Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,78

that.” Indeed, she suspected the boastful cockerel side of him would be crowing from every dung heap in the vicinity that three times he had sired a son on her, proof of the outstanding virility of his seed.

“How is he to be named, madam?”

“William,” she said straight away. “For his grandfather, who conquered England and Normandy.”

“Not Fulke then, for the count’s father?” Matilda gave the midwife a sharp look, but decided not to reprimand her for questioning the decision. “That I have a middle son named for his Angevin heritage is sufficient,” she said curtly. “My father-in-law may be king of Jerusalem, but Jerusalem is far away and England and Normandy are not.”

“Yes, madam.” Chastened, the woman cut the cord and gave the baby to her assistants to wash while she delivered the afterbirth. Matilda glanced towards the window. The sun was past its zenith now, but the world outside continued to bake.

There would be storms soon, she thought, of all kinds.

Eventually, the bathed and swaddled newborn was handed to her. Matilda cradled him in the crook of her left arm. His 193

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minute lashes were dusted with gold and his little mouth made pursed sucking motions. She praised God that he had come safely into the world. Now she had to pray for her own recovery. Childbirth was so debilitating. Three sons in four years. Whether Geoffrey wanted daughters or not, Matilda was determined that this was the last time she risked herself in the birthing straw. She would not lie with him again because she had a country and a duchy to win and, if not for this baby, her efforts would have begun much earlier.

“Bring my other sons,” she ordered her women. “Let them see their new brother.”

Henry and Geoffrey were duly escorted into the confinement chamber. Henry was eager to see the baby, but, having looked, soon lost interest. He was a big boy, and felt no strong affinity for the infant in his mother’s arms. There was a slight squirm of jealousy in his stomach because her arm was curved around the baby and not him, but he wasn’t overwhelmed by the feeling, because he knew he was still the best. He pressed a dutiful kiss to the infant’s forehead and then ran off to explore the chamber, clambering up on to the window seat and peering through the arrow-slit. Geoffrey stayed on the bed with Matilda and did his best to say the word “William.” Matilda looked at her three sons. Future kings, dukes, and counts, but only if she and Geoffrey could secure that future for them, and there were so many setbacks to overcome.

In April the pope had ruled that Stephen was justified in taking the crown and had issued letters of sanction. The king of France had acknowledged Stephen’s claim. She intended contesting the papal decision, but it would take time and while the diplomatic battle was being fought out, Stephen was becoming ever more entrenched. Not long after the pope’s ruling, her brother Robert had capitulated and sworn his oath to him. She hoped it was a temporary measure born of 194

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expedience, and that while at court he would talk to others and bring his influence to bear, but it still felt like betrayal and desertion, especially after he had been willing, with others, to offer the crown to Stephen’s brother Theobald.

Her third son had fallen asleep in her arms, making little crowing sounds as he breathed. She handed him gently to a midwife to be settled in his cradle where he at least could slumber for the moment in peace and innocence.

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Twenty-three

Argentan, Normandy, September 1136

M ama, look—look at me!”

Matilda turned from talking to the saddler and watched Henry sit upright in the saddle of a small bay pony.

He struck a pose and lifted his chin. The September breeze ruffled his red-gold hair and turned his irises the hue of sea-coloured glass. He had begun riding lessons two weeks ago and was enjoying every moment. For now, the tuition consisted of having one of the grooms lead him round the courtyard at a sedate walk. A saddle had been especially made to fit his size so that he would not slop about between pommel and cantle.

He would not be allowed to take the reins on his own for a while to come, nor would he have the strength and stature, but he was already confident around horses, and