Captives: Kingdoms Rule Hearts

by Emily Murdoch

  “Nothing at all,” Marmion said eagerly. “And if you do not wish to be named as a part of it, I shall take responsibility for the outcome myself.”

  “Then we are agreed; make your plans,” Fitz said quietly. “Now go: I have one final piece of royal business to discuss with my brother.”

  Marmion bowed, and left the room. Fitz waited until he was completely sure he was out of earshot before speaking.

  “Is it really necessary…” Fitz started, looking around to ensure that they would not be overheard. “Is it really necessary to go to all of this trouble for Matilda?”

  Osbern shook his head. “Without this coronation, Matilda is no queen. Without Matilda, William is no king.”

  Chapter Ten

  Matilda was dressed in the most elegant dress that Fitz had ever seen. Her shoulders were covered in a rich fur cloak, and gold was embroidered around the edges. Unlike her neck, which was encircled with several necklaces glittering with jewels, her hands were bare.

  Fitz craned his neck from where he was standing in the Old Minster. There had been some debate whether the Old or New Minster in Winchester would be the best place to crown Matilda as Queen, but once again tradition had won. This was where King Edward had been crowned, all of those years ago, and this was exactly where Matilda would be crowned.

  Hundreds of people were standing in the large nave, but a careful path from the door to the altar had been marked out with petals of flowers. Matilda was standing in the doorway, framed by two women. Fitz recognised one of them – Adeline was a Norman woman of great beauty who he had seen many times at the royal court across the water. The other woman was a mystery to him.

  “That’s her!”

  Fitz titled his head to watch a pair of Anglo-Saxon men whisper eagerly.

  “No, truly?”

  “On my honour,” said the first man, a wide smile across his face. “That is her – Queen Edith!”

  Fitz’s eyes widened as he turned back to the trio of females by the door. So that was her: the wife, now widow, of King Edward.

  Matilda and her two companions began to walk through the crowd slowly. As they passed, men and women bowed their heads at the woman that was to become mother and sister to them.

  Ealdred cleared his throat noisily.

  “We, the blessed people that live here and across the water, are gathered to witness this glorious day in which our Queen is crowned. Just as our God gave the people of Israel Saul as a king to guide them, so too has William been sent to us…”

  “Sent? Sent!”

  Fitz did not turn around, but could still hear the muttering of an Anglo-Saxon woman behind him.

  “If he was sent by God to protect us I’ll eat her crown,” the voice continued.

  Around her, several people murmured in agreement. Fitz reddened. There was nothing that he could do now, there was no way that he could interrupt the royal proceedings for some gossipers. But he had not realised that public opinion against King William was so strong. The invasion felt so long ago.

  “…and just as Esther did, our Queen will entreat our King for justice and mercy throughout the lands.”

  Ealdred stepped forward. “Who brings this woman to be our Queen?”

  “I do.”

  William’s strong voice carried throughout the entire cathedral. There was nothing but strength and power in the two short syllables, and Fitz smiled.

  Adeline and Edith took a step back, and William walked over to stand beside his wife. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “I, William, Lord of Normandy by birth and King of England by right, bring this woman to be our Queen. She is my wife, the mother of my children, the lady of my heir, and the keeper of my house. By my hand I bless her. I bring to you Matilda, Queen of England.”

  Ealdred stood before them, and smiled – a rarity.

  “Hail, Matilda, Queen of England,” he said.

  “Hail!” The cry was echoed by everyone present. At least, Fitz assumed it was everyone.

  “And who,” Ealdred continued, “supports this woman to be our Queen?”

  “I do,” both Adeline and Edith spoke, the Norman language pouring out of both their mouths. Fitz’s eyebrows raised – did Edith actually speak his tongue? The women stepped forward, vowing to protect and serve Matilda. The words were soft, but they could still be heard.

  Ealdred began to murmur some prayers over the royal couple, which Fitz could not catch from where he was. The mutterings of the people around him could now be heard once more.

  “She may be a queen,” one person said just in front of Fitz – a tall man, bearded and full of bitterness, “her grandfather was a king. But who is he? Who is William to rule over us?”

  Fitz grimaced, without being able to stop himself. This was a complaint that he had heard time and time again. The fact that William had been born…well, the wrong side of the blanket, was a fact that he had clearly never managed to escape.

  “Amen.”

  The murmuring stopped as Ealdred came to the end of his prayers. His sharp eyes looked out to the congregation, and Fitz was suddenly struck with the idea that Ealdred, despite concentrating on his prayers, knew exactly what was being said by the Anglo-Saxons who were watching.

  “My people,” the Archbishop said grandly, lifting up his arms as if he were about to embrace them, “there is nothing greater than seeing a partner in royal power such as this. Our Queen Matilda is not only the wife of our lord King William, or the mother of our future King, but she is a glorious beacon of life and love. It is she who will beg for mercy, and seek justice. It is she who will have the ear of our King, and use it wisely. It is she who knows the things that every mother seeks, and will seek it for us. Let us welcome her as a gift to our people that we have not deserved.”

  His words were not met by a cheer, although Fitz was almost glad that it was not. A cheer would have broken the silence, and it was delicate. No one cried out in anger, but no one cried out in support. It was a balance of wills between the Normans in the crowd and the Anglo-Saxons, and thankfully there was balance to be found.

  Ealdred moved around the thrones to the altar, upon which many objects sat. Fitz craned his neck, but he couldn’t quite make them out from where he was.

  A crown. Two crowns, in fact. Ealdred placed one on the head of King William, and then slowly placed the other on Queen Matilda’s.

  “In the name of the Holy Trinity,” Matilda said softly, “I promise three things to the Christian people who are subject to me: first, that God’s Church and all Christian people in my dominions preserve true peace; the second, that I forbid robbery and all unrighteous things to all orders; the third, that I promise and command justice and mercy in all judgements, so that the kind and merciful God because of this may grant us all his eternal mercy, who liveth and reigneth.”

  Fitz breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to memorise such a speech would have been difficult for many people, but Matilda had grappled with it like any great leader, and had beaten it.

  “The Christian Queen who observes these things will earn for herself worldly honour,” Ealdred said seriously, “and if she fails to fulfil that which was promised, then within a very short time things will grow worse among her people, and in the end it will all turn out for evil. Heed the warning, my lady Matilda.”

  “I heed your warning,” Matilda smiled at the numerous people watching her, clearly unworried by the attention on her.

  A small boy ran up to Ealdred, almost tripping over his long ceremonial robes. On any other occasion, a great cry of laughter would have risen up from the crowd. But not today. Not here.

  Ealdred took the small glass vial from the boy’s trembling outstretched hands, and bid him leave softly under his breath. He turned back to Matilda, unstopping the vial as he spoke.

  “Just as kings and queens have for ages past, I anoint you with this holy oil.”

  Allowing three or four drops to fall slowly onto his fingers, Ealdred then made the sign of t
he cross on Matilda’s forehead. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth seemed to murmur words of prayer.

  “Hail Queen Matilda!” a shout began somewhere to Fitz’s left, and he immediately took it up.

  “Hail Queen Matilda!” he called, and soon everyone was cheering. Sneaking a look over, Fitz saw his brother Osbern grinning.

  Ealdred waited for the commotion to calm down, and then continued.

  “To remind you of this sacred moment, I present to you a ring, made of gold to show the value you have to your people, and an emerald, the stone for this glorious month of May, to remind you when you became our Queen.”

  Matilda held out her hand, and Ealdred carefully put the ring on her finger. As she had abstained from wearing any others, the gold ring shone out in the light that poured through every window. It was beautiful.

  Ealdred smiled briefly. The ceremony was almost over; his job was almost done. He turned to the congregation.

  “I present to you your King and your Queen: King William and Queen Matilda!”

  William and Matilda rose.

  “King William and Queen Matilda!”

  This time it was Fitz, and not his younger brother who began the cheers, but it did not take long for the men and women around him to carry it on.

  “King William and Queen Matilda!”

  “Long life to William and Matilda!”

  “Hail to the Queen!”

  Fitz sighed heavily. There had been so much worry about what they would do if the Anglo-Saxons had risen against them, no one had really considered what they would do if nothing went wrong!

  “Really,” Fitz heard the same woman behind him speak again, “she is very beautiful. You cannot deny that; and after having so many children too.”

  Fitz smiled. Osbern had been right: the people here really did love Matilda. And why not – she was a woman who had taken a clear interest in her people, of both races.

  Now all they had to do was survive the coronation feast.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fitz put a hand on his stomach, and groaned. He could not remember eating so much before in his life, and his tunic was stretched uncomfortably. Every time he thought that the feast was over, another set of servants brought out more food.

  Osbern was sitting beside him, and laughed at the sight of his brother.

  “Truly, you cannot eat another bite?”

  Fitz groaned in response.

  He looked around him at the grand banquet that had been organised for Queen Matilda’s coronation. Anyone who was anyone was there, and thanks to the wine which had been flowing for the last few hours, the noise in the room was almost unbearable. The musicians in the corner were almost drowned out by the shouting, the laughing, and the talking that flowed out of everyone’s mouths. In one corner of the room, a group of men were gambling, surrounded by a gaggle of women avidly watching the game unfold.

  The tables were set as a square in the room, with men and women sitting on both the inside and the outside. A large fire was at the centre, over which some meat was still cooking. Fitz watched some of the juices splash down into the fire, causing a sweet aroma to drift his way. It smelt delicious – perhaps one more portion of food…

  King William and Queen Matilda were sitting at the top of the table. On William’s right hand side was Ealdred, looking more inebriated than was proper for an archbishop. On Matilda’s left hand side, Fitz saw with astonishment, was Edith. She looked uncomfortable, and yet sat there silently, picking at the bread that she had torn apart with her fingers.

  “She lives here now,” Osbern said, seeing where Fitz’s gaze had fallen. “Since her husband’s death, she has remained here, in the city of Winchester.”

  Fitz stared at the woman who had been Queen of England. She looked older than he had thought her, but then she had seen much pain and much suffering throughout her time as the mother of England. After seeing that she would not be able to provide the King with children, it was then her fate to watch him waste away, and see the peaceful country that they had built together fall around her.

  And now, here she was: not the host, but the guest of the Queen’s coronation feast. Fitz wondered how it did not taste bitter in her mouth.

  “She is a fine lady,” Osbern said softly.

  “Of course,” said Fitz, “you were her husband’s chaplain, and counsellor. You must have spent much of your time with her – what is she like?”

  Osbern considered for a moment. “She is a quiet lady,” he said finally. “Not a woman who looks for a debate or a fight. She was a good match for King Edward.”

  “And now?”

  “Now she is unmarriageable,” Osbern said matter-of-factly. “Edward was King of England, but he is no more. Edith was his wife, but she was also Harold’s sister.”

  Fitz almost choked on the wine that had been brought to them warm and spiced straight from the fire. When he had managed to regain his ability to speak, he spluttered, “Harold’s sister? The man who claimed the crown and was defeated by our King William in the invasion?”

  Osbern nodded. “The very same. So you can see why she is no longer allowed to marry. Many do not realise that she is still in England – they assume that she travelled with her rebellious brothers to Ireland.”

  Fitz sighed. It was a desperate end to her life; this woman who had once had it all.

  “What is to become of her?”

  “She is living with the nuns here,” Osbern said nonchalantly. “It is expected that she will take holy orders before too long.”

  Fitz nodded. That would certainly solve the problem for them. Anyone who married Edith now would have a claim to the throne… a claim that King William would never allow.

  “So, brother,” Osbern said, slapping down his goblet and giggling slightly as the wine slopped over the sides, “how is your wife?”

  Fitz’s stomach clenched. He had managed to forget the matter of his family for several days now.

  “To tell you the truth, I know not,” he confessed. “I have not been in Normandy these last two years, and it has been difficult to get letters safely across the sea.”

  Osbern raised an eyebrow. “Do you not miss them?”

  Fitz opened his mouth, and closed it again.

  “God’s teeth, man, do you not even miss your children?”

  “They are children no longer,” Fitz said softly. “My eldest is married, and now my youngest two –”

  “The girls?”

  “Yes, the twins. They are nearing sixteen summers – they are almost due to be wed to young men themselves. They are not children anymore.”

  Osbern looked at his brother knowingly. “You do not mention your wife.”

  “Adeliza?” Fitz thought about the woman who he had been sharing his life with for so many years. “It is not that I do not miss her.”

  Osbern waited for Fitz to complete his sentence. “But?”

  “But what?” Fitz took another large bit of the meat cooling in front of him.

  “Surely you must have some tender feelings for her?” Osbern looked amazed.

  Fitz smiled wearily. “Osbern, did you ever take a woman?”

  Osbern looked outraged. “Brother, I am a man of God!”

  “Yes, but that has not stopped many others.”

  “True,” Osbern admitted, “but it has been enough to stop me.”

  “Then you do not understand what it is to be with a woman you cannot love.”

  Fitz almost bit his tongue in shock that he had uttered those words aloud. His brother’s jaw had fallen in horror.

  “William FitzOsbern,” he said angrily, “I cannot believe that you just said such a thing of your lady!”

  “Forgive me,” Fitz said quickly, “it was a sentiment stemming from tiredness and too much wine.”

  Osbern looked at his brother carefully, and then nodded curtly. But he did not speak to him again, and turned instead to speak to the chaplain sitting on his other side.

  Fitz cursed himself sil
ently. It had been many years since he had been able to speak so with his brother, and of course, he had managed to insult him. He sighed; he should not have spoken so about Adeliza, but the truth remained that the little affection that he had had for her when they were young had soon drifted away. It was like that, with important marriages, he counselled himself. No one expected a love match in these days.

  Fitz was roused from his thoughts by the sound of something that he could not possibly be hearing. It sounded like horse’s hooves – but there was no way that a horse could be this close to them.

  The doors were flung open, and a man dressed in armour astride a horse was silhouetted in the darkness. Fitz smiled wanly. At least his ears were not giving out.

  Gasps were made all around the room as the man on the horse gently nudged his steed forward. Heads turned to get a good look at the man, and Fitz saw that King William rose out of his seat.

  Men all around the room, loyal to the Norman cause, slowly reached for their weapons. Fitz’s heart was hammering – what kind of man rode into a feast of celebration heavily armed? What did this man want?

  “Hold!” a Norman shouted out, racing to stand in front of the horse. “Who goes?”

  The man on the horse reached up, and pulled his helmet off.

  “Oh, no,” Fitz muttered under his breath.

  It was Marmion.

  “If anybody denies that our most gracious sovereign Lord William, and his wife Matilda, are King and Queen of England, he is a false-hearted traitor and liar, and here I do challenge him to single combat.”

  Marmion’s words echoed around the room, and men looked at each other with smiles on their faces. A challenge! A challenge from an unknown rider! His arm was raised with a gleaming sword, but even Fitz could see that it was more for ceremony than for battle.

  King William sat down again, a hint of a smile on his face, and put his hand over his wife’s. She was staring, transfixed, at the strange man who had come to defend their honour.

  Marmion repeated his words. “I say again: if anybody denies that our most gracious sovereign Lord William, and his wife Matilda, are King and Queen of England, he is a false-hearted traitor and liar, and here I do challenge him to single combat.”