by Jean Plaidy
‘Perhaps it is her wish.’
‘Perhaps so, since she has such a husband.’
‘He is a saint, they say.’
‘Who wants a saint for a husband? I want a strong man, a man who will think he commands me. And I shall allow him to believe in that deception. I intend to have my way.’
‘Because you have with Father do you think you will with a husband?’
‘I think I shall,’ smiled Matilda.
She was thinking of Brihtric. He was hardly the kind of man she had described. He was gentle, poetic, a true Saxon; yet there was a set to his jaw which told her that he could be a very determined man.
How beautiful you are, Brihtric, she thought. And how your blue eyes will shine when I tell you that I have decided to marry you!
She picked up a blue skein and began to stitch with it. It was the colour of his eyes; and his skin was white as snow. My dearest Snow, how happy you are going to be.
She would say to him: ‘My dearest Brihtric, I have chosen you.’ And he would reply: ‘How I long to marry you but you are a Princess of Flanders and I am a humble servant of my King.’ She would reassure him: ‘I shall marry whom I wish. You may leave this to me. I will speak to my father.’
‘What are you smiling at?’ demanded Judith.
‘I was thinking that if you marry this Tostig and I marry into England too, we shall not be parted.’
‘I should like that, Matilda.’
‘So should I,’ said Matilda.
The Count of Flanders and his wife came in to see how the tapestry was progressing. Gracious Adelais, the Count’s wife, never forgot that she was the daughter of a King of France; her husband Baldwin was proud of her; he was an indulgent husband as well as father and as he possessed many virtues and in spite of his gentle and kindly nature he was a good and just ruler, his country was almost as contented as his family.
Matilda’s skill with her needle was something to be proud of. It was renowned throughout Flanders and beyond it seemed. It added to Matilda’s marriageability, for not only was she most highly born but particularly skilled in an art which was generally accepted to be an asset in a wife.
Matilda would record events in her tapestry. She had completed a work which proclaimed her ancestry. Baldwin and Adelais never tired of showing it to their visitors.
Matilda was descended not only from the royal house of France through her mother, but King Alfred the Great was also an ancestor of hers for his daughter Elstrith had married Baldwin II of Flanders. This wonderful work depicted the marriages of her family and how lovingly Adelais’ eyes always dwelt on that portion which showed her bringing in the golden lilies of France.
There was also a connection with Normandy, for Eleanor of Normandy, Matilda’s grandmother, was the aunt of the reigning Duke William.
Producing such a tapestry had increased Matilda’s pride in her birth as well as bringing her some fame as one of the most clever and prolific needlewomen in Europe. Adelais had said it would be very easy to find a very suitable husband for their daughter Matilda. The parents admired the work and Adelais went to the wall on which hung that family tapestry. Baldwin laid his hand on Matilda’s shoulder.
‘It is beautiful, daughter. What a fine mingling of the blue and the white.’
Matilda smiled happily.
‘If Judith leaves us shall you be able to finish it alone?’ asked Baldwin.
‘I shall not be going yet, Father,’ said Judith.
‘Not for a long time, I hope, my love,’ Baldwin assured her.
‘We must work hard,’ added Matilda, ‘for it may be my turn before long.’
‘It will come I doubt not,’ said the Count. ‘And now, Judith, I wish you to come with me and your mother. I have something I wish to say to you.’
Judith rose with alacrity.
She will marry Tostig, thought Matilda, and she will go to England and then it will be my turn.
She went on stitching at her tapestry, taking special delight in that beautiful shade of blue which was just the colour of Brihtric’s eyes.
Looking from a window she saw him crossing the courtyard.
She called to him, ‘Brihtric; a merry good day to you.’
He looked up at her; the sun touched his fair hair making it almost lint white; he bowed his head in acknowledgement of a Princess’s greetings.
‘You have never seen my tapestry, Brihtric,’ she said.
‘It is a pleasure I hope to enjoy one day.’
‘Why not this day?’ she asked.
‘My lady, I have business with the Count.’
‘Will you refuse my invitation, Sir Brihtric?’
‘Has your father given you permission to ask me, my lady?’
She tossed her head. Did he not know that she was considered somewhat wilful in the household? Did he not know that she acted as she wished and if her acts were not approved she smiled mischievously at her father and was forgiven.
Evidently he did not for he considered it not in accordance with the behaviour required of an ambassador to visit a Count’s daughter at her request.
She would show him otherwise.
‘Brihtric, I insist that you come and see my tapestry.’
He hesitated. How beautiful he was when he was uncertain.
‘Come now,’ she said.
He turned towards the door. He was coming. She glared at the attendants who were huddled together in a corner of the room, like crows she thought. She wanted to dismiss them, but perhaps that was going too far. They were looking shocked. What would the Lady Matilda do next, they were pondering in their silly old heads. They should know by now that the Lady Matilda did what she wished no matter how strange people might think it.
At the door stood her beautiful Saxon.
‘Enter Brihtric Meaw,’ she said. ‘I hear they call you Snow because you are so fair.’
He bowed. He was so gracious; his voice was like music; she loved to hear him say ‘my lady Matilda’.
‘Come, my lord, and see the tapestry which has been admired by many. I shall be pleased indeed if you add your admiration to it.’
‘I believe I could not fail to do that . . . when I recall what I have heard of your talents.’
‘Then come and see for yourself.’ She took his hand. Oh, you old crows, why are you there watching? Like vultures waiting for the death of virtue! I would it could be so. But how cautious was the Saxon! He was as amazed at her behaviour as were the crows.
She led him to the wall. ‘There you see my noble ancestry.’
‘It is indeed impressive.’
‘Here is your King Alfred whom you call the Great. You see I have his blood in my veins, so I am partly Saxon.’
‘That is why you are so kind to us.’
‘I have a fondness for Saxons. There is so much I admire in them. And I like well to hear of your country. It is enjoying a period of peace now, I believe.’
‘It has long been awaited and hoped for.’
‘And now under your saint of a King you are all content.’
‘The King is indeed a saint.’
‘I know. He is called the Confessor as you are called Snow. Does it describe him as your name describes you?’
‘He is indeed of a saintly disposition.’
‘I hear his poor wife is not allowed to live with him.’
‘My King is not a man to break his vows.’
‘Even though he has a beautiful wife? Is she beautiful?’
‘She is beautiful.’
‘Are all Saxons beautiful?’ Her voice and her eyes caressed him and he shifted uneasily.
‘No, my lady,’ he said.
She laughed at him. ‘I could find it in my heart to disagree with you.’
He turned back to the tapestry. ‘It is most exquisitely worked.’
‘So you add your praise to others.’
‘Whole-heartedly.’
‘I treasure your Saxon praise. Look, here is the marriage of my grandfa
ther with the sister of Robert of Normandy. So you see I have Saxon blood and Norman blood, Flemish and French. A fine mixture, do you think?’
‘A royal mixture,’ he answered.
‘Tell me of yourself, Brihtric.’
‘I? I am indeed humble compared with you, my lady. My father is Algar and he is the Lord of Honour of Gloucester.’
‘And does he own great lands?’
‘He owns lands, small in comparison with your father’s possessions.’
‘You are over-modest. I did hear that your great Earl Godwin was the son of a cowherd. Is that true?’
‘It is not mentioned.’
‘Nay, the Earl would see to that. But he grew to be a very powerful man. Now his son Tostig may well marry my sister Judith and is it not true that his daughter Editha is that poor neglected wife of your Edward the Confessor himself?’
‘This is so, my lady.’
‘Then does it not show that it is not necessary to be royal to begin with? A clever man may become royal . . . or beget royal children. Remember the cowherd’s son begat a daughter who is now the Queen of England.’
‘My lady is well acquainted with the tangled skeins of royalty.’
‘Indeed I am. So, son of Algar, Lord of Honour of Gloucester, I tell you, do not be too humble.’
She laughed at him and he flushed faintly. How beautiful his skin was when he flushed. It was like rose petals, delicate and soft. She wanted to kiss his cheek and make him flush the deeper.
‘My lady, I must to your father. There are matters to discuss.’
‘This coming marriage?’ she asked.
‘Your father will acquaint me with his wishes when I present myself to him.’
‘Go then,’ she said. ‘Later I will show you more of tapestry, for I see you are very interested in it.’
He bowed and went out.
She smiled as the door shut on him.
The crows were regarding her with shocked amazement.
‘And why,’ she demanded, ‘are you staring at me? Why are you not working? Let me see your work. It is disgraceful! Look at those stitches! You have been staring around at what does not concern you. You lazy creatures. I should have you whipped.’
The women lowered their eyes and stitched. How like the Lady Matilda, when caught at some misdeed, to turn the tables and find fault with others.
She found her father alone and going to him put an arm about his neck and laid her cheek against his.
‘Dearest and best of fathers,’ she said.
‘What does my daughter want of me that she discovers she loves me so much?’
‘Father, you are unkind!’
‘Never to my Matilda.’
‘Then why should you say I want something because I tell you how dear you are to me?’
‘Forgive me. Then you want nothing of me.’
‘Only to talk with you . . . one of our cosy talks with no one to overhear us.’
‘Then let us enjoy that.’
‘Is Judith to marry Tostig?’
‘It seems likely.’
‘And you have given your consent?’
‘If Judith agrees, yes.’
‘How many royal fathers would give their daughters the opportunity to decide. Only the best in the world.’
‘My dearest daughter, I want my children to be happy.’
‘So if Judith wished to marry someone humble you would allow her to?’
‘One can hardly call the son of Earl Godwin humble.’
‘But if he were. If it would break her heart not to marry some humble gentleman, would you withhold your consent?’
‘Do you imagine that I would allow my daughter’s heart to be broken?’
She tightened her arms about his neck and kissed him.
‘There! Am I not proved right! You love your family beyond aught else.’
‘I fear I do.’
‘It is no wonder that they love you too. You have made me very happy, Father.’
‘Tell me what it is you have in mind.’
‘Just to be happy, Father.’
‘You know, do you not, daughter, that Judith is not the only one whose hand is sought.’
‘Mine too, Father?’
‘Yes, and we shall have to think about a husband for you.’
‘I shall make my own choice.’
‘I doubt it not.’
She hesitated. No, she would not tell him yet. First she would speak to Brihtric.
It was not easy to speak to him alone. Always she seemed to be surrounded by attendants from whom it was difficult to escape. She could of course order them to leave her, but they would hang around, waiting at the door. Even she could not easily dispense with the habits of a lifetime.
She chose a time when she could evade them and made her way to the apartment which was set aside for ambassadors in the palace.
By good fortune she found him alone in his study. She tapped at the door. He looked astonished as she entered.
He rose to his feet flushing. She held out her hand; he took it and bowed over it.
‘Pray be seated, Brihtric,’ she commanded. ‘And I will too.’
He brought a stool for her and she sat on it opposite him, smiling, her eyes dancing with amusement because he looked so startled.
‘You find me strange, Brihtric.’
‘I did not expect you to come here.’
‘I act unexpectedly at times. You will grow accustomed to that. Everyone does.’
‘I?’ he asked raising his eyebrows; he looked as though he would like to run away.
‘Do you like being an ambassador, Brihtric?’
‘I do,’ he said.
‘And particularly in Flanders?’
‘My stay here has been very pleasant.’
‘And do you wish to return to your Gloucester?’
‘It is always pleasant to go home, my lady.’
‘If you went home you would say good-bye to my father and mother . . . to me. Would that please you, Brihtric?’
‘Nay, I should be sad to go.’
Her smile was revealing. ‘That gives me great pleasure, Brihtric. You would be sad to leave us.’
‘One becomes attached to places . . . to people, after a stay – even a brief one.’
‘You must not be sad. An alternative would be never to leave us.’
‘I am at the call of my King,’ he answered.
‘Even that need not recall you.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘Brihtric, you are very handsome.’
‘My lady is kind.’
‘Nay, I am not always so. And it is not kind merely to state a truth. You are aware that I think you goodly to look upon. Are you aware that I like you, Brihtric?’
‘You have shown me a kind interest . . .’
‘That I like you very much.’
He flushed painfully.
‘You could not speak to me as I can to you . . . until you have my permission of course. It would be impertinent for an ambassador to speak thus to a princess. That is what you feel, is it not? That is why when I tell you you are handsome, you do not reply by telling me how beautiful you find me.’
‘It would seem unnecessary to say so. All the world knows it to be so.’
‘All the world, yes, but you, Brihtric, it is you I wish to know about.’
‘Assuredly I find you beautiful.’
She smiled happily. ‘Now I will say to you what you dare not say to me. My sister is to marry a Saxon. I have a mind to do the same. Her husband will be Tostig. Why should mine not be Brihtric?’
He had risen. Alarm showed clearly in his face.
She stood up and going close to him laid her hand on his arm.
‘Do not be afraid, Brihtric. I promise you I can prepare my father. If I tell him I will die if I am not allowed to marry you. I shall marry you. You need have no fear. You may trust me. My father will give his consent.’
He withdrew from her, his face frozen in horro
r. She took him gently by the arm and shook him.
‘You are astounded by such great good fortune. Dear, dear Brihtric, you must not be. You may trust me. I will arrange this. Come, enjoy your good fortune.’
He stammered: ‘My lady . . . my lady Matilda, it cannot be.’
‘Cannot be? Oh, you fear too much. I tell you it shall be. I say it shall be. I have what I want to have.’
‘Let me tell you . . . You are a princess . . . I am but the son of a humble lord of no great account . . .’
She stood on tiptoe and tried to kiss his lips but he stepped back hastily.
‘It is impossible,’ he said.
‘I will arrange it. Have no fear. My father will give his consent.’
‘Even if he did, I could not marry you.’
‘You could not marry me if my father gave his consent! Why not?’
‘Because . . . because I am betrothed.’
‘In your Gloucester?’
He nodded.
‘It can be overcome. It can be broken off. That shall not stop us.’
‘My lady Matilda, this cannot be.’
She stared at him, sudden anger blazing in her eyes.
‘You are a coward,’ she said.
‘No, my lady.’
‘You are afraid.’
‘I am not afraid. I merely tell you that I can marry only the lady to whom I am betrothed.’
‘You cannot wish that now.’
‘My lady, forgive me. I wish it and I am pledged.’
He bowed and because she was so dumbfounded, he was able to make for the door. He had gone.
Matilda stood looking at the closed door. All her planning had been in vain. She had to face the incredible fact that he did not want her.
She had never been so angry, so bitterly humiliated in her life. She had offered her hand to this Saxon and he had refused it. It was shameful. How could she have humbled herself so? Because she loved him. Because she knew that of all men she wanted him for her husband. And he had refused her – not because he feared he would be asking too much but because he was betrothed and he was determined to marry the woman of his choice. He was as determined as she had been.
She had noticed the firm set of his lips. He was only an ambassador and she was a princess but he would marry where he pleased.
What could she do? Whom could she turn to for sympathy? To Judith? To her mother? They would reproach her. How could she so demean herself? It was not for her to ask a man to marry her. It was for some important ruler to beg for her hand.
