Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,45
knelt. Matilda recognised him. Absalom of Winchester was one of her father’s busiest couriers.
“What news?” Adeliza gestured him to rise.
Absalom looked uncomfortable. “Madam, I am on my way to England with letters under seal from the Count of Anjou. I will rest here the night and be on my way tomorrow.”
“And do you know what these letters say?” Matilda demanded.
Absalom cleared his throat. “Only the gist, domina.”
“Which is?” The frosty air was chilling Matilda’s bones, but she would not enter the hall until she knew. “Tell me.”
“The Count of Anjou says that he is considering his position…and that he is content for you to make an extended visit to Rouen.”
Matilda snorted. Considering his position indeed! “As I am content not to be in Anjou,” she snapped. “I will have letters of my own to send with you to my father on the morrow. Come to me before you leave.”
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“Yes, domina.”
She eyed him. “How did the Angevin court seem to you?” Absalom shuffled his feet. “I saw no difference to any other court ruled by a young lord, domina. There is much sport and hunting and boisterous play of an evening…” Matilda winced at the memory.
He hesitated, and then said, “I will tell you because you are bound to find out anyway. The count’s mistress is with child and flaunts herself at court as if she is his countess.”
“His mistress?” Matilda stared.
“Her name is Aelis of Angers, domina. She parades around court with her hand on her belly and the count lavishes her with silks and jewels.”
“It did not take her long to usurp me,” Matilda said with contempt. “Let her make her bed and lie in it. They deserve each other.”
Dismissed, Absalom bowed and went to find food and a place to sleep. The women continued to their chambers to prepare for their vigil in memory of the drowned young prince.
“Something must be done,” Adeliza said angrily. “This is a disgraceful state of affairs. Your father has mistresses; he is a man of strong appetite in that part of his life; but none have ever been allowed to behave like that at court, even if they have borne him children.” Her voice wobbled on the last word and she raised an index finger to silence Matilda as she started to speak. “Do not say you care not, because it is a lie. You do care and you should, because of the slight to your honour and your standing.”
“Truly it does not matter,” Matilda replied shortly. “I have told you; I am not going back to him. Let him kennel with whores as much as he likes.”
ttt
In the cathedral at Rouen, the women attended a mass for the soul of Matilda’s brother, dead nine years now, his bones fathoms 113
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deep under the seas off Barfleur harbour. Matilda pressed her lips to the filigree cross that the archbishop presented for her to kiss. She was struggling to keep her own head above the waves as she struck out for the shore, but she did not know where the shore was. Her own boat had been wrecked when Heinrich died, and when she thought of getting into the one crewed by Geoffrey, she knew she would rather drown, because it wasn’t rescue he was offering.
Her prayer beads slipped through her fingers like smooth, cold pebbles. Beside her, she could hear Adeliza murmuring under her breath and the soft click of her own beads. Was Adeliza in the water too? Counting through her hands the months and years that she had failed to conceive? Moisture glistened on her stepmother’s cheeks, illuminated like clear pearls in the candle glow. Drowned sorrows. Matilda put her head down and closed her eyes.
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Fourteen
Angers, June 1131
G eoffrey winced as his one-year-old daughter howled in her nurse’s arms. Her hair was like his, a sun-gold mass of coppery ringlets. Her eyes were hazel-green like her mother’s and tightly squeezed shut as she screamed to be put down. She had been named Emma for Aelis’s mother and was an engaging little thing when she was not raising the rafters.
She would be useful when it came to cementing a marriage alliance. King Henry of England had more illegitimate daughters than fingers and had married them all to good political advantage. There was something to be said for a quiver full of bastards.
Aelis, who was breeding again, had been mortified to bear him a daughter and was insisting that the