Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,142
face and acted in a stern manner, they muttered that she was going against nature. Whatever she did, she was damned, and it led her to think damn them all too.
She completed her adornment by wearing her favourite German crown with the gold flowers. Gathering her women around her, escorted by knights and ushers, she left her chamber and processed to Westminster’s great hall. It had been built by her uncle King William Rufus more than forty years ago, incorporating the 352
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existing hall of the time. Her uncle had complained that the structure, despite being more than 240 paces long and the largest in Christendom, was too big for a chamber and not large enough for a hall. She could remember running between the bays as a little girl, and admiring the bands of chequered masonry along the walls. She had played hide and seek with her brother, and skip-ping games with girls whose names she had long forgotten. Later, on her return from Germany, she had sat in this hall and dined at her father’s side in the place of honour at the high table. But this was the first time in her life that she would sit here and preside as lady of the English and queen designate.
Fabric hissed and belt fittings clinked as people knelt to her.
She took their obeisance as her due but noted amongst all this fine rustle of silk and cloth of gold that there was no sign of the bishop of Winchester’s elaborate cope, even though Bath, Ely, and London were represented.
“My lord of Winchester appears to be still sulking,” Brian murmured to her as he assisted her to her seat on the dais.
“Apparently, he has not been seen this morning.” Matilda pursed her lips with irritation. She had had a long argument with her cousin of Winchester about her decision to appoint her uncle David’s candidate William Cumin to the see of Durham. Bishop Henry had disapproved of her choice, saying angrily she had promised him full jurisdiction over Church affairs and he had a different man in mind for the task.
But she owed much to her uncle David and felt more beholden to him than Cousin Henry. Besides, it would not hurt Henry to be put in his place. “Let him sulk,” she said curtly.
“Better to have him in your sight,” Brian warned.
“I do not care if he is here or not,” she snapped as she settled in the chair. It had once been her father’s in the days when he had presided over feasts here. That Stephen had sat upon it too, she put from her mind.
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“Even so, it might be wise to conciliate with him for now.”
“Brian is right,” said Robert, who had been listening to the conversation with a troubled expression. “We should keep him sweet at least until you are more established.”
“I do not see why we must pander to his every whim,” she said bad-temperedly. “Taking his advice is one thing, but giving in to him all the time just to prevent him from stamping his feet is another. I will not ruin this feast by talking of him.
There are plenty of other churchmen present to say grace.” Stewards brought bowls of warm water and towels to the dais and she washed and dried her hands, her movements vigorous and annoyed. In lieu of the papal legate, Bishop Nigel of Ely gave the benediction and the first course was served. There were dishes of delicately spiced frumenty and crisp fried elderflowers, quails’ eggs, dyed different colours, and small spicy cheese tarts; all dainty items, designed to whet the appetite for the roasts to come. Matilda began to relax a little as she gazed out over the diners and listened to the babble of eating and conversation.
“I have a gift for you,” Brian said. Taking her hand, he placed in it a small silver coin, the size of her index fingernail.
On one side was depicted a woman’s head, and around the rim the legend read, Matilidis Imperatrice, Domina Angliea, Regina Anglia. Wallig.
“I had the die made and the silver stamped at the mint at Wallingford,” he said. “I wanted you to have the very first one, but soon there will be many more because this will be the currency of all England.”
Matilda gazed at the silver disc in her hand and her throat was suddenly tight. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely.