count of Boulogne had invited many of the town’s leading citizens to join in the rejoicing of my entourage. There were delicacies without number; we gorged ourselves on saffron starlings, mustard venison, and even lemons, lately unknown in the West. The white wine, infused with honey, was the only source of cool refreshment. The pages of the high table galloped back and forth to refill our goblets, downed with both enjoyment and haste.

  My cousin, my dining partner, shared my trencher of bread. Gloucester and Brian FitzCount supped to our left. Robert ate heartily, but absentmindedly, provoked by the suggestive way that Stephen and I sated our appetites. As my chosen knight sliced up a pear for me, and popped it onto my tongue, Robert glowered.

  Even FitzCount, unaware of the tension, looked dubious. “The Infidels consider pears to be aphrodisiacs.”

  My cousin laughed. “This evening, my keep is a bower of every delight.”

  FitzCount’s mouth grew smaller. “To dabble in pleasure, on occasion, may be permitted among friends.”

  Stephen clapped his hands twice, calling his vassals to order. “Empress, allow me to introduce the entertainers.”

  As a hush fell over the party, a minstrel asked my leave to recite a song of love, composed in the time of Rome. Pleased at the theme, I nodded my acquiescence, and expected to be held rapt by his verse. Instead, his words washed over me in a jumble: “binds, changes, seed, reins, clash, smash, motions, souls.” The Count of Boulogne appeared to listen with a polite intensity, but I was incapable of following the sense of the performance. At that moment, I was ready to experience love with my body, not my mind.

  After the performance, I found that I had drunk more than was wise. The earl rose from the dais, offering to aid me to my chamber. Gerta, seeing my brother chaperone me from the hall, stayed behind to enjoy the tumblers and contortionists. I passed her at a trestle table, smiling broadly among the merchants and men-at-arms, basking in those attentions that she is so anxious that I despise.

  The excess of honied liquor dizzied my steps; crookedly, I advanced. Gloucester helped me up the circular staircase, steering me by the elbow. When we arrived at my room, he strode over to the hearth to stoke the fire.

  Watching the earl fuss with the blaze, I swayed a bit, winced at the onset of a headache and itched to be in my bed. I untangled my girdle and it slid to the floor. “Robert, unlace the back of my corsage; I do not wish to sleep in my new things.”

  His eyes were unreadable. “It is not seemly.”

  “I would not roust my maid from her pleasure. You must undo the knots.”

  Finally, he loosened and tugged at the jacket. When I stood before him in my crimped bliaut, he exited without another word.

  I drew its fine material over my head. Unclothed, I lay down on my mattress. The room whirled gently around me. I could hear the festivities, echoing in the inner ward. Bursts of laughter punctuated the music. I wondered whether I should rejoin the merriment in order to dance with Stephen.

  A door in the wall creaked open, startling me. It occurred to me then that if I lay in Maud’s bed, her spouse’s chamber must not be far off.

  His face swam above me. “I hope that I do not trespass upon you, Empress. My solar is connected to your room by this private entrance.” Quite openly, he glanced at my naked form.

  I shivered, but did not attempt to cover myself. “Your guests will surely miss you.”

  “The cavorting and gambling are well under way. Most of the revelers are so inebriated that they think only of their own affairs.”

  “Gerta’s return is imminent, then.” I struggled to sit upright.

  “Your maid has fallen asleep in the outer ward, alongside many soldiers, burghers, and pages.”

  I did not know whether to rise or recline. “I cannot imagine that Gerta would do such a thing; to collapse among the dogs and guards would be beneath her.”

  He snickered. “Many of my people and yours were quite overcome by the wine.”

  My cousin’s confidence perplexed me. “Gerta is not fond of excess.”

  “Did not she sip the ale? It was particularly potent this evening. My brewer attempted a special recipe, steeping many Oriental herbs into the lager. Shall I bar the outside door to your chamber, so that no drunken oaf mistakenly disturbs us?”

  A warmth spreading through my limbs annulled the rest of my objections. There was nothing to stop us from acting upon on mutual desire. He was soon entwined in my arms.

  I could not help but speak my happiness. “I thrill to you, Stephen of Boulogne, and will give you felicity in return.”

  I placed my hands on his abdomen, testing its firmness. His wiry arms and legs, his taut torso: nothing was exactly as I had dreamed it. Was my body likewise a mystery to him? I floated in a daze, unaware of the time.

  As our perspiration dried, the count brushed my black hair down over my shoulders. He nibbled my ear lobe. “I have clipped the lily that stood out, faultless, from among the tangled stalks.”

  Delighting in his tender touch, I rediscovered the purpose of poetry. “If the noble scythe did not swing and topple the proud stalks of wheat, there would be no yield, no bread in our mouths, no regeneration.”

  Stephen kissed m
y mouth and then my forearms. “I have tasted nothing sweeter than your lips and limbs.”

  Enchanted by his wit, I ruffled his auburn curls. “We are together in our enclosed garden, encircled with high, impregnable walls. I banish time and decrepitude, dissatisfaction and envy, shame and sorrow, or any sort of hypocrisy from its precincts.”

  I had said the wrong thing. Suddenly, my cousin ceased to play the gallant. “I am apprehensive, Matilda, that we are transported to a new Eden. Shall what we share here be soured by the knowledge that comes after? I thank heaven for the high honor of holding you in my arms, but I sense that it is a short-lived joy.”

  My glee evaporated. “Take courage from my embrace! A lover is at liberty to be candid and gay, carefree.” I ransacked the bed coverings for his hands.

  They were cool and lay limply at his side. His voice rang flat and cold. “Tonight, I wantonly succumbed to temptation, and forgot what I owe to myself.”

  The fog in my head dissipated, but the throbbing persisted. “Put aside doubt. The night stars hide themselves during the day. We might do the same with our affair; no one will guess at our amour.”

  Stephen smiled ruefully. “I have many failures to conceal, Empress.”

  “You are too severe on yourself. Whose path runs straight and narrow?”

  “If it were not for my insufficiencies, you might be free from your misalliance.”

  “What can you mean?” I sat up. The fire was nothing, the chamber almost completely dark.

  “Almost ten years ago, King Henry ventured to subdue Normandy, believing the region to be a royal jurisdiction, not a duchy. He would owe no fealty to any overlord, especially not the French king.”

  In the inky dim, I could not see my cousin’s face. “We fought and won that great war against France; my father’s realm, comprising England and Normandy, is his and his alone.”

  “His Majesty allowed your brother, Prince William, to do homage to Louis the Fat, in return for the Frankish acknowledgment of the boy’s eventual rights in Normandy.”

  “No, the kiss between my brother and Louis was an offering of peace, not of service. My father’s military triumphs and his bribes completely conquered the Continent.”

  The count twitched, and seemed to speak as if from far away. “Henry needed to pay Louis because his victories at arms were inconclusive. Your father faced the combined forces of France, Anjou, and Flanders. All ranged against him, and his eminent barons were not all able commanders. Count Fulk, Geoffrey’s father, routed me at Alençon; vassals from my Norman fief took the field against me, alongside Fulk. Only the English king’s intervention ransomed my honors there. He paid Anjou to join our cause and united Prince William to Fulk’s daughter. Now, with your brother dead, you will reestablish the relationship, dividing Anjou from France. If I had vanquished Fulk, such friendship would come more cheaply. I have no admiration for the Angevins, but I recognize that we stand with them now.”

  “Ten years ago, you were a young man, unready to lead. Now, you are great, in land and in wisdom. Let us be in league with one another, against Fulk and Geoffrey.” I reclined in the bed, wrapping my legs around his middle.

  Stephen shrugged. “You are even more sympathetic than my Maud. At least she berates me for my shortcomings before pressing herself against me. Above all, she encourages my staunch defense of your father’s schemes.”

  I inhaled his scent, seeking it out under the odors of smoke, sweat, and olive oil. “I do not scold you; I take your part. His Majesty will have to give up his idea of an association with the Angevins. Many of our noblemen must be skeptical of our détente. I cannot marry a man whom my barons will distrust, or my kingdom will be less secure.”

  The Count of Boulogne did not make any move to caress me. “My wife advises me not to waver from my steadfast dedication to Henry I. My lasciviousness here makes me a sinner thrice over, before Christ, king, and family.”

  “My passion waxes; Maud’s wanes. Plight your troth to me, who cherishes you.”

  “I am wed to love and duty.”

  Our lips met, but both our minds were elsewhere.

  †

  Awakening amidst her fellows in the courtyard, Gerta immediately suspected that the savory ale had been laced with a sleeping potion. By the time she returned to my chamber, I was alone. But Stephen had forgotten to unbar my door, so she found the solar locked against her.

  Once I had let her in, I dove back under the coverlet, but she easily intuited her mistress’s secrets. “Empress, you were once charming, yet blameless. Mother Mary’s guidance kept you righteous.”

  I cowered under the blanket, flushing under her searching words. “I have fallen under the spell of a man’s splendor and misplaced my own modesty.”

  Gerta’s eyes were deeply critical. “Comeliness is a mark of the Lord’s favor, and should be thus a badge of godliness and docility to the teachings of Christ.” She whipped the shroud off my body. “Would that this were an enchanted rug woven by the fairies, able to ward off your guilty thoughts, or repel any night visitors.”

  I snatched at a pillow, before my maid could dash it away. “Stop preaching chastity to me; I will not hear these monkish exhortations. The empress thinks of her hair now and commands you to arrange it becomingly, more in the manner of a courtesan than an abbess.”

  The Treasury of the Lion

  Scroll Three: 1128

  Circumstances now conspired to separate the two sinners. The noble knight regretted his transgressions and wished to atone for them. But the willful empress did not repent the loss of her virtue, and languished without her favorite. Innocent in the eyes of the world, Matilda declined to labor against her lust. She obscured her shame, yet she was disgraced, unworthy of her honorable standing.

  †

  Winter

  Much to my disappointment, the count never crept into my solar a second time. My cortege moved on to Normandy, to await the king. My cousin still abides in Boulogne, for Clito sacks the neighboring countryside, razing barns overflowing with the bounty of the recent harvest. Stephen abandons his charge of me, preferring to defend his territory from further incursions. By the time that we parted, exchanging a ritual kiss, my lover had evolved into a stranger, busy conferring with his soldiers and exchanging messages with his wife. He stood by my side, but we were flat figures, trapped in stained glass. My illicit affair brings me no joy. Have I triumphed over Maud, my own enemy?

  We took to the sea to ensure against an ambush by Clito’s forces. Our ship passed quietly from Boulogne to Dieppe, despite an infestation of rats among our provisions. From Dieppe, safely in Normandy, we continue overland to Rouen. Here in the duchy, there is nothing to fear. We sleep under the stars. From the comfort of my feather pallet, warm enough under a rabbit coverlet, I enjoy the black sky, but my health is not what it was. I slumber fitfully.

  I miss my chosen knight; I dread my upcoming marriage. Gerta, satisfied that the adulterous connection is severed, grows ill at ease with my wan cheeks and intermittent nausea. She begins to suspect what I cannot imagine to be true, after one night of bliss.

  This afternoon, we forded a rocky stream. On the strength of her misgivings, Gerta drove her mule hard against my horse. As she had hoped, I fell off the saddle, into the chilly water and sharp stones.

  I understood her motive, although Brian FitzCount, riding behind us, challenged her. “Woman, look to your beast! The empress might have been trampled underfoot, or perhaps drowned in the river!” The forthright vassal dismounted near my prone form and held out his arm.

  I grabbed onto his mail. The cold metal mesh burned through my sopping leather mittens. He pulled me upright, but my drenched skirts made it difficult to step out of the moving rivulet and onto the marshy bank. Brian wrapped his other arm around my waist, steering me out of the water, up to dry land.

  I shivered and chattered, but sought to assuage his concern. “I am unhurt. Gerta’s animal cannot be rebuked. Let my maid attend to my wet garments.
”

  Gerta slid off her mount and began to wipe off the mud.

  FitzCount moved off out of hearing, but others of our escort loitered nearby. Fortuitously, the noisy splashing of hooves and general cacophony of the guards engulfed my words. “Heaven blesses me with this infant, who will assure my marriage to my cousin. Our boy will inherit England and Normandy.”

  Swabbing at my clothing, my maid jostled and slapped my sides and rump. “No! The Count of Boulogne will not be divided from his lady, whose next baby will be born well before yours. If you are with child, your alliance with Geoffrey may be thwarted, but you will be undesirable to every other Christian prince. Most likely, you will be bundled off to a nunnery for the rest of your days, with me alongside you. Do not ask me to waste my life sequestered in a cloister!”

  My confidence evaporated, under her pessimism.

  Gerta pinched my side. “We must find a way to conceal or annihilate the fruit of your sin. You must wed Geoffrey before your lasciviousness endangers your chances of obtaining any husband.”

  †

  Rumors wash over Rouen. Clito’s battalions defeat those of the Count of Boulogne, and my lover settles with the enemy upon a three-year truce, contemptibly betraying my father’s ambitions. Joining us, His Majesty rages to hear of my cousin’s mishaps and misdemeanors. The king will be apoplectic when he discovers his nephew’s other achievement, impregnating his affianced daughter.

  Gerta schemes to be rid of the fetus whose existence is no longer in doubt, brewing me tisanes of jasper stone. The situation endangers my future, but I cannot help but cherish Stephen’s seed. Today, I pricked my finger, dripping my blood into a bowl of pure spring water, to reassure myself that the baby that I carry is a son. Some of the red drops floated in the clear liquid and some sank, an omen of nothing. Still, I waddle slowly, and my eyes appear hollow, sure signs of a male heir. Even Gerta must admit that my face is unswollen, and my energy sapped. Nothing augurs a daughter.

  I remember growing great with the emperor’s child. Oh, the courtesies that were lavished on me in Germany! I was cosseted by the whole court; my every whim was law. Now I enjoin to hide my discomforts, and only Gerta sees to my needs. Luckily, my father and his barons are so wrapped up in the struggle for Flanders that they notice no evidence of my alteration. They do not foresee the birth of the boy who will save me.