The king held his hands out to the fire and began to rub them slowly together, not taking his eyes from Matilda’s face. “So,” he said at last. “We meet again.”
She was the first, eventually, to look away, dropping her gaze to the border of his mantle, which brushed gently in the rushes around his chair. He stood up so abruptly she had to force herself to remain still and not flinch backward as he came to stand above her. He was so close she could smell the oil of lavender in his hair. The room was silent save for the rattle of rain against the window screens and the occasional hiss as drops fell into the glowing embers on the hearth.
She thought for a moment he was going to touch her, but he moved away again, walking over to the table that had been drawn up against the far wall of the room. It was laden with parchments and books and held the king’s pens and ink. He picked up a letter and unfolded it slowly as he turned back to the prisoners who remained kneeling by the fire. His face was hard.
“Prince Llewelyn has, it appears, thought fit to join your husband, my lady, in making trouble for me in Wales.” His voice was icy. “That is unfortunate.” He strode back to the fire, the letter still in his hand. “Unfortunate for you, that is, if your husband persists in his rebellion when he knows that I hold hostages.”
Matilda clenched her fists together nervously, very conscious of the iron fetters that encircled her wrists. She swallowed. “Will you give me the chance to raise the money to pay my husband’s debts, sire?” Her voice came out huskily and too quiet. She wasn’t sure if he had even heard her. Mattie and Will, side by side, were completely silent.
“Your Grace,” she tried again, a little louder. “Before we fled from Hay I was able to put by a little money and some jewelry. I am sure with the help of our friends and my other sons we could raise some of the money we owe. If Your Grace would accept that as a start and—”
Her voice trailed away as he turned from the fire at last and looked down at her.
“It is no longer only a matter of money, Lady Matilda.”
“I will persuade William to give himself up to you. And on his behalf I can surrender all the de Braose lands…” She could not keep the note of pleading from her voice and, though she despised herself for it, the anguish in her tone was real.
“Your lands, my lady, are no longer yours to surrender,” he said sharply. He looked from Margaret to Will and Mattie behind her suddenly. “It appears that Ireland has become a nest of traitors. The lands of the Lacys are all confiscated too, your husband’s, Lady Margaret, and those of his brother. It is as well for them, perhaps, that they seem to have escaped, for if either of them show themselves again, their lives might well be forfeit.” He spoke quietly. Margaret shrank behind her mother as the king’s cold eyes fixed on her for a moment. Then he threw the letter down on his chair, talking half to himself, half to them. “I shall subdue Ireland. Every man here shall acknowledge me as king or I shall know the reason why. And when I return to Wales, make no mistake, I shall reduce that country—and its princes too—to ashes if I must…Guards! “ He raised his voice for the first time. Their escort sprang forward and the king eyed them critically. “Take the prisoners away,” he ordered.
Matilda began to rise to her feet, awkward and stiff after kneeling for so long. To her surprise he stepped forward and held out his hand to help her. But his face was grim. “I shall consider your offer of money, Lady Matilda, but I feel that nothing short of the full amount of forty thousand will do now. And that may not be enough. Meanwhile you and your family will remain my prisoners. We leave Carrickfergus tomorrow, and you will travel with us back to Dublin.”
***
The king sent for Matilda only after they had been encamped for several days at Dublin. She was brought to his tent, which had been set up in the midst of his army overlooking Dublin Bay, and appeared before him in midmorning, leaning on the arm of the tall knight who had been appointed her escort. The king had ordered her fetters removed when they had reached Kells, and she and Margaret and Mattie had been allowed serving women and provided with fresh linen and hot water, but Matilda was very tired.
There was no compassion in his face as the king looked at her. “The sheriff of Hereford has written to tell me that your husband has now attacked one of my castles. He requests my instructions and begs me to declare this man, once for all, outlawed. William has gone too far this time, Lady Matilda.”
She went pale. Her escort had withdrawn from the tent and she felt suddenly weak, standing alone before the king. She half glanced around, hoping to see a stool. Finding nothing to sit on, she slowly sank to her knees.
“Give us one more chance,” she whispered. “See, I beg you on my knees. Somehow I will find the money. I will make William submit. He will surrender. Only give us the chance to talk to him.”
John pushed back his chair with an exasperated exclamation. “It seems to me we’ve had this conversation before. How many chances must I give this man?”
“Sire, I know where I can find the money,” Matilda rushed on desperately, hardly taking note of what she said. “I have thought about it much and I am sure I can raise it. I know I can. Let me see him again. Please, Your Grace, give me that one chance.”
John turned away. He went to stand at the door of the tent looking out toward the dazzling blue of the sea. Far out on the edge of the haze three small boats sailed slowly northward, trailing their nets. He watched them abstractedly for a moment, chewing his nails. Then suddenly he swung round. “Why do I find it so hard, even now, to refuse your pleas?”
For a moment she thought his face betrayed a hint of pity, but it was already gone when he spoke again. “Very well, one last chance. But this time I must have your promise in writing.” He stepped to the desk and, reaching for his bell, summoned one of the chancery clerks. “An agreement; Matilda de Braose, the Lady of Hay, agrees to pay a fine of fifty—yes, fifty, you must pay for my patience—fifty thousand marks to the royal exchequer before”—he hesitated, counting on his fingers—“before Lammas next. That gives you a year, my lady. You will sign the document and on reaching Wales your husband will sign it too. You and your family will remain in my custody until your husband pays me the first installment. That is the last time I intend to discuss this matter. It seems to me that I have already been too lenient.” He leaned forward, watching the clerk laboriously copying out the formal words of the document. “I mean to see the barons of this country learn to respect me, Matilda, whoever gets hurt in the process. I’ll not be played with, remember that. You tell your sons and your precious friends the Lacys and the Earl Marshall and all William’s cronies that if they defy me and compound treasons against the crown they will find out just how strong an arm their sovereign has. I’ll not see the safety of the realm endangered.” He bent and snatched the finished parchment from the clerk, who was blowing on the ink. “I’ve reduced Ireland and now I’ll reduce Wales.” He took the pen from the clerk and held it out to Matilda, who rose to her feet with some difficulty. “And you had better pray that this time your husband respects this agreement, because I shall hold you and your son accountable, if necessary with your lives.”
Matilda took the pen, glancing at his face as she did so. Two red spots of anger glowed on his cheekbones and his mouth was set in an uncompromising line as he stared down at the document before them. She felt the cold black shadow of fear hovering over her heart as she blinked back the sudden scalding tears. “Please, Holy Mother,” she whispered as she dipped the pen in the ink, “let William come to the king.” Her hand shook as she carefully wrote her name at the end of the lines of black, crabbed writing. Then she let the pen fall.
***
They landed at Fishguard on the northern coast of the Pembroke Peninsula two days later. It was raining. Matilda scarcely noticed the route they took, sunk as she was in misery and fear. Her eyes remained lowered, dully taking in the streaming chestnut mane of the mare she rode. For several miles she worried a burr out of the tangled we
t hair, twisting it in her fingers, watching unfeeling as tiny spots of blood sprang up on her skin to be washed away almost at once by the rain.
As soon as they had landed the king had dispatched riders to take her message to William, if they could find him in the high fastnesses of Elfael, bidding him come to ratify his wife’s agreement.
“You fool, Mother,” Will had said. “You complete fool. You know he won’t come. If they tell him how much money you’ve promised he’ll run or die of shock, but he won’t come.”
“He will come, he will.” She clenched her fists, gazing at her son’s pale face with such an ache of protective tenderness that for a moment she was unable to go on. Then she gained control. “We have money, Will. Our tenants will raise it for us, and our friends. Reginald and the Lacys must have reached France and Giles. There are so many who can help us, my dear. And there is the money I hid. It will be there still.”
“Did you tell Father where it was hidden?”
Matilda shrank at the bitterness in her son’s voice, but she shook her head. “He could not find it, even if I had. It is in a secret place in the mountains. I think I would have to go there again myself to be sure…”
“And, even then, you might not find it, Mother dear.” His voice was gentle again suddenly. He kissed her forehead lightly. “It seems to me that we must pray for a miracle.”
***
It was at Bristol Castle on the feast of St. Eustace that the prisoners were summoned at last to the great hall after the evening meal was over. John was listening to the carolers who had arrived from Gloucester. He sat on his great chair, his legs stuck out in front of him, a goblet of wine still in his hand.
“It appears your obedient husband has decided to accede to your wish, Lady Matilda,” he called loudly as soon as he saw her. A hush fell over the crowded hall and Matilda drew herself up, feeling hundreds of eyes on her as she walked slowly toward the dais and waited, her eyes lowered. John gestured at one of the servants and he ran, bowing, to a door.
The two men had obviously been waiting just outside, for they came in at once, hastening to the dais, where both went down on one knee. Matilda saw with a sudden lurch of her heart that one of them was William. He did not look at her, and she saw his surcoat and tunic were torn and mud-splashed and his beard unkempt. The old, unhealthy pallor had returned to his cheeks.
John rose, belching slightly as he moved, and set his cup down. He clicked his fingers at a clerk, who brought forward a parchment, which Matilda recognized at once as the one she had signed only weeks before, in Dublin.
“You agree, I take it, Sir William, to your wife’s terms.” John spoke curtly. “Fifty thousand marks she has promised. You realize that?”
William nodded almost imperceptibly. Still he did not look at her. “Then you will sign the agreement?” John stood and watched as pen and ink were brought to William. Then the de Braose seal was produced from his companion’s pouch. There wasn’t a sound in the great hall as the red wax dropped slowly onto the parchment, the pungent smell for a moment stronger even than the aroma of food and fire and candles and the strong smell of sweat that came from the lower tables of the hall. There was a hiss as the seal met the wax and the clerk carefully removed the document and passed it to the king. John waved it away. “Enough. I want to hear the singers. The first installment, Sir William, by the feast of St. Agnes, and”—he shot his head forward suddenly, his eyes blazing—“not one day later.”
They were all ushered from the hall as the minstrels struck up a merry tune for the king.
Outside in the icy ward Matilda flung herself at her husband as he turned away toward the stables. “William, will you not even greet me? Surely you’re allowed to talk to me before you go? For pity’s sake!”
He turned back and looked at her, his face blank. “What am I to say, Moll? I have to go to find this money. There is so little time.”
Matilda threw herself at him, clinging. The guards made no attempt to stop her. “It’s not so much, the first installment. Ten thousand marks, that’s all, my dear. The marshall will help and Reginald and Giles, of course. You must write to them at once, and our friends in the Marches. Please, William. You will try?”
“Mother.” Will was behind her suddenly, his hand on her arm. “Mother, come into the warm. My father knows what to do.”
“You do know, William? You will do it? There’s so little time. Oh, my dear, you will help me…” She was sobbing now, still clinging to him.
William turned away, shaking her off. “I’ve told you, woman. I’ll do what I can. What else can I say?” A gust of wind blew his cloak open as a groom brought two horses forward and the guard closed in on Will and Matilda, beginning to hustle them toward the corner tower where they were lodged.
“William, William…” Her voice rose to a scream as Will put his arm around her and pulled her away. “William, help us, please! Please, Please help us.”
But already his horse was trotting toward the portcullis as it slid upward into the darkness of the gateway. Seconds later the two figures had vanished into the night.
Matilda collapsed onto Will’s shoulder as Margaret and Mattie ran, consoling, to her side, and slowly they led her back to the tower as the first drops of rain began to fall on the cobbles.
***
Sam was standing looking out of the window across the square. There were tears on his cheeks as his hand clenched in the curtains. Slowly he turned. “So William left you, my lady,” he whispered, “to fetch the money.” He laughed bitterly. “Did you believe him? Did you wish that you had been a faithful and loving wife? Tell me how it happened, my lady. Tell me how it felt when finally you realized that William was never coming back.”
Jo’s fingers moved restlessly over the cushions on the chair, scratching harshly at the tapestry work, shredding the wool beneath her nails. Her eyes moved unseeing over the flickering TV screen.
“William,” she cried again. “William, for the love of the Holy Virgin, please, come back.”
***
Tim knocked on the door, easing the heavy camera bag on his shoulder. He was panting heavily after climbing the long flight of stairs.
Judy opened it at the third knock. She was wearing her painting smock and old jeans. She looked slightly harassed as she saw him standing there.
He grinned. “I hope I’m not too late. You did say any time after eight would be okay.”
“Oh, God, Tim, I’m sorry, I forgot. Come in, please.” She dragged the door wider. “I never meant you to go to so much trouble. When I asked you to do the catalogue, I didn’t realize you were going abroad.”
“It’s no trouble, Judy. You put quite a challenge to me. A catalogue of your inner thoughts, not just reproductions of your paintings. How could any photographer resist the temptation to photograph a lady’s inner thoughts!”
She laughed. “I shall obviously have to censor them heavily.” She closed the door behind him. “Can I get you a beer or something?”
Tim shook his head. “I think I’d rather get on. I want to look at the work that’s going to the gallery in Paris and the studio, and I want to look at you.” He smiled at her impishly. “You realize a lot of this will rely on the processing and I’m going to have to leave that to George, but he’ll do it well. I think you’ll be pleased with what he produces.” He put down the bag and pulled it open. “First I want a picture of you in front of that sunset before it fades.”
The back window of the studio was ablaze with crimson and orange. Judy glanced at it. “I’ll change—”
“No! Like that. Jeans, paint stains, everything.” He caught her shoulders and propelled her toward the window, turning her in profile to the light. “That’s it. You’ll be almost totally in silhouette. Just the slightest aura of color around your face and those streaks of red on your shirt. They look like overspill from the clouds.”
He photographed her dozens of times against the window as the light faded to gold and then to green, then
at last he turned his attention to the pictures. One by one she brought them forward into the strong studio lights.
“Are you really leaving tomorrow?” She studied his thin, tired face as he raised the light meter in front of a huge, unframed canvas.
He nodded. “Tomorrow evening.”
“And you’ll be gone months?”
“At least three.” He squinted through the viewfinder and then retreated several paces before clicking the shutter.
“Are you going to see Jo before you go?”
He was suddenly very still. “I don’t know. Probably not.” He stepped away from the camera and helped her replace the canvas against the wall. “I had thought I might call in on my way back from here, but I’m not sure. Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t see her again.”
Judy raised an eyebrow. “You made that sound very final.”
Tim gave a harsh laugh. “Did I?” He helped her lift the next picture onto the easel. “Jo has plenty to occupy her without me intruding. I want you in this one, standing facing the painting, that’s it, back to the camera with your shadow cutting across that line of color.”
“It’s only a catalogue, Tim. You’re turning it into a work of art—”
“If you’d wanted anything less you’d have asked your boyfriend to bring his Brownie,” he retorted.
Judy colored. “My boyfriend?”
“Is Pete Leveson not the latest contender for the title?”
Judy stuck her hands in the seat pockets of her jeans. “I don’t know.” She sounded suddenly lost. “I like him a lot.”
“Enough anyway to dish the dirt on your ex-lovers into his lap.”
“Why not?” she flared suddenly. “Nick hasn’t been exactly nice to me. I hope he rots in hell!”
Tim laughed wryly. “I think he’s been doing that, Judy,” he said.
***
The king rode out of Bristol three days later, leaving his prisoners behind in the custody of the royal constable. They were allowed the use of several rooms in the tower and their babies and the nurses were lodged on the floor above them, but nothing hid the fact that there were guards at the doors of the lower rooms and two men on duty always at the door out into the ward.
Lady of Hay Page 72