The Forsaken Monarch

by Amy Mantravadi

  “Dance with me, sister!” Robert said, and I was faced with a choice: agree and face humiliation, or remain seated and possibly offend him.

  “All right,” I answered, taking his hand and walking out among the others.

  I suppose I am an empress, so no one can laugh at me aloud, I thought.

  We joined the other dancers and stepped in a circle this way and that. I struggled to remember everything I had learned in my youth. My only comfort was that some of the others appeared as confounded as I was. As the pattern continued, Robert moved further and further away from me, and I was passed from one stranger to another in quick succession.

  “Robert!” I called out, but he could not hear me over the sound of music and cheering.

  I continued to perform the steps as best I could, whirling around the room from here to there, my degree of stress ever increasing. It was already warm near the fire, and with so much exercise I was growing positively hot and hoping that no one would see me sweat, for such a thing is hardly fit for a royal lady. I became stuck with one man who clearly had no idea what he was doing and seemed to push me toward a rather large woman. I moved to avoid her, but began whirling out of control. It was at that moment that someone caught me from behind and before I knew it, I was face to face with Brian fitz Count.

  “Shame on Robert for abandoning you,” he said, pulling me aside.

  “Thank you. I’m afraid I almost crashed,” I told him, feeling rather ashamed.

  “It wasn’t your fault. I saw what happened. You can dance with me if you wish.”

  “Thank God! I have no idea what I’m doing.” I hated to admit this, but thought it best to be honest.

  “You seem to be doing fine. When you get to the end of the line, you just turn like this,” he said, demonstrating. “See, it’s simple.”

  I laughed. “Not so simple for me. This is nothing like the dances we had in Germany.”

  “Well, it looks like Lady Fortuna is on your side, because the music is changing.”

  The minstrels began playing a lovely tune that was more in line with what I knew, though I could not understand the words. It was intended for each pair to dance on their own, so we took our place in the circle and began moving through the steps, weaving back and forth and occasionally joining hands.

  “You seem to like this one better,” Brian said, as he stepped around me.

  “Thank you for helping me. I’m afraid this is not my greatest talent.”

  “Oh? What is your greatest talent?”

  I laughed. “I’m not sure I have any—at least not any that are particularly helpful for a woman in my position.”

  We both clapped in time with the music, turned our backs to one another, stepped forward then back, turned around again, and joined hands.

  “I don’t know about that. You were able to bring a smile to the queen’s face. Even the king struggles to do that.”

  “I know something of what she is going through,” I said, changing hands. “It is no small thing to be sent away to marry a king. Everyone is looking for her to be England’s salvation.”

  He looked into my eyes earnestly. “Maybe you could be England’s salvation.”

  I laughed at the audacity of his words. Of course, a part of me certainly hoped that I could save England from an uncertain future, but I had no idea if I could do so. It was such a heavy burden to bear! I therefore thought it best to laugh off the matter.

  “Well, if the queen goes much longer without providing an heir, you can bet the king will marry me off to the highest bidder, and then may God and the angels help me!” I said, smiling at him.

  We clapped and repeated the process of turning and stepping until we joined hands again.

  “You should not doubt yourself, not after everything you have already accomplished,” he told me. “I heard the Germans were loath to part with you. That shows what you meant to them.”

  I continued to hold his hand as I spun around.

  “Yes, but I don’t have a child, do I?”

  Just as I finished speaking those words, I turned to face him again and saw the look on his face. He seemed quite surprised by my comment, and for the second time that day I worried that I had said too much. Speaking with him seemed so natural that I had forgotten to check myself: I had said what I really thought. I dropped my hand and stopped moving for a moment. When he did the same, I spoke again.

  “Forgive me, I should not say such things, at least not to you.”

  He looked as if he was about to reply, but I decided to ask about something else.

  “What is this song? I cannot understand it.”

  He smiled, taking my hand once again. “It is the language of Aquitaine: a poem of Duke William.”

  “I did not know that the duke was a poet.”

  “Oh yes, and a great one at that! This is one of his famous ones, I think.”

  “Do you speak their tongue?” I asked.

  “Not very well, but I can give you the words in our own language, if you wish.”

  “Really?” I said, somewhat surprised. “All right, then. Impress me.”

  He smiled broadly. “From such a lady, I will always accept the chance to prove myself.”

  As we joined hands again, he looked at me with a very firm gaze and recited the words of the poem.

  “I’ll make a little song that’s new,

  Before wind, frost, and rain come too;

  My lady tests me, and would prove

  How, and in just what way, I am

  In love, yet despite all she may do

  I’d rather be stuck here in this jam.

  I’d rather deliver myself and render

  Whatever will write me in her charter,

  No, don’t think I’m under the weather,

  If in love with my fine lady I am,

  Since it seems I can’t live without her,

  So great the hunger of sire for dam.

  For she is whiter than ivory,

  So there can be no other for me.

  If there’s no help for this, and swiftly,

  And my fine lady love me, goddamn,

  I’ll die, by the head of Saint Gregory,

  If she’ll not kiss me, wherever I am!

  What good will it be to you, sweet lady,

  If your love keeps you distant from me?

  Are you hankering after a nunnery?

  Know this then: so in love I am,

  I’m fearful lest pure sadness claim me,

  If you don’t right my wrongs, madam.”[10]

  I quite enjoyed his recitation and was even a bit in awe. “I have never heard men speak of love thus.”

  “Have you not?” he said. “It is quite common now. All the minstrels write songs like that.”

  “But such love is hardly common. I have never witnessed it.”

  He smiled. “Perhaps you have not lived long enough.”

  The song finally ended and we ceased our dance. I returned to the dais, where a large pie awaited me.

  VII

  It is often said of the Normans that they eat their own young, a reputation no doubt built upon the legacy of those early pagans who wreaked havoc among the Christian peoples. So wild and strange they must have seemed! The duchy they built upon the coast was to become a testament to the workings of their minds as well as their arms, but it was that same warlike spirit that often set them against one another. Into this world my grandfather was born, an heir to discord and child of conflict. History was to know him as Le Conquérant, “The Conqueror”; but before he became lord of England, he was known by another name: William the Bastard.

  My grandfather was the child of Duke Robert of Normandy and a woman of no consequence. He might have been forgotten had his father produced any legitimate sons, but it was the will of God that William should sit upon the throne. Duke Robert departed this life when his son was still a youth, and owing to the circumstances of his birth, the new Duke William was forced to defend his seat from the very begin
ning. He had not a moment to spend on pleasant affairs, but devoted his entire being to the study of warfare. In so doing, he became one of the greatest commanders the world has ever seen, but at some cost to himself. And ever did that scorn ring in his ears: “William the Bastard! Descendant of a tanner! Child of iniquity! Bastard! Bastard!”

  Therefore, my grandfather had no choice but to find some other means of defining himself that was an honor rather than a source of shame. When it came time to choose a bride, he aimed for the heavens and sought the daughter of the count of Flanders, descendant of the French kings. For any other duke of Normandy, such a conquest might have been swift, but it was not at all certain that Mathilda of Flanders would accept one born outside the bonds of wedlock. By the strength of his person, William gained her father’s blessing, but he still had to face the obstacle of consanguinity.

  Despite William’s pleas, the Holy Father refused to grant the dispensation that would have allowed them to wed. Here it is necessary to remember that old saying of Bruno of Trier: “At times, you must simply wait for someone to die.” Such was the case with Duke William, for once Pope Nicholas II was installed, the duke received his dispensation straight away. As the price of his consent, the new pope bid William build an abbey for the furtherance of God’s work in the city of Caen.

  Although he himself was not taught after the manner of scholars, Duke William embraced his new role as patron of learning. He built not one but two houses—the Abbaye aux Hommes and the Abbaye aux Dames—endowing them with all the wealth of his duchy. It is sad to think that for all the texts they produced, my grandfather could read none of them, but he knew his role was at the head of an army rather than behind a lectern. Nevertheless, as his earthly life drew to a close, Duke William chose to be laid to rest not in Falaise, the town of his birth, nor in Rouen, the capital of his duchy. He sought to be buried in the abbey he had founded: the church of Saint Étienne.

  All this history weighed upon my mind as I arose the next morning and made ready to depart for that very abbey to stand before the grave of my forefather. A new crop of ladies had been given to me, most of them wives of the men at court. It seemed strange to hear them all buzzing around me, speaking the Norman tongue that had been absent from my life for so long. Had I not kept up my conversation with Drogo, I might have forgotten most of it.

  “Do you want anything to eat before setting out, madam?” one of them asked.

  “Just some sop in wine, please.”

  “Right away.”

  She ran off and returned within moments with the remnants of the last day’s bread and a glass of wine. I had a few bites, then left to join the others already gathered outside.

  My lodging was in one of the timber dwellings on the southern end of the courtyard, near the chapel of Saint George. These were set aside for the greatest nobles who were in the king’s party. The king himself and his queen were housed in a stone building next to the hall. The space in between included some tents set up near one wall and the stables and other animals’ stalls on the far opposite side. In the middle was a vast stretch of bare earth, and it was here that the men engaged in sport, the bottoms of their boots making a scratching noise on the ground with every step.

  As I walked out into the yard, the sun was shining wonderfully, and it was so warm that I barely needed the cloak I was wearing. Alas, I could already feel my feet growing moist in my shoes! I saw that the king and queen had not yet arrived, but the king’s lads were already hard at work hurling a ball back and forth. I continued toward them until I was close enough to hear them talk.

  “Throw it nice and hard, William!” Robert yelled to his son.

  The boy sent the ball into the air with as much force as he could muster. It bounced once in the dirt, causing a bit more dust to fly into the air, then landed in the arms of cousin Stephen.

  “Good, but this time turn your shoulders as you throw. You’ll put more force behind it,” Stephen said, giving the ball back.

  Young William went to throw again, but this time shouted, “Brian!” He aimed it toward the other man and let it fly, this time reaching his target.

  “Excellent, William! Excellent!” Robert said. The pride of fatherhood was evident in his eyes. “What do you think, cousin? Can he join our team for Allhallows?”

  “Not if we are playing La Soule again. His mother won’t thank you if he comes home without half his teeth,” Stephen replied.

  “Rubbish! That only happened once! Herbert doesn’t even need those teeth. He just chews his meat on the other side.”

  “Gentlemen!” I said, choosing to make my presence known.

  “Good morrow, empress!” William called. “Do you want to play with us?”

  I would have liked to join them, but I suddenly remembered the last time I had attempted to share in such a game. It was when my brother William and I were just children, and he was kicking a ball around with Robert, Stephen, and Brian. My efforts to take part had ended in ruin when I sent the ball flying into the chicken coop. Ever since that day, I had been too ashamed to play such games. I therefore demurred.

  “I wish I could, but I think it would be rather unseemly,” I told the boy. “Have you ever seen a woman throw?”

  He shrugged. “My sister throws things all the time.”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t know any better, does she?” Robert said, tousling the boy’s hair until he broke into a fit of laughter and started punching his father’s belly.

  Seeing the two of them together, I found myself suddenly struck with sadness. As a young woman, I had not thought myself particularly fond of children—that is, I would not have gone out of my way to seek their company. I accepted that all men and women must begin as children, but I could not imagine that any sane person would want them to stay that way. Perhaps this was because I myself had been denied a proper childhood. I had been forced to play the adult from the time I could speak. Therefore, childhood was something I could hardly comprehend. But seeing my brother together with his son, the two of them made so happy by one another, I suddenly recognized that at some point along the line, I had begun liking children for their own value and not just for the security they provided. Too late I had developed this feeling, when I might never have any children of my own.

  “How did you sleep on your first night back, sister?” Robert asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “It’s not exactly ‘back,’” I replied. “I never came to Normandy in my youth.”

  “Ah, right. I forgot.”

  “But I slept well, thank you for asking. Have you heard naught from the king this morning?”

  “He’s waiting for the queen,” Stephen said, “so he will probably be waiting a while.” The look on his face betokened his disdain.

  I took a few steps in his direction to relay a message of some import. “Count Stephen, you men might be able to pick yourselves up off the floor and head out at a moment’s notice, but if you want us to look a certain way, it takes time,” I assured him. “You have a wife now. You will find out.”

  Stephen simply laughed, and the men continued to throw the ball for several minutes until we heard the trumpets signaling the king and queen’s arrival. They walked toward the gate hand in hand under a special canopy made of red silk with gold tassels, surrounded by four servants carrying the poles. The rest of us moved to join them near the gate, until at last the entire party was ready for departure.

  “Let’s be off then!” the king said, and we started the short walk to the abbey of Saint Étienne.

  As we departed through the north gate and made our way down the gravel path, I walked ahead of the pack, leaving them all to their conversations. Instead, I delighted in the morning calls of the birds and the feel of the wind upon my face. It was only about a mile to the abbey by the path north of the town, and I intended to put it to good use. We were far enough inland that I could no longer smell the sea—pity that! I closed my eyes for just a moment and began to silently recite the Lord’s Pra
yer. Even as I enjoyed this brief moment of serenity, I suddenly heard the sound of quickened footsteps on the gravel behind me. I turned around and saw that it was Lord Brian fitz Count.

  “Empress Mathilda! You’re a hard woman to catch up with,” he called, a bit out of breath. “You need not walk alone.”

  “Perhaps I wished to walk alone, and you have now spoiled my pleasure.” I had intended this to be clever, but it came out sounding rude.

  “If that is the case, then I will happily go back,” he replied, beginning to turn around.

  “No, stay! Tell me how you are these days.”

  As I said this, I made sure to smile so that he would know I really did not mind his company, and we began walking side by side.

  “I’ve been busy,” he answered. “Too busy, really, for the king charges me with more duties all the time. I don’t mind though. I live for it.”

  “From what I hear, you live to read as well.”

  “Yes, I do as much of it as I can. Were I not a knight in the king’s service, I should have been happy to spend all my days writing charters.”

  “Better you than me. I would much rather spend my day reflecting upon the law of God than the common law, not that I am such a saint, but I find legal texts to be very—”

  “Tedious?” he asked, a smile on his face.

  “And overly wordy, yes.”

  “Well, I can hardly fault you there, but were you to study the writings of the ancients—Cicero, for example—you would see the passion with which they worked their craft.”

  “Perhaps, but I would rather have Ovid any day.”

  “Fair enough. There are few as great as Ovid.”

  “I do love his work! I think I must have read the Metamorphoses at least once a year while in the empire. It helped get me through some particularly trying moments.”

  “I can imagine you must have had a lot of those. We heard how you traveled with the emperor to Rome and faced down all the cardinals—how you were at times driven away by those who sought your life. We all feared for you.”