Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,83

to him following her prayers and found him sitting up, awake and aware, in great pain and full of bad temper.

“The campaign will have to cease until the spring,” he growled.

“I cannot lead the troops. Talvas has the flux, and William of Aquitaine does not have the authority. If we press on now, it will be a disaster. We have made some gains; let us consolidate those.” She was tempted to beat him about his bad foot with the fire poker. “So you give up after two weeks? Will your allies still be willing to campaign with you in the spring after this? We have planned this for so long, and now you turn tail and run like a whipped cur!”

“I am not running anywhere,” he snarled. “I will not have you impugn my courage. We have no choice but to withdraw.

Do you not see? Pah! Of course you don’t, because it is ever your way to be blind and stubborn if something does not suit you. If we advance as we are, we face disaster, even with the reinforcements from Argentan. Christ, you foolish bitch, we will be destroyed in the field and there will be no spring campaign at all, no duchy and no England. Is that what you want, because that is what you will get!” Matilda stared at him. She knew he was right, but she was still furious and sick with disappointment. If there was dysen-tery in the camp, there was the danger that Geoffrey might succumb to its ravages, and while she had no love for him, she needed him, and so did their boys. But not like this. She turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Pray, what message shall I bring to our sons at Argentan from their illustrious father?” He narrowed his eyes. “I do not need you to bear my messages. I shall visit as soon as I am able and speak to them myself.” His voice softened slightly. “Tell Henry I will take him riding when I come. And tell the little ones that I hold them in my prayers—even if they are too young to understand.

The baby…does he look like me?”

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Her instinct was to lash out and say no, but it wasn’t true and she believed in the truth above all things. “He has my hair and your eyes,” she said, “and he thrives.” She left then, and for a moment had to hide in a corner and compose herself. It took an effort, like lacing up a garment with frozen hands, but she succeeded in pulling everything taut, and when she arrived in the great hall, she was filled with regal vigour and purpose, and no one would have guessed how close to weeping she was. She could not afford the softness of a woman. In a man’s world, she had to have the heart and stomach of a man.

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Twenty-four

Normandy, May 1137

W ill D’Albini handed the woman a coin in exchange for the small pile of laundered shirts and braies she had placed on his coffer. He was no fop, but he liked clean underwear, and finding a decent laundress was always one of his first priorities once he had dealt with his tent and his horses.

“Rushed off my feet, I am,” she said as she tucked the silver penny in the pouch at her belt. “Those Flemings think a shirt gets washed and dried faster than you can toast bread on a stick.” With a shrug of her ample shoulders and a belated curtsey, she stumped from his tent.

Will’s lips twitched. Leaving his squire to place the fresh shirts in his travelling coffer, he followed the woman out into the bright summer morning and gazed at the bustle of the camp. The king had crossed from England to Normandy in March in order to secure the province and treat with King Louis of France. A campaign was being organised to march on the castles held by the empress and force her out, but it had been hampered because Geoffrey of Anjou had crossed the border with a large army and was ravaging the Hiémois. He had destroyed Bazoches-au-Houlme, razing the church, which had been full of folk taking shelter. William D’Ypres, Stephen’s chief mercenary captain, had attempted to bring Geoffrey to LadyofEnglish.indd 208

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battle, but many of Stephen’s Norman lords were reluctant to obey the command of a bastard Flemish mercenary with a