Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,157

be.”

“Whatever happens is God’s will,” she said, “not Stephen’s. I shall pray for Matilda. I want you to bring Father Herman to me.” Will wiped his hands on a napkin and stood up, relieved to have got off more lightly than he had expected. “I will go and do it now.”

“And I ask you to pray for her too.” She fixed him with a steady look.

“Willingly.” He was happy to pray in a broad sense for Matilda’s soul, and to ask God to give her the good sense to negotiate a surrender and return to Anjou.

389

LadyofEnglish.indd 389

6/9/11 5:35 PM

Forty-six

Oxford, December 1142

M atilda shivered in her chamber at Oxford Castle.

A bitter freeze had begun at the end of November with day after day of bone-chilling cold, each one hardening upon the other until the earth was like iron and the water in the moat as solid as rock crystal. Two days ago it had snowed heavily, draping the scars of warfare in a thick white blanket, and the sky was leaden with the threat of more. Stephen’s blockade of the castle meant that neither aid nor news nor supplies could reach the beleaguered defenders, and the deep snowfall served only to emphasise their isolation from the rest of the world.

The city was occupied by Stephen, who had taken over the old royal residence outside the town walls. His soldiers were billeted in Oxford with access to the food and warmth that Matilda and her garrison lacked. Here in the keep, they had almost run out of wood to fuel the cooking fires and heat the hall. They had already demolished two storage buildings and a goat shed—having eaten the goats. Now they had begun on the castle furniture and everyone was shivering in one room, trying to keep warm under a huddle of clothes and blankets.

The only sustenance was soup made with meagre handfuls of barley, a few onions, and chunks of stockfish, chewy as rawhide even after pounding and soaking for hours on end. Matilda had LadyofEnglish.indd 390

6/9/11 5:35 PM

Lady of the English

insisted on eating the same as everyone else, and felt the same blend of ravenous appetite and queasy revolt as she forced down the disgusting fish broth. At least for the moment it was hot.

The battering of the castle walls had continued day in and day out and the garrison was becoming too weak and cold to resist. Unless she could find a way to escape, Matilda knew it was the end. Every day she prayed for Robert to arrive and lift the siege, and every day her prayers went unanswered. She did not know where he was or how he was faring because the blockade was complete.

“The only option is for me to escape Oxford and make my own way to safety,” she told Alexander de Bohun, chief of her household knights. “Without me, Stephen has an empty fishing net.”

“And just how are you going to get out?” De Bohun gave her a sidelong look. “Stephen has us surrounded.”

“There are gaps between his guard posts, and the weather is so bitter that he will not expect anyone to leave the castle at night.”

“At night?” De Bohun’s eyes widened.

“Stephen’s men will be huddled round their fires. There will only be a skeleton watch on duty. The river is frozen solid—

there are no boats and no fishermen. I can escape over the wall with a small escort, and we can make our way to Wallingford.” De Bohun continued to stare at her as if he she had grown two heads. “Without horses and in the snow?” he said. “In the dark? It’s as cold as a witch’s tit out there.” She fixed him with a resolute gaze. “I would rather trust myself to the elements and God’s mercy than kneel to Stephen.

I know I must yield Oxford because we are at the end of our endurance, but without me his victory is as hollow as his crown.”

“There will still be guards, even if reduced in number. What if you are seen and caught in the open? Prayer alone will not make you invisible.”

391

LadyofEnglish.indd 391

6/9/11 5:35 PM

Elizabeth Chadwick

“Of course not. Do you think I have not thought this through?” She glared at him. “We will go clad as if we are made of snow, and Stephen’s men will see only what they expect to see.”

He raised his brows.

“Bring me whatever white material we have,” she commanded. “Sheets, tablecloths, blankets.” De Bohun hesitated for a moment, as if he really did