Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,176
father was alive.”
“Yes,” she said, “sadly it was, but those times will come again.”
“Will they?” He looked grim. “I have had to turn robber to keep my men and horses fed. I raid merchant trains. I steal horses and sacks of grain. I waylay anyone who looks as if they might have wealth about their person and I rob them down to their braies. I never imagined I would do such things to survive, but I have to, and it sickens me.”
She knew he was referring to an incident before Christmas when he had intercepted some merchants on their way to the bishop of Winchester’s fair and confiscated their goods and chattels. The bishop had threatened to excommunicate Brian, who had written a blistering response to the effect that the good bishop had changed sides more often than the wind changed direction, and that had his support of Matilda stayed constant and had he upheld her as queen, the raids would never have taken place because there would have been no need.
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She gave him a firm look. “We have all been forced to act in ways we would not choose.”
Brian said quietly, “Your sire was a father to me. I honour his memory in the best way I know—by honouring and serving his daughter to the best of my ability, and while there is breath in my body, I shall do so.”
She put out her hand to his across their horses and touched his sleeve in a brief gesture. He swallowed and set his jaw.
Henry arrived in a flurry of dogs and galloping pony. As she withdrew her hand, Brian raised his own to rub the back of his neck as if at an irritation, but when he saw her looking, he redirected the movement to check that the neck brooch of his tunic was secure.
On their return, a messenger from Geoffrey was waiting for them, his eyes alight as he knelt and handed her a sealed letter.
“Great news, domina!” he cried. “Rouen has surrendered to the Count of Anjou. Normandy is won!” Matilda hastily broke the seal and opened the letter. Triumph coursed through her, and joy, but mingled with it was a thread of vile darkness because Geoffrey’s success emphasised her own inability to take and hold England. Her golden husband had achieved what eluded her. “That is wonderful news!” she said, swallowing the bitter and celebrating the sweet. Gesturing the messenger to his feet, she took a ring from her finger and gave it to him in payment for the tidings.
Henry had been listening to the exchange. “Papa has won?” His grey eyes shone. “I knew he would!” He drew his toy sword and saluted the air. Robert had heard too, and Brian, and they were smiling broadly. The news spread through the hall like fire and with the same warming effect. England might still be a frozen struggle, but Normandy was achieved. Matilda turned away while she composed herself, because the letter contained other news that cut her heart.
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She heard Robert calling for a tun of the best wine to be broached in celebration. Tonight there would be feasting and toasts and she would wear her jewelled silks and furs to honour Geoffrey’s success—which was her success too, and Henry’s.
She would rejoice with a glitter so bright and hard that no one would see how she bled.
ttt
Henry was supposed to be preparing for bed, but when Matilda entered his sleeping chamber, he was still clad in the tunic he had worn to the feast. His bedcover was strewn with an eclectic jumble representing his interests: a bridle, a hawking gauntlet, a gaming board, two books, several pieces of parchment with diagrams and bits of untidy writing…and Rumpus, the terrier Maude of Wallingford had given him. Rumpus had spread an inscription of muddy paw and belly marks across the embroidered quilt. At the sight of Matilda, he began thumping his tail on the bed as if beating a drum, and she hastily looked away before she became the recipient of his enthusiasm. To add to the detritus, Henry’s clothing chest was open, spilling entrails of garments across the floor.
“Where is your chamberlain?” she demanded. Henry was too old to need a nurse, but there should be servants to attend to him.
“I said I could see to myself.” He gave her a mulish look. “I am old enough.”
“Are you indeed?” She looked round. “This place is a pigsty.”