His laugh was merry. “Rightly spoken, but you still have not chosen a book.”
I paused to reflect. Other than the stories of the creation, Flood, early patriarchs, and ten plagues of Egypt, I had to confess that I had minimal interest in the books of Moses. Of the rest of the first testament I had little knowledge, though there was one book that I greatly loved, one that my mother had read to me time and again since I was a babe.
“The Psalms, sir. I most prefer the Psalms.”
“Then the Psalms it is.”
I thought he would refer to a copy of the Scriptures, but instead he began reciting from memory. However, this was not the greatest surprise, for I did not hear the words of the Latin tongue pour forth from his mouth, but those of our Norman forebears. He was translating the words for us to understand.
“‘Blessed is the man that does not walk in the counsel of the wicked, nor stand in the way of sinners, nor sit in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and in his law does he meditate day and night.’”
The archbishop had closed his eyes to recite these words, and he now opened them again and glanced at the two of us. He must have been pleased to catch the looks of rapt attention. He once again shut his eyes and continued.
“‘For he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of waters, that will bring forth her fruits in due season: whose leaf shall not fade, so whatsoever he shall do, shall prosper.’”
“Archbishop,” William interrupted, “what are these words you are saying?”
“Surely you have heard the first psalm of David before?” Anselm replied.
“Not like that. We hear them in the language of the Church.”
“Ah, yes, so it must be during the Mass, but for two such young persons who have not yet mastered the Latin tongue, surely some explanation must be provided. You will understand far more easily this way.”
“I liked it,” I offered. “Master Godfrey would often explain to us the meanings of the words, but he did not actually translate the text directly. I fear it is not an easy skill.”
“No, I should think not, but once you have achieved it, Lady Mathilda, you will find that the world opens to you in a new way. In any case, the words of the Lord have appeared in the common tongue for generations. Your own ancestor, King Alfred the Great, may he rest in peace, oversaw a translation into the language of the Britons, though it was not completed. It seems right for one such as yourself to benefit from hearing the words of God in your own tongue, ere you are able to comprehend them in Latin.”
I began to see why my mother was so fond of Anselm. He did not just recite facts, but made them plain and beloved to the learner.
“Shall we have something from the New Testament, then?” the old man asked. “William, I believe it is your turn to choose.”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “You can pick something.”
“Really? I shall endeavor to oblige you, then.” He closed his eyes again and appeared to be giving the matter deep consideration, softly muttering, “That one? No, that won’t do. Perhaps . . . No, too long . . .” Finally he appeared to come to a decision and opened his eyes again. “The Epistle of Saint James,” he began.
“‘My brethren, count it exceeding joy when you fall into diverse temptations, knowing that the trying of your faith brings forth patience; and let patience have her perfect work, that you may be perfect and entire, lacking nothing. If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, which gives to all men liberally and reproaches no man, and it shall be given to him.’”
I knew myself to be devoid of both patience and wisdom, and thus I felt the cold embrace of conviction. He now turned his gaze from William to me as he recited the next portion.
“‘But let him ask in faith and waver not: for he that wavers is like a wave of the sea, tossed of the wind and carried away. Neither let that man think that he shall receive anything of the Lord. A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways.’”
These words seemed serious, and I missed most of the next few lines while considering their meaning. Finally he finished thus:
“‘Blessed is the man that endures temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord has promised to them that love him.’”
“Now, what do you think it means?” Anselm asked, glancing at each of us in turn.
“It means that we must be strong,” I answered. “If we are not strong, we shall not receive anything from the Lord, but if we are strong, he will reward us.”
“Strong in what way?”
“We must not give in to fear or temptation.”
“And how does one achieve that?”
Here I was forced to admit my ignorance. Anselm looked to William.
“What do you think?”
“What does double-minded mean?” my brother asked. “Is that like two brains?”
“Ah, I see you are familiar with the writings of Galen!” The archbishop appeared impressed. “Did Master Godfrey share with you Galen’s thoughts concerning the seat of thought?”
I could tell from the look on William’s face that he had waded out of his depth, so I attempted to answer the question.
“My mother’s physician, Grimbald, always had the latest writings on hand from the East and from Spain, believing them to be essential to the practice of medicine. He was able to speak the language of the Moors, as well as that of the Greeks. He passed on some of what he knew to the queen, and that is how we came to know it.”
“Wonderful! I have always known your mother to be a great student. To answer your question, William, to be double minded means that you cannot make a proper decision, but are always pulled this way and that. This is why Saint James writes that one needs a strong foundation of faith in God.”
“May I ask you something, sir?” I said meekly.
“Yes, of course.”
“How are we to commune with God? They say the saints converse with him openly, but I cannot hear his voice. At times I feel that he takes no interest in our affairs. I am to be sent far away, and I fear that . . .” Here my small voice trailed off, and I knew not how to continue.
“Mathilda, do not think that this silence is evidence of God’s displeasure. The greatest men and women of God have often found themselves wandering through the wilderness like the prophets of old, unable to sense the divine will. You must have faith, as Saint James tells us! We are not asked to possess this strength at the beginning of the journey, but to form it with each step we take, receiving from the Holy Spirit the gifts of patience and wisdom.”
“Were you ever there, sir, in the wilderness?”
“Yes, I believe I was, when I was a young man. Perhaps your mother has told you how I traveled far and wide seeking the Lord’s direction.”
“She did. She told me you found it at the Abbey of Bec.”
“I would not say I found it, Lady Mathilda, but rather that it found me. When the time is right, you too shall feel that call. For now, you must continue to trust and believe.”
“Are we going to say the Lord’s Prayer now?” William asked, apparently tired of the conversation.
“Yes, as that is your custom, I suppose we must proceed.” He turned to give me one last word. “Never fear, young one. The Lord is with you.”
Thus our discussion ended with those words so familiar to all:
“‘Our Father, who art in heaven . . .’”
Several weeks passed in this manner, with my brother and me joining Anselm for our daily lessons each morning, then departing to our separate affairs in the afternoon: William to his training with Master Herbert, and I to the ladies’ quarters to learn all the graces necessary for a woman of royal standing. Every day my mother, Lady Eleanor, and the rest of the ladies of the royal household took it upon themselves to teach me sewing, flower arranging, writing, drawing, dressing, and dancing, and about all matters relating to conversation and government.
I confess that I grew weary under this
new regimen. You must imagine how my poor fingers were worked beyond what they could bear and how my feet ached with the continual repetition of each step of those dances, all of which seemed to go on interminably. Even so, I found myself improving despite my flaws. Lady Beatrice commented that my drawing of one of the palace cats was a fairly true likeness, if still the work of a beginner. The queen smiled with pleasure at my performance of a round dance with several of the other ladies.
News came of Emperor Henry’s formal offer of marriage. Apparently only the final terms remained to be settled before the marriage agreement was completed. With the holiday season approaching, in which it was more proper to be joyful, I did everything in my power to push it from my mind, holding out hope that some shift in power within the empire might bring an end to the deliberations. I still maintained my usual lessons with the archbishop. On account of his teaching, I had gained a new admiration for the Holy Scriptures and the great works of philosophy. He was a keen adherent of the reforms of Pope Gregory, of whom my mother the queen was also a great supporter, and I found his vision of a renewed Church laudable. Such men were called sons of Gregory or Gregorians.
Nevertheless, when he attempted to share with me his famous argument for the existence of God, which was based on the powers of logic rather than a mere appeal to the Scriptures, I found myself rather confused. Though he sought to prove to me how his explanation demonstrated the necessity of the divine, I concluded that Father Anselm’s reasoning was simply too high above my own.
Around this time my paternal sister, the Countess of Perche, finally made her visit to court and passed many hours with the queen. They worked on looms during the day and played at dice in the evening. At Mass they sat side by side, and in like manner at meals. Only a person intimately connected with my mother could have noticed the signs of weariness in her eyes as the countess explained yet again how superior was the Norman style of dress to that favored in England, that we lacked a pleasing diversity in our diet, and that the appearance of certain men in the royal household was most vulgar.
Having stayed with us a full fortnight, the countess departed with her retinue to the north, where she’d foretold she should find no company fit to be had. I believe the queen was by no means upset to see the countess go. After all, Queen Mathilda had not forgotten that her origins lay even farther to the north than where the countess intended to make her stay. “Just as frivolous as her mother,” I heard the queen whisper to Lady Eleanor as the countess’s carriage made off on the northern road.
On the next Lord’s Day, William, who had to make me aware of the arrival of the year’s first snow, roused me from my sleep. A rather pitiful offering it was, disappearing in the course of a single hour, but still it served to cheer us as we celebrated the beginning of the Advent season.
Throughout the palace grounds, the servants were hard at work assembling boughs of holly with bright-red berries, twisting ivy around every column, and spreading rosemary across the floors to fill the air with its rich scent. The queen ordered a thousand candles to be lit throughout the grounds every evening. They illuminated the cold night sky with their glow and created a magic world I shall never forget.
We hung the Nativity tapestries in the great hall, and I loved to cast my gaze upon every magnificent element. One by one, they told the story of the Annunciation, the birth of John the Baptist, the travel of the holy family to Bethlehem and the birth of the Christ child, the appearance of the heavenly host to the shepherds, and the coming of the Magi. Lady Beatrice had once told me that these tapestries were worth more than the royal orb and scepter.
The Nativity feast was always a blessed time of year, but my hopes rose even higher when I heard that my mother’s brother David would be joining us at Westminster. Though she never declared it, I could tell that he was the queen’s most beloved brother and the one with whom she shared the closest bond, despite the fact that their older brother, Alexander, sat upon the throne of Scotland. Uncle David had lately been granted lands in Cumbria upon Alexander’s ascension. Thus his visits to the English court were less frequent, though he was always beloved of both King Henry and his queen.
No one was more eager for David to arrive than William, who had long idolized his older relative. “Uncle David will be impressed when he sees what I have learned,” he assured me. “I will challenge him to a fight.”
We were sitting at one of the tables in the great hall as he said this, each of us going over material from the day’s lesson, while Lady Beatrice and the rest of the servants prepared the hall for the many feasts soon to commence. Upon hearing my brother’s assertion, I looked up from the book I had been reading.
“You cannot be serious, William. A few weeks of lessons are not enough to make you the equal of a fully trained warrior of wide renown.”
“You are just jealous because you cannot fight with a sword or even hold it!” he protested. “What would you do if a Saracen came here and threatened you with his crooked blade?”
“I suspect I should depart as quickly as possible and leave the matter to the royal guard. One heathen would be hard pressed to defeat all the men in this castle. Master Edmund would see to it.”
“No, he already slit the throats of all the knights one by one!”
Although I had it on good authority that both William and I had been born of the same mother, I often wondered at the lack of affinity between us. “Oh, really! Tell me then, since you are so wise, how was he able to get them all on their own? That seems rather convenient.”
My teasing was clearly pushing William toward the edge. “Don’t be daft! He just did! Now tell me, Maud, what would you do?”
“Children!” Lady Beatrice bellowed from across the room. Our eyes were instantly drawn to her figure. In her right hand she held a golden angel, and in her left a bough of holly. Under normal circumstances these would be cheerful sights, but her glance was as cold as the ice that had formed around the windows, and the ornaments took on a newly fearful appearance. Fortunately, she seemed too occupied to walk over to where we were sitting, and instead returned to her work once we were quiet.
“That was close!” William whispered in my direction.
“Yes, I think I prefer an armed Saracen to a cross Lady Beatrice.”
Days passed as we awaited our uncle, but we soon received word that he had been detained on business for his brother, the Scottish king. In the meantime the queen’s court hosted mummers dressed in the most magnificent disguises. I cherished these performances, and how I adored the music!
On each Advent Sunday we made our way across the Old Palace Yard to Saint Edward’s Church for Mass, which was led by the abbot, Gilbert Crispin. At that time of year, he was fond of invoking the prophet Isaiah in his sermons. Archbishop Anselm surely would have joined us, but his failing health prevented him from walking outdoors in the cold, for fear that he might be struck by some illness or infirmity. The queen would only consent for him to conduct services in the royal chapel of Saint Stephen. I remember that walk from the abbey back to the palace, across the grounds covered in a mixture of snow and ice. The poor and destitute lined up on either side, hoping that the queen or one of her ladies would favor them with her beneficence. They were a ghastly sight, their clothes worn and tattered, their feet bound in scraps of linen and well-nigh blue from the cold, and their skin covered with sores. Even in the chill of winter, their odor was most disagreeable.
Yet my mother stopped to greet as many as she could, touching the faces of their children and grasping the hands of the old and decrepit. She offered them a smile and her words of blessing, and they bestowed on her such smiles as they could in return, though what teeth they had were brown with age. “God bless you, Queen Mathilda!” they would call after her, declaring that the Virgin Mary had sent her angel for the Nativity season. Once the queen had passed, they would haste back to whatever fire they could find that might provide some warmth.
The day before the Angels’ Mass, there was still
no sign of the queen’s brother. We had heard not a week earlier that he had been making his way south on the road from Durham, only to be halted by a terrible storm that left so much snow upon the highway that the horses were unable to pass through without great difficulty, and Prince David feared that some of their number might take such a chill that it would cause them to depart too soon from this world. Finally, on that day before Christmas, one of the royal messengers informed us of his arrival at Warwick Castle two days earlier.
“I sense the work of the devil in this delay,” Mother declared.
“Patience, my daughter. As the nation of Israel was forced to await the coming of the Lord in long years of hardship, so we must endure these last moments before the consummation of our hopes,” Anselm counseled her.
“As always, your logic is firm, but you have forgotten one thing, Archbishop: my brother is not the messiah.”
“Yes, there I shall not attempt to argue with your reason, nor would anyone who has made his acquaintance, as faithful a follower of Christ as he may be,” he said with a smile. “His long years at court were not quite enough to remove the Scot from him.”
Shortly before the blessed hour was upon us, the castle gates opened and David, Prince of the Cumbrians, entered the grounds of the Palace of Westminster on a brown stallion, accompanied by several members of his household. So eager was his sister to behold his face that she entered the snowy yard draped in her best fur cloak in order to welcome him. He was taller and pulled her up into his arms, spinning her in a full circle before finally setting her back to earth. I thought this a most odd sight and observed that only Uncle David could do such a thing to the queen and still be welcome at court.
Once the guests were all inside, they abandoned their outer coats and warmed themselves by the hearth. William D’Aubigny and Edmund fitz Hugh bid the prince welcome to Westminster and made all the usual inquiries after the nature of his journey, the state of his health, the fortunes of his family, and his current level of hunger and thirst. My uncle paid them as much heed as was necessary to prevent their sense of honor from being offended, but little enough to ensure that the conversation reached a quick conclusion.
The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1) Page 8
