tongue!”
“As you wish, sire.” She plucked her cloak from the peg in the wall and flung it on. “Have your peace!” She spat the last word as she swept from the room. Once outside, she put her face in her hands and allowed herself a brief shudder of tears, and then felt guilty because tears were not going to help Wilton.
She felt as if a hard splinter had entered her heart. Was this how Matilda felt? Was this how it began, before gradually everything solidified as the splinter worked its way inwards and there was no longer any flexibility and no joy from which to fashion a smile?
She made her way to the chapel to kneel in a holy place that had not been defiled by war and pray for the nunnery. The warm colours and the soft light in the darkness comforted her.
She counted her prayer beads through her fingers and asked God for strength and guidance.
427
LadyofEnglish.indd 427
6/9/11 5:35 PM
Elizabeth Chadwick
She was still kneeling when she heard a soft footfall. A moment later, Will eased himself down at her side and crossed his breast. An herbal scent of bathwater wafted across the space between them and his hair was a tangle of short damp curls.
The space between them was stiff with silent emotion as they each rendered their devotion to God.
Eventually Will raised his head and picked up the wooden horse that Wilkin had left on the altar step. It was the figure of Forcilez he had whittled when on campaign with Stephen several years ago.
“What’s this, an offering?”
The toy served to break the silence between them. “I expect it is,” she said. “I was teaching our son to honour all God’s creatures and all God’s people, whatever their station in life.” He turned the piece over in his big hands.
“He was praying this morning for your return.” Will eased painfully to his feet. “Well, he got his wish.” He took her hand in his free one. “I have always tried to do my best and be honourable. I freely acknowledge I make mistakes, but I have never acted out of false intent or malice.” She looked at him. The cut on his cheek was an angry red stripe and his breathing was shallow. His gaze beseeched her for clemency. “I do not doubt your honour, or your intention,” she said, “but when I think of what has been done to Wilton by men on both sides of the divide, who hold their own honour on high as an example to all, then I despair.” He screwed up his face. “There is nothing I can do to restore Wilton to what it was or change the past, but I swear to you, and to God, that those who wish it may take shelter at Arundel, or Rising, or Buckenham. I will see to the building of the shelters and hostels, if you will see to the people.” He made the sign of the Cross. “At least I can offer refuges and new homes on lands that are unlikely to be attacked.” He set his arm around 428
LadyofEnglish.indd 428
6/9/11 5:35 PM
Lady of the English
her, still clutching their son’s wooden image of Forcilez. “Do not turn against me,” he muttered against the top of her head, and she heard his voice choke. “I could not bear strife at the heart of my home. You are my only sanctuary.” She drew her head back to look at him and even as earlier she had seen the man inside her eldest son, now she saw the child inside his father, seeking comfort and reassurance, and felt the shard in her heart slip and dissolve, even though there was a scar where it had been. “Come,” she said. “It is late and dark and the only sanctuary we should be in other than a church is that of our bed. Let all else wait until the morning.” 429
LadyofEnglish.indd 429
6/9/11 5:35 PM
Forty-nine
Devizes, Christmas 1143
The deep of winter was a time to stay indoors by the hearth and play chess. Matilda sat over a board with Henry in her chamber at Devizes and watched his gaze dart in swift thought before he picked up the chunky ivory bishop and moved him two spaces. Then he smiled at her. He was not yet eleven years old, but already he understood the complexities of the game and was offended if anyone suggested he play the simpler popular chance version of dice-chess.
She sought to work out the trap she