Twice Royal Lady Read online

  At last it was all over. The choir sang a joyful anthem. Henry rose and gave her his hand and together they walked in procession down the aisle. Then they were out in the sunshine and the streets were lined with cheering people.

  The following day Sister Agnes came to her with tears in her eyes. ‘My lady, I come to bid you farewell.’

  ‘What do you mean? Where are you going?’

  ‘I am going back to the convent, madam.’

  ‘To England?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You can’t! I want you here.’

  ‘My lady, it is the King’s command. All your English attendants are to leave.’

  ‘All of you?’

  ‘Yes, madam.’

  ‘But I shall be all alone.’

  ‘No! You already have your German ladies, your pages and knights. You will soon find that you are among friends.’

  She stamped her foot. ‘I don’t care about them. I want you here. I forbid you to go.’

  ‘We must. It is the King’s command.’

  ‘I shall speak to the King. I shall tell him he can’t send you away. He has to do as I ask.’

  She turned and ran from the room. At the entrance to the King’s apartments, a chamberlain forestalled her. She tried to push him aside.

  ‘Let me pass! I am the Queen! I want to see the King.’

  ‘You Grace, forgive me. The King is not here. He has gone hunting.’

  Tears rose in her throat. ‘But I need to talk to him.’

  ‘Later, madam. When he returns I am sure he will be happy to listen to you.’

  ‘But I need to talk to him now!’

  Lord Roger came quickly along the corridor. ‘My lady, you must come back to your own rooms. Your people are waiting to take their leave.’

  ‘No! They are not to go. I won’t let them.’

  He looked down at her kindly but shook his head. ‘We have to obey the King’s command. He wishes you to be attended only by his own people, so that you will learn more quickly to speak his language and understand the customs of the country.’

  ‘Are you going too?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. I must. Now, come with me, please, and say goodbye.’

  They came in one by one to kiss her hand, the servants and attendants who were sent with her from England. Agnes was the last. There were tears in her eyes as she bent to kiss her cheek, but Matilda turned her face away. ‘I am a queen,’ she told herself, ‘and queens don’t cry. Let them all go! I can manage without them.’

  Later, she watched from the window as they mounted horses or mules and rode away. The last link with England was broken.

  2

  WORMS, JANUARY 1114

  Matilda looked at her reflection in the polished bronze mirror and smoothed the white linen of the close-fitting gown over her hips. The body she saw in the mirror seemed unfamiliar. There were new curves and she could see the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. Magda, her waiting woman, slipped the overgown over her head and arranged its folds. It was dyed a deep rosy purple, a colour she knew was called mazereon, and elaborately embroidered with gold thread. Over that, Magda draped a robe of fine wool the colour of mulberries. It, too, was embroidered with gold and the edges were trimmed with grey fur. Finally, she covered her hair with a veil of fine white linen. Matilda noticed that her hair was different, too. When she was very young it was fair, but now it had darkened to the colour of ripe hazelnuts.

  Her stomach was churning with a mixture of excite-ment and trepidation in equal measure. She was twelve years old, and today was her wedding day. There were questions she needed answers to but no one to ask. She said, ‘Am I … will he … will the King be pleased with me?’

  Magda patted her arm. ‘Never fear, my lady. No man could want a more beautiful bride.’

  It was not what she really needed to ask, but she knew no way of framing the question. So she took refuge in petulance. ‘This veil doesn’t feel right. I’m afraid it will slip.’

  Magda clicked her tongue. ‘Leave it be, my lady. The crown will hold it in place.’

  One of her ladies-in-waiting opened the door of the chamber. ‘Your Grace, they are ready below. It is time to leave.’

  ‘Very well. Bring me the crown.’

  A page entered, bearing the crown on a velvet cushion. He knelt before her and she took it and placed it on her head. It fitted better now and she was more used to the weight. She moved into the ante-chamber, where her ladies sank into deep curtseys, and two more pages took up the trailing hem of her gown. They descended the staircase and crossed the great hall to where the procession was waiting at the foot of the steps. Her household knights were already mounted, except for the youngest, whose name was Drogo, a quiet, fair-haired young man, more thoughtful than the others. He waited by the bridle of a pure white palfrey, whose saddle and bridle were of scarlet leather ornamented with gold. He knelt as she approached and looked up at her with a smile.

  ‘I wish you joy, Your Grace.’

  He made a stirrup of his clasped hands, she put her foot into it and he lifted her effortlessly into the saddle. Her master of horse gave a signal and the procession moved off.

  The streets of the town were crowded. Men lifted children onto their shoulders to see her pass; women hung out of windows and threw flowers into her path. She smiled and nodded to left and right. In the course of more than three years she had learned what was required of a queen.

  She had learned much more than this. Since her coronation she had lived in the city of Trier on the River Moselle, where the cathedral was famous for its schools. Students came from all over France and Germany to learn there and her education continued to be overseen by Archbishop Bruno, one of the most learned men in the kingdom. German was now her first language, but she could still read and speak the Norman French she was brought up with, and her Latin was fluent. More importantly, she had been instructed in the complex problems that beset her future husband’s realm and in particular the conflict that existed between him and the Pope over church policy. Henry had spent most of those three intervening years in Italy, attempting to come to some agreement with the Pontiff.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said once to Bruno. ‘Why is the Holy Father angry with the King?’

  Bruno sighed. ‘It is complicated, my lady. Let me try to explain. Here in Germany it is the custom to elect our bishops, but the King has been able to exert considerable influence over the choice. Then, once the election has taken place, it is the King who invests the bishop with the symbols of his office, the ring and the crozier, and he expects the bishop to do homage and swear fealty to him in return for the lands he holds. The Pope believes that this is a matter for the Church, not the King, and the investiture should be performed by himself or by a papal legate. His Grace your husband refuses to give up the privilege.’

  ‘But if the bishop holds lands from the King,’ she said, ‘surely he must swear fealty. Otherwise he would be like a prince in his own little kingdom and the King would have no authority.’

  ‘It is a question of priority. Which should come first, the bishop’s duty to the King, or his duty to God? There are those who believe, myself among them, that duty to God must always take precedence. ‘

  She had thought about this for some time and then interrupted her lesson to say, ‘In the Bible, we are told that when the Pharisees showed Jesus a coin with Caesar’s head on it and asked Him if it was right to pay taxes, he answered that they should render unto Caesar the things that were Caesar’s and to God things that were God’s. Isn’t that the answer to the problem between the King and the Pope?’

  Bruno had looked at her with a smile of surprise and a shake of his head. ‘Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings! You are wise beyond your years, madam. But I fear the solution is not as simple as it sounds.’

  Not long afterwards they heard that Henry had taken the Pope and all his attendant prelates prisoner at Ponte Mammolo and forced His Holiness to concede his right to
continue to invest his bishops with the ring and crozier, and to crown him Holy Roman Emperor. But as soon as the Pope was free again he rescinded the permission and excommunicated Henry. It was too late, however, to undo the coronation.

  But that was not what she was thinking of as she rode towards the cathedral. She might be a queen and an empress; more importantly she was now a woman. She had had her first bleeding and the time had come for her marriage to Henry to be consummated. She had seen little of him since her coronation. He was with her at Bamberg where they celebrated Christmas a few days earlier, but though she took her place beside him during the feasting they were never alone. He was still a stranger to her and she dreaded what would happen when the ceremony was over.

  The cathedral was packed. Dukes jostled for position with archbishops; bishops rubbed shoulders with counts; lesser members of the nobility squeezed themselves behind pillars and into corners. From the great west door she could see that the King was already enthroned before the altar. Archbishop Bruno led the procession that conducted her down the long aisle to his side. Henry rose and turned to look at her and she was relieved to see that he seemed satisfied, but there was something else in the look that disturbed her. The service proceeded, but she could not focus her mind on it. She knew that she should be praying fervently for the success of her marriage, but it felt as if it was all part of a dream. She spoke her vows automatically. The Archbishop of Worms pronounced a blessing, the choir sang a psalm, and then it was over and Henry turned to face the congregation and offered her his hand. She placed her own on it and the contact sent a quiver through her nerves so that she almost withdrew it, but the people were waiting and the two archbishops were leading the way down the aisle. She walked beside her husband out of the cathedral and into the winter sunshine and the cheering crowds in the square.

  Henry had ordained that the celebrations should be the most magnificent in living memory. In the great hall of his castle, hundreds of noblemen and ladies squeezed onto the benches that lined the long tables. In the places of honour there were five archbishops, thirty bishops and five dukes. Men and women of lesser rank crowded into the gallery overlooking the hall to watch. To a fanfare of trumpets, the feast began. Bowls of rich broth were followed by quails’ eggs and fish with a spicy sauce called Egerdouce. It was sixteen years since Count Stephen of Blois returned from the Holy Land – returned in disgrace, branded a coward by his own wife for abandoning the siege of Antioch – but nevertheless bringing with him tales of the exotic food served at the court of the Emperor Alexios in Constantinople. Since then he had been followed by other lords and knights, returning victorious from the conquest of Jerusalem, bringing in their train merchants with stocks of precious spices. Now every nobleman wished to have a cook who understood the use of these spices, and Henry was not to be outdone. Next came goose, with a sauce flavoured with nutmeg and cinnamon, and pheasants with ginger. After these had been consumed there was another fanfare and the entremets were carried in shoulder high by a relay of serving men. Peacocks and swans in full plumage, with gilded beaks and wearing crowns upon their heads, were processed around the hall, to murmurs of amazement. Great pies came next, stuffed with all sorts of game and poultry, their crusts elaborately sculpted to look like castles and gilded with egg yolks and saffron and sprinkled with sugar-coated caraway seeds. With them came jellies in jewel-bright colours, custards and blancmanges. When these had been consumed the climax of the feast was reached as the ‘subtlety’ was paraded round the room. It was a fantastic confection of sugar and marzipan made to look like a giant marriage bed garlanded with roses. Duly admired, it was broken up and shared among the guests. The feasting concluded with sweetmeats and hippocras, wine sweetened with honey and flavoured with spices.

  She was used to feasts now, albeit not quite as elaborate as this one. She tasted tiny portions of each dish put before her and dispatched them to carefully chosen guests. She no longer relied on Henry or Bruno to tell her who should be favoured in this way. Over the months she had observed the members of Henry’s court carefully. She knew who the loyal retainers were, who should be rewarded, and who the waverers were, who might respond to flattery. As the meal progressed she was aware that Henry was watching and after a while he leant towards her.

  ‘You have learned well, my lady. I am impressed.’

  She felt herself blush and lowered her eyes.

  During the meal minstrels played and troubadours wandered the hall, improvising songs to flatter the ladies. Between each course, tumblers and jugglers performed and clowns recited riddles and told jokes. She tried to keep her mind on their antics, to blot out the thought of what must happen later. The guests were on their best behaviour. There was no shouting or brawling, but as the hippocras circulated there was more laughter and the jokes became bawdy. They were not intended for her to hear, and most of them she did not understand, but the expressions on the faces frightened her.

  At last Henry rose to his feet and she knew she must do likewise. She had drunk more wine than usual and her legs felt unsteady. Two processions formed, men in one, women in the other with her at the centre, and they left the hall to the sound of cheers and suggestive comments. Swept along by her companions, she was conducted to the private apartments above and into a room dominated by a huge double bed. It was bright with wax candles and perfumed with frankincense and when the sheets were turned back she saw that the mattress was sprinkled with rose petals. Her ladies-in-waiting crowded round her, giggling, and helped her to undress and put on her a nightgown of linen so fine it was almost transparent. She longed to ask the questions that had been churning over and over in her brain, but she could not find the words. They were saying things like, ‘Oh, the King has got a treat in store for him! A pretty little thing like you,’ and, ‘You’re a lucky girl, with such a fine strong man for a husband. He’ll take some satisfying, I warrant! You won’t get much sleep tonight!’

  Finally, they put her into bed and snuffed out most of the candles. In desperation she grasped the hand of one, Lady Anne, and begged, ‘Don’t leave me! Stay a little while.’

  Anne giggled and said, ‘I don’t think His Grace would be very pleased to find me here!’ Then she sobered and squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t worry. It will all be over soon.’

  They left and she lay flat on her back, with her arms to her sides, rigid with fear. Brought up by nuns and educated by celibate clerics, there had been no one to tell her what to expect. She had seen the dogs that roamed the castle, of course, but she told herself that surely it could not be like that between men and women. She could hear men’s voices approaching, singing and laughing. Then the door opened and Henry came in. He stood looking at her for a moment, then he snuffed out the last candles so that the room was lit only by the fire in the hearth. He came to the side of the bed and threw off the heavy furred robe, which was all he was wearing. She had never seen a naked man before and the sight of his erection terrified her. She shut her eyes, and felt the bed shift under his weight.

  ‘Come!’ he said. ‘It is no good pretending to be asleep.’

  She opened her eyes again and found him looking down at her. His eyes glittered in the firelight.

  He nodded. ‘Well, madam? Shall we go to it?’

  He grasped the hem of her nightgown and pulled it up to her throat. Then he pushed back the blankets and she was mortified at the realization that he was looking at her naked body. He put his hand between her thighs and pushed her legs apart. Then he lowered himself onto her and she smelt his breath, heavy with wine, and his sweat. His weight seemed to crush the life out of her. Then the pain came, as if her body was being split open. He thrust into her and the pain was worse. She would have cried out but she did not have the breath. He grunted and thrust, again and again, and then at last he gave a groan and was still. For a long moment she wondered if he was going to lie on her all night and thought that if he did she would be dead by morning. Then he rolled off, got out of bed, farted, reached under the b
ed for a pot and pissed noisily into it. Finished, he picked up his robe and turned to look at her.

  ‘I wish you good night, my lady.’ And with that he lumbered across to the door and disappeared into the next room.

  For a long time she lay without moving, fearing that he would come back. Then she began to weep, but silently. She wanted no one to come in and ask her what the matter was. Her whole body hurt and there was a wetness between her legs that she was afraid to investigate. Eventually she cried herself to sleep.

  In the morning Magda came to her. ‘Well, my lady?’ she said cheerfully. ‘How is the new bride this morning?’

  Suddenly Matilda was ashamed, ashamed of her ignorance, of her tears. It must be the same for all women, she thought, so she would not let anyone see her distress. She summoned her pride and said, ‘Well enough, I thank you.’ Then Magda pulled back the bedclothes and her courage deserted her. She screamed. ‘Look! What has he done to me?’

  There was blood on the sheet.

  Magda laughed. ‘That’s nothing to worry about. That is your badge of honour. It will be shown to the court to prove that you were a virgin. Now, get up and let me wash you.’

  Trembling, she asked, ‘Where is the King?’

  ‘Gone hunting.’

  That was some comfort. A new thought came to her. She understood that she was expected to give Henry an heir. Perhaps what happened last night need not be repeated. She asked, ‘Am I with child now?’

  Magda laughed again. ‘Bless you, madam! It’s too soon to tell. That must be as God wills, but we shall not know for a week or two yet.’

  That night she knelt at the end of her bed and prayed that something would happen to keep Henry away. It seemed her prayers were answered, for though she lay awake and trembling for a long time he did not come. He did not come the next night, or the next. She was almost beginning to believe that he had no intention of repeating the act she dreaded, when the door to the connecting room opened and he came in. This time she knew what to expect. She turned her face away and gritted her teeth and the pain was less, though she was still not healed. He thrust and thrust, then came with a roar and pulled himself out of her.