Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,26

youth who emptied the latrine pots; she felt as if her own father had smeared her with ordure. “I was an empress and you bring me down to this,” she spat. “I refuse to consent.” Stubborn fury surged through her as it always did when she was frightened or cornered. “Small wonder you did not bring it before all the barons!”

“My closest advisers agree it is sound policy,” he said through clenched teeth.

“But your closest advisers are expected to think like you and agree with all you say,” she spat. “Surely there are better men than a boy like Geoffrey of Anjou if all you want is a stallion?

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for others to make their play for your crown, and I had never marked you for a fool—until now.”

“By God, I will not tolerate this insubordination from you,” he choked, and lifting the polished staff, he shook it in her face.

“I will honour you with this rod across your back unless you obey me, do you hear? I order you to get down on your knees and pray for forgiveness for defying your father and your own liege lord. I brook no such behaviour from my subjects and I will certainly not brook it from my own child, who should be an example to all!”

Tears of shock stung Matilda’s eyes, but she refused to cry and continued to face him. “And how will the state be served by marrying me to an Angevin whelp?” He struck her across the face with the back of his hand, the sound making a loud crack. The sparrows flew off chirping in alarm. “Go!” he snarled. “Get out of my sight and seek God’s mercy. We will speak again tomorrow, and by all that is holy you will give me a different answer or suffer the consequences.” Matilda turned without a curtsey, and walked away, her head high. Her cheek was numb from the blow, but she could taste blood where the inside of her mouth had met her teeth. Her mind was in turmoil. As a little girl she had not wanted to go to her marriage in Germany, but she had been too small and powerless to object. Now, she was old enough to object, but still powerless, because what sort of power did a woman have except that which was filtered through men?

Entering the cathedral, she felt as if she were a walking effigy of herself because she had turned to stone. How could he? How could he! How was she supposed to bear this? Prostrating herself before the altar, she tried to compose herself, and consider her father’s will as a dutiful daughter should, but there was no submission in her, only grief and rage. She was to be married to a boy almost half her age. Anyone with any reason could 66

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see that it was ridiculous. Her father said that his inner circle had agreed with him and that must mean her brother Robert and Brian FitzCount at the least. She had been betrayed. She had thought better of them, but plainly they too saw her as a woman to be put in her place. A breeding vessel for the next generation. And this…this boy! His head must be swollen with the power and the prestige such a match would make for him.

Her thoughts turned again to Heinrich as she stared at the candle flames wavering on the altar. If only he were still alive.

She would be valued and protected. Heinrich would never have treated her like this. But she had no one. She would have to protect herself, but how? She had nowhere to turn. There was only God left and He seemed to have abandoned her too.

If He had been merciful and allowed her baby son to live, she would have had a purpose and a place in life. She could have been the power behind her former husband’s throne, instead of a storm-tossed pawn.

On returning to the castle, she retired to her chamber and ordered her ladies to make up her bed, saying she intended to sleep and was not going to dine in the hall.

“Madam, are you unwell?” asked Uli.

“Yes,” Matilda snapped. “I am sick to the soul. Leave me, all of you. I will call for you if I have need.”

“Madam—”

“Go!” she screamed. She listened to the click of the door latch,