“‘To the Empress Mathilda, countess of Anjou, daughter of King Henry of England, duke of Normandy, I Roger, bishop of Salisbury, send greetings and my best wishes for your continued good health. I will not waste words but get straight to the point.’”
I folded my hands together and pressed them against my lips, closing my eyes. Lord Jesus and all the saints, make haste to help me, I prayed silently.
“‘Your father the king has received the letter you sent him explaining your decision to depart Anjou and reside for a time in Normandy. He is also made aware of your desire to petition His Holiness Pope Honorius for a divorce from your rightful husband, Count Geoffrey of Anjou, with whom you were joined in the bonds of wedlock more than a year hence. This news came as a terrible surprise to all of us at court, who had wished the best for your marriage and looked to you to provide an heir for the House of Normandy.’”
Drogo stopped reading for a moment and looked down at me. “Are you all right, my lady?”
“It is just as bad as I feared,” I whispered, my eyes growing moist. “What will become of me?”
“Perhaps I should finish reading the letter before we declare that all is lost.” He smiled slightly as he said this, not I think to mock me, but to grant me courage.
“Very well,” I said, with a wave of my hand. “Continue.”
Drogo’s eyes returned to the paper and suddenly his expression changed. “This is interesting.”
“What is interesting?” I asked, pressing down on the arms of the chair and raising myself slightly, as if doing so would draw out the answer quicker.
“‘We were quite ready to make a reply to you on this score, when the king received a most unwelcome letter from the hand of the count, which accused him in the foulest terms. Among the crimes that my lord is said to have committed are breaching the marriage contract, refusing to turn over castles in Normandy, and failing to command the Norman nobles to pledge fealty to Anjou. He even had the gall to command the king to do fealty to him for the Angevin estates!’”
“Good Lord!” I cried. “He is an even greater fool than I took him for! I cannot remember the last time someone threatened my father and it turned out well for them.”
Drogo nodded in agreement. “Allow me to read on. ‘Well, I need not tell you that this has caused great offense throughout England and Normandy, and with no one so much as our beloved sovereign, King Henry. He sees now the weakness of character in this young count. Fear not! My master pledges that he will not rest until the honor of Normandy is restored. He will travel to you in Rouen and discuss this matter. Therefore, be without fear, for all will be set right.’”
I was overjoyed at this news. I could hardly believe that for the first time in almost two years, my father and I seemed to be on the same side. It was too good—truly, too wonderful!
“Drogo,” I stammered, so filled was I with excitement, “do you know what this means?! It means I am safe! I have hope! Of course, it is due to my husband’s presumption rather than his disloyalty to myself that the king has undergone this change of temper. Nevertheless, I shall take it, and gladly! But what about my request for a divorce? Does the letter say anything about that?”
“One moment,” Drogo replied, his eyes scanning further down the letter. “Ah, here we are! ‘The king and I are both determined to safeguard the alliance with Anjou at all costs, for it is the key to defending Normandy. For this reason, we bid you wait before making any petition to Rome. Divorce is a most severe path with grievous penalties in this life and the next. Therefore, your father commands you to wait until he is in Normandy, that the matter may be discussed further.’”
“He will safeguard the alliance at all costs?” I scoffed. “He means at all costs to me. He would never take on a cost himself.”
“I regret to say that is all the bishop writes on the matter,” Drogo concluded. “There is something else about your cousin, Henry of Blois, being named bishop of Winchester—”
“Oh, that will please Lady Adela! She is ever so eager to advance her sons in any way possible.”
“Yes, and here I see that the king has forgiven the traitor Waleran Beaumont and returned most of his possessions. Well, that seems like an awful chance to take.”
“Indeed,” I said, standing up and taking the letter in hand to examine it myself. “I remember when my first husband pardoned Archbishop Adalbert: that proved to be a poor decision. I hope we will not have a repeat of that treachery.”
Even as I spoke these words, an image passed through my mind. I remembered the way Waleran had looked at me that day he was being led off in fetters. His eyes burned like fire and sent a chill through my bones. I truly hoped he was a better man.
“I suppose only time will tell,” replied Drogo. “Now, I shall leave you to read the rest of your messages alone.” He took two steps toward the door, then turned back. “Do you still intend to send out those other letters?”
“No, thank God, they are no longer necessary!”
With that, he departed the room and left me there to ponder just what had been given to me: it was hope, yes, and more than I had thought to receive. Yet it was not hope of the highest kind. It seemed my father was still quite determined to keep me married to Geoffrey of Anjou. He wanted his heirs, and so did I, but I also wanted respect.
“What am I to do?” I whispered. “What cost am I to pay?”
I received a few letters from Anjou during this time begging me to return and take up my place as countess. Sadly for them, I was much happier living alone in Normandy than I ever had been with Count Geoffrey in Anjou. In addition, my desire to be free of him had, at least for the moment, exceeded my desire to produce children. Perhaps that sounds selfish, and perhaps it was, but my own interests had been considered so little throughout my life that something inside me had finally rebelled and demanded its due. I wanted the respect of the world that came from having children, yes, but not at the expense of being treated without respect by my husband.
As the year came to a close, I continued to discuss with the scholars how I might remove myself from that marriage. My father was still against the idea of sending a petition to Pope Honorius. He preferred to use the situation to his own advantage and force a compromise out of his son-in-law. For him, the alliance with Anjou was always sacred. I, on the other hand, was not convinced that the alliance would last even if I did remain married, and thus it did nothing to change my mind.
However, the point became moot, for Pope Honorius died that winter, and all of Christendom descended into chaos. While the poor man drew his final breaths, the papal chancellor and some of his fellows were already plotting to install Gregory Papareschi in the throne of Saint Peter. Less than ten men chose Gregory as pope, and they had him consecrated the day after Honorius’ death, without the advice of their brother cardinals. This did not sit well with anyone, least of all the powerful Pierleoni family: the same clan that caused so much trouble for my late husband. Under their influence, a separate meeting of cardinals within Rome chose Peter Pierleoni as Holy Father, and he went by the name Anacletus. The other pope, who took the name Innocent II, was chased out of the city.
All of Europe was greatly upset by this, and not without good cause. Most of those on this side of the Alps supported Anacletus, including the Holy Roman Emperor Lothair, King Louis of France, and my own father. Others, notably Abbot Bernard of Clairvaux and the Italians, favored Innocent. I knew not whom the lords of Christendom would choose in the end, and even less what God willed. What I did know for certain is that there was no way that the issue of my marriage was likely to come before the papal court. As long as the rivals fought with one another, I had no chance of obtaining a divorce, and I had no hope that they would reach a peace within the year. This was a blow, and no mistake.
“What are we to do now?” Drogo asked one evening, as the two of us sat alone by the fire in the great hall of the palace in Rouen. “It seems that the Church itself is nearing divorce.”
“Were you a better student of history, Drogo, you would know that such things happen in every age,” I replied, pulling my shawl tighter for warmth. “The churches of the East have still not reconciled with Rome after some seventy years, though I dearly hope they shall one day. In time, either Anacletus or Innocent will come out victorious, or else the Lord may call one of them to heaven and spare us all the trouble. But I heard that Count Geoffrey is facing a rebellion in Anjou. We must wait until my father the king arrives in Normandy. Then he will play upon that boy’s weakness.”
I was still feeling cold, so I pulled my chair closer to the hearth. Our chairs were very large with high backs, so I was able to pull my legs up near my body and lean against the left arm. I once again wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and rubbed my hands together nearer the fire. From his chair across from me, Drogo reached with his long arm and grabbed an iron poker, then used it to provoke the flames back to life. He returned the instrument to its place, leaned back and crossed his legs, and broke into a smile.
“What is it?” I asked, still attempting to warm my fingers. “I know that look. You have heard something.”
“Your husband is ready to depart on pilgrimage to Compostela,” he answered.
“What an idea! Why should he leave his kingdom at such a time? And since when does Count Geoffrey care about the things of the Lord?!” I cried.
Here the knight’s expression became more serious. “He is a knight, my lady. We too take sacred vows.”
“I think yours were a bit more sacred than his, Drogo. Speaking of vows, did you know King Henry gives one hundred pounds a year to Fontevrault and Abbess Pétronilla?”
This, of course, was the house that had sheltered my husband’s whore.
“It is still a good house, my lady,” Drogo argued. “They had no choice but to help that woman when she came begging for aid, even if she was of ill repute.”
He had a point there, but I was still inclined to dislike both Fontevrault and its abbess for harboring such sin, even if it was done out of mercy.
“You know, they have given the child a name,” I said, with contempt in my voice. “Hamelin.”
“Hamelin? Wasn’t there a town in Germany by that name?”
I examined my memory and determined that he was correct. “Yes, in Saxony. So you see, the Saxons are out to destroy me again!”
“They were never out to destroy you—just your husband,” he noted with a smile.
“I wish they would destroy my present husband. He intends to acknowledge the boy openly. Well, he is a bastard.”
“Wait—Do you mean Hamelin is a bastard or Count Geoffrey?”
I laughed. “By happy chance, it works both ways.”
King Henry did arrive in Normandy in early September 1130, along with Hugh, the abbot of Reading. Archbishop Geoffrey of Rouen had died more than a year earlier, and it was the king’s intention to install Hugh as the new archbishop before Michaelmas. However, before doing so, the king wished to visit the abbey of Bec to confirm his authority. There had been a dispute with the new abbot, Boson, who was loath to swear a personal oath of loyalty to the king, preferring to remain faithful to the Church alone. They had reached some agreement, but my father nevertheless wished to visit the place and look the man in the eye, therefore putting the fear of God in him. If the king goes to Bec, all must go to Bec. Therefore, I set out to meet him.
It is a short journey from Rouen to Bec: about a day’s ride. The country is pleasant and full of wheat farms. When the sun hits them just so, you might mistake them for fields of gold. As we approached the monastery, we saw some of the monks still at the harvest, gathering the grain for their winter bread.
Only a monk could use the same breath to lower a scythe and chant a hymn, I thought.
We entered the outer court, part of which was paved in stone. What a nice change from the dirt and gravel! Abbot Boson was standing in front of the main collection of buildings—the church, refectory, dormitory, infirmary—with a broad smile on his face.
“Welcome back, Empress Mathilda!” he called out. “Your father and his companions have only just arrived.”
“Thank you, abbot,” I said, patting my horse on its head and then alighting. “Is the king inside?”
“You will find them all in the refectory,” he answered. “Allow me to guide you.”
We made the short walk over to the hall, where the weary travelers were enjoying a hearty supper. It was a stone building with a lovely roof, its beams carved so that it appeared that they were rows of leaves born out of the wood itself. Few churches were decorated with such excellence, but that was not the primary subject on my mind. This would be the first time I had seen any members of the Norman court since the wedding, which already seemed a lifetime ago. So much had changed since then: the very earth seemed to have shifted beneath me. Yet there they all were feasting and drinking, as if nothing odd had taken place.
I followed the abbot through the front doors, which were painted bright green. The scene inside was jovial, with both of the long wood tables full of men merry with wine. A few of their dogs were wandering about the room, and a bright fire burned in a pit at the center.
“Empress Mathilda!” a voice called.
I turned to the left and saw that it was Robert Beaumont walking toward me.
“Well met, kind lord,” I said, extending my hand for him to kiss. “It is good to see you again.”
He straightened back up and looked at me with a face that was all confusion. “Again? I did not think we had ever properly met.”
Now I was the one thrown into confusion. “What do you mean? We were in each other’s company all the time not two years ago.”
“Oh, you must mean my brother!” he said with a laugh. “Forgive me. I am Earl Waleran, his twin.” Here he bowed deeply.
The moment he spoke his name, I was filled with fear. Could this be the same man who had once given me such a look of hatred that it shook me to my core? His appearance was altogether different. For one thing, he had a mess of brown hair on his head, though his face was still bare. He was no longer gaunt, but once again had the same rosy cheeks as his twin brother. His clothes showed no signs of dirt or holes, and by the manner of his greeting, I would have thought him a decent fellow.
“You are Waleran, truly?” I asked nervously. “You are not trying to trick me?”
“No, we are quite alike. Our own mother used to mistake us.”
“Ah, right! How fortunate for her to be twice blessed!” I replied.
I could still hardly believe that I was speaking with an established traitor only just forgiven by the king. The same man who had been brought so low that he was willing to cast an evil look my way was now standing before me clad in gold chains. I was beginning to regret having shaken his hand, but I tried to put such thoughts behind me.
“Tell me, cousin, where is the king?” I asked.
“Just over there,” he replied, pointing at the far table.
“Thank you,” I concluded, and walked over to where the king sat next to the fire with the earl of Surrey, brother Robert, Count Theobald of Blois, and Brian fitz Count.
As I approached, I began to doubt if it would really be best to speak with them all together, and I was about to turn around when the king caught sight of me and waved his hand. “Get over here, prodigal daughter!”
The sound of his voice alone seemed to tie my stomach in knots. I took a few uncertain steps toward his position and bowed. “Yes, my lord, I have come.”
“Do you want to discuss your knave of a husband now, or later?” my father asked, taking a swig of wine.
“Perhaps you could first tell me how you’ve been,” I offered.
Here the look on his face grew more somber and he set down his goblet with some real force. “If you must know, I’ve been rather singed.”
“What? I think I mistook your meaning.”
“No, we really were singed, or very near it,” Robert said.
“How did this happen?” I asked, looking over at my brother on the right and then back at the king.
“When we were in Rochester, back in May,” the king explained. “Half the town burned to the ground.”
“Oh no!” I cried. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Not seriously,” Brian answered. “Some of the animals perished, but no human deaths.”
Up until that point in the conversation, I had been standing behind Brian and he was facing away from me, but at that moment he turned to face me and I looked once again into his eyes. I took it he had either been away from Wallingford for some time or his wife had given in, because he had a beard again and his hair was a good bit longer. Why I should have made this observation, I am not sure. It was just odd to see him again. It had been a good three years since that time when we were in love, or at least when I was in love. Ever since he had forsaken me, I looked back on that period uncertain of where Brian had truly stood. All I knew was that it seemed like an eternity had gone by, or that no time had passed at all.
“Well, that is a relief,” I said, quickly returning my gaze to the other side of the table, “but still, how dreadful that you should have been there when this happened, or that it should have happened at all!”
“Sit down, my daughter,” the king ordered.
There was an open spot next to Brian, but instead I walked down to the end of the table and rounded the corner, moving to take a seat to my father’s right. Truly, it was a choice between hell and Hades. I sensed that he was about to scold me about Count Geoffrey, so I spoke first.
“Have you heard anything regarding the papal schism?” I asked, motioning to one of the servants for a glass of wine.
“The monk Bernard has written to me, begging me to accept this Innocent as pope,”
the king explained. “Well, he’s not so innocent, if you ask me. I have yet to meet a man in this part of the world who supports him, save for a few monks. Bernard, the abbot of Clairvaux—he writes to me constantly in the most pleading terms, bidding me for the benefit of my soul to remove my support from Anacletus. But that’s just what they say, isn’t it? ‘Innocent possesses Rome, but Anacletus the whole world.’ Now this Bernard wishes to meet with me, but he is within the realm of King Louis, and that concerns me: I doubt his motives.” Here he seemed to squint, as if spying out some criminal act.
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