For a moment, I stood there staring into my cousin’s eyes. I had never seen him so enraged. His eyes were wide—his lower lip quivering slightly. I felt for a moment as if I was looking into his soul. With that one word, “humiliation,” he seemed to have betrayed something about himself. At least, that was my suspicion. Yet I had little time to consider the matter, for the archbishop of Canterbury was tugging on Stephen’s tunic, bidding him to let me go.
“The Empress Mathilda is not to blame. She is a servant of the king’s will, even as we all are.”
“Thank you, archbishop,” I replied softly, then said to my cousin, “Do you want to know what humiliation is? Humiliation is for a woman of royal blood, the former wife of an emperor, crowned by the Holy Father himself, beloved by a kingdom, to be sent away to marry a child of little rank like some cheap toy to be played with today and thrown away tomorrow. To be a woman, cousin: that is the humiliation of humiliations. You will never understand.”
With that, I turned, threw back the train of my gown, and departed the hall. Things had not gotten off to a particularly good start. Yet for all the complaints made by the bishops, it was Stephen’s words that caused me the greatest concern.
XIV
Having stirred up the ire of the lords, the king of England knew he must move with all speed to ensure that I was, in his immortal words, “wedded and bedded.” Less than a fortnight after the council at Westminster, we were putting in at Southampton waters on our way to Honfleur, and thenceforth on to Rouen: the king, myself, Earl Robert, Drogo, the crew, and in a final act of ill humor on the part of the king, Brian fitz Count. These were the men who would accompany me to my first meeting with the man—nay, the boy—I was to marry.
For several months, I had been on a journey of sorts from complete opposition to the Angevin marriage to grudging acceptance—extremely grudging. I had finally reached the point where I was forced to accept defeat for the good of the kingdom, only to have it thrown in my face when the lord and the bishops voiced their objections. I hoped for only two things from my second marriage: that it would produce children and keep the peace.
I had always been rather uncertain about the first, and now the second seemed unlikely as well. There had been no formal rebellion due to the announcement of the marriage agreement, but neither did anyone seem to be very happy about it. Thus, I was filled with fear upon that journey, and my mood was made worse because Brian was often nearby. This kept the wound in my heart fresh as I was forced to think of the love I had lost hour by hour.
The day before our departure from England, we were all staying at Southampton Castle, with most of us sitting in the large wood hall, eating and drinking by the fire. There were a few tables at which the others played games, but I was reclining in a chair by the hearth, reading the daily hours. A teller of fortunes knocked at the front gate of the castle, hoping to benefit from our largess. He was allowed to come in and approach those of us in the hall. Were it up to me, he would not have made it past the threshold, but the men who were to sail with us were given to superstition. How they hung on his every word! He worked his way through the company, winning over the lot of them, before coming at last to his primary object.
He approached me quietly, the smile on his face appearing somewhat savage given that half his teeth were missing. He had very long hair pulled back in a tie and an equally long beard. I suspected he was either too much of a sluggard to use scissors or too poor to own them. He wore a plain tunic with several holes. His hands were wrapped in cloths, as was his neck, and I could only hope that this was not because he was a leper. There was dirt on his face, and he had hair pushing out from his nose. The only thing he carried was a small purse, filled with coins by the sound of it. He looked as if he could use a bath: yes, his entire appearance was most unpleasing. There was another chair just across from mine, and he sat in it without asking permission.
“Gracious empress, before you set sail for parts unknown, would you have me proclaim your future?” he asked in a voice much like that of a toad, smiling again with his few dark teeth.
“I know my future. I am to marry the imp from Anjou,” I replied, looking back down at my book.
“Ah, but perhaps you wish to know if your marriage will produce any children! I can look into the nether world—”
“No need. A rabbi already told me I will have sons.”
“I beg your pardon, my lady. What was that?”
“A rabbi—you know, a Jew. He put his hands on my belly and swore that I would have sons. That’s assurance enough for me.”
“Yes, but you can hardly trust a Jew, can you?” he said with a cackle.
I thought it quite likely that I could trust the Jews more than the man in front of me, but I saw it was no use attempting to avoid a conversation. I closed my book and set it on the floor.
“Let me guess: you won’t leave until I pay you,” I said, finally looking him in the eye.
“I wouldn’t put it that way. I would simply say that I would hate to rob you of a wondrous opportunity.” Here he rubbed his hands together in glee.
Wanting nothing more than to get him out of my sight as soon as possible, I reached into the purse attached to my belt and pulled out a small coin, placing it in his filthy palm.
“The tall one gave me more than this!” he objected, gesturing toward Drogo.
With a deep sigh, I gave him two more coins.
“Thank you muchly!” he said. “Now, give me your hands.”
I hated the idea of him touching any part of me. “Is that really necessary?”
“Most necessary! The magic will not work otherwise!”
“Yes, but there is no magic, is there? You will devise something so general that it could be applied to anything.”
“I am no fraud!” he declared, placing his hand on his chest as if he was taking a solemn vow. “Fine. I will simply look into your eyes. That will tell me all I need to know.”
“If you must …”
He leaned very far forward and stared into my eyes. His smell was like cat piss. Indeed, I thought he must sleep in a puddle of it. I moved back slightly, attempting to spare my nose. His eyes were deep and dark, and they were searching mine as one who looks for a gold coin in the hay.
“I can see that you are a person who has experienced great loss,” he concluded.
“The deaths of my mother, brother, and husband are common knowledge.”
“It is not death I speak of! Something else is eating away at your soul. You were wounded by someone close to you.”
He seemed very near the mark, but then again, half the people in the world could have found some meaning in those words. I therefore pressed him further to prove his powers.
“Who?” I asked.
He cackled again. “Surely you already know!”
“Yes, but if you really have the gift of sight, then you can tell me who it was.”
“That is not how it works!” he protested. “I only see shadows.”
“I figured as much,” I said, making to leave my seat.
“Wait! Wait a minute!” he cried, holding up his hands. “There is something else: something strong! Only, I do not understand it.”
“Well, if you do not understand it, then how should I?” I asked, standing up completely.
“I see a lion, the king of beasts, stalking the earth.”
“Are you saying I will be eaten by a lion? There is but one of those beasts in England, and I just left it behind at Woodstock.”
“No, I think it is a person—that is, the lion is the symbol of a person.”
“Oh, that must be my grandfather you’re thinking of: the first King William. The lion was his symbol. He must be watching over me,” I said, hoping to speed the process along.
“No, that’s not it,” the soothsayer replied, turning his head as if to hear some whispering voice. “No, it’s something else. Something in the future—I can feel it!”
“Well, thank you, this has been mo
st helpful!” I concluded. “Now, I have a long journey tomorrow, and I must take some rest. Sir Drogo will see you out.”
Thus ended a particularly odd conversation, with Drogo essentially picking the man up and carrying him out of the hall despite his protestations. By no means did I actually think the man saw a lion, but if he had, it may have been the beasts of Anjou circling to devour my hopes.
When we arrived at last in Rouen, we remained there for the next year, in part to allow the king’s ambassadors time to work out a treaty with Anjou, but mainly because of what was taking place in Flanders. This was an unhappy period of waiting for me in which I often visited the monastery of Bec for weeks at a time, both for the sake of my soul, which was continually troubled, and to escape the presence of my father and Brian. I first developed a strong affection for that house during that period.
By that summer of 1127, the county of Flanders was at war. William of Ypres, my father’s favored contender, had already been taken prisoner. Never one to give up easily, King Henry had turned his attentions to Duke Thierry of Alsace, whose strongest support lay in the northern merchant cities.
My father’s intention was simple: he would work along with Queen Adeliza’s father—Duke Godfrey of Louvain—and Count Stephen of Boulogne to place a siege upon the whole of Flanders, not through armed might, but by the power of the purse. They imposed a block on trade, placing the entire Flemish market under severe duress. Their aim was to rob William Clito of money and set the people against his rule. It was a harsh method, but one that was likely to yield results. Of course, my father also continued to bribe as many of the castellans as he could. One can never be too careful about such things.
The traitor Clito then set his sights upon the county of Boulogne, cousin Stephen’s realm. He hoped by invading to cut himself out of King Henry’s noose, securing one of the vital sea ports in Flanders and destroying Stephen’s forces in the process. Though he met with some victories at first, Count Stephen had the experience of many battles and was keen to defend his wife’s ancestral lands. They fought for about a month before Clito was forced to return to Flanders, where the rebellion against his rule was growing by the day. He concluded a truce with Stephen, and thus the blockade held.
I was quite proud of my cousin in that hour. I would receive regular reports from Flanders while I was at the monastery of Bec. Clito’s alliance with the French king was the reason I was being made to marry Geoffrey of Anjou, so naturally I wished ill on them both. I also wanted to see the duchy of Normandy held, for it was the inheritance granted to me by my ancestor Rollo, the Northman who had first won it from the Franks. Although my heart was more with England than Normandy—which put me at odds with many in the king’s company—I certainly saw its value and did not want it diminished. However, I had no part in the battles in Flanders. I spent my days reading scripture and attempting to resign myself to the marriage I knew must come. I supposed the one good thing about the delay was that young Geoffrey would have the chance to mature slightly. Every time I thought about how young he was, it made me cringe.
In the meantime, Thierry of Alsace won the support of the northern Flemish cities with strong trade links to England. With only the southern lords still true to him, the traitor Clito was forced to make a desperate choice: he released William of Ypres from prison on the condition that he fight along with his own men. He also rode south to meet King Louis, but even as he did so, Thierry gained control of Lille.
The French king knew he had no choice but to ride to his vassal’s defense. He sent William Clito back to the North to wreak destruction upon the cities there, then rode to meet Thierry’s forces at Lille. Of course, we all feared upon hearing this intelligence that it might spell the end of Duke Thierry’s efforts, but little did we know how God smiled on him. His men defeated the French army and sent them fleeing back to the South. It would be the last time the French fought on Clito’s behalf, for King Henry’s forces were by then moving into Louis’ own lands, and the French king had no choice but to direct his efforts toward that quarter.
Things were going rather well, and we all thought the reign of Clito would be over by summer’s end. I therefore made my return to Rouen, there to fulfill my duty. King Henry finally felt it was safe enough to summon Geoffrey of Anjou to Rouen, and he intended to make him a knight after the manner of the Normans.
I remember one night around that time, when we were all feasting in the hall of Rouen Castle, for it shows how high the king’s spirits were at that time. He was leaning back in his tall chair, feet resting on the table, not caring one bit if the mud on his boots landed in the soup. He had already thrown back three pints of ale and was savoring a fourth.
“I cannot wait to see this boy with my own eyes!” he proclaimed. “In his face, I hope to glimpse the future of my dynasty!”
“Let us pray then that it is not covered with pock marks,” Robert jested.
“I should think not! Everyone says that he is—”
“The fairest youth in the land? Yes, you may have mentioned it.”
We soon received word that the party from Anjou was staying at the abbey of Bec and would be with us presently. Along with Archbishop Geoffrey of Rouen, we made ready to welcome the foreigners. The king would be relying on both the archbishop and Earl Robert to complete the marriage agreement.
When the terrible day arrived, I made my way to the outer yard near the gardens. There most of the king’s court was already standing at the ready upon the gravel, talking among themselves. I moved past the household servants, the king’s lads, and the rest of the knights without addressing any of them. All I could think of was how scared I was of whatever might come through that gate in the castle wall, for I knew it would determine my future. I dearly hoped it would not be as bad as I suspected.
I greeted the archbishop and Abbot Rainfroy of Saint Ouen, who were already waiting by the king’s side at the head of the reception party. Queen Adeliza was not there, for reasons I cannot remember.
“Good morning, most excellent Empress Mathilda!” the archbishop called as I approached. “What a pleasant day for us to receive your future husband!”
“Thank you for coming,” I said with rather less ardor, a knot in both my stomach and my throat. “Any word on when they are to arrive?”
“Less than an hour out,” he assured me.
I nodded gently. I was in that odd position where half of me wished to delay the painful revelation as long as possible, and half of me wished it to come instantly that it might be over and done with. I took a deep breath to calm myself and attempted to produce a smile.
“Abbot Rainfroy, good morrow!” I said, shifting down the line.
“And to you, my lady,” he replied with a bow.
“So I suppose there is nothing left to do but wait,” I mused, turning my gaze toward the broad wood gate in front of us. It seemed almost a gate of doom.
Oh, cease your complaining, Maud! I chided myself. Many people live far worse lives than you. At least you have food to eat and a bed in which to sleep. What man or woman alive wouldn’t gladly trade places with you, no matter how bad your new husband might be?
I tried to tell myself this. I had been attempting to believe it for more than a year, and yet the words seemed hollow. Something inside me could not be stilled, and I suddenly felt the need to flee from the sight of that gate until the last possible moment.
“I think I shall return to the hall for now. Have someone come and retrieve me when they arrive,” I said.
As I turned, I saw that my brother had come up behind me and must have heard the last part of my conversation.
“You will not have to wait long. They are here already!” he proclaimed, pointing ahead.
Sure enough, the gates were opening, and a party of riders entered: eight men in all. One I knew to be the abbot of Bec. Two appeared to be bishops. The rest were knights, save for one man in plain clothes and another younger man whom I took to be Geoffrey.
I will never forget how he looked in that first moment, when I saw him riding in on that white horse. He was a good bit shorter than the rest, being not yet fifteen years old. What he lacked in height, he more than made up for in his manner of dress. Good Lord! I had never seen a young man dress in that manner before, nor a grown man for that matter!
His tunic was made entirely of purple silk with gold thread. It was clothing meant less for purpose than for show. Most of all, I remember the hat, which was far larger than necessary and adorned with flowers. Beneath it was a long trail of red curls—so long that I had no doubt that he spent far more time caring for his tresses than I did mine. Perhaps this was meant to distract from the absence of hair on his face, but to me it seemed rather vain. Even the king of England did not wear silk for riding! The scriptures tell us not to judge based on outward appearance, but in my experience, it can reveal something about the inner man, especially when it comes to nobles attempting to promote themselves through extravagant dress.
He alighted with ease and began to walk toward us. The sword at his side was clearly meant for a much larger man, for it hung almost to his ankles. Why he needed a sword under such circumstances, I was not certain. Even his boots seemed from another world entirely, for they were painted with pink roses! I had observed him for less than a minute, and already an impression had formed in my mind of a boy so full of conceit, so arrogant, so pompous … well, I need hardly go on, for you sense my mind. I lived in fear of what might spring forth once he opened his mouth. Did I see merely what I wanted to see, or rather what I feared? Perhaps, but I am only human after all.
“Kill me, Robert. Kill me quickly!” I whispered to my brother, who was standing just beside me.
“Sorry, I should hate to hang,” he replied, barely stifling a laugh.
The young Geoffrey came within two paces of us and removed his great hat, bowing so low that the red curls draped over his shoulders came close to the ground.
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