Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,131

Gloucester when a hard-travelled messenger brought her the news about Lincoln, together with the information that Stephen had abandoned his Christmas court at Windsor and was riding north to deal with the situation.

“Now is our chance to take on Stephen and bring him down,” Robert said, his eyes full of a hunter’s light. Ranulf of Chester was his son-in-law and he had long been working at dividing him from Stephen.

Matilda frowned and pursed her lips. “Ranulf de Gernons and William de Roumare are wily dissemblers and they will exact a high price for their loyalty. Just because they have seized Lincoln does not mean they have had a complete change of heart. All they see is their own opportunity.”

“But if they can run Stephen off, then by coming to their aid we gain at least a nominal hold on Lincoln. Hugh Bigod is wavering in his support of Stephen, for all that he was one of the first to swear for him. It will only take another push. It might be worth offering him the earldom of Norfolk to secure his help. He’s an untrustworthy self-seeker, but if we can work on him to abandon Stephen, then to the good.” Matilda rubbed her aching forehead. Even though the news held promise, she still felt as if she were trying to swim across a cold, dark lake with weights on her ankles. There was never enough money, and she was well aware that men who knelt to 325

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her and smiled one day would as likely stab her in the back and abandon her on another. Those who stayed with her had nothing left to lose. Sometimes she wondered if it was all worth it, but would then shake herself. This was for her son, and for his sons (God forbid they would be daughters), stretching in a line that travelled so far she could not see the end of it, and if she gave up, that line would not exist. “Do whatever you can,” she said.

Robert pressed his hand to her shoulder and left the room.

Brian, who had been listening silently, a little to one side, said,

“You will win this, domina.”

“Will I?” She went to stand before the hearth, rubbing her arms.

“Assuredly, domina.”

“Your voice carries platitudes,” she said irritably.

“I hope not, because then I would be deluding myself.” She turned to him. “I want to succeed, Brian,” she said, vehemently. “I want this so much that I could set the world ablaze with what I feel inside.” She pressed her hand to her stomach in emphasis. “Sometimes I think it will consume me and there will be nothing left. You tell me ‘assuredly’ and I want to rage at you because it is the slick word of a courtier.”

“That is all I thought you wanted from me,” he answered woodenly. “If you desire me to say I will go through that blaze for you, I will do so, gladly.”

Matilda retreated behind her shield again. What she desired of him she could never have, and she was far too sensible to ask what he desired for himself. “Do you not have matters to deal with outside of this chamber?” she asked curtly.

There was a taut silence. Then he said, “Domina,” and left the room, the cold air lingering on the tail of the closing door.

She stared at the hearth for a long time; then she moved away from it, and set her mind to the matter of Lincoln and what defeating Stephen might mean.

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Thirty-eight

Lincoln, February 1141

W ill stood amid the throng of Stephen’s barons in the nave of Lincoln Cathedral where they had all gathered to celebrate the Feast of the Purification of the Virgin Mary. It was so cold that his breath emerged as white vapour. The only difference between here and outside was the absence of the bone-chilling wind and occasional flurries of icy rain. The interior of the cathedral blazed with the light of numerous candles and lamps as befitted a celebration of light. The honeyed scents of incense and beeswax overlaid the musty smell of winter stone with the haunting, evocative perfume of God.

King Stephen had been besieging Lincoln Castle for several weeks, and was making slow progress, but each painstaking advance was costly in terms of time and finances. With his architectural and building skills, Will had been commanding the siege machines that had been pounding the castle walls.

Thus far, the garrison was holding out. No great breaches had been