a scribe had just finished reading out a letter from her husband responding to her request for his aid in which he had declined to send her extra men and supplies without knowing more, and had refused to come himself. He said he was not averse to providing aid, but had no intention of setting his foot on English shores until fully informed. However, if Matilda wanted to send the Earl of Gloucester to him for consultation, he would listen to what he had to say.
She was furious with Geoffrey for procrastinating and playing shy. She needed him here, now, to turn the tide.
Stephen had recently been very ill. For a while it had seemed as if he might die, but her spies reported he had rallied and was improving daily. It would not be long before he was actively campaigning again and the last thing she needed was to lose Robert in Normandy for a month if not more.
Robert threw up his hands. “Perhaps I should stay here,” he said. “I do not want to leave you unguarded with strategies unprepared and I have no desire to ride through hostile territory and risk being captured again—for both our sakes.”
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fight without men and horses and money. I can only stretch the resources so far, and they are close to breaking point. We do not have time to send a different envoy to the Count of Anjou only to have him refuse us again. Someone has to go and persuade him, and it is best if it is the man he asked for.” Matilda forced herself to face her marshal. During the fierce fighting around Winchester, he had taken a desperate stand at the nunnery of Wherwell and lost one eye when lead from the burning abbey roof had dripped down and terribly scarred half his face. Looking at him was like looking at the living and the dead combined in one man. She would do him the honour of not pitying him, nor showing compassion, because he had never pitied himself nor asked for favours. “I am aware of the situation,” she said curtly, because he was right. Geoffrey would refuse to talk to anyone but Robert because he had that petty streak within him, and because as far as he was concerned, his own campaign in Normandy was more important and a success, whereas hers was in ruins.
Robert heaved a sigh. “If that is what is necessary then I shall go. I can understand his point of view, even while I do not condone it.”
ttt
Geoffrey of Anjou fixed his brother-in-law with a cold aquamarine stare. “The key to England’s crown is Normandy,” he said. “Until I have a secure grasp, it is folly for me to come to England and divide my attention.”
They were sitting in a sunlit chamber in Robert’s keep at Caen on a glorious afternoon in early September. Swallows stitched the sky, gorging on the last flies of summer before their departure. Geoffrey glanced at his nine-year-old heir who sat at a lectern in the golden light, busy with quills and coloured inks while the men talked strategy. His hair sparkled like fine-spun metallic thread in the rays slanting through the window arch.
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Only a week ago, Geoffrey had taken the castle of Mortain from Stephen’s constable. It had been a good campaigning season. Tinchebrai and Vire had fallen too, and more than half a dozen others. “One more effort will see Normandy secure for my son and his heirs,” he said. “If I widen my focus now, I will undo all my work—all that I have achieved, and surely we have had enough of that already.” He watched Robert’s lips tighten. Geoffrey did not dislike his brother-in-law. He found Robert rather wooden and staid, but he was intelligent, a decent battle commander, as proven on their recent campaigns around Normandy this summer, and staunchly loyal to Matilda. Such endurance and tenacity was to be admired. “I am not finding fault with you,” he said smoothly. “I know how contrary and difficult my wife can be when she takes the bit between her teeth, and you have had your share of ill luck and treacherous barons and prelates to contend with. However, it is pointless for me to come to England, and dangerous. The English barons will mutter about an Angevin upstart, and while my wife might welcome