Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,163

wife. “It will suit me very well,” she said.

Servants arrived bearing fresh bread and hot wine. Maude directed them to set it down near the bed. A woman brought in a ewer of hot water and a towel.

“You should remove those wet boots or you will catch a chill,” Maude said with a cluck of her tongue. “Come, sit.” Matilda was reminded of her old nursemaids. The woman had that deferential but bossy air about her and, apart from a gold brooch on her dress, was garbed like a peasant. Turning her back, Brian’s wife straddled Matilda’s legs to pull off her boots, grunting and tugging with effort, but eventually succeeding.

Maude then bathed Matilda’s icy feet in the warm water with thorough efficiency, all the time keeping her eyes lowered and her mouth set in a straight line. She brought some soft shoes lined with lambskin from their warming place at the hearth.

Matilda pushed her feet into them and the feeling was utter bliss. “Thank you,” she said with a more genuine smile for her hostess.

“I may be a simple woman,” Maude said, “but I know the things that matter. If you will excuse me, I have arrangements to make.”

404

LadyofEnglish.indd 404

6/9/11 5:35 PM

Lady of the English

She left the room, followed by the maid with the used water.

A different girl arrived with a fresh bowl, a chemise of clean linen, and an old-fashioned gown of dark red wool with a simple braid belt. Matilda removed the various layers of garments in which she had travelled, washed, donned the chemise and gown, then sat down on the bed and put her face in her hands. She wanted to cry, but her eyes were dry, and besides, tears were a waste of time. She had to think her way out of this. What was going to happen to her? What was she going to do now? Wallingford was a safe haven but she could not stay here indefinitely. She could do nothing until Robert arrived, but what after that? She could see no way out of the forest.

Leaving the bed, she sought distraction by drinking a cup of wine and looking at the books and scrolls of parchment on the shelves. Some of the writing was in the hand of a scribe, but she recognised most of it as Brian’s neat, swift script. She realised that this was Brian’s chamber—his private place—and the notion both disconcerted and comforted her. She picked up a small book bound in plain leather and found herself gazing at a copy of a treatise expounding her right to be queen of England.

She put her hand to her mouth as she read the erudite Latin.

Brian argued with the incisiveness of a lawyer, the simplicity of a monk, and the elegance of a man whose lifeblood was ink.

Reading the words, feelings of grief and love assailed her in equal measure. She was in his chamber, at the heart of the man, and she was between the words and the fire.

She lay down on the bed with the treatise clasped in her arms, curled her knees towards her chest, and closed her eyes.

Breathing in she inhaled his scent from the sheets, mingled with a faint aroma of incense.

ttt

“She is still asleep,” Maude said to Brian. She stooped to pick up the newest version of Rascal and fondled the pup’s silky 405

LadyofEnglish.indd 405

6/9/11 5:35 PM

Elizabeth Chadwick

ears. They were standing in the hall before the fire and the servants were setting up trestles for the main meal of the day.

“Leave her,” he said. “She will wake when she is ready.” He looked at her with his eyes full of wonderment. “Do you know what she did? Escaped out of a window at Oxford Castle by rope, crossed the frozen moat and the river, walked to Abingdon, and then made her way here through the night.”

“Indeed, she has great fortitude and courage,” Maude said, and pressed her lips against the top of the dog’s head.

“More than anyone I have ever met.” She gave a small sniff. She admired the empress for fighting for what was hers by right, but Brian never stopped to think that those same qualities had to be applied to the daily grind.

To portion out rations and keep a level head whilst constantly surrounded by enemies and with the castle in a state of semi-siege. Month upon month; year upon year. Sometimes she felt like a donkey, staggering along under a heavy burden of firewood, while Brian ignored her to look