Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,136

a gold cross at his breast and the garnet brooch pinning his cloak.

He was a man, just a battered, ordinary man, and he was in her power. She sat above him on a throne and he was at her feet.

This was a moment she had been anticipating yet somehow the reality did not measure up to her expectations. Somehow she felt as if she had been waiting too long. This diminished, 337

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bruised man evoked little emotion in her beyond irritation and contempt, yet she had wanted to feel so much more.

“God has spoken,” she said imperiously to Stephen. “You took what was not yours, and when offered a treaty, you refused the terms that would have secured peace. Now, by the will of God, you are brought before me in your defeat.” Stephen slowly raised his head. “I am justly humbled by God for my sins,” he replied in a rusty voice, “but accepting the crown of England is not one of them. God has shown his displeasure in my deeds as king by delivering me to my enemies, but I have faith that He will yet have mercy and that He has spared my life for a purpose.”

“Perhaps to repent for the rest of it,” Matilda said coldly.

“You are to be taken to Bristol and kept there for the rest of your days, however long or short that span might be.” She could see Stephen’s body shaking with rigors and his complexion under the rainbow of bruises was grey. “You will be given what you need for sustenance and prayer.” His lip curled. “Do not be misled by the sight of my condition. It is only temporary and will abate sooner than you think.

I am answerable to God, not to you, and I am an anointed king, chosen by the barons of this land. You will not move me from that position whatever you do to me.” Matilda looked at her father’s ring on her hand and felt the weight of the diadem on her brow. These had far more meaning than Stephen and his empty words. He was unimportant. She was a queen now, and she would use the formal force of the law to deal with this. “You will leave on the morrow for Bristol,” she said, as if he had not spoken, “and there you will stay—for the remainder of your days.” She looked at him and then straight through him, and, rising from the throne, walked majestically from the room, not waiting to see him taken away.

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Henry FitzEmpress, almost eight years old, was testing the paces of his new mount, Denier. The dam’s Spanish breeding had given the little chestnut fire in his feet. Henry loved the feel of the wind streaming past his face, even though it was cold enough to sting his eyes, because it gave him a feeling of speed.

On a swift horse, he was invincible.

His father had started taking him hunting, and Henry had also begun his military training, fighting with a shield made to suit his size, and a wooden sword. He loved every minute.

Indeed, the only thing he ever found difficult was staying still.

It was always a trial when he was in church and expected not to fidget in the presence of God. By contrast, flying on a horse was easy.

His father was waiting in the stable yard to greet him when he returned from his ride, his groom following several paces behind. Henry showed off by drawing rein in a dramatic slide of hooves, and leaped from the saddle almost before the pony had stopped. He flashed his father a broad smile, exposing gaps at the front where new teeth were growing in.

Geoffrey’s lips twitched. “That was fine riding, my son.” He plucked a burr out of Henry’s cloak.

Henry flushed with pleasure. “Yes, sire.” Much as he was enthralled by the swiftness and grace of Denier, what he really wanted to ride was a destrier like his father. His new pony was just another point on the road towards that accomplishment. “I could have made him go faster, but Alain wouldn’t let me.” He scowled over his shoulder at the groom.

“Alain was wise; you should listen to him,” Geoffrey said.

“And to your horse. Always be bold; never be heedless.” Henry pursed his lips and said nothing.

His father folded his arms. “I have been waiting for you because I have received some great news from England, from your mother.