The first night, I was so weary that I slept through until afternoon the next day, stayed awake long enough to eat a few morsels, then promptly returned to bed. Therefore, it was only on the third day that I made it down to the private dining room of Wigan Marshal and his wife, Agnes, the lord and lady of the castle. It was a small chamber near the great hall, with a single long table and about ten chairs. I understood that the five young children of the home were allowed to join at times, but on this night it was only Lord Wigan seated at the head, with Lady Agnes to his left and me to his right. A stew had been poured for our nourishment and we were all sipping from our goblets of wine when Lord Wigan began to speak in earnest.
“My lady, I must apologize for the state of the place. We never thought to have a guest of your stature. Had I known, I would have hired more servants for the length of your stay.”
“Have no fear, sir. I know the manner of my coming is most unusual,” I assured him. “Simply to have a bed to sleep in and a hearty meal is all I ask at this time. Your generosity will not be forgotten.”
“It is not generous to give what is due,” he replied, reaching forward to fill my glass once again from the pitcher. “And how long do you think you will be staying?”
“Please, husband!” said Lady Agnes, her tone quite direct. She turned her gaze toward me. “The empress is welcome to stay as long as she wishes.”
I smiled at them both. “There is no harm in the question. It is entirely fair. I hope to be able to tell you how long I will stay by the end of this week. I have some matters of great import to consider.”
Lady Agnes and I both placed our spoons back in our stew and raised them to our lips. As I placed mine in my mouth, I looked over again at Lord Wigan, who was sitting back in his seat, looking rather pensive.
“What is it, Lord Wigan?” I asked. “Do you have no stomach for food tonight?”
He let out a small sigh and bit his lip, as if considering whether or not he should speak. I placed my spoon aside and turned in my chair to face him more directly.
“Sir, I do not know what thoughts are passing through that mind of yours, but you need not fear telling me whatever it is you have to say.”
“Is that so?” he replied softly, leaning forward. “Empress Mathilda, I have received a letter today from Anjou.”
“Anjou?” I asked, bidding myself remain calm.
“Yes. From Count Geoffrey of Anjou, to be precise. I have it here.”
He reached down into his lap, produced a piece of parchment with the seal broken, and held it up for me to see. It was covered with only a few lines of ink drawn in a rather careless manner.
“What does it say, dear?” asked Lady Agnes.
Her husband did not answer but addressed me alone. “Do you want me to read this, my lady?”
“If you wish,” I said softly, very much fearing what it might reveal, but attempting to maintain the impression that I had everything in hand.
He let out a laugh, or rather a kind of snort. He then turned the letter back toward himself and recited. “To Wigan the Marshal, castellan of Argentan, Count Geoffrey of Anjou sends greeting. I wish to inform you that on the day before last, my wife the countess abandoned her proper place at my side without seeking my permission and has not been seen since. She has forsaken her duty to her people, who already grieve her loss most sorely. Even so, I am grieved. I cannot think but that Lucifer himself has blinded her eyes and tricked her into leaving her natural lord. I am most eager for her return, that she may be restored to the way of righteousness. Anyone who is found to be harboring her will be seen as a traitor to Anjou, and I will have no choice but to come and claim my wife from him, by force if necessary. Therefore, if you have any knowledge of the countess’ whereabouts, please inform me at once. Grace and peace to you and yours.”
With this, he ceased speaking and set the parchment on the table. I had been staring down into my bowl throughout. I lifted my eyes and looked across at Lady Agnes, who appeared rather confounded. Indeed, she seemed most afraid and reached forward to take another long drink from her glass. I looked again at her husband. He had leaned back in his chair and was resting his chin on his left hand.
“Lord Wigan, I have no doubt that after what you have read, you must think me a terrible sinner, but please know that there is more to this story than appears at first glance,” I told him. “I am guilty of bringing trouble on your house by coming here, but not of that which he accuses me.”
“Do not worry about this house, my lady,” he said. “Just tell me what happened.”
I nodded my head and glanced down again at my stew. I did not think to get help from my food, but it gave me a moment to collect my thoughts. I looked up again, and found that he was still sitting in the same position, looking completely at ease. This gave me just enough courage to speak.
“Lord Wigan, Lady Agnes—my husband Count Geoffrey is not a good man, if indeed the title of man can be properly applied to one so childish. I was forced to marry him by circumstance and the will of the king, though I had made known my deep concerns. He does not respect me as he should. Not long after we were wed, I discovered he was sharing his bed with many other women, even though he was most fortunate to marry a great lady such as myself. He preferred the fleeting pleasures of sin to the bounty he stood to gain through his rightful alliance. He made a show of repentance, and I forgave him, all in the hope that we might have a child together. However, he never ceased from his whoring, and about a week ago, I discovered that he had a son with another woman. He has denied me the honor I am due time and again. He is a man without heart who makes a mockery of the gifts he has been given. Well, I did not know what to do. I returned to the land of my ancestors so I could consider how to respond.”
I did not tell them that I hoped to seek a divorce from the pope. I feared it might be one piece of information too many. However, I was very surprised in my host’s response.
“So Count Geoffrey is a dastard—well, a dastard and a bastard. It does not surprise me,” he said, leaning back in his chair and joining his hands together on his chest. “We have heard stories about the Angevins for years. They have made rather an art of lechery, and their tempers are a thing of legend. When I was told you were to be married to that boy, I admit I pitied you. He is not worthy of a woman such as yourself. I was not sorry to see greater peace between Normandy and Anjou, living as I do rather near the border, but I also know that the count is likely to come calling one day and demand control of these castles. I would much rather serve you, my lady. At least you are of the old stock of Normandy—a descendant of Rollo. I do not trust the Angevins, and I am sorry to hear how they have treated you. As if the dignity of their house can compare to that of Normandy! Well, he can come here if he likes, but he will not be satisfied. I do not believe he has the men to prosecute a victorious siege. These walls are strong.”
“Sir,” I began, stammering slightly in my relief, “I cannot tell you how glad it makes me to hear these words! For some time now, I have gone from trouble to trouble. I have had nothing but bad fortune. Your kindness to me is great indeed. But to be honest, I fear more the choices of my father. He has no special love for me, and it was he who pushed for the alliance with Anjou. If he feels that I have broken it through selfishness, there is no telling what he might do. He may punish you for giving me aid. Therefore, I think it best that I leave in the morning. It is too bad, for I have enjoyed your food. The Angevin fare does not always agree with me.”
“Ira principis mors est,” he said. “The anger of the king means death. Ah, but it will not be our death, my lady! The king would never harm his only child, nor would he call me a traitor for aiding her.”
“You have such respect for the House of Normandy, but if there is anything I know about us, Lord Wigan, it is that we treat our enemies with cruelty, and especially those among our own kin. That is what they say, isn’t it? ‘The Normans eat their own young.’”
He leaned forward and
placed his right hand on my left. “Empress Mathilda, you are a great lady. I do not believe you will share in that fate.”
“And yet I must fly,” I whispered.
He nodded and sighed. “Yes, you must, but I will send my men with you. No more of this running around alone. If you were to fall prey to danger on the road, then the king would most certainly hold me guilty of treason, and he would be right to do so!”
“But where will she go?!” Lady Agnes inquired. She looked at me earnestly. “My lady, if you truly fear your father’s wrath, then perhaps you should go to the lands of your kin to the east: to the county of Blois. I am sure Count Theobald would receive you.”
I laughed softly. “I am afraid the House of Blois is not entirely happy with me since I married into Anjou.”
“Then they would have something to gain if you seek an annulment,” she said. “Is that what you intend to do?”
I looked toward her husband and then back at her. “If you must know, yes, I seek the dissolution of this marriage. It should never have happened. However, I do not have much hope for an annulment. We are not related too closely, the marriage contract was perfectly legal, and despite the absence of offspring, I assure you we have shared in marital relations. No, it would have to be a divorce for cause. The Lord permitted divorce for adultery.”
Even as I said these words, I did not feel at all comfortable. They sounded strange coming from my lips.
“You know, I never thought it would be like this,” I said, shaking my head. “If you had told me when I was young that I would end up seeking divorce, I would have said you were out of your mind. My mother would have been truly dismayed to hear of it. Nevertheless, I’m afraid it has come to that. I am sorry if you do not approve.”
“It is none of our business what you decide,” replied Lord Wigan. “But my wife is right. You should choose a place to go.”
I looked back at my bowl of stew again, which by that point had surely gone cold. I needed to get myself further from Anjou and out of the danger of an incursion from that corner, but going north would take me further into the lands of my father and the danger that presented. The idea of going to Blois seemed to have merit, but I doubted that cousin Theobald would endure the fury of the king to grant me safe haven, and in any case, I felt most uneasy about that family, with or without good reason. Finally, I arrived at a decision.
“I will make for Rouen: for the city of my fathers. There I will decide what to do next. It will take a week for this news to reach my father in England, and then perhaps another week for his command to reach Rouen. That is enough time for me to consider possible paths. Yes, I will make for Rouen, and God help me.”
Lady Agnes rose from her chair, walked around to my side of the table, and embraced me.
“God speed to you, my lady,” she whispered in my ear. “Feel free to take some of the food with you. There’s no telling what they’ll serve you up there.”
A week later, I was back in the palace of Rouen, having stopped briefly at the abbey of Bec, where I was offered hospitality by Abbot Boson. This time, I had sent word ahead of my arrival, and Rouen was made ready for my stay. In the days since leaving Argentan, I had decided it was best to write and inform my father of the reason I had left Anjou, as well as my intention to petition the Holy Father. I hoped that in expressing honesty, I would be deemed worthy enough of his trust that he would simply scold me rather than punishing me in some manner. This was perhaps wishful thinking, but it seemed worth a try.
As the new archbishop of Rouen had not yet been consecrated at that time, I discussed my desire for a divorce with the abbot of Saint Ouen, Rainfroy, who was rather offended by the suggestion and bid me return to my husband like a good Christian wife. He even offered to come with me and help me gain the forgiveness of Count Geoffrey. This seemed utterly absurd to me, since it was my husband who had committed sin on so many occasions. I politely refused his admonition.
I waited upon news from England, but I did not wait idly. I needed to know what to do should the worst happen: if my father came over from England, gathered an army, and attempted to bring me back to Anjou by force. I well remembered the time he had threatened to drag me there by the tongue. The words still haunted me. Perhaps my father might beat me until I bled once again. Ever since that day, I believed he might do almost anything cruel. I would not feel safe until I had somewhere to flee.
But who would shield me from the wrath of the king of England? Any house of God might be bound to safeguard one fleeing harm, but I did not have enough faith in my father’s character to believe he would respect the sanctity of the Church. In any case, were I to go to the abbey of Bec or another such house, it would simply become my prison. I would not be able to step foot outside its walls without falling under the king’s rule again. Therefore, it was necessary to find a land that was not only free of my father’s control, but was under the control of someone who would not simply turn me over to him.
I had come up with three possibilities, one of which was so unthinkable that I prayed to God I would never have to use it. The monastery of Prémontré, founded by Norbert of Xanten, was northeast of Rouen near the city of Laon. Drogo’s friendship with Norbert would help me to gain sanctuary there, and it was close enough to Rouen that I could flee there quickly. However, it was also close enough that my father might dare to invade. The second choice was the monastery of Clairvaux, whose abbot Bernard was already famous in those days. It was far beyond the reach of any Norman army, and I hoped Bernard might be able to aid me in my communication with the Roman see.
The final possibility was to run to someone with his own army—someone who had no love for my father and would not lift a finger to help him. Yes, I am speaking of King Louis of France. I hated the idea of casting my lot with him, but as he was a natural enemy of both England and Anjou, he would surely support my desire for a divorce. He was the obvious choice, and yet I feared that allying myself with Paris would ruin me in the eyes of my countrymen. Not only that, but it would cause me to lose respect for myself. It was therefore the last and worst option, to be taken only if all others failed and I was in fear for my life.
One morning, after I had been in Rouen for about a fortnight, I was standing in the queen’s chambers on the upper level of the palace, looking out across the yard and the gardens to the River Seine. As the queen was not in residence, I had been allowed to use these grand rooms rather than the smaller chamber at the end of the hall that had been my home in times past. I therefore had a perfect place from which to view the falling rain as it struck the ground, leaving large puddles in the dirt.
It was in that courtyard that I had first beheld Geoffrey of Anjou. True, I had hated him from the start. Perhaps I had no right to hate him then, as I knew barely anything about him, but having had ample time since to make out his character, I felt that my first judgment was right on the mark. To my left were the gardens, which held a very different kind of memory. It was there that I had told Brian I loved him. These two moments seemed to bring together everything that had happened since I returned from the empire: every painful bit of it.
With a sigh, I looked back at the room behind me. The hearth on the left held the fire that warmed me. The rest of the room was filled with two tables and chairs, as well as a desk to my right. My eyes were trained on that desk as I walked toward it slowly. Three letters, all fixed with my royal seal, sat upon it. I walked around the desk and sat in the small wood chair, my gaze still centered on the letters. I reached forward with my right hand and ran my fingers over each of the seals. Perhaps my future lay inside them.
I heard a knock at the door and turned my head. “Who is it? State your purpose.”
“It is your knight, Drogo, here with some messages,” came the reply.
He entered at my command and walked over to where I sat, peeking over my shoulder.
“What are those?” he asked, pointing to the letters.
“This one goes to Norbert in Magdeburg,
this one to Bernard in Clairvaux,” I said, indicating each one in turn. I then set my finger on the final piece of parchment and said, “This is the fearful one.”
“For the king of France?”
I closed my eyes, nodded, and gave a slight shudder.
“Are you sending them out now?” he asked.
I began running my fingers over the seals again. “I cannot decide if I should. Once these letters are sent, there will be no turning back. Yes, I am only asking for assistance in case I need it, but even if it never comes to that, they will still know that I asked. I am not worried about the monks so much as King Louis. How it would thrill him to open this letter and find out that there is division within the House of Normandy! Perhaps I should just send the other two and wait on his. After all, he is the closest by far. A letter would not take as long to reach him.”
“Before you make any decisions, you should read the day’s correspondence,” Drogo offered. He had been holding it at his side with his left hand and now raised it for me to see.
“Why? Is there something from England?”
He reached into the pile and picked out a single letter that bore the seal of the chancellor, Bishop Roger of Salisbury. Given my concern about its contents, the red seal took on a rather fearful appearance, as if it had been stamped in the blood of my father’s enemies.
“Oh, Drogo,” I whispered, “I cannot open it. Will you read it to me?”
He set the rest of the pile on the desk and broke the seal on the bishop’s letter. My heart began beating faster as he opened each fold in turn. He looked me in the eye, perhaps trying to gauge my mood. I nodded to indicate that he should start, and thus he did.
The Forsaken Monarch Page 41
