The Leopards of Normandy: Duke: Leopards of Normandy 2

by David Churchill

  ‘Oh, but you can’t blame me, can you, Mama?’ said Matilda, switching in an instant from steely defiance to wide-eyed charm. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t describe him like that if you hadn’t noticed it too. He’s the most beautiful man in the world.’

  ‘He is passably good-looking,’ Adela conceded. ‘But he’s also almost twice your age.’

  ‘So what? Grandpa Baldwin was thirty years older than Granny Eleanor when he married her.’

  ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that he might already be married?’

  ‘Yes, and I found out that he isn’t.’

  ‘Well, married or not, it makes no difference, because he’s at home in England, a very long way away. So put him out of your mind and concentrate on the duke, who’s right here in Flanders, who’s only a few years older than you and also, to my certain knowledge, single . . .’

  ‘Which doesn’t surprise me; just look at the great oaf.’

  ‘. . . and who is both a perfect match for you and a politically advantageous union for Flanders.’

  Mother and daughter had by now reached the solar, the chamber where the women of the count’s household spent their days. They sat on a long wooden settle, softened by a richly embroidered cushion, and Adela took Matilda’s hand. ‘You know how things are, my darling. Young men serve their families by fighting for them. We women serve them by marrying well and providing our husbands with sons. That’s how bonds are made between royal and lordly houses. That’s how we help to keep the peace.’

  ‘Well that doesn’t seem to work, does it?’ Matilda protested.

  ‘Not all the time, no. But think how much worse it would be if men had nothing to restrain them. Your father and I both think that William of Normandy is an ideal match for you, and for Flanders. And it’s not as if he’s a bad-looking boy. He’s at least as tall as Brihtric, and even more strongly built. He’s got quite a handsome face, actually.’

  ‘I don’t think so. He always looks so cross about everything.’

  ‘Then it’s your job as a wife to make him happier.’

  ‘And his clothes are awful.’

  ‘Then get him better ones. It’s not as if the Normans can’t afford to dress well. Any wife worth her salt can change her man without him even knowing that she’s doing it, if she goes about things the right way. As mistress of Normandy, you will be one of the grandest women in Christendom. You’ll be able to commission beautiful things for your homes and give endowments to churches and convents. And I’ll tell you this: being William’s wife will never be boring. When he first came here, I told your father that I thought that boy was destined for greatness, and I still think that. Imagine being beside him – his consort, adviser, best friend, the mother to his children. What woman could hope for more than that?’

  Adela let go of Matilda’s hand and sat back, satisfied that she had made her case. But her satisfaction disappeared in an instant as Matilda said, ‘Me. I could hope for more. In fact, I hope – no, I expect – to be the wife of Brihtric Mau. So William of Normandy can look for another consort to be his brood mare.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Adela, glaring at Matilda with a fury that suggested that Constance’s character traits had not entirely passed her by. ‘Are you seriously intending to defy your parents’ wishes? How dare you? And what in God’s name makes you think you have the slightest chance with that damn Englishman?’

  ‘Because I’ve sent a messenger to England asking him to marry me. I’m expecting a reply within the next month.’

  Adela was aghast. If anyone discovered that her daughter had been offering herself up in marriage to visitors to Count Baldwin’s court, the House of Flanders would be the laughing stock of Christendom. ‘But you haven’t asked your father’s permission!’ she protested.

  ‘No,’ replied Matilda flatly. ‘And I don’t expect Brihtric will ask his permission either. We’ll just get married because we love each other, and there’ll be nothing anyone can do about it.’

  Matilda looked at her mother, saying nothing, daring her to object. And for once in her life, Adela found herself completely at a loss for words.

  That night, when he retired to bed with his wife, Count Baldwin discovered what his daughter had done. Having promised Adela that ‘I’ll tan that little minx’s backside for her impudence!’ he took a deep breath and did his best to take a calm and rational view of the whole situation.

  ‘I have to say that Brihtric Mau did not strike me as the kind of man who would try to steal his host’s daughter and take her away as his bride. He seemed like a perfectly respectable, honest type, as boring as the rest of his race. To be honest, I can’t imagine what Matilda saw in him.’

  Adela stopped herself from saying, ‘I can.’ Instead she said, ‘He’s a man. And no man cares about being respectable if a pretty young woman is throwing herself at him.’

  ‘Well I’m not sure that’s quite true, my dear, but even if it were, what exactly are these two lovebirds going to do about it? She still has to get from here to England. How is she going to do that?’

  ‘On a ship. You may have heard of them, my lord. They sail across water.’

  Baldwin looked to the heavens for strength. He loved his wife dearly, but she certainly knew how to infuriate him sometimes. ‘Yes . . . my lady. But she has to get on that ship, and I can have every vessel bound for England watched and if needs be searched. If Matilda tries to escape, she’ll be spotted and caught, you have my word on it. And if by some miracle she does get to England, I’ll write to King Edward . . . no, I’ll write to Earl Godwin and tell him that if he wants his son to marry Judith, he’d better find a way to stop Master Mau from marrying Matilda. I will also make it worth his while to be discreet.’

  ‘Well I hope your confidence is justified. I wouldn’t put anything past that girl. I love her with all my heart, but by God she tries my patience.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Adela my darling,’ Baldwin said, taking her in his arms and feeling an agreeable hardening as he did so. ‘I won’t breathe a word of this to young William. Within the next few days we will conclude our negotiations, a dowry will be agreed, and then our beloved Matilda can be packed off to Rouen to try his patience instead.’

  13

  The days went by in a drudgery of negotiation and joyless feasting. Baldwin had to admit that Duke William did not seem remotely enthused by the prospect of marrying his infuriating but beloved daughter. Here was a young man who might have a fine title, but whose eligibility among families for whom bloodline was everything was seriously marred by his illegitimacy. Yet he was being offered the daughter of the Count of Flanders, ruler of some of the wealthiest cities north of the Alps, with a magnificent dowry to match. He should have been champing at the bit to get her on his arm and in his bed at the first possible opportunity, particularly since Matilda was a stunning little creature whose shameless pursuit of that great oaf Brihtric Mau suggested she would take very happily to conjugal relations. Her mother had certainly done so, Baldwin reflected with the contented complacency of a happily married man.

  William, however, seemed oddly passionless. He could barely bother to hide how tedious he found the entire business, and only showed the faintest trace of good humour and enjoyment when Baldwin, desperate for a break, suggested that a day’s discussion should be replaced by a hunting expedition. Then, one morning, the entire question became moot as Adela burst into the council chamber, clearly in a furious temper, and virtually dragged Baldwin out into the hallway, while the Normans looked on in amazement at the sudden intrusion of raging disorder into the well-ordered tedium of life in the Flemish court.

  ‘That beef-eating piece of Anglo-Saxon merde!’ Adela shouted, loud enough for William to hear, even though she had slammed the door to the chamber shut behind her.

  ‘I’m sorry . . . who?’ Baldwin replied, still too amazed by the fury of his normally pl
acid wife to be able to think straight.

  ‘Who do you think, idiot? That no-good, useless, unwashed English oaf Brihtric Mau, of course!’

  ‘Why, what’s he done?’ A look of horrified comprehension passed across Baldwin’s face. ‘My God! He’s not gone and stolen Matilda away, has he?’ he gasped.

  ‘No, no, of course not. He does not have the balls for that. No, he’s written to her to say that he cannot marry her!’

  ‘Oh, thank God for that . . . I mean, that’s good news, isn’t it? After all, now she’s free to marry William.’

  ‘No, it’s not good news, you fool! It’s terrible news. Matilda is desolate. She has locked herself in her chamber and refuses to come out. She says she’ll never marry anyone. She wants to be a nun.’

  ‘Oh come now,’ said Baldwin, deciding that this was the sort of time when a man’s duty was to calm the nerves of his overexcitable womenfolk and try to restore them to some kind of good sense. ‘She doesn’t mean that. She’s just got herself all worked up about an unsuitable man. She may be throwing a tantrum now, but she’ll get over it soon enough. I’m sure if you sit her down and talk to her about marrying William, tell her how pretty she’ll look, promise her a beautiful wedding gown, that sort of thing, she’ll soon cheer up.’

  To Baldwin’s horror, far from making Adela see sense, these words changed her mood from raging fury to the icy calm that he knew from experience was actually a far more dangerous sign. ‘No, Baldwin, that is not what will happen. Matilda’s mind is made up, and if you think that a young woman with my mother’s blood in her veins is going to be persuaded to come round to your way of thinking by the promise of a pretty dress, then you are out of your simple Flemish mind. Tell William to go home. He is wasting his time here.’

  ‘That’s quite enough!’ Baldwin said. He was fed up of being patronised by his wife, and he wasn’t about to be defied by his daughter. He was the Count of Flanders, by God, and these women had better remember it.

  He stalked to Matilda’s chamber and hammered on the door. ‘Matilda, open up!’ he commanded her. ‘This is your father. I demand to come in.’

  ‘Go away!’ her furious voice shouted through the door.

  ‘Open up, young lady, or I’ll have the door smashed down.’

  ‘Go ahead, but I’ll be dead when you come in. I have a very sharp knife.’

  ‘Don’t say that, my little darling,’ Baldwin cooed, trying a more gentle approach. ‘Look, I know you feel sad now, I understand. Everyone has their heart broken when they’re young, it’s normal. But William is here. He’s bursting with love for you. He’ll be devastated to hear that you are unhappy.’

  These were blatant lies, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

  They did not work.

  ‘I don’t care about William. I think he’s ugly and stupid and boring,’ Matilda said, causing her father to admit that she was right about one of those, at least. ‘I am going to give my love to God. I know He won’t let me down the way men do. Either let me enrol in a monastery, or let me die. It’s your choice.’

  Baldwin was appalled, but also oddly impressed by Matilda’s patent sincerity, for he had no doubt that she meant what she said. Adela had been right. This wasn’t a spoiled princess’s tantrum. It was a serious threat.

  ‘Very well then,’ he conceded, ‘I will tell William that you have decided to take up holy orders and that therefore you will not be betrothed to him under any circumstances.’

  ‘Good. What about the nunnery?’

  ‘I shall consult with the senior clergy to find the best possible convent for you to enter. In the meantime, I suggest that you spend time in the chapel, praying to God for guidance. You must make sure that this really is the right thing for you.’

  ‘Oh thank you, Papa. I knew you would understand.’

  The door opened and Matilda’s face peered round the corner. ‘Are you going to tell William now?’

  ‘Oh . . . yes . . . now . . . absolutely,’ Baldwin muttered and scurried off back towards the council chamber, with Matilda’s voice echoing in his ears: ‘You’re the kindest, sweetest, loveliest papa in all the world!’

  Back in the chamber, Baldwin did his best to explain to William that they had all been wasting their time for the past several days. Matilda, he suggested, had been visited by the Holy Spirit and called to do God’s work. He insisted that this was in no sense a reflection upon William. It was just one of those acts of God before which all mere mortals had to bow.

  William listened without comment. His face showed no expression, either of anger at being humiliated or even of relief at avoiding an unwanted union. He simply heard Baldwin out, asked, ‘Is that all?’ and, on being told that it was, said, ‘Very well, then, we’d better be on our way. Thank you, Count Baldwin for your most generous hospitality. Do pass on my best wishes to Countess Adela. Good day.’

  ‘Are you leaving right away? Won’t you stay for lunch?’ said Baldwin, feeling somewhat ashamed now by the way the Duke of Normandy had been treated, and also distinctly worried by the thoughts that might be festering beneath that expressionless exterior. The duke had already shown that he was not a man to be trifled with, and Baldwin had no desire to make an enemy of him. ‘It will take your servants some while to pack everything,’ he went on. ‘And you will need feeding before you travel.’

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ William said. ‘The servants can remain here and follow later with the baggage, but I see no point in staying any longer. I have other things to do elsewhere. It’s time I went and did them. Good day to you, Count Baldwin.’

  And with that the Normans left, grim-faced, to begin their journey back to Rouen.

  Oh well, thought Baldwin, watching them go, at least I saved myself a dowry.

  William was not a man who ambled anywhere. He would always rather walk fast or gallop hard than go at a gentle pace. But the pace he set on the ride from Bruges was punishing even by his standards. Finally, when even he had to admit that the horses were at the end of their tether, he was obliged to slow down and stop by the banks of a small stream so that they could rest, graze and drink a little before resuming the journey. But even as the animals relaxed and the men stretched their legs, William’s face was set in a brooding expression that warned of a fury building within him like gathering clouds before a great storm.

  ‘Something’s troubling you, brother,’ said Odo a little nervously, because it was obvious that it wouldn’t take much provocation to set William’s temper off.

  William said nothing.

  ‘My lord . . .’ Fitzosbern began, then paused, not knowing how to go any further, before adding, ‘Can we help?’

  ‘Nothing’s the matter,’ William replied.

  The other two stayed silent. They had registered their concern; now it was up to William to decide whether he wanted to respond to it. As close as they all were, he was the duke, their liege lord, and it was not for them to press him as they might another man. Still, it was permissible to offer him a drink.

  ‘Wine?’ asked Odo, holding out a leather skin.

  William took it and drank thirstily, then wiped his mouth and gave the skin back to Odo. ‘That bloody girl,’ he muttered.

  The other two looked at one another and silently agreed: Say nothing. Let him spit it out.

  ‘I mean, it’s not as if I even wanted to marry her. I only went to Bruges to please Mother, you both know that.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Odo, and Fitz nodded his agreement.

  ‘God knows I’ve got better things to worry about. Guy’s still sitting behind his walls at Brionne, laughing at us. And don’t think I’m not well aware that my uncles start plotting against me the moment I set foot out of Rouen, but . . . but . . . Damn it, I’m not having some spoiled little madam from Flanders making a fool out of me.’

&n
bsp; ‘She didn’t make a fool of you, lord,’ said Fitz. ‘Of her father, maybe. But not you.’

  ‘Kind of you to say so, but that’s rubbish. And it didn’t have anything to do with Matilda suddenly getting a religious vocation, either. You only have to look at her to see that she’s no nun. Everyone knows she was wet for that Englishman with the stupid name, Brit-something . . .’

  ‘Brihtric Mau,’ said Odo.

  ‘Right, him. Anyway, she wanted him and she thought she was too good for me. I’ll bet you anything you like that she’s sitting there right now with my cousin Judith, having a good laugh about how she turned down William of Normandy. Here, pass me the wine again . . .’

  Odo did as he was told, and William drank some more.

  ‘I won’t have it,’ William said. ‘I won’t have people laughing at me, calling me the bastard, saying I’m not good enough for them.’

  ‘Just forget it, she’s not worth even thinking about,’ said Odo. ‘You said it yourself, you’ve got better things to worry about.’

  ‘No, I won’t stand for it,’ William repeated. ‘I’ll teach Matilda a lesson she won’t forget.’

  He strode towards Bloodfang and swung up into the saddle, ignoring the other two as they tried to persuade him not to do anything foolish.

  ‘Ride on without me,’ he called down to them as he turned Bloodfang back along the road towards Bruges. ‘I’m going to deal with Matilda.’

  Matilda was feeling particularly pleased with herself. Brihtric had broken her heart and, which was much worse, humiliated her. But the fact that she’d been able to do precisely the same to William, and within the same day too, had cheered her up no end. Of course, there was the minor problem of her upcoming life as a nun to think about. But she was absolutely certain that if she just spent a little more time dressing in her dullest gowns, moping about in the chapel and generally acting like a pious misery-guts, Papa would be only too happy when she changed her mind and wanted to go back to being her usual self. She was his favourite child, and wrapping him around her little finger had long been one of her favourite pastimes.