Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,120
themselves in her service.
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“Domina, I swore for Stephen,” Miles said, “because I thought he would be strong and honourable and you were far away in Anjou. But now I have seen how he conducts business and the men he favours, and you are here, I swear that from this day forth you have my absolute loyalty.”
“And I accept that loyalty,” Matilda said, “but deeds are worth more than words.”
His head remained bowed but he looked up at her through his sparse sandy lashes. “I offer you Gloucester Castle and my protection, should you wish to hold your own court away from Bristol. Whatever resources I have are yours.” Matilda inclined her head. “I will indeed consider your offer.” She had been going to suggest it herself, but was pleased he had offered of his own accord. She needed to separate from her brother and take power into her own hands. It also meant that Stephen would have to look in several directions at once.
Once the allegiance-swearing was over and dinner consumed, Matilda took a moment to herself and, with only a maid for company, went for a walk round the castle precincts to freshen her mind. The air was cold and dank and she could smell the pungent waters of the estuary rising from the moat and hear the mournful scream of gulls. Bristol Castle was nigh on impregnable and easily supplied and protected by the rivers Frome and Avon, and able to conduct trade without hindrance. Stephen had tried to take it the previous year and failed abysmally.
The sound of closing shutters came from several of the chambers as useful daylight faded and the sky turned from ash to charcoal with a single glimmer of red like a dying ember.
She was turning back towards her chamber, when she saw Brian FitzCount coming from the direction of the stables, skirting the puddles to avoid miring his fashionable curl-toed boots and the hem of his cloak. He hesitated when he saw her, as if to change direction, then set his shoulders and continued walking.
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“Domina.” He bowed.
“My lord FitzCount.” She gave him a questioning look.
“I was checking my horses to make sure they are ready to take to Wallingford tomorrow,” he said. “Stephen will strike at me next now I have renounced my fealty and I must see to the defences.”
“It is a little too late for shoring up,” she said sharply.
He gave her a reproachful glance. “I have been preparing ever since your father died, but when I think about the future I need to reassure myself that all is in order.” Matilda watched her gown flare and fall back as she walked with him to the domestic quarters. “If Stephen comes to Wallingford, he will not stay camped there for long. He cannot afford to because others will rise against him.” He drew a deep breath. “What if there do not have to be battles? What if we can negotiate a settlement?” She eyed him sharply. “What kind of negotiation?”
“What if Stephen were to acknowledge your son as heir to Normandy and England?”
Matilda snorted. “Is that likely? Even if he did, his wife would refuse. I know my cousin Maheut. Stephen may have sat on the throne, but Maheut has her teeth in it.”
“But let us say this suggestion did come to the table.
Would you be willing to negotiate an agreement based on that premise?”
She arched her brow. “Forgo my crown you mean—the one you all swore you would honour?”
Brian gestured. “But your line would succeed, and everything would meld back together as it should have been.”
“I am not so certain of that.”
“But would you consider it?” he persisted.
“Yes, I would,” she said after a long pause. “But you will not find Stephen willing to do so, believe me.” They were nearing the hall door. He extended his arm in a courtier’s gesture and 298
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she laid her own hand lightly along it. She looked at his fingers.
“I am glad to see you still have your ink stains.”
“Writing preserves my sanity. Sometimes the only thing holding me steady is that line of ink between my mind and the point of my pen.” He lowered his voice and dipped his head towards her. “Sometimes I write words that I send to God in smoke and flame, because if I left them on the page to be seen they would consume the reader.”