of negation. “All of my garrison there have your name on their pay now.” She started to answer him, but paused as the clamour of numerous church bells ringing came through the window 354
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aperture. Others were raising their heads from their food and looking round.
“Probably practising for the coronation,” Brian said noncha-lantly, although his gaze flickered. Now that the sound had intruded on their dinner, there was no ignoring it. The bells, some near, some distant, were being rung with vigour.
Moments later, John FitzGilbert her marshal walked briskly up the hall to the dais table. “Domina, the Londoners have risen against you.” His voice was low pitched but terse. “There is an armed mob on its way to Westminster from the city. For your safety, we must leave.”
Matilda closed her fist over the silver coin in her hand and felt the thin rim bite her flesh.
Brian leaned towards FitzGilbert. “Perhaps the bells are ringing in salute and rejoicing.”
“No, my lord.” The marshal’s blue gaze was hard and direct. “The reports of a riot come from our supporters in the city, who are fleeing before the mob. The bells are ringing to muster the people and to tell Stephen’s wife that she may enter London with her army of Flemings and receive support. I have given orders to saddle the horses. If we do not leave now, we will be overrun.”
Feeling sick with fury and frustration, Matilda glared at her marshal and vented her spleen on him because he had direct command of her household knights and responsibility for military order. “I refuse to be driven out of my rightful territory—my own father’s hall!—by a mob and a rabble army of mercenaries. Any man who says we must leave is a coward.” He stood ramrod straight. “Domina, I would kill any man who called me a coward. I deal in reality and I tell you we cannot stay here. We are not equipped to fight and when Stephen’s wife arrives we will not hold our enemies. Better to pull back to Oxford or Devizes and deal from there.” 355
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Matilda jutted her jaw. “No,” she said.
“Are you certain of this?” Brian demanded. “This is not just idle rumour that has got out of hand?” The marshal looked at him with incredulous contempt.
“Sire, if I doubted the information, I would not have interrupted your dinner.” He made a sweeping gesture towards the door. “However, if you want to talk to a mob, then do as you please, but you will find they desire to parley with spears and swords.”
Robert, who had been listening closely to the exchange, rose to his feet. “We should heed the marshal’s concerns,” he said to Matilda. “As he says, we are ill equipped for a fight and we cannot afford to have you captured. John, you will ride rearguard?”
“Sire.” The marshal bowed, and even as he left the dais was shouting orders.
Shaken, utterly furious, Matilda removed her coronet and folded it up with her golden cup and spoon into the embroidered cloth at her place, including the silver penny that Brian had given to her. She could not believe this was happening. As Robert and Brian bundled her out of the hall, she refused to look back because that would have been like bidding farewell.
In the city the church bells tolled and tolled. From every parish and quarter, they rang their rejection of her.
A groom had readied her mare and Brian helped her into the saddle before turning to Sable. All around them people were grabbing their hastily saddled horses and making their escape.
Servants fled, some astride, some afoot, many of them clutching aprons and knotted cloths full of the food that had been intended for the banquet. Matilda could still barely comprehend this was happening, but her marshal was in deadly earnest as he whacked her mount’s rump, and Sable’s, making both horses leap into a startled canter. Matilda swayed in the saddle, grabbed the reins, 356
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and clung on. In the distance, there was a shout and an ominous clash of weapons, followed by a scream.
“I will not let them push me out. I will not,” she said through clenched teeth, even as she shot out of the gateway on to the road. She imagined turning her mare around, but the plan went no further than her mind, because she could not row against the tide.
The marshal rode up, forcing his