Anointed and formally crowned, the queen was led down several steps from the altar to a throne that had been set next to an even larger one. It was now that the king joined his wife, sitting first while Archbishop Eadred proclaimed,
“My lord, and my ladies, I give you Matilda, Queen of England!” The archbishop spoke in French. “Monseigneurs, et mes dames, je vous presente la reine, Matilde d’Angleterre!”
A mighty cheer arose from the spectators within the abbey, and when it had finally died Matilda sat to receive the homage of her husband’s subjects. Only the most important and major noblemen knelt before the queen, for if everyone had come forward, it would have taken all day.
The king and queen then led a procession upon foot across the green back to the king’s house where they would be hosting a huge banquet. Pavilions had been set up out-of-doors, for the weather was simply too lovely to resist. Great pits had been dug, and oxen, sheep, pigs, and roe deer were being roasted whole over the open fires. The turnspits with their reddened faces carefully watched the meat, turning it slowly with measured cadence. Long trestles had been set out for the guests, the royal highboard with its back to the abbey. Great tuns of wine and beer were rolled out, and soon the day turned from the religious solemnity of the crowning to merriment and ribaldry. The servants hurried back and forth from the kitchens holding aloft platters of sauced and dressed fowl, broiled game birds such as lark, sparrow, partridge, grouse, quail, and woodcock, rabbits stuffed with pigeons stuffed with grains and dried fruit, platters of whole sea bass, river trout, and salmon. There were wheels of cheese, bowls of peas, cabbage, tiny beets, and breads of every kind. There were oranges from Spain, and candied violets from Provence, and Norman cherries and English strawberries.
Minstrels arrived to stroll amongst the guests singing the tales of past heroes and deeds. There was one in particular who caught William’s fancy by making a new song that glorified the noble king and the love he had for the beautiful and gracious Matilda, by whose presence England was now made fairer. The king rewarded the clever minstrel with a gold ring from his little finger. There were several troupes of jongleurs and acrobats who entertained the guests by singing, playing upon the lute, harp, rebec, hurdy-gurdy, and cymbals, doing juggler’s tricks, acrobatic stunts, and imitating all kinds of animals. As the day wore on and the guests grew merrier, some even tried to join the entertainers.
At one point during the banquet, a knight, Sir Marmion of Fortenays, dressed in full battle gear, rode forward upon his horse. Three times he called out a challenge to those assembled.
“If any person denies that our most gracious Sovereign William, and his fair spouse Matilda are lawfully king and queen of England, he is a false-hearted traitor and a liar. As royal champion, I do hereby challenge him to single combat.”
The challenge, of course, was accepted by no one.
Since Josselin and Mairin were not of the court, they departed to their house early, not wishing to do so in the dark. Matilda’s coronation was something that they would tell their grandchildren about, but now they were anxious to take their leave so they might begin their journey to Aelfleah tomorrow. First it was necessary to pay their respects to the king and the queen. Making their way up to the highboard, they waited politely until they were noticed.
“Speak, Joss!” The king was well fed, and feeling kindly disposed toward all.
“We must go, my lord, but before we do we would thank you for your hospitality.”
“The lady Mairin’s hand?” the queen graciously inquired. “Is it all right?”
“There is no infection, my lady,” replied Mairin, “and in time I will be healed.”
“I will feel safer for my wife when Blanche de St. Brieuc is once more across the water,” said Josselin. “I did not realize how dangerous a woman she was.”
There was a pointed silence, and then the king said, “Blanche de St. Brieuc is dead, Joss. I thought you surely knew it.”
“Dead!” Josselin de Combourg looked genuinely surprised.
“Dead?” said Mairin, pretending to also be surprised, and feeling a little guilty about deceiving her husband.
“Yes,” said William. “After her attack upon your lady I gave orders that she be confined in a small storage room in the attics of The King’s House. She was put there with a pitcher of water and a loaf of bread. We intended that she be kept there until she could be returned to Normandy. The door was bolted from the outside, but no guard was placed upon it, for who would want to help her escape? Late yesterday afternoon a servant went to bring her another loaf and a pitcher. He unbolted the door, and entered the room to find Blanche de St. Brieuc upon the floor. She was quite dead. Her neck had been broken. We have questioned everyone in The King’s House, but no one saw anything unusual. Nor did they see any strangers, or even hear something that might tell us who did this deed.”
“It was as if,” said Matilda, “the devil had come for his own,” and she crossed herself devoutly.
“I do not remember her as being a woman who easily made friends,” said Mairin slowly. “Perhaps among your great train she had a serious enemy. She came to England intending to entrap my husband into a marriage. When that path was closed to her she may have foolishly turned onto another and more dangerous course. She was not a woman to be deterred from her chosen goal. She was my enemy, but may God have mercy upon her soul.”
“Yes,” said the queen. “May God forgive her her sins.”
“Please, madame,” Mairin said, “do not tell my poor half-sister of her mother’s violent end. I am certain that she loved the lady Blanche, and whatever my stepmother’s faults, I believe that she loved her child.”
“She will eventually have to learn of her mother’s cruelty, my lady Mairin,” said William. “Otherwise she will wonder at the loss of Landerneau. There is no way we can explain it but with the truth.”
Mairin looked genuinely distressed. “I have never met her, of course, but I know that Blanchette is nothing like her mother. It would be like trying to compare night and day, fire and water. She is a gentle soul. I fear you will break her heart.”
“I will tell her myself,” said the queen. “She is still with the Montgomerie family, and will remain with them for the time being. With her mother’s death she becomes a royal ward. No one can decide her future but the king, and my lord William had decided to allow her to enter the novitiate of Holy Trinity at Caen. When I return to Normandy I will have your half-sister sent to me. She will stay with me until next year when our own daughter Cecily also enters the novitiate at Holy Trinity. The two girls will go together.”
Mairin knelt and kissed the queen’s hand gratefully. “Merci, my queen! What you have offered to do is far more than I could have ever hoped.”
“Mayhap,” said Matilda, “you would like to write to your half-sister so that she may be assured that you bear her no ill will. If you can get a letter to me before you leave tomorrow, I will see it delivered to Blanchette St. Ronan.”
Mairin nodded, and arose to her feet once more to curtsy to both the king and the queen.
The royal couple smiled at them, and William said, “Go with God, and, Josselin, you will keep me informed of the progress of Aldford. Keep your piece of the border safe for me.”
“I will, my liege,” came the reply, and then with a bow Josselin de Combourg withdrew from the royal presence, taking his wife with him.
On the following morning they departed for Aelfleah, arriving to find the walls of Aldford Castle almost twice the height they had been when they had left. The good weather and the lengthening days combined to allow the workers longer hours at their task. The well, within the safety of the inner ward, had already been dug and walled about. Scaffolding was already in place with plank ramps up which heavy material could be either dragged or pulled or carried.
As the walls of the outer curtain rose, their battlements were constructed. The higher sections of the battlements were called merlons, and had arrow loo
ps within them. The merlons were topped with sharp stone spikes. It was obvious that by summer’s end the walls of the outer curtain would be finished, and its towers begun, provided that the weather held. Once that was done it would be difficult to halt construction of Aldford.
Several weeks after Matilda’s coronation, word began to filter into Aelfleah’s valley of rebellion and revolt. Harold Godwinson’s three sons by Edyth Swansneck sailed from Ireland, where they had been exiled, to raid the countryside of the Bristol Channel, and part of the West Country. Fortunately Aelfleah was too remote to be bothered with, but that was not so when Earl Edwin and his younger brother, Earl Morkar, raised a revolt with their Welsh allies.
During those tense weeks of midsummer, no one slept easy. Mairin feared that Edwin and his forces would attempt to take Aelfleah. That would mean that Josselin would fight, and he might be killed. Now that she was certain she was with child again, her concern for her child’s father became almost an obsession. When they learned in late summer that Gospatric, newly appointed by King William to govern Northumbria, had revolted and declared for Edgar the Atheling, Mairin was almost hysterical.
“How can the king hold England with all these rebellions?” she fretted.
“I have never known William of Normandy to release his hold on anything he considers his own,” Josselin tried to reassure her.
“Edgar the Atheling has sought refuge with his mother and sisters in Scotland. The Scots are raiding!”
Josselin laughed. “It was my understanding that the Scots and the Northumbrians are always raiding each other’s holdings. There is rarely peace in that part of England. The Atheling is still too young to seriously challenge King William. Much is done in his name that I suspect he would rather not be done. I think he fled to Scotland in possible preparation for a return to Hungary where he was born, and where he will be safe from all of this. William would have eventually had to either lock him up or kill him. He and his family know this.” He put his arms about her, and gently patted her belly which did not yet show her condition. “Do not fret, my love. Rest easy, and care for our child.”
“Eadric the Wild is on the march again,” she challenged him.
“Do you seriously believe that Eadric would return to Aelfleah after the way you treated him the last time? From what I hear, the man is no fool. Besides, he knows there is nothing here of any real value.”
“There is Aldford,” she replied.
“Which would take too much of Eadric’s time to tear down now, and not being finished yet, is not worth having. A castle, Mairin, is only valuable when it is habitable, and can be used for defense against one’s enemies. Aldford is neither. There are easier pickings for your old friend Eadric the Wild than Aelfleah. He knows I am here now, and that I will defend this holding.”
The three major revolts of that summer of 1068 each died a stillborn death. The late Harold Godwinson’s three strapping sons with their Irish, Danish, and English adherents could simply not consolidate a serious landing on English soil. They caused some damage, and were generally troublesome, but in the end they departed, never to return again.
In the north Gospatric found himself with no real army with which to defy the king he had so rashly challenged. It seemed that those nobles who had so firmly agreed with him while they were all in their cups could not be distracted from their personal feuds and factional fighting to come to his aid against William. Choosing the lesser evil, Gospatric surrendered to King Malcolm of Scotland, and went into exile with the young Atheling.
William then turned his eye, and his armies, to Earls Edwin and Morkar. Both had sworn their loyalty to him. He had even honored them by having them take part in his wife’s coronation. They repaid his kindness by rebelling against him. Worst of all, they had broken their sworn oath before God to uphold him and his rights as their king. For William this was the greater of their two sins. His superior forces swept down on them. The Mercians and the Welsh fled, panicked before William’s armies. The last of the rebellions for that year was broken.
The king ordered that castles be raised at Leicester, Warwick, and Nottingham. One of the king’s loyalists, Robert de Meulan, was created Earl of Leicestershire, and made overlord of a huge portion of Earl Edwin’s Mercian lands. Josselin felt safer for his new neighbor. York had surrendered without a battle on Gospatric’s desertion, and one of the queen’s cousins, Robert de Commines, was made the new Earl of Northumbria. As the year 1068 drew to a close, England, south of the Humber, appeared to be appeased and content with the king.
William, heading for Gloucester with a party of his knights, stopped unexpectedly at Aelfleah to shelter for a night. There were close to forty men in the king’s party, and although Mairin knew she could house them somehow she wondered how she was going to feed them on such short notice. They had arrived shortly after midday, which she hoped would allow her time to arrange for an evening meal.
She ordered that a young steer be slain, and at least three dozen chickens. Egbert the bailiff sent several young men into The Forest and the successful hunters returned in short order with a young buck, and a number of rabbits which were quickly skinned, boned, and pied. The beef and the deer were roasted slowly over open fires. The chickens, at least six to a spit, were stuffed with grain and dried apples to be roasted in the kitchens. There would be cold mutton in ample supply and plenty of trout from the river. Dandelion greens were steamed in white wine, and there were pickled whole beets. The men at the castle site would be somewhat short of bread due to the emergency, but when Dagda explained to each master craftsman who in turn explained to his own men, they understood. Mairin sent several barrels of cider to the workmen to express their thanks. Large wheels of cheese were ready to be placed upon the tables along with the bowls of grapes, pears, and apples.
Convinced that all was in readiness, Mairin smiled victoriously at Eada. “Well, mother?”
“I taught you well, my daughter,” said Eada returning the smile. “I have never entertained a King of England, but you have naught to be ashamed of, for I doubt any chatelaine in any fine castle could have prepared a better meal on such short notice. I am proud of you!”
“I, too,” said Josselin, coming in and looking about Aelfleah’s hall. The fire burned brightly and warmed the room pleasantly. The well-polished trestles with their wooden cups at each place and the trenchers of fresh bread were inviting. Along the sides of the room, barrels of wine, ale, and cider were in readiness.
“Mother and I will eat in the solar,” said Mairin. “This is an evening for the gentlemen.”
The king had gone with Josselin to inspect the castle site, and he was pleased with what he found. The outer curtain was close to being finished, for they had had uncommonly good weather since the spring, and it was yet mild enough in this early December for the workmen to continue. The inner curtain walls were already being raised. When bad weather came they would be able to work inside each gatehouse, finishing it.
“You’ll have Aldford finished by a year from this spring,” said William, his tone approving.
“If I get another spring, summer, and autumn like this year’s we will, my lord. If not, it may not be for another two years. I’ve a good engineer in Master Gilleet, a good bailiff in Dagda, and uncommonly good work-men.”
“You have decided to make your wife’s servant bailiff of Aldford, Joss?”
“Aye, my lord. He was born a freedman, and was once a feared warrior. His history is a long and a fascinating one. What is important to me, however, is his total loyalty, his integrity, and the fact that he is enormously well liked here. The manor bailiff has never been away from Aelfleah, and is not sophisticated enough to run Aldford. Egbert did not expect to have charge over the castle. He is a man lacking in ambition. He far prefers a world that is basically an unchanging one.”
“Has Dagda sworn his fealty to you?” the king inquired.
“Aye! If I am not here he will hold Aldford for you to the last drop of blood.�
�
“You have done well for me, Josselin de Combourg, Baron Aldford, a rank that will be passed down to your sons and your sons’ sons until that time, may it never come, when there are no longer any de Combourgs. The papers will eventually come from court to confirm this, but I shall announce it at supper tonight. Your wife should be pleased. She carries the child well. Pray God it is the next Baron Aldford she houses within her belly.”
“Amen!” said Josselin fervently.
It was not, however, a son that Mairin birthed on February 2nd. It was a healthy daughter. Mairin had insisted upon lighting her Imbolc fire at a spot near the castle site. Josselin had insisted upon accompanying her and Dagda, for the path was steep, and his wife was huge with their child. He did not approve of her loyalty to the old Celtic way, and she knew it. She also knew he would not forbid her.
“Look!” She pointed with a graceful finger toward the valleys of Wales below them. “Did I not tell you, my lord? Dagda and I are not alone.”
As her own fire had been lit, pinpoints of light had appeared in the dales of Cymru beneath them. Mairin threw back her head and laughed joyously as the flames leapt skyward into the indigo night. She felt happy, for her world was a good place. Once more she had kept faith with her heritage, and made strong again the fragile link with her long-dead and barely remembered natural parents. Then the dull ache that had nagged her back all day grew into a sudden pain of such intensity that she cried out.
“My lord!” she gasped. “You must help me back to the house, for our child wishes to be born.”
“Can you walk?” he asked nervously.
“Aye.” She nodded, a small, tight smile on her face. “Dagda, tend the flame until the proper moment.”
“ ’Tis done, my lady,” he said quietly. “I will say my own prayers.”
Slowly, Mairin and Josselin made their way back down the precipitous path. Once they had to stop. Mairin took her husband’s hands and squeezed them fiercely, panting, great beads of sweat popping out all over her forehead. Then as the pain subsided she moved on to gain the house before the next tearing wrench came. To everyone’s relief, however, Mairin had a quick and an easy labor. Maude Eada Marie de Combourg was born shortly after midnight, slipping into the world with a sputtering howl that grew in volume until the entire manor house had been made aware of her arrival.
Enchantress Mine Page 36
