Daughter of the Last King, page 27
part #1 of Conquest I Series
We turned back to the abbey. There was nothing we could do. The whole place was ablaze, the fire spurting now from the roof & windows. We wept to see our home so swiftly reduced to blackened timbers, haphazardly fallen one upon another.
We made quite a spectacle, the nuns of Almenêches, forming up into a frightened procession behind our abbess to seek shelter. Many of my poor sisters had never left the walls of the abbey before, since they had arrived there as small children. They blinked with timidity at the expanses of sky and land around us, at the stripping away of the familiar walls of our cells, refectory and church.
We are lodged here at Evroul for the time being while the abbess organises the rebuilding of the abbey. Her brother was remorseful for the trouble to her, but remorse does not rebuild the charred ruin of our chapel & library. Still, we thank God we all escaped with no loss of life or injury & that, in time, we will return.
It was very strange to come out of our enclosed cloister & to ride freely through the open countryside again & then to speak face to face with Vitalis and other monks here, rather than always everything through a grille. I felt so odd to be leaving the cloister, my home since I was six years old, and not know when I would return.
I fear your King Henry & his counsellor, de Meulan, have judged the situation rightly. There is constant warfare in Normandy now, everywhere, all about. Abbess Emma assures me she believes my account of the copybook and trusts my word. Take care of yourself, Haith, & know that I am well & safe in the kind company of my abbess & the monks of Saint Evroul. With love, Benedicta.
* * *
After a few months, when the queen had recovered her health sufficiently in the February of 1104, her entourage moved back to London. Matilda was distressed that relations between Henry and the archbishop were now so strained that Anselm was formally exiled in Normandy and stripped of his revenues from Canterbury. She was glad to return to her coterie of priests and clerks in London and the city received her and Henry’s heir with a riot of celebrations. We finally made our way through the rapturous crowds and the queen, exhausted by the journey and the welcome, leant heavily on my arm as Christina and I supported her up the stairs. Emma and Cille rushed forward to greet her as we entered her chamber and I was shocked to see Sybil Corbet standing with them. Sybil leant and whispered in my ear. ‘Nest! I’ve missed you and now we will be together again.’
‘We have a new lady in my chambers, as you see, Lady Nest,’ the queen told me in a neutral voice. I doubted the queen could be unaware of her husband’s harem, although she never spoke of it to me or any of her ladies. Perhaps she viewed it as a penance that she had somehow earned. She had his bastards underfoot all the time in the royal nursery since Henry openly acknowledged his natural children, and the queen was relentlessly kind to them all. Henry’s illegitimate daughter, Mathilde, who was twelve, was standing next to Sybil. Suddenly Mathilde began to snivel and then to sob. ‘What is it, darling?’ the queen asked, bending to loop her arms kindly about the child’s neck.
‘Papa is sending me away.’
Henry loved all his children, legitimate or otherwise, and I turned with an expression of confusion to the queen for an explanation. ‘The king has betrothed Mathilde to Rotrou, the count de Perche,’ the queen said. ‘It is an honour and of importance to the safety of your father’s realm,’ she told the girl gently. ‘Dry your tears. You are very lucky the count has agreed to take you to wife. You will be a great lady, a countess. And he has also betrothed your little sister, Juliane, to Eustace de Breteuil.’
It was admirable that Henry took such care of his illegitimate daughters, but I discerned the care was secondary to their value to him as political ‘gifts’, helping him to consolidate allegiances. So it was with all fathers, but in Henry’s case, he had a superabundance of such political gifts. Juliane was only three years old. I suddenly felt a great overgrown spinster, when I thought of a three-year-old and a twelve-year-old being married off, and a seventeen-year-old Sybil Corbet already a mother, while I was twenty-three and still unwed. Elizabeth, who was also younger than me, had recently presented her elderly husband with twin sons and was consequently the toast of the court.
Ansfride, meanwhile, was not discarded by Henry and they could be seen often strolling in the garden or laughing in the hall together. Part of his appeal was that he adored women, so many women, and when he spoke with you, he really made you feel he valued you, where many men were disapproving or contemptuous. When Henry spoke to me, I felt as if I were the only one in his gaze, and it was a struggle to keep in mind all the others, and that he made them feel exactly the same way. It astonished me that he could maintain such a complicated personal life at the same time as managing the business of being king, but this ableness too, was part of his charm.
‘It’s a stressful occupation, Nest, being king,’ he told me one day. ‘I do need help. Your help perhaps?’ His fingers strolled teasingly up my arm and my flesh seemed to burn in a series of small fingerprints where his skin touched mine.
21
A Blind Eye
The queen’s household had not been back in London for very long when I noticed that Sybil Corbet’s belly was pushing at the folds of her skirts once more. I watched both the queen and Sybil, on different occasions, looking out from the window at Henry, who was strolling arm in arm with Ansfride in the garden below. Their reactions were very different. ‘She was his first love,’ said the queen, ‘and he is kind to still take note of her.’ I kept silent on the issue of Ansfride being his first love, given that he had two bastard children before he ever met Ansfride.
Sybil Corbet, on the other hand, leant dangerously far out of the window hoping to catch the king’s attention and when he did not look up, she turned to me exasperated. ‘What does he still see in Ansfride? She is twice my age. An old widow.’ Yes, I thought, but nearer his age than you are. ‘Well, don’t you think he has to love me the most? I am the youngest one?’ she asked me, as if this were powerful logic.
At the beginning of spring I was bending in the garden early in the morning, cutting rosemary to take to the queen’s chamber, and was startled by Henry’s hand on my backside. ‘Sorry, it was irresistible,’ he said as I straightened up quickly, stepping away from him, swishing my skirts and feeling the scarlet heat of my face. He spoke as if his behaviour was nothing out of the ordinary.
‘A beast is unable to resist its urges,’ I snapped, but flushed anew, realising I could not speak so to a king. He merely creased his eyes in amusement at me.
‘I’m glad I’ve come across you, particularly like this,’ he said. ‘I have to send you to Abingdon again, Lady Nest, if you will? For me?’ he wheedled. I could hardly gainsay him and wondered what or who I would find waiting there for me this time. I was happy that I would see Abbot Faricius again and escape for a while from the piety and gossip in the queen’s chambers. Sometimes I woke in the night staring at the ceiling and aching for Sybil de Montgomery, her daughters, Cardiff Castle. Sybil wrote to me often with news from Glamorgan, but I longed to see her, to hear her talk without pause for breath, to watch her duck-walk her way across the bailey to embrace me.
* * *
Gerald FitzWalter was ordered to escort me and Amelina on our journey to Abingdon on this occasion. I was pleased that he had gradually won his way back into the king’s favour and trust. We stopped on the journey to spend a night with his family at Windsor and resumed our travel by river the following day. On the boat he told me: ‘I miss Wales, but you are a little bit of Wales to comfort me, with the lovely lilt of your voice.’ It crossed my mind that Gerald might have made a good husband if he had not been of such low status. ‘You are a great favourite with the king, Nest,’ he said, hoping to draw me out in conversation on the topic.
‘So are many young women,’ I said dryly and changed the subject, pointing out a heron on the water’s edge.
The lady waiting for us at Abingdon Abbey this time was named Edith of Greystoke. Gerald left the abbey after one evening with us, to return to court. ‘A very pleasing young man indeed,’ Faricius remarked as we watched him depart. Edith was a fractious companion in the last month of her pregnancy, but at least she was a young woman rather than a girl like Sybil. She had a strong northern accent and told me her father was Forn Sigurdson, Lord of Greystoke in Cumberland. I was relieved to find she was not terribly interested in talking about Henry or the court. Her own concerns seemed mostly to do with farming and animal husbandry. I was content to keep her company and speak with her on those subjects while she waited for her child to come. Her labour was fast and as straightforward as she was and she bore Henry a son, who she named Robert. The queen would have more work for her blind eye, another bastard in the bulging royal nursery, being nursed and schooled alongside her own two children, and the sons of other nobles. I remembered my early reflections on the genealogy of the Anglo-Norman family, how I thought they were in danger of dying out. It seemed Henry had the same anxiety and was setting about breeding like a rabbit to the best of his abilities.
At Abingdon, a letter from Sybil de Montgomery arrived for me, forwarded back from Westminster, telling me Arnulf had fallen out with his father-in-law the king of Munster, who had deprived him of his wife. Since Henry had stripped Arnulf of his lands, he had gone to seek refuge at the court of the count of Anjou. Arnulf would certainly never be my husband now. I wanted to speak with the king about my marriage but knew he would turn any such discussion in a direction I did not want it to go, into flirting with me himself.
* * *
from The Copybook of Sister Benedicta
* * *
Westminster, April 1104
Benedicta, my sweet sister, I am quaking with fear and fury at your news – at your encounter with Bellême. Pray, my darling girl, do not ever, ever endanger yourself on my account or Henry’s. We can take care of ourselves. And especially do not risk yourself ever with Bellême again. The stories about him are not exaggerations. You have seen that with this terrible fire, but he is capable of worse and I believe he will return to threaten you again. You must come to England. Let me know the best moment and I will come to fetch you. We will find a good Norman convent to house you. Henry will be glad to assist. He sends his kind wishes and concern for you, after I told him of the events at your abbey and pledges financial aid for the rebuilding. I am sleepless and sick with worry at the thought of what has happened to you. Even the sight of these ciphered letters makes me want to throw them away from me in grief for you. Write back quickly, Benedicta, with the messenger I am sending who is instructed to wait for your reply, and I will come with all haste to you. Your brother, Haith.
* * *
Monastery of Saint Evroul, April 1104
Dear Haith, I understand your trepidation, but I assure you I am safe & have no intention of leaving Abbess Emma at this time of our tribulations over the rebuilding of the abbey. There is no need for me to turn tail & run. The abbess does not doubt me & assures me she will protect me. Indeed, I believe she feels a great fury at her brother, not only that he burnt the abbey to ashes but also that he undermined her authority so totally in front of Sister Matilda & myself. The abbess & I were close before, but we have grown even closer since that terrible fire. We are grateful beyond measure for King Henry’s assistance and concern & I am tasked with writing him a formal letter of thanks. I am staying put & entreaties will not sway me. Try not to worry, Haith. With love, Benedicta.
* * *
I returned to my service with the queen. Sybil Corbet had disappeared, and I followed the queen’s lead in not mentioning it. A few days after my return, I woke to a beautiful sunny May morning and was stretching and still in my nightgown when Cille poked her head around the door to summon me to the queen’s chamber. ‘There’s a visitor come to see you, Nest.’
‘A visitor?’ Perhaps it was Sybil de Montgomery allowed at court and come to see me at last. Hurriedly I reached for a blue dress, one that Sybil had given to me.
The queen greeted me with a warm smile but dashed my hopes of seeing Sybil by saying, ‘Your visitor is next door, Nest. Go and speak with him with my blessing and good wishes.’
I was perplexed. What male visitor would I have? I stepped into the queen’s small side chamber where Gerald FitzWalter turned to greet me. My first thought was that he brought me bad news: perhaps Sybil de Montgomery was ill? He was smiling, yet there was a great tenseness about him. His rapidly shifting expressions were contradictory – happiness, guilt, misery. I must be mistaken. ‘Sir Gerald! This is a pleasant surprise.’
‘I’m glad that you feel so. Thank you.’ He subsided into a desperately anxious silence, while I had hoped he might quickly explain his presence and strange expressions to me. ‘I never thanked you properly for interceding on my behalf with the king,’ he said.
‘I was glad to do so, for the reasons I gave.’
‘It’s good to see you looking so well, Lady Nest.’
‘Thank you.’ I could not return the compliment to him, since his anxiety seemed to grow worse as we spoke and his face was blanched, green almost. ‘Are you … quite well?’ I asked him. ‘Won’t you sit?’
‘No!’ I was startled by his vehemence. ‘You must think me mad. I apologise. I just …’ He paced the small room like a leopard in a cage and then made a visible effort to pull himself together. ‘Lady Nest, I have news.’ He did not meet my eyes now. ‘The king has given me leave, commanded me,’ he hesitated, ‘to marry you.’ He ventured to look at me now. I gaped at him, speechless, so that he was forced to continue. ‘The king commands that I marry you, and I am so glad of it, my lady, that I could fly.’
I could say nothing. I sat down on a chest, just breathing, looking at my hands in my lap, but then I began to smile slowly to myself. I looked back up at Gerald. ‘He wants us to marry?’
‘Yes. I know I am unworthy of you, lady, in rank, but I will do everything in my power to be a good husband to you in all other ways, if you will give your consent. I believe he means to send me back to command Pembroke on his behalf, with you at my side. With your …’ He dried up, looking with the utmost anxiety at me.
Pembroke. My consent. Was that in any way an actuality? The king had commanded it. I was his ward to dispose of as he wished, and yet I could not believe that he had commanded this. That I should marry a man I liked! Liked a lot, I was slowly realising, as I began to absorb what Gerald was telling me. Yes, he was a Norman, but I liked him, had always liked him. He was not as high-born as I, but I knew he was kind, had initiative and integrity. I knew his liking for me was real. It seemed the queen had been aware of Gerald’s intention and gave me her blessing. I was twenty-three, and it was high time that I was married. I had started to despair that the king would ever choose a husband for me and feared I might be an old maid and never have my own children. If I must choose a Norman man, Gerald would be my first choice.
Suddenly faced with this command to marry, I realised how the anxiety over my marriage had ruled my life since I was twelve, since Gerald first wiped my face in the rain as I sat tied and traumatised in a cart. It had been a tension straining taut my every fibre, every nerve for the last eleven years. I was nauseated with the release of that grip.
Gerald squatted down beside me. ‘I’m sorry, Nest! I’ve shocked you. You are naturally horrified at the command. Shall I send for one of the ladies? You look so pale.’
‘No, no. Just give me a moment to regain my balance. I’m … I’m not horrified, I assure you.’
He waited. I slowed my breathing. Gerald rose and brought me a beaker of water and sat down next to me. I looked at him, at his pale blue eyes full of concern for me, the comely planes of his face, carrying a few small scars now, his blond hair still curling delicately around his ears. Growing older suited his features. I reached my hand to his, and he took a deep breath, staring at me, his mouth slightly open. I leant forward and kissed him full on the mouth. When I leant back, smiling at him, I retained his hand. ‘Nest?’ An uncertain smile hovered on his face and in his eyes.
‘Yes, Gerald, I would gladly marry you. So gladly!’
‘Truly, Nest?’
I simply smiled in answer. He pulled me to my feet, lifted me up and swung me around in glee. My headdress slipped from my head, my black hair fell loose. He set me back down and kissed me in the curve between my neck and shoulder. I thrilled at the touch of his mouth on my skin and reached to his head to kiss him again, but he stepped suddenly away from me.
‘I … perhaps we should not. I should go.’
I frowned at him. ‘Already?’
‘Yes, I must go. Thank you for your answer.’
I was bewildered. ‘You blow hot and cold!’
‘No. No. All hot,’ he said, looking down at his boots and then up again. ‘But I have to return to my duties. To the king.’
‘Very well. Where will we live, Gerald? And when shall we be married?’
‘If it pleases you, I thought we could be married within the next few weeks, at Moulsford, and that is where we would also live. But as I said, although he has not yet confirmed it, I believe the king means to eventually send me back to Pembroke with you at my side, making a world of difference for the local people.’
‘It pleases me, Gerald! It all pleases me!’ Llansteffan beach and estuary were in my mind’s eye. The Claw. Pembroke. Home.
He smiled, took my hand, kissed my fingers briefly, and was gone. I sat back down on the bench, shaking my head, smiling to myself, still feeling the delicate touch of his mouth on my neck, thinking of going home to Wales. I wanted to rush to tell Elizabeth, but she was away from court. After a few minutes, I became aware of Queen Matilda and her ladies hovering at the doorway, looking to see if they could intrude and offer me their congratulations.
