Twice Royal Lady Read online

  If you were to show yourself I do not doubt that the people would rally to you, and I should be glad to do what little I can to help. You will know well the weak position of a widow who has not produced a child to inherit her husband’s powers. I have retired to the convent of Wilton Abbey, but I still retain the lands and properties granted to me by your father and I am willing to use their revenues to help your cause. But you must be here. Without your presence the usurper will consolidate his gains and we shall be unable to unseat him.

  I long to embrace you as my friend, my daughter as the law would have it, and my queen.

  Geoffrey was still occupied in Anjou. There was nothing she could do in response to this plea.

  She had one consolation. On 22 July she gave birth to a third son and named him William, after his illustrious grandfather. This birth was easier and she was convinced that this was due to the intercession of the Holy Mother, to whom she had prayed fervently. She wanted to make a thank offering, but for some days she could not decide on an appropriate gesture. During her lying-in, her mind returned to the child she had lost so many years ago in Italy and that necessarily brought back memories of Drogo. Norbert had told her that he had become one of his followers, so she assumed he was at the monastery of Premontré. Slowly an idea grew in her mind. She would found a new abbey on land she held nearby in the forest of Gouffern, and who better than Drogo to be its first abbot. Norbert, she knew, was dead and his place as abbot had been taken by Hugh, who was the chaplain who accompanied her on her journey to Utrecht for her betrothal to the emperor. She called her secretary and composed a letter to him. She asked him to send some monks to form the nucleus of a new foundation, which she would endow, and suggested Drogo as a suitable man to take charge of it. She remembered Hugh well, and felt sure that he would comply with her wishes. The letter giving his assent arrived quickly and she gave orders for building to begin.

  She was up and about the normal business of the household when her steward informed her that a monk by the name of Brother Drogo wished to be admitted to her presence. She had intended the new abbey as a thank offering to God, and some form of reparation to Drogo for the destruction of his career as a knight in the emperor’s service. It had not occurred to her – or perhaps, she thought afterwards, she deliberately ignored the possibility – that it would provoke a meeting between them. Her heart began to thump and for a moment she considered telling the steward that she was not available. But that would be the ultimate betrayal. She gave orders for him to be brought in and dismissed her attendants.

  He stood before her, his eyes cast down and his hands hidden in the sleeves of his white robe. She looked at him and felt a physical shock. She would not have recognized him. He was very thin. His cheeks were hollow and the hair that remained around his tonsure was sparse. She remembered that the Premonstratensian order imposed a life of great austerity.

  Her throat was dry and it was a struggle to speak. ‘Welcome. I trust you are in good health.’

  His eyes flickered up to hers briefly. ‘I am, my lady. I pray that the same is true for you.’

  ‘I am well enough. You will know that I have recently given birth to a son.’ This time his gaze held hers for a fraction longer and she knew that he was thinking of the child that might have been theirs. She went on, ‘I wish to make a thank offering to the Virgin for my safe delivery. It is for that reason that I wish to endow a new foundation for your order.’

  His tone was formal, without emotion. ‘It is a noble enterprise and one worthy of your great piety. I come to thank you on behalf of my community.’

  ‘You must know, too, that my father has recently died and that the throne that should be mine has been usurped by my cousin. I hope to win God’s favour to secure a happy enterprise in my struggle to regain it.’

  ‘You may be assured, madam, that our prayers will be offered daily to that end.’

  ‘I wish you also to pray for the soul of my father and for the well-being of my three sons.’

  ‘All these will be remembered every time we pray, in gratitude for your bounty.’

  They were both silent for a moment. She sought for some way of prolonging the conversation. ‘I hope you have found everything in order in your new home.’

  ‘We have all that we could wish for. Your grace has made ample provision.’

  ‘If there is anything else, do not hesitate to ask.’

  ‘There is nothing more. As you know, we live very simply.’

  She hesitated and then rose to her feet. ‘Will you bless me before you go?’

  There was a fractional hesitation. Was he remembering, and asking himself whether either of them had any right to ask blessing from the other? Then his priestly vocation reasserted itself. ‘Assuredly.’

  She knelt and felt his hand on her head, the touch so light as to be almost imperceptible. He intoned the words of the blessing and she stood up.

  ‘If that is all, my lady…?’

  ‘That is all.’

  He made a slight bow and moved towards the door. With a rising surge of emotion she added, ‘God go with you, Drogo.’

  He turned and met her eyes properly for the first time. ‘And the blessing of God remain with you, my lady.’

  Then he was gone.

  In September Geoffrey began to implement his plan of reducing the Norman strongholds one by one, until all the lords decided to submit and accept him as duke. He had found new allies, including the powerful Duke William of Aquitaine. He captured the city of Carrouges and advanced towards Lisieux, but here he met with determined resistance in the shape of an army led by Waleran of Meulan, one of the Beaumont twins, who were leading supporters of Stephen. At the beginning of October a messenger galloped into the courtyard of Argentan Castle and dropped to his knees in front of Matilda.

  ‘My lady, I bring word from Lord Geoffrey. He is in dire need of support. He is besieging the castle of Le Sap, but his men are sick and he fears he may have to retreat unless help comes. He begs you to bring your knights to his assistance.’

  Her spirits sank at the summons. She had barely recovered from William’s birth and the prospect of a long ride through hostile territory was daunting. She sent for Alexander de Bohun, however, and ordered him to marshal her forces. The next morning she rode out at the head of her household knights and men-at-arms. Even before they came in sight of Geoffrey’s camp, their nostrils were assailed by a terrible stench and as they rode in the reason became apparent. Men were lying between the tents, helpless and groaning, and the smell of excrement was overwhelming.

  Alexander looked at her grimly. ‘The bloody flux. I feared as much.’

  Beyond the camp they could see that the walls of the castle had been breached and there was fighting going on amongst the rubble, but only a small force appeared to be engaged.

  ‘It looks as if the main work is over,’ Alexander commented. ‘Our forces are victorious and what remains is just a mopping-up exercise.’

  ‘I pray you are right,’ she responded. ‘It is clear that most of the men are in no condition to fight.’

  They rode on towards the tent where Geoffrey’s standard was flying, but as they reached it they heard a confused commotion and a small group came running towards them from the direction of the castle walls. They were carrying someone on a makeshift litter. One of them carried a helmet and her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the sprig of broom which Geoffrey still used as his emblem. She leapt down from her horse and met them as they reached the tent. Geoffrey was white with pain, his teeth clenched to choke down moans he could not quite suppress. One of his feet was bare and blood was pulsing from a gaping wound.

  ‘What happened?’ She caught his squire by the sleeve.

  ‘A javelin, my lady,’ the boy panted. ‘Thrown from the battlements. It pierced his shoe and went right through his foot.’ He turned aside, pressing his hand over his mouth as if about to vomit.

  They were waiting for her to take command. ‘Carr
y him into his tent. Fetch the surgeon. Fetch clean water and bandages.’

  It was obvious from the smell that Geoffrey had not only been wounded but had succumbed to the sickness laying waste his army. His attendants laid him on the bed and begin to strip him of his filthy clothing. She looked at him and felt only revulsion. He was sobbing and swearing, all his charm and courage gone. She turned away and went to the entrance of the tent to greet the surgeon.

  There was a stir amongst the crowd around the tent and William of Aquitaine pushed his way through. She had met him briefly, when he passed through Argentan to join Geoffrey.

  ‘Praise God you are here, madam. Our case was perilous before but now it is a hundred times worse.’

  ‘Perilous, sir? It seemed to me as we rode in that the castle had been taken.’

  ‘Taken, yes, but a few of the garrison are still holding out in the keep. It was one of them who threw the javelin that wounded Lord Geoffrey. How does he?’

  The last question was addressed to the surgeon, who looked up briefly. ‘If we can stop the blood he will do well enough.’

  ‘Do what you can. He must be ready to travel by morning.’

  ‘Travel?’ she demanded. ‘Travel where?’

  ‘Away from here, back to your own land. Waleran de Meulan is hot on our heels and we are in no condition to withstand another battle.’

  ‘I saw that. Is it the flux?’

  ‘Yes, and more than half the men are suffering from it. It is as much as they can do to stand, let alone fight.’

  ‘I cannot order the retreat without my husband’s agreement. Summon all the captains to a council. We will meet with them as soon as the surgeon has finished here.’ She turned back to the bed. ‘Are you succeeding?’

  ‘I have washed the wound with wine and packed it. I will bandage it and we must hope that it is enough to stop the bleeding. I will prepare a draft for my lord to ease the pain.’

  ‘No poppy!’ Geoffrey ground the words through a clenched jaw. ‘I must stay alert. Our position is dangerous.’

  She stooped over him. ‘Take the draft. I am here, with William and your other captains. If you agree we must withdraw, I can see that it is done in good order – as far as is possible.’

  He hesitated and then nodded. ‘But not until I have spoken to them. They must know the order comes from me.’

  The surgeon sent his apprentice to fetch the necessary ingredients and while they waited she asked, ‘What has brought about this terrible sickness among the men?’

  He pursed his lips. ‘It is ever thus with an army in the field of battle. The men must live off the land. The crops have been devastated by the fighting so all that is left is the livestock – sheep, cattle, horses, dogs if there is nothing else. The men have no skill at cooking, and they will not wait to satisfy their hunger, so the meat is eaten half cooked, without bread or salt. The human stomach cannot tolerate such a diet for long.’

  The captains of the army assembled and it was quickly agreed that a retreat was the only option. Geoffrey was in no condition to give orders by that time, but they accepted that Matilda spoke for him. Before dawn next day tents were struck and wagons loaded and the army straggled out of camp and headed south towards Argentan. Matilda gave instructions for her knights to form a rearguard, but she rode beside the litter in which her husband was carried. In spite of the surgeon’s draft he could not suppress his groans and he was so pale that she feared for his life. It was an ignominious end to the campaign. Many of the men were in such dire straits that they had removed their braies and rolled their hose down to their ankles to give free passage to the trickle of filth, and their track was marked by a trail of dung, as if a herd of cattle had passed that way. Those that were too weak to walk were either carried by their stronger companions or left by the wayside. They could expect little mercy from the local inhabitants, for the Angevins had made themselves hated all through the region. Stories of atrocities abounded and they were accused of desecrating churches and raping nuns. William assured her that Geoffrey issued an edict threatening death to anyone convicted of such horrors, but the rumours still persisted.

  They forded the River Don and as they climbed the rising ground on the far side she heard shouts and the clash of swords behind her. She cantered back to where she could look down on the river and saw a contingent of Norman knights in fierce conflict with her own men. The baggage train was still making its cumbersome way across the ford and the Normans were attempting to capture it. Already one of the carts had been diverted and dragged back to the far side of the river, but Alexander’s knights were defending vigorously. With the horses fetlock deep in the water, there was vicious hand-to-hand fighting going on. She dismounted and grabbed the crossbow which she carried hooked to the pommel of her saddle, aimed and fired. A Norman clutching the bridle of one of the carthorses cried out and slumped backwards into the river. She reloaded and fired again and another Norman fell off his horse. Her knights took fresh heart and began to drive the remaining opponents back, until suddenly the Normans broke and rode for their own side of the river. Some of her own men started in pursuit but Alexander ordered them back, knowing they could be riding into an ambush. The drivers of the baggage carts whipped their horses up the bank towards her and Alexander led his men after them.

  When he reached her he said, ‘I am sorry, my lady. They took us by surprise. They were laying in wait in the shelter of that band of willows. They have taken one wagon. Do you want me to take the men and try to recover it?’

  ‘No. You are needed here to protect the main force against further attacks. Do you know what was in the wagon they have stolen?’

  He made a wry grimace. ‘I fear it was the one containing my lord’s state robes and jewels.’

  She almost laughed. It seemed a fitting conclusion to the whole disastrous episode.

  11

  ARGENTAN, 1136-37

  By the summer’s end they were back in Argentan and there was nothing more to be done but wait out the winter and prepare for the next campaign.

  As the months passed, Matilda’s life began to settle into a routine. Argentan was a pleasant enough place to live. It was a rich city, and well defended by solid walls with sixteen towers, within which the castle itself was surrounded by its own battlements. She knew it well. It was a favourite with Henry because of the skill of its armourers, and he had settled his personal hauberk makers on lands in the vicinity. The Norman population accepted her as their natural suzeraine and once Geoffrey’s army had been dispersed for the winter there were no grounds for dispute. She resumed her usual duties, overseeing the administration of the area, while Geoffrey concerned himself with affairs in his own county. There were days when she began to think that perhaps life as the Countess of Anjou and Normandy was sufficient and the prospect of being Queen of England seemed a distant dream.

  Her principal care was for her three boys, and particularly for Henry. He was now a sturdy 4-year-old, active and strong willed, in need of strict discipline. She undertook his education herself, determined that he should learn to be a scholar as well as a soldier, like his grandfather. He was intelligent but impatient, and it was hard to keep him at his books for long. When he was a little older she would employ a schoolmaster, but for now his lessons provided a focus for her own active mind. His other training she handed over to her master-of-horse and her master-at-arms and both reported him an apt pupil. She had less interest in the other two. William was just a baby and could be left in the charge of his wet nurse. It was Geoffrey, the middle son, whose birth nearly cost her her life, whom she found it hardest to care for. He was a fretful, sickly child, constantly whining and given to violent tantrums. In the end she decided that he should be sent away to be reared in another noble household and he went to Saumur to live with the Goscelin family, long-time allies of the counts of Anjou.

  She watched over the rest of her household, too, and took a particular interest in the young men who came to train with her knights.
They were landless boys for the most part, second and third sons, whose only hope of preferment was through their prowess at arms. She watched them in the tilt yard and when she noticed any who seemed to have potential she offered them a place in her entourage, with the promise that if they proved worthy she would make them knights.

  With the arrival of spring Geoffrey’s spies reported that Stephen had landed in Normandy with a large force. Geoffrey immediately summoned all his vassals for a new campaign, determined to put together an army to equal his rival’s. While he waited for them to gather they heard further news. Stephen had come to an agreement with Louis of France to accept him as Duke of Normandy, and his son Eustace had done homage to Louis in his father’s stead. Also, he had reconciled himself with his brother Theobald, thus neutralizing a possible threat from Blois.

  Worse news followed.

  ‘That turncoat William of Aquitaine has gone over to France. He has even betrothed his daughter Eleanor to that milksop of a son of Louis.’

  ‘That is ill news, indeed,’ she said, but could not resist adding with a wry smile, ‘Young Louis may end up regretting the match. From what I hear Eleanor is not only so beautiful that she turns every man’s head, but a very strong-minded young woman. He will have his hands full.’