“I’m just amazed that anyone remembered me after I was gone so long.”
Just as I said this, he held his hand in front of me, not actually touching me but causing me to cease my progress. He looked me in the eye.
“You sell yourself at too low a price, empress,” he spoke softly.
“Yes, I tend to do that on occasion,” I replied with a laugh. “But perhaps that is because so many others have sold me at an even lower price.”
He began walking again, and I followed him, both of us looking ahead.
“Anyone who would sell an empress at a low price is a great fool, and no mistake,” he said. “I do not know what they told you in the empire, but here we see you as you truly are: a great royal lady. You are the king’s daughter, for God’s sake!”
“You are kind,” I concluded. While I was thankful for his words, I feared that he did not understand: it was not the Germans so much as my own father whom I feared would sell me at a low price.
As we continued along, he kicked a stone out of the path, then looked behind us.
“Is it true that you are to marry the lady of Wallingford, Mathilda D’Oyly?” I asked.
He looked back at me, then down at his feet. “I have heard that rumor, yes.”
“Such an honor the king bestows upon you! Wallingford is a great estate.”
He smiled, but in a way that signaled he was not entirely happy.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “She’s not hideous, is she?”
“I wouldn’t know. She’s never been at court.”
“Then what is it? Too old? Too young?” I dropped my voice a bit further and asked, “Too mad?”
He laughed. “None of that. It’s just—I prefer not to be taken away from the king. The closer I am, the better.”
“And to Robert: the two of you are close. And to cousin Stephen, of course.”
“Stephen I am not sure about. He’s changed since he was younger. Things are not as easy between us all as they once were.”
“Why should that be?” I asked, surprised.
He looked behind us again, and when he had ensured that no one was able to hear us, he spoke rather quietly. “I cannot be sure, but if you want my opinion, he sees a need to confirm himself in the position of greatest favor. For all that your father has given us, Robert and I can never be equal in birth to Stephen. If the legitimate and illegitimate are allowed an equal share, then the very foundations of our kingdom would be shaken.”
“But are we not on the way to King William’s abbey, he who was always known as William the Bastard? It is the king’s choice which men he raises up and which he puts down! Let each man be measured by the measure of his character—by the nature of his deeds.”
As if to make my point further, I too kicked a stone into the grass.
“Well, I hardly think you need to worry, you who are first among us by every measure,” he replied.
“Yes, all except one. Tell me, is Stephen really so vile to you?”
“Oh no! He is perfectly noble. He would never say anything. I just sense it.”
We walked a few paces in silence, drawing ever nearer to the abbey. I finally worked up the courage to ask the question that had been on my mind.
“Lord Brian,” I asked, “do you really not remember giving me that piece of amber?”
“The moth? Yes, I remember. It was a most strange object.”
“Then why did you deny it yesterday?” I inquired, annoyed that he had lied to me.
“I don’t know. I suppose I thought it would be impertinent.”
“Impertinent, how?”
“Maud and Brian, hold there!” the king bellowed at us. “You ought not go ahead of us, unless you have secret confidences, in which case I shall have you hung up as traitors!”
While I knew him to be jesting, my father’s reputation was such that one could never be too careful, so we fell back with the rest of the party. Soon, we arrived at the abbey and entered in line behind my father and Queen Adeliza.
It was a magnificent church, built entirely out of stone from the town’s own quarries. I had seen many lovely churches in my life, but it brought me a special joy to see such a work of art produced by my own countrymen. The ceiling was unlike any I had seen in my youth: a vault made up of ribs, or so they called them. It was a superior design. The abbot led us all forward to the grave itself, which was before the high altar. An effigia had been placed over the black marble slab, a later addition from what I was told.
The king was first to kneel before the altar and pay his respects at the tomb of his father. He then beckoned for me to come and join him while the others looked on. I stood beside him and marveled at the stone face before me, wondering if it bore any resemblance to the real King William. If the likeness was correct, then he must have been very tall. No wonder men fell in line behind him!
In that moment, I longed to speak with him and discover the secret of his greatness. Surely I who might be called upon to uphold the kingdom he built was worthy of one moment’s quarter with this giant among men! Was there some part of him that resided within myself, even as the spirit of the Northmen had guided him?
“What was he like?” I whispered to my father.
“The Conqueror? He was a lion, the greatest of the great. He gave me all I have and bid me defend it.”
“Did he ever doubt?” I asked, still staring down at the stone figure.
“A king has no room for doubt. Where is the doubter on the field of battle? Lying dead in a pool of blood. My father was a mighty warrior because he did not waver. That is why men will always remember him.”
And yet, he delayed in crossing the Channel, and because he did so, Harald Hardrada invaded first and diminished King Harold’s forces, leaving the Normans an easier task. I only thought these words, for it did not seem the proper time to speak them.
“Father, should we not call over the Conqueror’s other descendants?” I asked. “Stephen and Robert and young William?”
“If you wish.”
He signaled to the other three to come join us, and we formed a circle around the tomb, linking our hands together.
“Father William, help us remember you,” the king said. “Here we stand, we five of your children. Let us carry on your legacy.”
“Wisely spoken,” said Robert. “William, have you anything to say?”
“Rest in peace, Grandfather,” the boy whispered. “Your turn, cousin Stephen.”
“Very well. I speak for all my kin when I say we will defend this kingdom you built. We will never give in. It shall last for a thousand years and more!” Stephen declared.
It was my turn to speak. I wanted to say something of great import: something that would leave an impression on the living more than the dead.
“And I speak for William Ætheling,” I added, looking at each of the men in turn. “As we are one in blood, let us be one in spirit. Let us stand together.”
“Amen,” we all concluded.
“Left, left, right! Left, left, right! Good! Left, left, right!” Drogo bellowed.
We were back in my private chamber in the castle—that is to say, not my bed chamber, but the small reception space next to it. Most of the furnishings had been removed from the room so that Drogo could teach me how to hand fight. He might as well have been teaching a pigeon, as I was a rather poor student.
“Honestly, how long must I keep this up?” I asked, rather out of breath.
“Until it becomes natural,” he said, still holding up the pillow for me to hit. “Block once, block twice, then punch.”
Suddenly, I had a thought that might allow me to have another rest. “What if my enemy is left-handed?”
Sadly for me, he dismissed the question easily. “No man of good sense is left-handed. Come now—keep it up. Left, left, right! Left, left, right! Now each time you hit, I want you to yell out, ‘No!’ as if your life depended on it.”
“I doubt that will scare anyone,” I muttered, but took my
stand once again.
“Now yell it out,” he repeated. “No!”
“No!”
“Louder!”
“No!”
“Still louder!”
“No, no, no!”
“That’s right. Keep saying it.”
“No, no, no! No, no, no! No, no, no!” I said, hitting the target again and again with my fists.
“What is this?” a voice asked.
We both turned and saw that brother Robert had entered the room. He was leaning on the door frame, arms crossed, a partially eaten apple in his hand.
“I am just training the empress to fight,” Drogo explained.
“I gathered that, but do we imagine that she will need to fight?” he scoffed more than asked, taking another bite of the apple.
Drogo looked at me and I gave him a very stern look in return, as if to say, Don’t you dare tell him what happened! Alas, this glare did not accomplish its task.
“There was an incident when we were in Germany,” he told Robert.
“Drogo!” I cried. “You promised never to speak of it!”
“Speak of what?” Robert asked, his eyes growing wider.
The knight had been chastised far too much to speak again, so it was left to me to provide an explanation. I walked a bit closer to where my brother was standing, wiping a trace of sweat from my brow.
“A few years ago, there was an evil man who tried to steal my virtue.”
“What?!”
“It’s true! I was saved by a priest with a krug.”
“What is a krug?” Robert asked, though I hardly thought that was the most pressing question.
“It’s for beer. The Germans like a lot of it,” Drogo answered, setting down the pillow and coming over to join us.
“Thank you once again, Drogo,” I said. “My knight demands that now that I no longer have the duties of an empress to concern me, I practice these simple methods of defending myself. You’re not going to tell the king, are you?”
“No, I think it wise,” Robert admitted, throwing the apple core behind him into the courtyard and wiping his hands on his tunic. He then stepped fully inside the room and closed the door behind him. “Out of curiosity, do you fear the king would be offended that you are taking up a manly pursuit, that you are dressed in simple clothes, or that you are alone with a man?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.
I could see that my brother was just as eager to cause trouble as ever, and I was unwilling to indulge him. “What did you come here to tell me?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Nothing of great importance. Merely to share the latest rumor spreading abroad.”
“Oh? Well then, by all means, sit down and tell us everything!” I declared, suddenly eager to hear who was stealing from whom or sleeping with whom.
The only furniture remaining in the room was a table and four chairs that sat in the far corner. A pitcher of wine had been left there for us. Robert walked over and poured us each a glass, then we all took a seat, Drogo and I being still quite hot from our exercise. While their attention was diverted, I patted my forehead with a cloth from my pocket, ashamed at my appearance. I ceased this just in time for the conversation to resume.
“I just received word from England: as you know, the papal legate, Bishop John of Crema, concluded his great spiritual tour and held his synod in London,” Robert began. “He stopped in Rouen just before we came down to meet you.”
“John of Crema? I remember him. He often spoke against the emperor,” I said.
“Well, he has been quite helpful to King Henry with regard to that rascal who is always trying to steal the throne, William Clito. It was he who pushed for Clito’s marriage with Sibylla of Anjou to be annulled on the ground of consanguinity. This came none too soon, for their alliance would have threatened Normandy for sure. As payment, the king allowed the bishop to travel to England and collect the Peter’s Pence tax from every lord and monastery, as far north as Scotland. Then he returned to London and held a council in which they passed no less than seventeen acts of canon law, prohibiting simony and the like. Now Bishop John is off to Rome with the archbishop of York.”
“Oh, the archbishop of Canterbury will not like that!” I said. “He considers his seat to be superior to that of York.”
“Yes, but that is not the best part,” Robert continued, setting down his glass and leaning forward. “You see, on the final day of the council, Bishop John rose before the assembly and commanded them all, as he had in his journeys throughout England, to ‘put aside their wives and concubines and embrace the divine call to chastity, which is most proper in the eyes of the Lord, being a higher form of righteousness,’ or something of that sort. Well, the bishops of England found it rather presumptuous for this man, who is truly no more than a mere priest raised up by the current pope, to be tramping around to every abbey and parish church, telling them how to conduct their business. Therefore, they must have all been quite pleased when the papal legate was discovered that very night in the arms of a whore.”
“What?! You are making that up!” I cried, pounding my glass down on the table with such force that some of the wine spilled out.
Robert threw up his hands. “I swear by the Virgin Mary, this is what I heard from my man who was at the synod, and he should know.”
“Might his enemies have crafted this tale to suit their own ends?” Drogo asked.
Here Robert laughed knowingly. “Yes, in truth, I think that is likely, but it still makes for a good story.”
“So you do not think he is guilty?” I said.
“I think he is guilty of nothing more than shearing the flock of England to the point of bleeding, for his pockets were so full upon leaving, it’s a wonder the ship didn’t sink,” he jested.
“So which is worse then: fornication or avarice?” Drogo asked.
I considered the question for a moment and arrived at what I thought was a good answer. “The real crime in both is hypocrisy. He is no friend of Christ who disobeys his commands.”
“Well, that was all I came to say. I thought you might enjoy it,” Robert said, standing and making for the door.
“Wait, Robert!” I called, standing as well. “Let me speak with you in private.”
We stepped into a small passage on the opposite side of the chamber that connected to the rooms of my attendants, then closed the door. I had looked both ways to make sure no one was listening, then spoke softly.
“Tell me, brother, does the king intend to offer me up in marriage, and if so, who does he have in mind?”
“You’re worried about that already? Good God, your husband’s only been in the ground a few months!”
“Indeed, I’ve only just finished the weeks of mourning, but unless Queen Adeliza is hiding something from us all, there is no male coming forth from the royal line. If the king is to ensure the succession, he must marry me off soon. Even so, I fear his choice.”
“He chose well for you the first time, did he not?”
“If you mean that he chose the man who would best suit his own ends, then yes, he chose very well. I suspect he will do so again. It is true that I did end up enjoying my time there, but he had no way of knowing that: he acted only for his own advantage. So tell me, which way does the wind blow? France? Or to the empire again? I know he would never marry me to one of my own countrymen. That gains him nothing.”
Robert patted me on the shoulder. “Calm yourself, sister. All shall be revealed in time.”
“I am calm!” I said a bit too loudly, drawing a laugh from my brother. I then lowered my voice and continued. “It is easy enough for you to tell me to be calm. It’s not your future we’re talking about.”
“No, it is the future of us all—the future of England and Normandy. We are just one generation away from the Conquest, and the wounds of those battles are still fresh. Each of us must do our part to ensure peace and stability.” Here he touched my shoulder once again as if to stress our common blood.
&
nbsp; “So I have been told since my youth, but it is much easier to say than do. I often feel torn between the duty I owe to the world and the duty I owe to myself. If only I already had ten sons! Then I might be allowed some choice as to whom I marry. But as it is, I still feel like a pawn in the king’s game. You men live in a perfect world: you can marry one woman and carry on with as many others as you like. A lady could never do that without attracting public scorn and the wrath of God. Yes, that’s right, I said it! You men are hypocrites.”
“Who do you want to marry then?” he asked, overlooking my accusation.
In truth, I was still so caught up in adjusting to my new situation, and indeed still so raw from the long suffering and death of my first husband, that I had no wish to enter another marriage immediately. Nevertheless, I knew it must happen sooner or later in order for the royal line to continue. As for whom I hoped to marry, I had no idea.
“Well, there’s no point discussing it, as I shall have no choice in the matter, but should the king ask your opinion, beg him stay away from men of foul morals and fouler odors,” I concluded.
“Your wish is my command,” he said with a smile, and we took our leave of one another.
Just one day’s march south of Caen—or two, if you travel with the king—is the city of Falaise, birth place of William the Conqueror. It was there that King Henry chose to spend his Christmas feast in the year of our Lord 1125, in the new keep he had built. By that time, I had spent several weeks in Normandy and come to know the members of the royal court quite well. The sense of grief I felt over my final years in the empire had faded, and I was able to think of the future with hope. I was very much looking forward to celebrating the Lord’s birth with them all in Falaise, most especially my brother and Lord Brian, who had become dear friends.
Sadly, the fortress had but one private quarter within the keep, and that was reserved for the king, so I found myself caught between Scylla and Charybdis: I could either sleep with the men in the hall or stay in one of the outer buildings. Needless to say, I chose the latter. When I arrived at the castle, I was led to my new chamber, which was little more than a hovel. Instead of a true bed, there was only a pallet to sleep on and a pit instead of a hearth. A stack of rather sad little logs sat in a corner.
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