Twice Royal Lady Read online

  He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. ‘Is this your own desire, or has some priest urged you to it?’

  She swallowed and responded with an effort, ‘It is my own wish, sir.’

  ‘Then your wish shall be fulfilled.’ To her alarm he seized her hand and pulled her to her feet. All round the great hall conversation ceased and men rose in consternation. It was against all custom for the King to leave in the middle of the feast.

  He waved them back into their seats. ‘Eat, my friends, drink and take your ease. I have more pressing business to attend to.’

  He almost dragged her out of the hall and up to his own bedchamber. His squires were at his heels, ready to attend to his needs, but he dismissed them and turned to her.

  ‘So, at last you come to understand your duty as a wife as well as a queen. Let us see how well you can fulfil it.’

  She had schooled herself to this. She must not seem too eager. He must believe that she was still without experience. But she must make sure that the act is accomplished. If she seemed unwilling, he might yet decide that there was more pleasure to be found elsewhere. As his fingers fumbled with the laces of her dress, it was not hard to seem shy, and when he had undressed her to her shift she clasped her hands across her breasts in a gesture of defence that he saw as modesty.

  ‘Come now, there is naught to be ashamed of. We are man and wife and such shame has no place between us.’

  He picked her up bodily and carried her to the bed and then there was no need for pretence, for he was oblivious. He was not so brutal as she remembered, but he did not, as Drogo had always done, take pains to arouse her before he entered. Her gasp of pain was not simulated but, mercifully, he came quickly and it was all over. Afterwards, instead of rolling off her and getting up, he propped himself on his elbows and looked down into her face.

  ‘So, my queen, now we are truly one. I have waited a long time for this day. The pity is, we have only a few days before I must leave you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered breathlessly, ‘it is unfortunate. But at least you may leave me with a lasting memento.’

  He laughed aloud. ‘Pray God it be so! But I fear one night may not be enough.’

  It was not just the one night. He came to her bed the next night and the next, until she pretended exhaustion and begged a night of uninterrupted rest. That evening she made sure that his wine cup was kept filled and when he eventually staggered off to bed she was fairly sure that she was safe for the time being. As soon as the castle had settled to sleep, Magda brought Drogo to her bedchamber. He was deathly pale and the look in his eyes reminded her of a trapped animal.

  ‘The King has been with you, these last nights. Has he forced himself upon you?’

  ‘No. It was at my wish.’

  ‘Why? Magda said you have to tell me something. What has happened?’

  ‘Can you not guess?’ She was furious with him for his failure to understand. ‘I am with child!’

  He stepped back as if she had struck him. ‘With child? My child?’

  ‘Whose else?’

  ‘What shall we do? If the King finds out …’

  ‘Do you not understand yet? That is why I had to persuade him to lie with me.’

  ‘You will pass the child off as his?’

  ‘What else can I do?’

  He backed away from her, shaking his head. ‘He will never be deceived. The child will not resemble him.’

  ‘We must pray that it resembles me. Henry is desperate for an heir. If it is a boy, he will be quick to acknowledge it.’ She moved to him and grabbed his arm. ‘Do you not see? It is our only chance. And with the King away, we can have more time together.’

  He pulled free of her. ‘No! We have sinned most grievously. This is God’s punishment. I cannot lie with you while you are with child. The Church forbids it. And I can never claim the child as my own. I shall go away. I must find somewhere where I can repent and try to expiate my sin.’

  ‘No!’ She flung herself at him, clutching him round the neck. ‘You cannot leave me! How can I bear this on my own?’

  ‘That will be your punishment. You will bear the child and for the rest of your life you will have to pretend that it is Henry’s. How could I stand by and watch that? I can have no part in it.’ He detached her grip and moved to the door. ‘Farewell. By morning I shall be gone.’

  ‘No! No!’ she sobbed, stretching out her arms to him, but the door opened and closed again and she was alone.

  Henry departed for Germany and Matilda kept to her room, giving out that she was ill. It was not far from the truth, since she continued to suffer violent bouts of vomiting. She let it be known that Drogo had been given leave to return to Germany with the King, to visit his mother who was ailing. No one could tell her where he really was.

  As the days lengthened her sickness eased and she began to resume her duties. Letters were dispatched to Henry to tell him that his wife was expecting their child, and messages came back which assured her of her husband’s delight in the news. At night, she continued to weep secretly, desolate in the absence of Drogo, but by day she forced herself to seem content in the expectation of the birth, and little by little, as the child grew, she began to find comfort in the thought that she carried some remembrance of their love.

  It was midsummer when a messenger arrived from England and sought a private audience. His face was grave and she felt a tremor of fear.

  ‘Well? What news do you have for me?’

  ‘Madam, I fear I bring sad tidings. Your lady mother is dead.’

  ‘Dead! When?’

  ‘In May, madam. I am sorry that the news has not reached you before, but the King your father is campaigning in Normandy and it took some time for word to reach him. Then messages were sent first to Germany. It was not understood that you had remained here, rather than travelling with your husband.’ His eyes dropped to her protruding belly. ‘I see now that it would not have been wise for you to attempt the journey. Please believe me that I am greatly saddened to be the one to bring you such distressing news.’

  She rose and walked away to gaze out of the window. She could hardly remember her mother but she recalled her as a beneficent presence in her childhood. Since she was sent to Germany there had been regular letters assuring her of her mother’s continuing concern and prayers for the welfare of her soul. She knew that she could never have confessed her sin to the woman many regarded as a saint, but there had been some comfort in the thought that one pure soul was interceding for her. Drogo had spoken of God’s punishment. Suddenly she found herself asking if this was the beginning. She dismissed the messenger without looking at him and went up to her bedchamber. There she threw herself down on the bed and gave way to a storm of weeping.

  Abruptly, the sobs gave way to cries of pain and Magda, who had hastened to her mistress’s side, caught her arm in alarm.

  ‘What ails you? Madam? Where does it hurt?’

  ‘My belly … the child … argh! What is happening?’

  Magda pulled up her skirts and cried out in shock. The coverlet was drenched in blood. She ran to the door and shouted to one of the waiting women. ‘The midwife! Fetch the midwife! Hurry!’

  By the time the midwife arrived an object which resembled a skinned rabbit had been hastily swathed in a towel and carried away. Matilda lay ashen faced and shivering but she was no longer weeping.

  Magda stooped over her, wiping her face with a damp cloth. ‘Rest now, my lady. It’s all over.’

  ‘It is dead, is it not?’

  ‘Yes, madam. So small, it could not live. But take comfort. There will be others.’

  She moistened dry lips. ‘No. It is God’s judgement on me. I have sinned and I am justly punished.’

  5

  GERMANY, 1119-25

  Matilda rode into Augsburg at the head of a splendid entourage and was greeted with acclaim by the citizens who lined the streets. Her reputation had preceded her and they knew her as ‘good Queen
Matilda’, the pious ruler who dealt justly with high and low. But this was not the high-spirited girl who had ridden out of the city with her husband four years earlier. This was a woman who was every inch the Queen Empress and bore herself with fitting gravity. Henry met her at the city gates and greeted her with suitable ceremony and they rode in procession to the cathedral to give thanks for her safe arrival. Then they went on to his castle, where a great feast had been prepared. It was not until the last sweetmeats had been consumed and the last draught of hippocras swallowed, and the attendant lords and ladies had gone to their lodgings and the household knights had spread their pallets among the rushes and the debris on the floor to sleep, that she and Henry were able to retire to the privacy of the solar above.

  He waved away the squire who offered more wine and seated himself opposite her. It struck her that he had aged since she last saw him. There were lines around his eyes and mouth that were not there before. They regarded each other in silence and she knew what it was that hung in the air between them. To speak of it was hard, but to remain silent would have been like leaving an open wound to fester.

  She said, ‘I am sorry about the child.’

  He shook his head. ‘It was not your fault. It was the will of God. It seems He has decreed that I should not beget an heir.’

  She stared at him with a mixture of shock and relief. ‘How can you say that? There is still time.’

  ‘No. I have consulted with several learned churchmen. As a boy I sinned by rebelling against my father. I had myself crowned while he was still alive. God has turned his face against the Salian house. After my death the crown must pass to someone more worthy.’

  The release of tension made her shiver. For a moment she could think of nothing to say. Then she murmured, ‘Well, God’s will be done.’

  He shifted in his chair and she thought she saw him wince.

  ‘Are you well, sir?’

  ‘Well enough. I should be better if those rebellious bishops could be brought to heel.’

  ‘This matter of the investiture – is it still unresolved?’

  ‘They still insist that only the Pope or his legate can invest them with the symbols of their office.’

  ‘Can you not find a compromise?’

  ‘Why should I? I am a divinely anointed king. It is right that I should have supreme authority over all my subjects.’

  ‘At least Gelasius is dead. But your choice as Pope, Gregory, has not been much help.’

  ‘Bourdon? God rot him! He has skulked around in southern Italy and never attempted to establish himself. So now we have to deal with the very man who pronounced my excommunication, Guy of Varenne – Pope Calixtus II as he calls himself now.’

  ‘The prospects are not good, then.’

  ‘You might expect that, but Calixtus is no fool. He wants a resolution to the problem as much as I do. He has suggested a meeting. He is going to hold a council at Rheims and suggests we might meet at Mouzon while he is in the area.’

  ‘Have you agreed?’

  ‘Reluctantly. But I shall take a big enough force with me to make sure he understands I am negotiating from a position of strength. I want you with me. From the reports I have had from Italy, your insights could be valuable.’ He got to his feet with a groan. ‘It’s late and you must be tired. I’ll say good night.’

  She rose too. ‘My lord, are you sure you are well? Are you in pain?’

  ‘A griping in the guts. It’s nothing.’

  ‘What do your physicians say?’

  He gave a mirthless grin. ‘They tell me not to eat so much.’

  At the door of her bedchamber he took her hand and kissed it formally. ‘Good night, madam.’

  ‘Good night, my lord.’ She made a curtsey and went to her solitary bed, where her waiting women undressed her. Magda was not one of them. She had been given a generous pension and sent back to her family.

  ‘God’s blood!’ Henry was pacing the floor of the solar in his castle at Mouzon. His face was purple with rage. ‘Does he expect me to come to him as a penitent, barefoot and clad only in my shirt, as my father did to Pope Gregory? I’ll see him burn in hell before I do that!’

  Matilda waited for him to pause for breath and then asked, ‘The Pope will not negotiate?’

  ‘Negotiate? He is not even here. It seems when he saw that I was bringing the army with me he fled, like the craven coward he is, fearing that I intend to take him prisoner, as I did with Paschal at Ponte Mammolo.’

  ‘Ponte Mammolo?’

  ‘Oh, you won’t remember it. You were only a child at the time. It was before we were married. Paschal refused to crown me as emperor unless I renounced the right of investiture. It was the only way to make him see sense.’

  ‘I do remember now. Archbishop Bruno explained it to me. So Calixtus is gone?’

  ‘Yes, damn him! And he has renewed the sentence of excommunication and appointed Adalbert as papal legate. Adalbert of all people! He has never forgiven me for shutting him up in Triers. He—’ He broke off abruptly and clutched his stomach with a groan. His face had gone from red to ashen and he staggered to a chair and collapsed into it.

  She turned to an attendant page. ‘Fetch the King’s physician. Quickly! Quickly!’

  The boy ran out and she went to kneel by her husband’s chair. ‘What is it? Are you sick?’

  ‘This pain in my belly! Is it any wonder I cannot digest my food when I am so plagued by these intransigent priests? Am I never to be allowed to govern my own kingdom in peace?’

  ‘You must try to be calm. It avails naught to get yourself into such a rage.’

  The physician arrived and diagnosed an excess of choler. He recommended blood letting but Henry would have none of it. Under protest he swallowed a bitter-tasting draught carried by the doctor’s apprentice and slowly his colour returned. The doctor left and, seeing Henry in a calmer mood, Matilda decided the moment had come to speak.

  ‘You know, do you not, that the King my father suffered the same difficulties over investiture that you do? But many years ago now he arrived at a compromise with his bishops.’

  ‘A compromise? A surrender!’

  ‘Not so, my lord. True he gave up the right to invest with the symbols of spiritual power, but the bishops must still do homage to him for their temporal rights. They are still his vassals.’

  He grunted but made no other comment. She persisted. ‘Perhaps it might help to consult with him. He may be able to suggest a way forward.’

  ‘And let the world see me running to my father-in-law because I cannot control my own realm?’

  ‘No. Surely it is a sign of strength to confirm your friendship. Our countries have long been allies. I am the living proof of that.’

  He looked at her from narrowed eyes and she braced herself for a new outburst of fury, but instead he said, ‘The arrangement works? Your father has suffered no loss of power by it?’

  She spread her hands. ‘I know only what I learn in letters from England. But I know that the peace he has made with the Church has allowed him to turn his attention to other matters, such as putting down rebellion among his Norman barons.’

  Henry brooded for a moment. ‘Very well. I will send an embassy to England. They can consult with the King your father and report back.’

  ‘My letters tell me that he is presently holding court in his castle of Gisors. That cannot be more than seventy leagues from here. If he could be persuaded to meet us halfway …’

  ‘No! Calixtus will see it as a sign of weakness if I have to go running to Henry. I cannot afford that.’

  She stood up. ‘I could go. The monastery of St Quentin is roughly halfway between here and Gisors. It is well known as a place of pilgrimage. No one would be surprised if I should choose to visit it. And if my father were to chance to make a pilgrimage there at the same time … Well, surely it is natural that a father might wish to meet with his daughter after so many years.’

  Henry gave her a long look. Then he sa
id, ‘They told me when I married you that you were clever. They were right!’

  Some days later Henry’s steward came to the room where Matilda was sitting with her ladies-in-waiting. They were working at their embroidery, embellishing copes and altar cloths for use in the royal chapels. She was reading The Monologian of Archbishop Anselm of Canterbury, a meditation on the nature of goodness.

  The steward coughed apologetically. ‘My lady, there is a man outside who begs an audience with you.’

  ‘What sort of man?’

  ‘An itinerant preacher, madam. A very rough sort of fellow. But he insists that you will know him. His name is Norbert.’

  ‘Norbert! Of course I know him. He was one of the emperor’s chaplains when I first came to live here. Send him in at once.’

  The figure who entered was very different from the man she remembered. Then, although nominally a canon in holy orders, he was as worldly and as finely dressed as any of Henry’s courtiers. Now, to her horror, he was dressed in a filthy robe of rough homespun wool and barefoot, and he was so thin that the bones of his face seem to protrude through his skin.

  With an effort she recovered her self-possession and rose to greet him. ‘You are most welcome. But I see that you have fallen on hard times. Please sit and I will send for food and drink.’

  He shook his head, smiling. ‘Thank you, madam, but I have no need of either. I have fallen indeed, but fallen into the arms of our Lord. He sustains me in my every need.’

  ‘Then, sit at least and tell me what has happened to you since you left my husband’s service.’

  He seated himself in the chair which one of her ladies brought over. ‘I am surprised that you remember me. You were only a girl when I left with your husband to visit the Pope, the first time he went into Italy.’

  ‘I remember you well. You were always kind to a girl who was far from home and among strangers.’