The Forsaken Monarch

by Amy Mantravadi

  “Your body has suffered a terrible blow,” he would say. “It may take some time to recover.”

  Oh, happy Grimbald! He could not know what I felt. My suffering was as much a mystery to him as it was to myself. For any pain of the body, he might have devised some remedy, but he was no match for the torments of the soul.

  I had experienced despair, apathy, and fear throughout my life in equal measures, yet there always seemed to be a direct cause for these things. The difference that year was that there was no clear reason for my malaise. I finally had two sons, my father was pleased with me for once, and I was not forced to spend time with my husband. It made no sense to me. All I knew was that the darkness I had felt in those moments when I was near death had continued to hang over me even though I was in perfect health.

  One afternoon, Lady Agnes and I took the boys out to the rose garden to play on the grass. In truth, Henry was still a rather poor walker, and Geoffrey merely rested in my arms, but that sufficed for their age. The sun was beating down, but there was a nice wind, and the flow of the River Seine was a vision as always. Sadly, none of this had a positive effect on me. I felt thoroughly empty inside, as if I might break into tears at the slightest provocation.

  “Are you well, my lady?” Agnes asked.

  I turned to look at her, for up to that point I had been staring into space. “Quite well, I thank you.”

  “You do not seem very well. It appears that you are lost in thoughts that are not altogether pleasant.”

  “Forgive me. I did not mean to rain on our sunny day. There are just many things for me to consider, given my position.”

  This was an answer meant to distract from the true reason for my melancholy, and the maid sensed it.

  “My lady, I know I am a good bit older than you, and that I do not care for the things that interest you—books and the like. You have never warmed to me.” Here I attempted to object, but she raised her free hand while holding young Henry with the other. “Please, Your Highness, I am not offended. Not every two people feel a natural affinity. I would say that is what ails you: a lack of true friends who can comfort you.”

  “Oh, but I do have friends!” I argued. “I have my brother, Robert, and Abbot Boson, and the physician Grimbald, and of course my knight, Drogo—”

  “Yes, but they are all men,” she interrupted, “and what’s more, men who are often gone. None but Drogo will return with you to Anjou.”

  “It is not my fault that most of my friends are male,” I said, feeling suddenly defensive. “The nature of who I am requires me to converse with men, and perhaps I have more in common with them. My brother once said something to that effect—that I was like a man in certain ways. I was not sure how to take it at the time—indeed, I am not sure how to take it now, but perhaps there is something in it.”

  Geoffrey began to wrench in my arms, breaking out of his cloths. I set him down and rubbed his chest, whispering as I did so. “Do not fear, Geoffrey. Mama is here. Be calm. Be at peace.” I then wrapped him again, pulling each fold over him in turn.

  “My lady,” Agnes began, “I am not implying that there is anything wrong with you, and by no means do I think you are too much like a man. You are just a special kind of woman. Do not despair of finding female friends. I am sure there is someone who can be a good companion for you—perhaps someone closer in age to yourself and not old and gray like me.”

  Even as she said this, I thought of those long hours I had spent sick in bed, and how the novice Adela had been such a good friend to me at that time, never hesitating to encourage and support me in my darkest hour.

  “Have you had a thought?” Agnes asked, a smile breaking on her face. “It looks as if the wheels of your mind are turning.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” I replied, lifting the babe back into my arms. “I am still not sure that a new friend will solve all my problems either.”

  “Oh, good Lord, no!” she said with a laugh. “Friends don’t solve our problems. They merely help us to bear them, for some burdens are too great for one.”

  I was indebted to Lady Agnes for her words, which made a great deal of sense. The next day, I decided to do something about it. I called Adela over from her home at the abbey of Saint Catherine so that we might speak with one another. She was quite surprised to receive such a summons, and made a great show of bowing and displaying true reverence when she entered the great hall of the castle, where I sat near the hearth stitching a pattern. As soon as I saw her, I set down the cloth, needle, and thread and bid the servants depart.

  How exactly did one make a friend? Most of the friends I had ever enjoyed were persons who happened to be around me rather than ones I had sought out on purpose. I did not think it was something that could be forced. I waited for the door to close before I began speaking, and dearly hoped that it would not be too awkward.

  “Sister Adela, I am glad to see you again,” I said.

  “And I you, my lady, though I cannot account for this honor.”

  It was a bit strange to see her in the full light. I could see that she was a lovely young woman, probably less than twenty years of age, with golden hair that just peaked out from beneath her white veil.

  “I have a few questions for you,” I said. “Tell me: how long until you take your vows before God?”

  “Not long now, my lady—before the end of this year,” she replied, bowing her head slightly and smiling.

  “And how came you to the monastery of Saint Catherine? Are you from a noble family?”

  “No, my lady. My family was poor, and I had little hope of marrying well.”

  “And the nuns took you in?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  I could see that it would be necessary to make her feel more at ease. After all, friends are meant to be equals to a certain degree.

  “You need not always say ‘my lady,’” I offered. “It becomes tedious after a while.”

  “Forgive me, my—that is, forgive me, Empress Mathilda.”

  I motioned toward the seat opposite me. “What is your commission at the abbey?”

  “I care for the infirm,” she replied, sitting down. “Sister Agatha is given oversight, and I help her.”

  “And that is why Grimbald brought you over for the birth?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Her hands were folded tightly in her lap, and her head nodded with each response to show her respect. She seemed very much like the kind of nice girl who would feel it was her duty to continue serving God at the monastery, so if we were to be friends, I would need to present her with something even more appealing.

  “Do you read, Adela?” I inquired.

  “Not a word,” she replied, her eyes sad.

  “What a pity they did not teach you!”

  “I suppose they thought I had no need of it.”

  Not for the first time, I questioned why any woman, or any living person for that matter, should have no need of reading, but I kept the thought to myself.

  “Would you like to learn?” I asked.

  “Yes, I should, but it is not likely at my age.”

  “We can teach you here, or at my court in Anjou.”

  “You honor me, my lady, but surely I cannot leave the cloister.”

  Here was the answer I had feared, and I would have to counter it if I was serious about gaining a friend.

  “Adela, there are two types of people in any abbey: those who are there because they have answered the divine call, and those who are there of necessity. I gather that you are the second type. Is that correct?”

  Her eyes grew wider and she tilted her head. “Are you saying that I should leave the sisters?”

  “Not if that life is your desire, but if the will of the Lord is somewhat more … open when it comes to you, I think you could be of real value to me as one of my ladies.”

  “I am honored that you should think so,” she said, smiling and bowing her head yet again, “but I am afraid I have few of the skills that a
re needed for such a position.”

  I had foreseen this reply and had an answer ready. “On the contrary, I have already witnessed traits in you that could be quite helpful: discretion, courage, a quick wit, cheerfulness.”

  “But my lady, I have no knowledge of royal life. Surely your friends would laugh to think you had taken on such a maid!”

  I could see that a change of approach was needed.

  “Do you question my judgment?” I asked, rather firmly.

  “No, but—”

  “For that is the problem, you see. It matters little what my friends think, because I am short on friends. I have been passing through a great darkness with hardly anyone beside me for comfort, especially given how busy my knight, Drogo, has been. What I need, Adela, is a helper and a friend. I already have women who understand wine, fine dress, and the art of court gossip. But in all my years, I have never had a lady with whom I felt a connection as I felt with you when you took hold of my hand and willed me back to health—that is, apart from my mother. I am not sure why I have struggled so to find female friends. Perhaps it is because of the nature of my position, or perhaps I have not tried hard enough. Either way, I am loath to pass up an opportunity when it presents itself. I will not tell you to forsake the calling of the Lord, but perhaps he brought you to the monastery that you might be brought to my side. So what say you, Adela?”

  She did not reply instantly, but turned her head to the right and stared at the fire burning in the hearth. She then closed her eyes and I thought she might be praying. I was not accustomed to waiting so long for a response, but this was a matter concerning devotion to God, so I allowed her more time. Of course, I hoped very much that God would lead her to the answer I desired. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked back at me.

  “Empress Mathilda, I could no sooner deny such an offer of love than I could deny my own name!” she proclaimed. “I may never see myself as a fit companion for Your Highness, but if this be your will, then who am I to refuse? God knows, I have not been content among the sisters. I have longed at times for another life, but I did not think to receive such a blessing at my door. I accept your offer with much gladness, and hope to confirm your faith in me.”

  I smiled and clapped my hands. “Then I shall speak with your abbess and arrange it all. We can have you here within the week. You have made me happy, Adela, truly!”

  Thus began one of the greatest friendships of my life, and one that would not disappoint.

  As much as I might have preferred to remain in Normandy, the arrival of autumn forced me to return to the land of the Angevins before the weather became too ill for travel. Count Geoffrey was eager to meet his new son, and it hardly seemed right for a wife to be so long absent from her husband—at least, it hardly seemed right to those around me. Therefore, we perforce made ready to depart by Michaelmas. Although I was not eager to forsake Normandy, where for once I was being treated well, for the company of my husband, I received some good cheer from the knowledge that Adela would be going with me. It would be nice to have someone in addition to Drogo who was, if you will, my person and not my husband’s.

  The day before I was to leave, I made one final visit to the abbey of Saint Ouen to pray, accompanied by the king. I hated being alone with him, but I had little choice on this occasion. They set aside the chapel of Saint Peter for our private devotion, a small room just off the main nave with a lovely blue ceiling and a golden statue of the apostle perched in a niche behind the prayer rail. We knelt side by side with our folded hands perched on the stone ledge. I was reciting the blessed hours to myself when I was interrupted by my father.

  “There is something that we need to discuss.”

  “Must it be now, my lord?” I asked, turning my head to face him. “Could we not leave it until we have returned?”

  “There must be no one else present, for it is a delicate matter,” he argued in a low voice.

  Why he could not have arranged for such a discussion at the palace was a mystery to me, but I sensed there was no point arguing. With some frustration, I shut the book and granted him my attention.

  “What is it?”

  “I have received a message from Count Geoffrey—your husband,” he said, as if I might have forgotten to whom I was wed.

  “What of it?”

  “He wishes me to turn over the fortresses in the south of Normandy to his control.”

  Somewhat to my surprise, I failed to see the problem with my husband’s request. “Well, you did pledge to do so, and now that we have two heirs born, it seems right and proper to confirm their inheritance. If Henry and I are to carry on your legacy, we will need the right instruments for the job.”

  “That is not the point. Your husband,” he said, as if to blame me by connection, “seeks to make himself duke of Normandy in all but name within my own lifetime. He sees no need to submit to me, though I am his liege lord.”

  Perhaps it was because he seemed to accuse me that I found it difficult to accept what my father was saying. After all, he had made me his heir, and Count Geoffrey was only asking for what would make it possible for me to control my inheritance after the king’s death. And again, my father had promised to turn over the castles.

  “Forgive me, my lord, but I do not think it can be true that Count Geoffrey is seriously attempting to take over Normandy, for he does not possess the strength or arms for that,” I said, keeping my tone as calm as possible. “He simply seeks some proof that the inheritance will pass to our line. The lords of England and Normandy must be left with no doubt as to who will rule when you are gone.”

  “So you would defend him then?” the king responded, his voice growing louder.

  I could see that the conversation was becoming rather dangerous and attempted to proceed with caution. “I do not defend his methods, but I think his argument is correct.”

  “I have gone to great lengths to ensure the succession!” he cried, striking the rail with his hand. “Have I not made all the lords swear to you, not once, but twice?”

  “Yes, my king, but as you said, this is a delicate matter. You must give Count Geoffrey something real, or he will only slide into discontent. What harm does it do to let him control a few castles?”

  “It makes it appear that I am not in control of my own duchy!” he said, his face beginning to turn red. “He is the vassal here, not I.”

  “I understand, but he may accuse you of breaching the marriage agreement,” I warned, my frustration increasing. “This is a matter of great import to Anjou.”

  Even as I was speaking these words, it seemed very odd indeed that I was defending the Angevins. However, I had two Angevin sons and felt a need to defend their interests.

  “I beg you not to make such accusations! I am a man of my word!” he cried. “I cannot believe that you who hated him from the beginning are now taking his side against your own father.”

  “Yes, but it is not just about Count Geoffrey, is it? It concerns my sons. I must do everything in my power to promote their cause.”

  “Not if it means violating the command of your king!”

  I had come to that point I always seemed to reach in these discussions with my father. I had stated the desire for which I intended to fight, and he had balked at it. Were I to press on, he would no doubt fall back upon the same old threats: he would disinherit me, he would make me pay, and so on and so forth. It was not possible to win an argument with a man who could never admit that he was in the wrong. My only hope was either to wait for circumstances to change or to hope that Count Geoffrey could force sense upon him. Pressing him to the point of extreme anger would only place me in danger. If I had to provoke him, it was best to do so from the safety of Anjou.

  “I can see that we shall have no agreement on this,” I said, standing up, “and it hardly seems fitting to continue such a discussion in a house of God. I think we ought to leave.”

  “You cannot run from me!” he yelled.

  Nevertheless, I did not run
but walked away from him, returning on my own to the palace. Although my father did see us off the next day, I believe it was only on account of the two boys. To me, he said hardly a word. The brief period of respect I had enjoyed was over. I had no desire to part on bad terms, but how could I surrender such a point? For once, I agreed entirely with my husband. The castles had been promised, and they must be granted. Little did I know how vital this issue would become or what calamity it would release upon all our destinies.

  The journey back to Anjou was rather more difficult with two little boys, so I was quite thankful to have Adela’s help in keeping them as happy and quiet as possible. On occasion, my sons would both fall asleep at the same time and Adela and I were able to rest a bit ourselves, but these moments never seemed to last long. Still, I was grateful, for I had seldom enjoyed so much time with either son in my presence. It was lovely to hold Henry in my lap and point out interesting sights through the window of the carriage. In truth, he could not have understood much of what I was teaching him, but as his mother, I was certain he was the cleverest little boy who ever lived.

  Count Geoffrey rode to Le Mans to meet us, and when we were safely within the castle yard, he ran up to the carriage where both Henry and Geoffrey were still deep in slumber.

  “Where are they?” I could hear him call. “Where are my boys?”

  The curtains were drawn on either side of the carriage to help the boys sleep. Henry was lying next to me with his head in my lap, while Geoffrey was sound asleep in a basket on the seat across from me, which was held in place by Adela.

  “Henry,” I said, patting him gently. “We are home. Adela, can you wake Geoffrey?”

  Henry was not yet speaking much, for he was only a year and a half old, but his face told the tale. He looked at me with eyes still half shut, very much in the land of slumber.

  “We are going to see your papa now,” I told him. “Do you remember your papa? You were quite young when we left.”