Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,127

reasons men swore to my husband was that they knew him and his stock. England and Normandy have no wish to be ruled from Anjou by a woman who has spent her life in foreign courts and has no knowledge of our ways. If King Henry had wanted his daughter on the throne, he would have said so on his deathbed!”

“Likely he did and it went unreported,” Robert retorted.

“Oaths are bought and sold these days like cheeses at a market.

Perhaps England and Normandy do not want to be ruled from Blois and Boulogne…and France. Perhaps England would rather a king of the true blood sat on the throne, a grandson of King Henry and the king of Jerusalem.” Maheut’s spine was as rigid as the back of her chair. Her eldest son had been betrothed earlier in the year to the French king’s daughter. “You would have people swear for an untested child?” she scoffed. “You would further disrupt the country? People will swear to him and then perhaps think they no longer need to be loyal to their rightful anointed king. I say no and no.” The bishop of Winchester had been watching the proceedings with sleepy eyes that nevertheless missed nothing. Now he rose to his feet and opened his broad, bejewelled hands in an encompassing gesture. “This entails a deal more discussion,” he said in his rich, carrying voice. “Time now to take stock and refresh ourselves. We must think upon these issues and gauge what to do in order to have a binding peace.” Brian did not trust the bland, urbane bishop of Winchester.

He was consummate at playing one side off against the other, all for his own gain. It seemed to Brian that whoever offered Bishop Henry the most power would be the one to win his support and influence.

“I believe we must widen the discussion and take further consultation with our neighbours, and the Holy Father,” 315

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Bishop Henry said. “He may have more to say on this issue now that each side has put its case.” Indeed, Brian thought cynically. Rome was for sale just as much as Henry of Winchester. With jewels and bribes, with promises of profitable deals from trade and commerce. With gifts to the Church and enticements of lucrative appointments.

The sacred manipulating the profane. The Church would claim to be a peacekeeper and arbiter of the rules, but only inasmuch as it suited those in ecclesiastical power. It made Brian feel smirched and unutterably weary.

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Thirty-seven

Wymondham Priory, Norfolk, Autumn 1140

K neeling before the altar of Wymondham Priory, Adeliza felt the baby kick, and pressed her hand to her womb in gratitude for the new life growing there. Her second pregnancy was as much a miraculous gift as her first. Today they were attending a mass followed by a feast to honour Will’s father, who had founded Saint Mary’s more than thirty years ago and now lay enshrined in the choir. Will had presented the priory with a silver chalice and candlesticks for the altar, his own weight in beeswax for candles, and five marks for distribution to the poor.

Following mass, Adeliza doled out more silver pennies to the folk waiting outside to see them in the bright November cold. Many hailed her as queen, which made her glow. It was so peaceful here that it was hard to believe there was so much strife in other parts. Three days ago, they had heard about the failure of the latest round of negotiations. The bishop of Winchester had returned from conferring with the French and his older brother Theobald, Count of Blois. All had agreed that the empress’s son, Henry, should be acknowledged as the heir to England and Normandy, but Queen Maheut had refused to countenance such a future, and, supported by her backbone, Stephen had dug in his heels too.

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Now the fighting would escalate. Adeliza hated it when Will went on campaign with the king. He had spent the summer fighting rebels in the Fens. She did not understand what Will saw in Stephen. Will in his turn was impatient with her attitude towards Matilda, and it created considerable friction between them.

Hands on hips, Will was looking at the priory. “My father often brought me here to watch them building this place,” he mused. “He laid some of these stones himself and I helped him, although I would only have been three or four years old. I want to