Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,15

natural law. “Am I wrong about the bishop of Salisbury?” she asked Adeliza sat down on her bed. “The bishop has long been one of your father’s closest advisers,” she replied with diplomacy.

“He knows how to spin straw into gold.”

“And how much of it does he keep for himself? How much does he take to keep his mistresses and children, his palaces and 38

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castles? How much goes to buy him a portion of every dish in the land?”

“I suspect only Roger of Salisbury knows the sums, and that they change from one moment to the next, but since he keeps your father’s coffers full to the brim, he is permitted a certain leeway. Do not make him your enemy,” Adeliza cautioned.

“He has the power to do you great harm as well as great good.”

“A bishop exists to serve God and the king, not his own interests,” Matilda said. “But thank you for your advice.” Taking a dab of the salve on her forefinger, she worked it into her hands. If, in the fullness of time, she were to rule England, she would need the support and goodwill of the Church, and prelates such as Roger of Salisbury needed to be either persuaded to her side, or put in their place.

ttt

In the morning, the court made ready to travel from Reading to Windsor. As Matilda waited for her groom to bring her mare, she narrowed her eyes to study the bishop of Salisbury from across the courtyard. Surrounded by his entourage, he was deep in conversation with her cousin Stephen. Bishop Roger was not tall, but he was thickset and his bejewelled regalia increased his breadth and his presence. The head of his crosier glowed with Limoges work in blue enamel and his robes sparkled with so much metallic thread that he resembled a frosty morning at dawn. His white palfrey was trapped out in glittering harness, the fringed saddle cloth reaching almost to the ground. She had spoken to him on their first arrival in the courtyard, but the greeting, although courteous, had been brief and remote on both sides. The good bishop was being considerably more affable towards her cousin Stephen, she noted.

Brian FitzCount’s groom brought Sable into the yard, and Brian arrived from his business and took the reins with a brief word. His dark glance flickered over the bishop and Stephen 39

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as he walked the horse over to Matilda and bowed. “Domina, I thought you would want to know that your father has transferred Waleran de Meulan into my keeping to be held at Wallingford as we discussed.”

John FitzGilbert, one of the marshals, arrived with her mare.

Brian took the horse and helped Matilda into the saddle before mounting Sable.

As she gathered her reins, she said, “I heard a tale that my father raised Salisbury on high because he could say mass faster than any other priest of his acquaintance, and that it was useful when shriving men before a battle.” Brian gave a mordant smile. “Roger of Salisbury is indeed a man of expedience, but that is not the whole story. He is a very clever administrator; some might say too clever for his own good, but only time will tell.”

“The Queen told me he can spin straw into gold. He is certainly wearing enough on his back for that to be a possibility.”

“Roger of Salisbury is not the only churchman with a taste for the finer things in life. Your cousin the abbot of Glastonbury will bear watching too.”

Matilda followed his gaze to another bearded cleric, who was setting his foot to the stirrup of a magnificent dappled stallion trapped out in elaborate black leather harness studded with silver sunbursts. Stephen’s brother, her cousin Henry, had recently been summoned from the abbey at Cluny to take up an appointment at Glastonbury but he was ambitious for a bishopric or even higher—Canterbury, she suspected. “Yes.” She returned his knowing look. “I had noticed.” 40

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Five

Fortress of Wallingford, Oxfordshire, October 1126

A cold autumn rain was shivering the banks of the Thames and filling the wheel ruts on the road with muddy water as Brian arrived at his great fortress of Wallingford.

The recently built stone keep on its high mound proclaimed the power of its lord, as did the series of ditches, palisades, and walls, slick with rainwater. Brian noted that the engineers and builders had made good progress over the summer during his absence at court.