He did not respond, which concerned me. I moved closer to him and held up the torch so I could clearly make out his features. All the marks of concern were written upon his face.
“Oh God,” I whispered. “Is someone hurt? Did someone die? Tell me, Drogo! I command you!”
“This has nothing to do with the king’s company,” he assured me. “The news is from Flanders.”
His visage had told me the news before his lips could. I knew what he was about to say. I knew it and I feared it.
“I am afraid that William Clito has been chosen as the new count of Flanders.”
I let out a great sigh. “Of course he has.”
With the torch still held aloft in my hand, I closed my eyes and allowed the pain to waft over me. If Clito was count of Flanders, then my last hope of changing the king’s mind was gone. Indeed, I had as much hope of escape as a corpse from the grave. He would want—indeed, he would need—the alliance with Anjou to keep the French out of Normandy. Even I could see that marrying Geoffrey of Anjou made the most sense. But oh, how I hated the idea! My closed eyelids and my cheeks pressed together as I once again began to cry. I’m afraid I shed many tears during that part of my life.
“Empress Mathilda, what can I do? How can I help you?” Drogo asked, taking the torch from me with one hand and placing the other on my shoulder.
“There is nothing—nothing anyone can do to help me,” I told him, my voice quivering.
“You are worried about marrying Geoffrey of Anjou?”
I never did understand why Drogo felt it necessary to state things that were well known to all. I could only imagine that someone in his childhood had been impossible to understand.
I opened my eyes again. “Well, yes! Wouldn’t you be?”
“Perhaps it will not be so very bad,” he offered. “He is only a young man now, but he may grow into a mighty warrior. Many marriages are begun under odd circumstances, but they become strong.”
Was Drogo really that thick? Surely not! He did not know how to ease my pain, so he was resorting to empty phrases. I could see it in his eyes.
“It’s not only that. I know that most of the Norman lords hate the Angevins, and now I am to become one of them!” I shook my head in frustration. “All this to preserve a dynasty, and I don’t even know if there will be children to whom I can hand the throne.”
I covered my face in my hands and wept. Without asking, Drogo reached out and embraced me with his free arm. It was not ordinary behavior for a knight, but I was too upset to concern myself with such things. In any case, we were family in all but name, and nothing about my life was ordinary. After a minute or so, my crying slowed, and I was able to speak again.
“I admit that my anger at the king has poisoned everything. I do not think I would have preferred an alliance with Anjou under any circumstances, but it is even worse given how it has come about.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, looking down at me. “Did something happen?”
For a moment, I considered telling him everything that had taken place over the past year, but I thought better of it. What good would come from awakening that tale of woe when my fate was already certain? I simply buried my face in his chest again and remained silent.
“Well, there is one thing I can tell you that might grant your spirit some peace—at least, I hope it will.”
“Oh?” I said, looking up. “Is there any good news left in this wretched world?”
“If you will have me, I intend to come with you to Anjou, or even to Africa if need be. You are the best mistress a knight could have, and I will follow you until the end, which I hope is not any time soon.”
What wonderful words! Truly, what had I done to be blessed with such a friend?
“That does help,” I said, nodding my head. “Indeed, knowing I will have one friend at least is a boon.”
“Come,” he said, releasing me and grabbing one of the bottles from the shelf. “Let us return to the upper level and drown our sorrows.”
As he turned to leave, I cried, “Wait!” I then picked up another bottle with each hand, holding the cheese underneath my arm.
“I like the way you think!” he said with a wink.
It was around this time that I received another note from Bishop Hildebert of Tours. Since he lent me that flattering lyric, our correspondence had yielded fewer results than I had hoped. My request for information about the young Geoffrey of Anjou was met only with the usual empty praise—nothing that might help me discern the young man’s character. Now he sent me the following letter:
Your page fulfills my desire to know about you more richly than others’ accounts. For whatever I get from you about yourself will be more certain to me than what common rumor might bring to my ears. Therefore, when I learned that winds blew in your service favorable to sending a message across the Channel, I immediately sent letters to you about what had been conveyed from England revealing the will of the king and what the father’s breast was feeling about the offense of the daughter. I claim from you what I deserve to know through you. I claim, indeed, but as your friend in the Lord, as your servant in Christ, as one who puts your honor at the forefront of my happiness. What you know, therefore, about the king and yourself that should be told to a friend, I ask you to tell me.
There was a message I liked not! “The offense of the daughter.” The only offense I could think of was my objection to Geoffrey of Anjou, so I concluded that word must have reached him that I was opposed to the marriage—a true surprise, given that only a few people knew of my father’s intention. Perhaps the good bishop had merely sensed in my inquiry the shade of rebellion. So here he was, searching out secrets, but hiding it in the language of a spiritual guide. No, thank you! I would not be discussing this matter with him!
As for my father, he continued to aid any person who could be seen to pose a challenge to the new Count William of Flanders. With one hand, he sent Stephen to negotiate with the enemy in Bruges, and with the other he raised support for William of Ypres and Thierry of Alsace. “Just wait for it!” he declared. “The usurper will make a mistake. These fools always do. He will turn the people against him.”
Yes, when my father wasn’t crushing my hopes and showing contempt for my person, he was able to pass on some of the benefits of his experience. Just as he had said, Count William did anger the Flemings when he and the French king executed twenty-eight accused murderers of the former count without having them properly tried, paying no heed to the codes of justice. The citizens of Bruges had welcomed their new count with open arms, but after they saw all those men thrown from the summit of the tower without any regard for their own laws, they began to have serious doubts. Those doubts were confirmed when the traitor Clito imposed a new tax on the movement of goods. He was driven out of much of his own county, with several of the major towns in open rebellion. With his great ally, the king of France, no longer by his side, his weakness was made clear.
Even as all of this was taking place, King Henry traveled to Westminster during the Rogation days for a legatine council called by Archbishop William of Canterbury. I believe this meeting had something to do with Archbishop William’s dispute with Archbishop Thurstan of York, but that is not the chief thing I remember about it. I was naturally in attendance, along with all the lords and bishops of England. Not in attendance were three delegates sent by Count Fulk of Anjou: they were staying at the abbey across the way, putting out the story that they were simple pilgrims. In truth, they were there to negotiate a marriage on behalf of their master’s son. I did not approve of the king’s decision to keep this matter secret, as I knew how such things tend to find the public ear, and when they do it is best not to appear deceitful. However, it was clear what the king thought of my opinion.
Let him get shouted down by the lords when they find out. He deserves it! I mused. Perhaps he will make such a mess of things that the marriage will fall through!
Yet no sooner had I thought this than I recog
nized that such a thing was not possible. Once my father had set his mind on something, the whole world could not make him change course. He would find some way to get his way, as he always did. If anyone was to feel the pain of the lords, it would be me.
We were gathered in Westminster Hall: the same place where I had spent so much time a few months earlier. As usual, the dais was set up at the eastern end of the massive hall, and on it sat my father and me, along with the archbishop of Canterbury, as he was the one who had called the council. About a hundred men stood on the stone floor in front of us, and on the walk high above that wrapped around the entire room, men at arms were standing guard. I was braced for a most tiresome afternoon of lords and bishops babbling on about this and that, for such is the life of a royal lady.
The opening words had been completed, the archbishop had said his peace, and there was a call for any other business.
“I have a question!” said Bishop William Giffard of Winchester. He was standing near the front of the crowd, raising his right hand and lifting himself on his toes.
“Pray, speak it now,” the archbishop of Canterbury replied.
“My question is for the king,” he continued, returning to his normal height and folding his hands together. “I have it on good authority that there are currently three men from Anjou staying as guests of the abbot of Westminster. I was just there on a visit yesterday. Abbot Herbert declared that they were there on pilgrimage, but when I spoke to one of the men—Renaud something or other—he said they were called here by the king. I pressed him, but he would speak no further. His fellows entreated him to silence. So with all due respect, lord king, why are they here?”
Here was the moment I had both longed for and feared in turn. As far as I knew, there were only four people in the room who were aware of the king’s intention to marry me to Geoffrey of Anjou and therefore understood the purpose of the Angevins’ visit: the king himself, Earl Robert of Gloucester, Brian fitz Count, and me. By the look of complete surprise on the face of Bishop Roger of Salisbury, who as always was standing in front of everyone else, I received confirmation that he had not been told. Neither, it seemed, had the archbishop of Canterbury or the earl of Surrey, for they both looked positively at a loss for answers. I then turned along with every other person in the room to look at my father, who had not yet responded.
“My king,” the archbishop of Canterbury asked, walking a step closer to his master and speaking in a low voice, “what are we to make of this report?”
“Everyone will please settle down!” the king said in a firm tone of voice, though I noted that no one had done anything particularly uncouth as of yet. “Thank you, Bishop William, for making the ambassadors feel so welcome. You see, both stories are true. They are here to view the holy relics and to see our magnificent country, and also to speak with myself.”
“Speak about what?” Bishop Roger inquired, stepping as close as he could to the dais without actually mounting it.
My father turned to look at me. I cannot think why, for I had no intention of raising a finger to help him after he rejected my advice. Chatter began to grow, and he looked back at the crowd.
“Very well!” he declared, none too happily. “For reasons of necessity, I had not declared their purpose until now, but they are here …” He paused for just a moment and looked at me again. Was that regret I saw in his eyes? Perhaps not. “They are here to discuss the marriage between my daughter, the Empress Mathilda, and Geoffrey of Anjou, son of the count,” he continued.
In my memory of that moment, I always hear a gasp from the crowd, but that may just be the product of years. Whatever the case, they were clearly both surprised and offended. All at once, several of them began to speak, so that the king was forced to raise his hand for silence.
“One at a time! One at a time!” he ordered.
Bishop Roger of Salisbury was in no mood to wait his turn. “My lord, my king, you know I love you more than the woman who bore me, but this is an outrage! I was never once asked for my opinion!”
“You are not the lord of England, no matter what men say!” the king cried, stepping very close to the edge of the dais and pointing down at the man below. “I sought the counsel of exactly those persons whose counsel I required.”
“And who was that?” Bishop Roger demanded. He looked up at the archbishop of Canterbury, who was standing off to the side of the dais. “Did you know about this?”
“I must own that I did not,” he replied, careful to temper his words.
“We know the bishop of Winchester was left out,” Bishop Roger continued. “What about you, or you, or you?” he asked, pointing at some of the lords in turn. “Did he seek your advice?”
They shook their heads, and Bishop Roger turned back to face the king.
“I demand to know who counseled you!” he cried.
Even in the middle of that horrible argument, I was rather impressed to see Bishop Roger, for once in his life, refraining from flattering the king and instead speaking his own mind. What a pity it had to come at such a time! There was only one thing worse than having to marry Geoffrey of Anjou: having to marry him against the objections of the nobles and bishops. I needed them to support me whenever my father went to his eternal reward—or damnation. They would be unlikely to do so if they detested my husband. I understood the bishop’s anger, for I had long been angry myself. Yet I also feared his anger, for I knew him to be an exceedingly powerful man. What was more, there was a very faint hope within me that the objections of the lords might just be enough to make my father change his course. I was torn within, uncertain what to wish for.
“Shut your mouth, or I will be more than happy to shut it for you!” the king responded, and not a very clever response at that.
But Bishop Roger would not be silent. It was as if his apparent loss of influence over the king had caused him to lose his fear as well. “Wait! I think I can say with some confidence that the three people you spoke with were … oh, let’s see … Robert of Gloucester, Stephen of Blois, and Brian fitz Count! And, if she was fortunate, the empress.”
A few people actually clapped, no doubt displaying the jealousy they all felt toward these younger men who had earned the king’s favor. There was only one problem, of course.
“I was never told!” cousin Stephen shouted, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. “I swear to God, I was just as ignorant as the rest of you! You think this offends your honor? Anjou is the sworn enemy of the House of Blois! If anyone has reason to take offense, it is me and mine!”
So evidently Stephen had not been told, and by his declaration, the reason was made quite apparent: the king feared he would oppose the match. Yes, I had hoped that the opposition of these men would lead my father to repent of the Angevin marriage, but it seemed it was a false hope. If he had not sought the counsel of Bishop Roger or even Count Stephen, it was because he had decided not to let their opinions influence him. Therefore, I feared the clash of wills I was witnessing. Indeed, I felt so ill at ease that I wished for the floor to open and swallow me whole. I was gripping the arms of my chair, my whole body straining.
“Enough!” my father bellowed. “Perhaps you have all forgotten who sits on the throne! I do! I, the son of William the Conqueror: I sit on the throne! Now, I have borne your complaints up until this point, but if anyone speaks another word against me, I will hold it as treason! It matters not who advised me, for I am the one who decides! Yes, I am the one who decides! Not you, not you, and not you!” Here he pointed his finger at different persons in turn, as if attempting to put the fear of God in them. “The death of Count Charles and elevation of the infamous traitor William Clito has left our realms in danger, and an alliance with Anjou is the only way to ensure the peace and prosperity of both Normandy and England. I will hear no more debate on this matter! Geoffrey of Anjou is a descendant of Emperor Charles the Great, a proper husband for our daughter. You will respect him as your lord, even as you have respected me all these years,
though I am beginning to doubt it. Now, I have heard quite enough for one morning. We will suspend until further notice!”
He then descended the steps and marched out the main door to my right at a furious pace, with brother Robert and a few others chasing after him. I remained in my seat, too stunned by what had just happened to move, though my mind was very much at work. The whole room broke into conversation. Several men went up to praise Bishop Roger for his words, patting him on the back, while others seemed to fume in silence. No one dared to speak with me, though I received more than one look of disdain.
They all hate me! I thought. And I did not even want this awful marriage! The king should have listened to me. Why did he keep this secret?
I finally stood up and walked down the stairs, pushing my way past a few bishops and lords. I was quite angry, primarily with my father, but I dared not speak to anyone and utter something I would come to regret. I had made it through most of the crowd on my way to the same door through which the king had lately departed, when I heard Stephen’s voice behind me.
“Empress Mathilda!”
I had not the slightest hint of desire to speak with him, but to shun him would place me in greater danger. I therefore turned to face him.
“Yes, Count Stephen?”
“The Anjou marriage cannot take place. It would degrade the lords of Normandy—especially my own house,” he said angrily, his hands on his hips.
“Cousin, I think you mis—”
“You have been pushing for this, have you not?”
“What?!” I cried, for I could not help myself, his accusation was so absurd. “I have been opposing it at every turn!”
“Well, you have not done very well at that, now have you?!” he bellowed, red in the face.
“Honestly, cousin, do you think I control the king? Do you think that anyone in this room cares what I have to say? The king is far more likely to seek your advice.”
“And yet he has not done so on this occasion. I have been left in the dark. Do you have any idea how much of a fool that makes me appear before men? It is a humiliation!”
The Forsaken Monarch Page 35
