Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,141

upon her father’s tomb in the choir of Reading Abbey, her composure as hard as the chiselled stone.

She was cold and her stomach was hollow with hunger both physical and mental. She had faced death many times but confronting her mortality in the shape of her father’s tomb, knowing his remains were under her hand, intensified her awareness. She needed to make good use of every moment on this earth that God gave her. The last time she had been in her father’s presence, they had argued fiercely over her dower castles. Not wanting to dwell on that memory, she thought of 349

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her childhood instead. She had a vague recollection of running to him and how big and alive he had seemed. How real. How he had picked her up and carried her through the court in his arms, proud of her. He had given her a honey sweetmeat to eat and silver ribbons for her hair…and then told her she was to go far away to her marriage. When she tried to think of him after her return from Germany, the sting of grief and bitterness was so strong, she could not visit those memories.

He had the resting place he desired and the monks to pray for his soul. She too would lie in a tomb one day and she had much to accomplish before that time. Easing to her feet, she crossed herself, and left the church, her pace dignified but decisive, and she did not look back.

From here, from her father’s resting place, the road now lay towards London, and Westminster…and her crown.

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Forty-one

Westminster, June 1141

I n her chamber at the Westminster complex close by the abbey, Matilda prepared for a formal feast to celebrate her forthcoming coronation. Her ladies were combing her hair with scented lotion. She was aware of the wiry grey strands coarsening what had once been a shining, dark waterfall and knew she was no longer a young beauty but a woman entering her middle years, with lines of strife and tribulation carved for all to view. These days she preferred not to look in a gazing glass and see what time had wrought.

The women patted her hair dry and rubbed it with a silk cloth, before combing it and plaiting it tightly. Then they covered it with a fine white veil, edged with pearls and gold.

Her gown was embroidered blue silk; her cloak was lined with ermine as befitted a queen and an empress. The trappings of royalty. A headache throbbed at her temples. Her flux was imminent and she was irritable and on edge. Men had no such burdens to bear.

A few weeks earlier, the Londoners had refused to acknowledge her as their queen, but had changed their minds when Geoffrey de Mandeville, custodian of the Tower of London, had switched allegiance and agreed to support her, bringing with him de Vere of Oxford and Gilbert, Earl of Pembroke.

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The citizens had tendered their grudging submission, but she knew there was a large faction among them still eager to have Stephen back on the throne. They had only capitulated because they had no choice. It galled her that they snubbed her and refused to pay tribute, yet they had eagerly welcomed Stephen as king when her father had died and had paid him without demur. She despised them, and since pretence was not within her scope, she was finding it difficult to conciliate. They had even given Stephen’s vile little terrier of a wife the money to hire mercenaries. Those troops were now pillaging the lands outside London, and the citizens were wringing their hands and blaming Matilda for it rather than themselves and the woman who was actually responsible.

“You should not frown, domina,” said Uli. “You will create more lines.”

Matilda fought her irritation. She was certain that no one had ever said that to her father, or to Stephen. As if a smooth forehead were the ultimate goal. Even with England’s crown on her head, she knew she would have a constant battle to rule. The earls and barons who supported her took decisions among themselves and held their own meetings, treating her as a figurehead rather than heeding her voice. Their bluff, masculine camaraderie excluded her by the very fact of her gender and was something she could not change. They saw her as a member of the weaker sex, too soft to rule; yet when she showed a hard