Twice Royal Lady

by Hilary Green

  Edwin said softly, ‘I believe we are past the worst danger. The road must be just ahead of us, but we have a long walk. Are you strong enough, my lady?’

  She was shivering, and the snow had got inside her boots, so that her feet were icy, but she nodded firmly. ‘I am stronger than you think, sir. Let us go on.’

  The walk turned into a nightmare. The wind blew the snow into her face and the air was so cold that she felt her lungs were freezing. Ice formed on her eyelashes, making it hard to see, and every step through the deep drifts required an effort. Bertrand saw that she was in difficulty and called a halt.

  ‘We must try to shelter our lady from the worst of the storm. Edwin, you have the broadest back. You go first. Madam, if you will follow close behind him, he will keep the wind off your face. Rollo, Piet give her your arms on either side and help her along. I will bring up the rear.’

  In this way she was able to stumble forward, step by step along what felt like an endless road, until at last Edwin said, ‘I think I see houses ahead. It must be Abingdon.’

  In the darkened streets the going was easier. The snow had been trampled by many feet and the houses gave some shelter from the wind. No lights showed in any of them, but their passing was marked by the barking of dogs and eventually a door opened and a man with a lantern looked out.

  ‘Who are you? What do you want? If you’re after food you can forget it. Your soldiers have stripped us bare of every last crust.’

  Edwin stepped forward. ‘We are not from Stephen’s army, old man, and we have not come to steal. We need horses and we will pay for them. Can you help us?’

  ‘Horses? What do you think I am – the lord of the manor?’

  She roused herself from a kind of stupor and said, ‘Of course he can’t. We must go to the abbey. If anyone has horses they will.’

  A short distance further on the abbey gatehouse loomed up out of the blizzard. Edwin rang the great bell and thumped on the door, until a frightened face looked out through the grille.

  ‘Who are you. Who dares make this disturbance in the middle of the night?’

  She laid a hand on Edwin’s arm and pressed him aside. ‘It is I, Empress Matilda, Lady of the English and your rightful queen. I am in need of rest and shelter and horses to take me on my way. Let me in and inform the abbot.’

  The eyes behind the grille swivelled from side to side, taking in the four knights who stood beside her. She understood the monk’s indecision and pulled off a glove. ‘Here, take this to your abbot.’ She passed a ring through the grille. ‘It is my seal. He will recognize it.’

  The ring was grabbed and the cover of the grille slammed shut. They waited, stamping their feet and slapping their arms across their bodies to keep the blood flowing, until there was a scurry of movement and the heavy door swung open. The abbot was a tall man, lean and hollow cheeked. He bowed deeply, his hands hidden in the sleeves of his robes.

  ‘My lady, please forgive us for keeping you waiting. You will understand that these are troubled times and your arrival is, to say the least, unexpected. But come in, please. You and your companions are most welcome to whatever help we can give you.’

  They were conducted to the guest house, where a lay brother was already lighting the fire in the central hearth. Others brought warm wine and bread. She huddled by the fire, sipping the wine, suppressing a whimper as feeling came back into her frozen feet and fingers.

  The abbot hovered, looking from one to the other. ‘Forgive me, I do not understand why you are here. I heard that the Empress was in Oxford Castle and I understood that the siege was so complete that none could get in or out.’

  ‘As you see, we have contrived to escape nonetheless,’ Edwin said. ‘The Empress is on her way to her castle at Wallingford.’

  ‘But on such a night!’ the abbot exclaimed. ‘It is a miracle that you have reached here safely. We must thank Almighty God, who has preserved you.’

  Matilda looked at him. He seemed flustered and ill at ease. That could be explained, of course, by their sudden arrival, but it occurred to her that he might well be a supporter of Stephen’s claim to the throne rather than her own. It crossed her mind that he might even now have sent a rider to inform her enemy of her whereabouts. Bertrand appeared to be thinking along the same lines.

  ‘Father, it is imperative that we reach Wallingford as soon as possible. Can you lend us horses to complete the journey?’

  ‘Of course,’ the abbot said, ‘but surely you will rest awhile. Wait until the snow stops, or at least until dawn.’

  She straightened in her seat. The idea of staying here in the warm, of lying down and going to sleep, was so inviting that it was hard to resist, but she said, ‘No, Father. I thank you, but we must go on. Please arrange for the horses.’

  A bell began to toll and the abbot turned to her. ‘That is the bell for matins. I must officiate at the service. Please wait here and as soon as the service is over I will arrange for horses to be brought round.’

  Edwin stepped between him and the door. ‘No, Father. Our need is urgent and cannot wait, even upon the worship of the Lord. Please give orders for the horses to be brought, before you go to the chapel.’

  She was still not sure whether the abbot’s hesitation arose from genuine concern or from some ulterior motive, but he bowed reluctantly and called to a lay brother.

  ‘Have five horses saddled and brought to the door of the guest house. Now, if you will permit me …?’

  She gave her permission and thanked him for his hospitality. He left and shortly afterwards she heard the distant sound of the monks chanting the service. Then the lay brother reappeared to say that the horses were waiting. Reluctantly she got to her feet and pulled on her wet boots.

  Rollo murmured to Bertrand, ‘What’s the hurry? We could have stayed here in the warm till morning.’

  ‘And wait for Stephen’s men to track us down?’ the other man replied with some asperity.

  The horses were not what the knights were used to. They were rouncies, basic nags for transporting men or materials, but they were better than walking. The storm had abated and it had stopped snowing, but the horses’ hoofs slipped and slid on the icy road. It was too dangerous to try to move fast. Edwin instructed Rollo and Piet to hang back by a few hundred yards, to give warning of any pursuit, but there was no sign of anyone on the road behind them. It was still long before the winter dawn when they saw the walls of Wallingford Castle outlined against the stars. Her heart beat faster at the thought that she would soon be reunited with Brian.

  Edwin turned in his saddle and beckoned the two younger men to catch up. ‘Ride ahead and warn the sentries that the Empress is approaching.’

  They kicked their horses into a canter, sending shards of ice flying into the air. By the time she reached the castle gatehouse, the gates were open and torches were moving in the courtyard. As she rode under the archway a figure came running towards her. Brian was still in his nightgown, with a cloak hastily thrown over it. He skidded to a standstill at her stirrup and held up his hands.

  ‘Praise God you are safe! But how have you got here? We thought Stephen had you cooped up in Oxford.’

  ‘Not any longer,’ she said, and let herself slide from the saddle into his waiting arms. For a moment he held her close and she felt the warmth of his body through her cloak. Then he set her on her feet, stood back and knelt in the snow.

  ‘Dear lady, welcome! A thousand welcomes!’

  She raised him quickly. ‘My friend, there is no need for that. Let us go in and I will tell you how I escaped. And give these noble gentlemen welcome. I owe my freedom to their courage.’

  Her feet were so numb that she stumbled as they moved towards the door of the hall. Brian slipped his arm round her waist and supported her, shouting orders. ‘Warm wine! And see that these men are fed and given a warm place to sleep.’ Then, to her, ‘Come up to the solar. We can talk there.’

  She had never been to Wallingford before and she lo
oked around the room with interest. A brazier smouldered in the centre and the walls were hung with tapestries woven with stories from the Bible. There were chairs with padded backs and arms and in one corner a writing desk, on which were pens and parchment and several beautifully bound books. It was the home of a scholar rather than a knight.

  He led her to a chair and knelt before her, chafing her frozen hands in his. ‘I have told my wife to stay in bed. She is not strong and the cold night air would be bad for her. If you permit, she will welcome you in the morning.’

  ‘Of course,’ she answered. She had forgotten he had a wife, and she was glad she was not present.

  A sleepy page brought a flagon of warm wine and a platter of bread and cold meats. Brian drew a small table to her side and set the food and drink on it.

  ‘Eat. I can see you are famished.’

  She thought initially that she was too tired to eat, but after a mouthful or two hunger reasserted itself and she cleared the plate. When she had finished Brian said, ‘Now, tell me. How have you escaped – and on such a night!’

  He listened in silence as she told her story, his eyes fixed on her face. When she had finished he said, ‘We knew, of course, about the burning of the city and the siege. You must not think I have been idle. I have mustered every man available and sent to all our friends for reinforcements. You will see in the morning how many have responded. But it is not enough. It has been eating at my heart to think what you were suffering, but I knew that if I attacked Stephen we must be defeated, and then he would take Wallingford as well. I felt that it was my duty to keep this place safe for you as a refuge.’

  ‘You were right. There would be no point in throwing away your men and perhaps your own life in a useless attempt. If only Robert were not in Normandy! He would have been able to bring Stephen to battle and relieve us.’

  He sat back and looked at her in surprise. ‘Robert is in England. You did not know?’

  ‘How should I? Robert, in England? Since when? Where is he?’

  ‘He has been back for some time. He is in Cirencester assembling a force to march against Stephen.’

  She gazed at him in silence for a moment. Robert had been in England for weeks, and had not brought his troops to her aid. It was too much to take in at once. Then a fresh thought occurred to her.

  ‘And my husband? Is he with Robert?’

  ‘I have heard nothing about that. I assume he is not. Perhaps there are matters of importance that detain him in Normandy.’

  Their eyes met and she knew that the same thought was in both their minds. If he had been in Geoffrey’s place he would have sold Normandy to the devil, and Anjou into the bargain, in order to save her.

  Suddenly the exertions of the night overwhelmed her. She sighed deeply. ‘So, what next?’

  ‘Tomorrow you must set out for Devizes. You will be safe from Stephen there. I will provide you with horses and a strong escort.’

  ‘Will you come with me?’

  He shook his head regretfully. ‘You know I cannot. Once Stephen realizes that you are not in Oxford he will search every road and village for you, and the first place he will think of is here. I have to stay to see to the defences.’

  She nodded wearily. ‘Do you think there will ever come a time when we can sit quietly and enjoy each other’s company without the threat of danger?’

  He touched her hand. ‘God willing, the day will come. But now you must sleep. I have told two of my wife’s women to attend you. Let me take you to your room.’

  She leant on his arm as he took her up the winding stair to a room in one of the towers. At the door he kissed her hand and wished her goodnight. She hardly registered the faces or the names of the two women who awaited her, and almost before they had undressed her she was asleep.

  18

  DEVIZES, 1143-45

  She reached Devizes next day and Robert arrived the day after. He strode into the great hall where she awaited him, brushing the snow from the shoulders of his cloak, bowed and kissed her on both cheeks.

  ‘Sister, I am rejoiced to see you safe and well.’

  ‘It is thanks to my own loyal knights and to Brian fitz Count,’ she replied. She was glad to see him, but his failure to come immediately to her aid still rankled.

  He recognized the coolness in her tone. ‘You wonder why I did not come straight to Oxford. It was necessary to recapture Wareham first. I gave the garrison an ultimatum. They could appeal to Stephen for aid and I would wait for thirty days. If he did not come within that time then they would yield the castle to me without a fight. In this way I hoped to draw him away from Oxford, or at least to divide his forces, but he did not take the bait. I had no option but to wait out the thirty days. Then I attacked two castles belonging to his supporters, with the same objective, but still he persisted with his siege. I have even now come from Cirencester, where I have been mustering a force to relieve you. But here you are, unharmed, praise be to God! Has Oxford yielded?’

  ‘Yes. There was no choice. We agreed that once I was out of danger they would make terms. I do not know yet what those terms were.’

  He grimaced. ‘It is a loss – but it is not insuperable.’

  She voiced the thought which was uppermost in her mind. ‘Geoffrey has not come with you.’

  ‘No, God rot him! He had me trailing around Normandy like a hound on a leash to one castle after another. We reduced ten of them. Ten! And then he had the gall to say that he does not feel secure enough as yet to leave. But we have gained something. He sent four hundred knights back with me – and something else. I have a surprise for you.’

  ‘A surprise?’

  ‘Wait.’

  He strode to the door and shouted an order. A moment later one of his squires appeared, bringing with him a young boy. It was a moment before she recognized who it was.

  ‘Henry?’

  Robert gave the lad a light cuff to the back of the head. ‘Go to your mother, boy, and ask her blessing.’

  Henry advanced and knelt before her. ‘Bless me, Lady Mother. My father greets you by me and wishes you health and success.’

  It was a speech made from memory, but delivered with some grace. She laid her hand on his head. ‘The blessing of God upon you, my son.’ She leaned down and raised him to his feet. They looked at each other and she experienced a sharp pang of regret and guilt. When he was a small child in Anjou he was her favourite and they were close. Now he looked at her as if she were a stranger, whose face was familiar but whose name he could not quite recall. He was eight when she left for England. He was eleven now. At his young age, three years was a long time.

  She studied him as he stood before her. He was not tall for his age, but sturdy and solidly built. His head seemed a little too large for his body and his hair, which she remembered as fair, had now taken on the russet tones of his father’s. His face was freckled and he would never merit Geoffrey’s appellation ‘le bel’, but that was no source of regret. It was her own father she saw reflected in his square jaw and lively dark eyes.

  She smiled at him and kissed him on the brow. ‘Welcome to England, Henry. It is time you got to know the country of which you will one day be king.’

  He tilted his head. ‘Are you a queen now?’

  ‘I have been a queen since I was eight years old, and an empress from the age of twelve,’ she reminded him.

  ‘But are you Queen of England?’

  ‘Not … yet. That is still to be decided.’

  ‘Father says King Stephen is too strong for you. He said he has defeated you in battle.’

  ‘The only time we met him face to face on the field of battle, at Lincoln, we were victorious.’

  ‘But you lost at Winchester.’

  ‘Your father might also have pointed out to you,’ Robert cut in, ‘that one battle either way does not determine the outcome of a campaign. Your mother is the rightful heir to your grandfather King Henry.’

  Henry jutted his jaw pugnaciously. ‘When I a
m old enough I shall defeat Stephen and put you on the throne, madam.’

  She felt a catch in her throat. ‘That may be, my son. God will determine the final outcome.’ She dragged her thoughts back to domestic matters. ‘You must be hungry – both of you. Sit. I will send for food and wine.’

  Later, when Henry had gone to explore the castle in the care of Robert’s squire, she sat with her half-brother in the solar. Together they reviewed their position and the strength of their forces.

  She said, ‘I fear for Brian in Wallingford. Once Stephen is assured of Oxford he may decide to attack there.’

  ‘Brian has withstood a siege before now and he will be well prepared. If that does happen, then it will give us the opportunity for a counter attack, though we are hardly ready. But the season is late for fighting and this terrible weather may well dissuade him from continuing the campaign.’

  ‘Let us pray so.’

  Robert’s prediction proved correct. Stephen contented himself with the possession of Oxford and settled in to celebrate Christmas there. She sent emissaries to negotiate the release of her remaining knights. Many of them had already arranged their own ransom, but it cost her more than she could well afford to redeem Alexander de Bohun and the rest.

  The festival was too close to allow for elaborate preparations but she feasted her followers as richly as she could and there were plenty of musicians and entertainers anxious to offer their services. It was a subdued celebration, but one where she had the opportunity to give thanks for her preservation and feel some hope for the future.

  When the twelve days were over, the question arose of what should be done with young Henry. She turned to Robert for advice.