Daughter of the Last King, page 20
part #1 of Conquest I Series
The previous week, the new king had taken Princess Matilda’s case before a court of bishops and she had to prove that she had never been a nun. The archbishop supported the marriage and a deputation of sisters from Wilton Abbey came and swore the princess had not taken holy vows. I felt foolish in my own expectations about Henry and did my best to conceal how I felt from Sybil and Amelina.
Matilda’s face was rather plain, but she carried herself with grace and modesty. She was twenty years old, and I reflected that before Henry chose her as his queen, there had been very little difference between us. We were both native princesses, whose families had been subjugated by the Normans. She was a descendent of the West Saxon kings and could trace her bloodline to King Alfred and beyond. All agreed Henry had made a clever and politic choice of wife. The blood of the House of Wessex and of the Conqueror would flow through the veins of Henry and Matilda’s children. She had been well educated, first at the Scottish court, and then at the abbeys of Romsey and Wilton. Although her first language was English, she spoke perfect French and was rumoured to be able to read and write in both those languages, and in Latin besides. She brought the king a small dowry of lands in the north, but he had vastly enriched her with his wedding gift of estates all over the country and especially in London, where the people clung to their Anglo-Saxon traditions.
I was surprised to find myself seated next to the king at the wedding feast, some distance away from where Sybil and FitzHamon were placed. ‘My two beautiful ladies of the Britons,’ he said, turning to each of us as we took our seats, since Matilda was both English and Scottish and I represented Wales. When Matilda was occupied in conversation with Archbishop Anselm, who sat on the other side of her, the king leant close, his mouth grazing my ear, and whispered, ‘I regret I had to choose the Saxon princess over the dimpled one’.
I was momentarily stunned. He had only been married for one hour, yet sitting alongside his new wife and archbishop, he flirted with me? I should reprimand him, yet that was impossible since he was the king, and anyway, my vanity ached for such recognition. I felt a certain attraction to his shamelessness, enjoying his naughty delight in me. ‘The dimpled one is also regretful.’ Had I actually said that? I shocked and thrilled myself, wondering where this would lead. Henry’s eyes lit up and his gaze roved deliberately over my face, the pulse at my neck, the curves of my breasts in my red gown.
‘Perhaps you would be kind enough to visit me one day at my palace in Woodstock,’ he said. ‘Do you hunt?’
‘I like to ride and I am capable with a bow, I believe.’ I looked boldly at him. His hair was very black, his skin pale but pink with wine and heat, his large dark brown eyes drew me in. His mouth was red and moistened with wine and it started to curl now with the start of a new remark, but then his wife claimed his attention. I turned to my other neighbour, Richard de Redvers, and beyond him the knight Haith. Between them, they kept me occupied with a stream of animated anecdotes about their shared youth with the king until the time came for Henry and Matilda to be bedded.
I joined Sybil, and we accompanied Matilda to the bedchamber, watching her maids remove her fine clothes until she stood in a thin linen shift, a young woman like me. I imagined myself in her place, waiting for the arrival of the king, waiting to couple with him and produce an heir to the throne. The groom’s party arrived making a riotous noise, with Henry in their midst in a nightgown. His calves were browned by the sun and the top of his chest, visible above his carelessly laced gown, swirled with curling black hair. I envied Matilda. Henry’s humorous eyes sought out mine, but I looked away. It was not my bedding with a king.
* * *
A week after the wedding, Sybil and I returned to the abbey to witness the queen’s coronation. Archbishop Anselm anointed and crowned Matilda, and presented her to the crowd of people to be acclaimed. A great shout rose up, and I joined my voice to it, feeling stabs of jealousy and resentment. We followed in procession to Westminster Hall where Queen Matilda was ritually enthroned alongside Henry, holding a sceptre in one hand and an orb in the other, and she declared in a confident voice that she would be the mother of the king’s people. ‘He has chosen well,’ Sybil said with grudging admiration. ‘He shows more sense than his brother William already. She is participating in his councils and my husband tells me she is capable and wise in her advice to the king.’
‘He had to choose Scotland or Wales and I think he has done the best he could with the dilemma.’ Sybil and I turned to Elizabeth de Vermandois’ voice behind us. I looked at her, perplexed, and she smiled, took my hand, and drew me away from Sybil to a window seat. Elizabeth had taken a liking to me and I, in turn, enjoyed her lively company, although Sybil said she was feckless and untrustworthy. It was hard to believe such an assessment when confronted with her extraordinary beauty. She was only fifteen but had already been married for five years. She was a wise old young woman. She had pale creamy skin, lightly sprinkled with tiny freckles, a mass of dark red hair and turquoise eyes. She was the niece of the French king and told me she could not care less what anyone thought or said about her.
‘But what did you mean that he had to choose Scotland or Wales?’
‘Don’t pretend to be silly, Nest. I know you are no fool. Marriage is always politics, not sex or love. Hardly that!’ she laughed. Her own husband was forty years older than her. She told me his knees made the most awful creaking noise, like boughs rubbing together in a high wind when he rose from prayers at their bedside to come and do his marital duty by her. ‘If it were sexual attraction, Henry would have chosen Wales without a doubt.’
‘But what do you mean, exactly?’ I persisted, my cheeks warming at her flattery.
‘Matilda brings him her brothers, the king of Scots and his nobility and, therefore, their allegiance. That just leaves him two frontiers to worry about instead of three – Wales and Normandy.’
I nodded. It made sense.
‘And even if he had succumbed to your superior charms – he said that to me by the way – verbatim – you would not have brought Wales in peace to him, would you?’
‘No. Wales consists of more kingdoms than my father’s.’
‘Quite. Not to mention the wolf pack of Norman lords that roam around it, staking their autonomous claims, regardless of the king.’
I was mollified to hear the king had at least seriously considered me and saddened to hear her apt description of the state of my homeland.
* * *
Sybil and I remained in London for over a month, staying on for the Christmas court, and this time lodging in a house the king had loaned to FitzHamon. The new queen was accompanied everywhere by her chaplain, Ernisius. I wondered the judges at the tribunal had found her not to be a nun since she attended matins, mass and vespers daily, observing the full office in her chapel and joining in the recitation of the psalter. Nevertheless, Matilda and King Henry seemed genuinely happy with one another.
I spent more and more time with Elizabeth, despite Sybil’s disapproval. Elizabeth was on very friendly terms with the king, giving me opportunity to observe his character. He was a curious mix: shrewd and severe, obviously intending to give no room to doubt his ability to rule. As Sybil told me, he was an intellectual, enjoying debates with the scholars and artists at his court. I never met anyone with such enormous curiosity. He had endless probing questions for the scholars, but his curiosity extended also to all the people around him, even the servants. He would worm your life story out of you, persisting until he thought he understood your motivations and aspirations. He had a piercing mode of questioning relentlessly until he had gotten at something that seemed to surprise even you, and then he was satisfied.
I was sitting with Elizabeth in the courtyard watching the children of the royal nursery playing at blowing soap bubbles from a pipe. The nursery comprised King Henry’s illegitimate children, orphaned wards in his care, and the sons and daughters of barons that he was fostering. I was surprised when Henry suddenly appeared in the courtyard, looked around, and sat down next to me. He smiled, and we continued to watch the children playing for a while. ‘I was the youngest of ten children, you know, Lady Nest.’
‘Yes, my schoolmaster had me write out the genealogy of your family.’
He seemed amused at that. ‘My oldest brothers, Robert and Richard, were grown men and outside my world as a child. I was closest to my sister, Adela. And you?’
‘I was closest to my brother Goronwy but my older brothers, Cynan and Idwal, were heroes in my girl’s eyes.’ I stopped. ‘I find it hard to speak of my family, sire.’
‘Forgive me. You have some brothers who live, I believe?’
I shook my head. ‘Well, Idwal is my half-brother. He is imprisoned, sire.’
‘I heard there was a brother in Ireland. A younger brother?’ he asked, his great brown eyes gentle and concerned.
‘I don’t know if he lives. I …’
‘Lady Sybil’s family has been like your own lately, I imagine?’
‘Yes, I am greatly fond of Lady Sybil and her daughters. Much of my life has been spent in her household.’
‘What is your youngest brother’s name?’
‘Gruffudd.’ I bit my lip, realising, too late, that his trick was to seem to show something of himself to you, but then, somehow, you ended up revealing a great deal more than he ever did. ‘But he is likely dead. There is nothing heard of him,’ I ended lamely, cross with myself for speaking of him.
King Henry watched the children. He laughed and called out to them and I surreptitiously observed him, thinking about what I knew of him. He was surrounded by a small group of men who were old and loyal friends, and the affection between them appeared very strong. Richard de Redvers; Hugh, earl of Chester; Henry’s chaplain, Roger; and the Flemish knight, Haith were among this group. Henry was openly loving to his bastard children, Robert, Mathilde, Richard and Juliane, and warmly affectionate to both his wife, Matilda, and his mistress, Ansfride, who was not concealed. Henry spent a great deal of time with his heavily pregnant mistress and she was treated with deference and respect by his friends. She was importuned, gifted, flattered and lobbied for assistance by nearly as many petitioners as the queen. Matilda turned a blind eye to this aspect of her new husband’s court.
Sybil told me the king would betroth me now to her brother Arnulf, but I was not so certain of that. Henry was very attentive to me, taking every opportunity to compliment me. He turned back to me suddenly now, and I had a sense that he had been perfectly aware of my study of him all along. ‘Cadwgan has asked for your hand in marriage for his son Owain again,’ he said.
‘Sire?’ I asked cautiously.
‘I’m afraid I have had to refuse him, Nest,’ he said. ‘It would do no good from my perspective to have the Welsh royal line of Deheubarth joined, in your fair person, with the royal line of Powys, would it?’
I did not reply to his question, but after a moment, I said, ‘I would like to know about my half-brother, Idwal, sire, who is imprisoned at Shrewsbury. He is illegitimate and no threat to you.’ This was not strictly true since I had no doubt that if Idwal were freed, the men of Deheubarth would rally to him and chase the Normans from our lands.
‘Indeed? I will see what I can do for him,’ said Henry, looking earnestly into my eyes and kissing the tips of my fingers as he rose. He called out affectionately to the bubble-wet children and strolled off to return to his business for the realm.
* * *
A feast was in preparation in the great hall of Westminster because Robert de Meulan had arrived at the court with Prince Louis of France who had come to see King Henry and Queen Matilda as a gesture of recognition for their new regime. I was delighted to see Gerald arrive in the hall and he sought me out for conversation. His father had recently died, and the king was due to give a ruling on the inheritance. Gerald’s brother William had been confirmed as constable of Windsor by King Henry. ‘The king is very attentive to you, Nest,’ he said. I groped for a response, but the need evaporated when Gerald’s name was called out by the king’s usher.
‘Step forward Sir Gerald FitzWalter,’ King Henry said.
Gerald stepped forward and dropped to his knee before the king, looking earnestly at him. ‘God speed, your grace.’
‘I heard from my brother William,’ Henry said, ‘and from Arnulf de Montgomery that you gave us good service in Pembroke, in the far reaches of Wales.’
‘Thank you, sire. I strive to do my duty.’
‘I am granting you a vacant manor in reward for your service, Sir Gerald. It is in Berkshire, the manor of Moulsford, halfway between Windsor and Woodstock. I expect you know it from your childhood?’
‘Yes, sire! Thank you, sire! I had not expected such generous reward.’ I was pleased for Gerald and he turned to me smiling. I noticed Henry watching the exchange of smiles between us with interest.
The night was advanced, the feast consumed, the wine well soaked up by the guests, and my eyelids grew heavy with the lazy strumming of the musicians after their earlier energetic performances. ‘Lady Nest, I wonder if you would favour me with a word?’ I startled myself fully conscious and looked into the new queen’s face. ‘Of course,’ I said, a little flustered. Why would she wish to speak with me? Had she noticed her husband’s attentions? I flushed hot at the idea. ‘I am retiring now,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you would take a final cup of wine with me in my chamber?’
‘Of course.’ I rose and anxiously followed her to the winding stone steps leading up to her room, where her maid placed a tray with two fine gold goblets and a jug of wine and left us.
‘I need to talk something over with someone,’ she said, looking earnestly at me, ‘someone who does not have their own agenda and might seek to advise me wrongly. I thought of you.’
‘I’m flattered and will do what I can. If it is within my power.’
‘My husband is facing a difficult decision, and he asks for my advice, you see. I needed to mull it over with someone sensible. It’s so early in our marriage and such an important thing and I want to make a good choice. Since it concerns another queen, my lord Henry says I may have the right answer for him.’ For a moment, I saw an uncertain girl in her features before they resettled into her usual decorous expression.
‘Another queen?’
‘Yes.’ She regarded me for a long moment. ‘I must ask for your complete discretion, Lady Nest.’
‘It is yours.’
She stared at me again for some time, clearly wondering if she could trust me, while I wondered that she should single me out. Yet she had few other allies at court, at least few other women. Most of the Norman ladies scoffed at her in a barely concealed fashion and no doubt she was aware of this. The king’s friends were more familiar and at ease with Ansfride. It was our shared background as native princesses, as outsiders in the Norman court I supposed that led her to try me.
‘Believe me, if you betray me, Lady Nest, I will seek and find vengeance for it.’
‘I …’ I was flabbergasted by the sudden vehemence of her expression and her words. I swallowed some wine and set my goblet down carefully, and then turned my eyes back to her. ‘My word is my honour. I will not betray your confidence if you choose to speak to me now.’ I waited.
She plunged in. ‘Henry has received a secret missive from Queen Bertrada of France.’
My eyes widened. Thank God, it was not me and Henry then that worried her.
‘Bertrada urges Henry to imprison her stepson, Prince Louis.’
‘Imprison him! He is an honoured guest! The heir to the French throne!’
‘Yes. She seeks to displace him and make her own son the heir.’
‘That is wickedness, surely?’
‘Yes. I think so too. You think I should advise Henry against it?’
Again, I was flabbergasted that she should place such confidence in me and such trust in my advice. ‘May I ask, my lady, why it is you feel I can advise you on this? I am not a woman of the court, practised in these political subtleties. I know nothing of the politics of the French court, and very little even about the English situation. Perhaps you would do better to speak with Elizabeth de Vermandois?’
She looked down at her hands in her lap for some time. ‘I have discussed it with my spiritual advisers, of course,’ she said, meaning her chaplains, and perhaps even the archbishop. She looked up again and her expression was candid. ‘I can’t speak with any of these Norman ladies. They think me a fool. A bumpkin.’
‘I’m sure that’s not the case,’ I said, although I knew it was.
‘Yes, they do. You, at least, do not look down your nose at me because I am not Norman. I thought your advice would be disinterested, heartfelt. That is what I want.’
‘Then, my Queen, I advise you to follow your heart and your first instinct. King Henry would surely be well advised to stay out of these machinations of the French court. Louis is likely to gain the crown soon, and if King Henry allies with Queen Bertrada in this and her plot fails, he will have gained an implacable enemy on the French throne.’
Matilda clapped her hands together. ‘Exactly my thinking! Thank you, Nest. I hope we can be friends, that you will be at court often.’
‘I fear I am returning to Cardiff Castle with Lady Sybil tomorrow, but good friends, yes,’ I said enthusiastically, although my attraction to Henry, and his to me, lurked guiltily behind my words.
* * *
Sybil, Amelina and I returned to our routines in Cardiff after the excitements of the wedding and the court. I felt a mixture of regret and relief to take leave of Henry and his attentions. Mabel, Hawise, Cecilia and Amice were delighted at our return and were of an age now to afford me some company and conversation. Mabel, who was eight, rode out with me most days when the weather was fine. Master Richard was occupied with business and my lessons with him were frequently cancelled. Often when I arrived at the door of the locust room with my books and scrolls balanced in a neat pile, he would shoo me back down the passage. ‘Not today, not today, Nest. I have far too much work in hand.’ Evidently, he did not want anyone overlooking that work.
