by Shari Anton
Mathilda’s sudden defensive expression sent Gwendolyn skittering to explain.
“I mean no offense, nor to pry into your private affairs. I merely hoped you might give me insights on how to cope with split loyalties to those you love. My father supported Maud, and Alberic holds Camelen for the king. No matter in which direction my feelings sway, I always feel disloyal to one or the other.”
Her confession softened Mathilda’s expression. “One learns to cope, though I dare say there are days when I wish I could shut Maud and Stephen in a room and not let them out until they come to terms. But both are too proud and stubborn to grant concessions, and just might kill each other if left alone too long. Then we would have a nastier mess than we have now. Maud’s son Henry and Stephen’s son Eustace would pick up their parents’ banners and the war would continue. More lives lost. More property destroyed. More women become widows and children become orphans. A sad state of affairs all around.”
“See you no end to this war, then?”
“One side must have complete victory over the other. Only then will we have peace, and an uneasy peace at that. Not only must either Maud or Stephen give up claim to the crown, but so must either Henry or Eustace. I cannot imagine either son giving up what he feels is rightfully his, can you?” She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I digress. The truth is that neither you nor I have any say in how events will fall out. All we can do is support those who deserve our support and allow fate to have its way.”
Gwendolyn couldn’t say anything about her ability to influence fate by calling King Arthur from Avalon.
“So how does one decide who is the most deserving? How did you decide between your father and husband?”
“I never did, nor will I ever.” Mathilda smiled. “My dear, you must not allow politics to come between you and those who deserve your support.”
Gwendolyn didn’t understand, and her confusion must have shown because Mathilda continued.
“When my father gave me to Ranulf, he understood that my duty would be to my husband. True, he had hoped the marriage would bring Ranulf into Maud’s camp. That came to be, for a time. Ranulf aided my father in the capture of Lincoln. The alliance did not last, however, and I blame Maud for its demise.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Be that as it may, my father is worldly enough to accept the loss. He also knows that I love him dearly, would do anything that I can for him, except be disloyal to my husband. Ranulf also understands that I would do anything a wife is expected to do for her husband, except hurt my father. I am both daughter and wife, and it sometimes pains me that they are on opposite sides in this war, but I find it much easier to maintain a good relationship with both if we never discuss politics.”
All well and good. Mathilda simply ignored the divisive element, which wasn’t an option for Gwendolyn.
“So you feel no disloyalty to your father because your husband supports the king.”
“None whatsoever. Ranulf will do whatever he is driven to do. All he wants out of this war is Carlisle, which is currently in the hands of Prince Henry of Scotland. Since King David has heartily supported Maud from the beginning, Ranulf feels she would be reluctant to take Carlisle from the control of the Scots. So he now supports King Stephen, who might be convinced to hand over Carlisle if he overcomes Maud’s challenge.” Mathilda laughed lightly. “Of course, if Ranulf ever feels he stands a better chance of obtaining Carlisle from Maud, he will not hesitate to abandon Stephen.”
How selfish! Should not an earl support either Maud or Stephen out of loyalty? A sense of duty? For what they considered the good of the kingdom?
Mathilda set her goblet on a table. “I know what you are thinking, and you must not judge Chester too harshly. When Maud presented her challenge to Stephen, each earl had to decide which claimant to the crown to support. Some joined Stephen because they could not stomach the thought of a woman on the throne. Some joined Maud because they saw a chance to gain more from her than they could from Stephen, including my father. He may actually believe in Maud’s right to the throne, and love his half sister, but he also knows that if she wins he will be rewarded more handsomely than if he had sided with Stephen. Believe me, not a one of the earls made his choice out of a sense of loyalty, or for the good of the kingdom, but from whom they stood to gain the most.”
And Mathilda would be in a position to know. How disheartening to realize that no one of high rank contemplated the good of the kingdom, only their own portions of it. Perhaps the time had truly come for King Arthur to sweep through and make them all see sense. Again, Gwendolyn chose her words carefully.
“I have heard the wish expressed that neither Maud nor Stephen be allowed the throne, that a third claimant, with an indisputable right to the throne, might be found to seize power and set all to rights.”
Mathilda sighed. “I have heard the same. Unfortunately, other men with royal bloodlines have already been considered and discarded. Stephen will not relinquish his crown to anyone without a fight. ’Tis a shame my father’s illegitimacy prevented him from making a claim. Were it not for the manner of his birth, as King Henry’s eldest son he would have been the undisputed heir to the crown.”
At least King Henry had acknowledged his son, granted him rights and honors, even granted him an earldom. ’Twas far more than Chester had done for Alberic. Gwendolyn fervently wished to ask Mathilda if she thought the earl might someday acknowledge his son, but doubted the question would be welcome. She saw no sense in offending Mathilda over a matter that rightfully belonged between Alberic and his father.
How odd that if not for the taint of illegitimacy, Robert of Gloucester might now be King Robert, and Mathilda a princess. Surely, the lady wouldn’t now be wed to an earl, but to a king or an emperor.
“You have been most generous with your time and observations this morning, my lady. I thank you for your courtesy.”
“Truly, our visit has been a pleasure. I suppose I should fetch the book you wished to read.”
Mathilda rose and strode over to the shelves, from which she pulled a leather-covered book. “You have an interest in the history of the kings of England?”
Only one king, Arthur. And she dare not tell Mathilda of the depth of her interest.
“I have heard many tales of the ancient kings in the songs of the bards. Alberic mentioned you have a large collection of books here at Chester and was certain a copy of the Historia Regum Britanniae was among them. I thought it might be entertaining to compare what I have heard with what Geoffrey of Monmouth has written.”
Mathilda smiled as she handed over the heavy book. “Some have dismissed his writings as no more than a collection of fables, but whether the stories are true or not, you will surely be entertained.”
Gwendolyn rose, eager to begin reading the thick, heavy tome. “My thanks, my lady. I am sure I will enjoy it. If I might beg your pardon, I shall tuck myself away in my chamber until supper.”
“You have my leave, but before you go, would you indulge me a moment longer?”
Something in Mathilda’s tone raised Gwendolyn’s guard, but she had no reason to say aught except, “Certes.”
“I, too, do not wish to pry into your personal affairs, but I admit that when I learned of the earl’s intention to invite Alberic to Chester, I asked him to invite you also. I do not know how much Alberic has told you of his life, but it has not been an easy one. I have always wished the best for him, and wanted to assure myself that he has found some measure of contentment.”
Mathilda paused, and Gwendolyn remembered the woman’s warm greeting for Alberic. Though she hadn’t said it outright, the earl’s wife held no ill will against her husband’s bastard son. She was even fond of him.
“I know you and Alberic were married under trying circumstances,” Mathilda continued. “After spending time with you, I have come to believe he made a good choice in his wife, and with you he can find the happiness that has alluded him, and he deserves. For what little it may mean to yo
u, I wanted you to know that I approve.”
The approval meant much, the compliment swelling her heart.
“I thank you, my lady.”
With that, Gwendolyn took her leave of Lady Mathilda. Clutching the book to her chest, she made her way along winding passageways and sets of stairways to the chambers Mathilda had shown her as readied for her and Alberic’s use.
Furnished as opulently as the rest of the castle, the small solar proved too chilly to comfortably sit and read.
Gwendolyn glanced at the door to the left, beyond which was the bedchamber Lady Mathilda indicated should be Alberic’s. Was he back yet? How had gone his visit with his father?
While she wanted to know how he’d fared, the book in her hands begged reading. This was why Alberic had brought her to Chester. Not to meet the earl and his wife. Not to offer support or advice in his dealings with his father. Only to read this book.
So she turned right and entered the bedchamber she was expected to occupy. She kicked off her shoes, curled up on the velvet coverlet on the bed’s luxurious mattress, opened the Historia and began to read.
Gwendolyn heard the creak of leather hinges. She glanced up from her reading to notice the light in the chamber had dimmed considerably. ’Twas surprising to note she’d been reading for several hours, engrossed in the tales of King Arthur and Merlin’s prophecies.
Alberic appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. From his expression, she couldn’t determine his mood.
“Have you been with the earl all of this time?”
“Nay, I looked in on you earlier. You were so intent I left you to your book. I checked on our horses and people, renewed an acquaintance or two. Naught of importance. I would not disturb you now if ’twas not nearly time for supper. How goes the reading?”
She was of two minds on the matter and sought to explain.
“I have learned much of King Arthur I did not know before. Have you heard tales of his attempt to invade Italy? It seems he fought his way across the continent and made it all the way to the Alps before he was forced to abandon the enterprise.”
“Truly?”
“And he dispatched not one giant, but two. The second had snatched the niece of a duke and taken her to what is now Mont-Saint-Michel. Arthur was not able to rescue the woman, but managed to cut off the giant’s head, so bringing him to justice.”
With a disparaging smile, Alberic crossed the room and sprawled across the end of the bed, propping his warrior’s body up on an elbow. “I always had a hard time believing tales of slaying giants. I have never seen one. Have you?”
Alberic didn’t believe in much he could not see or touch. She was fairly sure he believed in God on faith, but everything else he questioned. Magic in particular, now giants.
“Lady Mathilda did warn me that parts of this history are considered fables by some. But while I have never seen a giant, neither have I seen the Alps yet I believe they exist.”
His smile widened. “True. So which parts do you account as history and which fable?”
“I wish I knew. All is so entertaining. Did you know that Monmouth dedicated his book to Mathilda’s father?”
“As he should. Robert of Gloucester contributed funds toward Monmouth’s maintenance while he wrote the book. Did you also read Merlin’s prophecies?”
“Aye.” She’d found them very disturbing. “Apparently sorcerers prefer to utter prophecies in obscure terms.”
“What do they say of Arthur’s death?”
“The prophecies do not mention Arthur’s name, but the story is in the history.” Gwendolyn flipped through the pages until she found what she sought. “The tale of the battle between Arthur and his son Mordred is not very long. One would think so important a battle as Camblam, where so many thousands of men died, would deserve more attention. Here it says, ‘Arthur himself, our renowned king, was mortally wounded and carried off to the Isle of Avalon, so that his wounds might be attended to. He handed the crown of Britain over to his cousin, Constantine, son of Cador Duke of Cornwall. This in the year 542 after our Lord’s Incarnation.’ Then Monmouth goes on to describe Constantine’s struggles against Mordred’s sons.
“‘Mortally wounded.’ Arthur died over . . . six hundred years ago. No one lives over six hundred years.”
Gwendolyn couldn’t think of a mortal soul who’d lived more than sixty years, but that didn’t mean King Arthur couldn’t.
“You do not take into account that Avalon is a magical isle. If his wounds were not healed, why would Merlin proclaim Arthur’s return?”
“Did you find the prophecy?”
Irritated, Gwendolyn flipped through several more pages. “I find it bothersome that Monmouth chose not to include that prophecy. ’Tis recorded in other histories and legends, particularly those of the Welsh. ’Twas unconscionable for him to leave it out.”
He grasped her ankle, sending delightful little shivers up her legs. “Is Arthur’s return mentioned in the prophecies?”
“Not in so many words, but sweet mercy, how can one tell? As I said, most are maddeningly obscure! The prophecies begin clearly enough. Much is written about the Red Dragon, which is the Saxons, and the White Dragon, the Britains, and the various struggles between them. But after that there is mentioned a Man of Bronze, a Boar of Cornwall, a German Worm, and German Dragon. As you might imagine, one or the other is cutting someone to pieces. There are tears, and bloodshed, and famine. Then it says here . . . ‘Cadwallader shall summon Conanus and shall make an alliance with Albany. Then the foreigners shall be slaughtered and the rivers will run with blood.’ A pretty picture, is it not? Have you heard of this Cadwallader?”
“Nay.”
“Neither have I, so I know not if he has lived or has yet to live. And then later Merlin says a Hedgehog will hide apples in Winchester and stones will speak. What the devil is that supposed to mean?”
“I fear I am as confused as you are.”
Gwendolyn pulled her knees up, removing her ankle from his grasp. How was she supposed to think when his thumb worried her ankle, especially when he sprawled on the bed, making it hard enough to follow a conversation?
“One would think if Merlin intended to tell us of future events, he would do so in an understandable manner. How am I supposed to know which prophecy deals with our time in history?”
“Is there no mention of a civil war?”
“Not in such terms, and not unless Stephen and Maud are dragons. I swear, every other prophecy deals with death and destruction. ’Twould seem England is doomed to suffer much bloodshed and slaughter, one war following the other.”
Not a future she wanted to contemplate.
“Gwen, would it not make sense that one of those times of bloodshed and slaughter would be so horrific that Merlin would have assured us that in that time Arthur would return?”
So she’d hoped.
“One prophecy mentions a Lion of Justice. I thought, at first, that might be King Arthur. But he would not use the symbol of the lion, I should think, but the banner of the Welsh dragon, as he did in his lifetime. Still, it seems to me that by creating the legacy and giving it to my ancestors, Merlin left the decision of when to recall King Arthur to the people living during times of strife.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps, but an event so momentous as King Arthur’s return to England would surely merit a mention in Merlin’s prophecies.”
Frustrated, Gwendolyn shoved the book aside. “I need to read this again. I must have missed something important. Perhaps my understanding of Latin is not as complete as I thought and I am misreading the book. What did your father want of you?”
Alberic glanced away, his mouth tightening. “Chester is putting together a plan for the invasion of Wales.”
Gwendolyn hugged her upraised knees to still the lurch of her stomach. “Sweet mercy!”
“Do not concern yourself over it yet. Chester hopes to convince the king to join him in the venture. Th
at may not happen for months. King Stephen has more urgent matters to attend to at the moment.”
Ye gods. More bloodshed and slaughter. And too close to home for comfort. She thought of her Welsh relatives, who would be in harm’s way.
“Why invade Wales?”
“The earl wants Carlisle. To get it, Stephen must win this war. Chester believes invading Wales is a good strategy in defeating Maud.”
Chester, damn him, wanted Alberic to participate.
“What would be your part?”
Alberic’s smile reflected no humor. “He offered me a position as one of his commanders. All I need do is provide twenty knights and one hundred footmen, and their provisions, of course.”
’Twas a larger force than her father had taken to Wallingford, but not unreasonable numbers for a barony.
“What does he offer in return?”
“Ap Idwal.”
Hellfire. A most appropriate reward. The prospect of revenge against Madog ap Idwal would tempt Alberic sorely.
“Is revenge against ap Idwal worth the risk of your own life, losing all you have gained?”
“Maybe. Either you shape your own destiny or allow others to shape it for you. Sometimes the risk might be worth the prize.”
Nothing was worth Alberic’s life. Nothing.
“How do you decide enough is enough, that you have all you need and do not need any more?”
“I am not sure.”
“So you intend to accept his offer?”
“I have not yet decided.” He slid off the bed. “You might want to put your shoes on. The bell for supper will ring soon.”
He walked out of the chamber and Gwendolyn put her head on her knees, wishing they’d stayed home. Then she wouldn’t be so confused about the legacy, and Alberic wouldn’t now be considering making war on the Welsh.
