Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,40

shook her head. “No,” she said in a laboured voice.

“He says he wants me gone, and I will do as he bids me. I will not stay here.”

“But, madam, you are in no state to go anywhere!” Uli’s soft brown gaze widened in concern.

“Even so, that is my order.” Matilda struggled to talk and breathe. “Pack my chests. Do it now. My husband has ordained that I leave him and for once I am inclined to obey.” Uli looked aghast. “But, my lady, you are in no fit state to ride!”

“Saddle up the white ambler,” Matilda gasped. “His pace is smooth…” She paused to gather herself. “Set fleeces upon and around the saddle. Tell the grooms…” Each breath was agony. She curled her spine and hunched herself protectively.

Uli coaxed her to sit on the bed and sent a page running to find Drogo.

He was absent in the town and by the time he arrived, Matilda’s women had already packed half of her chests.

“Dear Christ!” His expression filled with horror.

“I am leaving,” Matilda told him weakly. “See that the 100

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horses are saddled and an escort prepared. I will need a cart for my ladies and my belongings.”

“What has he done to you?” Drogo’s mouth curled with revulsion.

“He has set me free,” Matilda replied, and a feeling of relief juxtaposed her despair. As if she had grown wings through her wounds.

“Where is he?” Drogo set his hand to the place where his sword would have been, except that he had come from prayer in the cathedral and was unarmed. “He has gone too far.”

“Let it be,” Matilda warned. “It matters only that he is out of the way. You would just get yourself killed or flung into a dungeon. Do as I say and see that all is made ready.” Drogo bowed and strode out to make arrangements, snarling at the servants to do as they were bidden and laying about him in his anger and guilt. A page received a sharp cuff for being tardy. Matilda closed her eyes and bowed her head. Her entire world seemed to consist of hitting and blows and miserable lashing out.

In the courtyard, the strong grey cob had been made ready for her. The horse regarded her out of placid dark eyes, its tail swishing rhythmically to deflect flies. A groom’s little girl was winding a daisy chain around his breast-band and singing to herself. Matilda had given the child sweetmeats in the past and now received a curtsey and a beaming smile, revealing gaps where the little girl’s baby teeth had recently fallen out. “God speed you on your journey, madam,” she lisped.

Tears filled Matilda’s eyes at such sweetness. “And God bless you,” she whispered and had to look away. She was aware of people staring as Drogo helped her on to the horse. Some faces were shocked, others held contempt. One of her Angevin chamber ladies, Aelis, looked almost smug. Matilda averted her gaze from the young woman’s sharp vixen features and lithe 101

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body. She was welcome to Geoffrey if she wanted to climb into his bed.

Drogo tucked fleeces around Matilda for support. “I should have stayed,” he muttered. “I should not have gone to church.”

“It would have made no difference,” she replied wearily.

“It was always going to happen.” Grasping the reins, she summoned her will and, as the cob clopped out of the courtyard, she lifted her head to depart with pride unbowed. She did not know how she was going to manage this journey, but the taste of freedom encouraged her as she rode out under the archway. No more would Geoffrey beat and belittle her.

No more would she be treated without respect. Her father might need this marriage for the security of his borders and the weaving of his policies, but there had to be a way round, and she would think upon it later. For now her goal was enduring to the next bend in the road, the next tree, the next house, each one a marker that took her further away from the hell of her marriage to Geoffrey of Anjou.

ttt

Adeliza sat in the queen’s chamber at Windsor, listening to Herman her chaplain reading from a bestiary while she worked on a section of altar cloth for the abbey at Reading.

“‘Hear of the hedgehog,’” he said. “‘What we understand by it. It is made like a little pig, prickly in its skin. In the time of the wine