The Lion of Justice (34 page)

What was the matter with Matilda that she had suddenly become barren? It was since she had discovered his peccadilloes: it was almost as though her body declared that since he had fathered so many others he should have no more from her. Which was absurd, for she longed for more children even as he did.

So be it; he would be a faithful husband for the sake of his conscience and the hope of another son or even a daughter.

The great Abbey of Hyde which they had founded and endowed was now ready to be opened and Henry decided that they would make a grand ceremony of the opening; and since he felt, after his long absence in Normandy, he had need of placating the Saxon element of his country, he decided to honour one of the greatest of their kings.

The bones of King Alfred and his Queen Alswitha had been buried in Newminster chapel in Winchester, and this seemed
to Henry an appropriate moment to remind the people that not only was Matilda descended from Alfred the Great but he was also – for of Alfred's three daughters, one of them, Ethleswitha, had married Baldwin of Flanders, and it was well-known that Henry's mother Matilda was the daughter of another Baldwin of Flanders.

So in a brilliant ceremony the bones of the Great Alfred were taken from Newminster to Hyde and there Henry told the people that he found great satisfaction in honouring the greatest Saxon king, from whom not only the Queen but he himself had descended.

The children accompanied their parents, for now that they were growing up Henry liked them to be seen as much as possible.

They had watched the ceremony of the burial of the bones with great interest and when they were alone together discussed it.

William said that he hoped when the time came for him to rule he would be as great a ruler as King Alfred had been.

‘You never will,' retorted Matilda. ‘I should have been born the boy. I know it, and I am sure everyone agrees.'

‘They do not,' declared William hotly. ‘Our father is pleased. He told me so, and when he next goes to Normandy I am to go with him.'

‘To marry that girl! She is only the daughter of a vassal of our father. When I go it will be to marry an Emperor.' She looked at Stephen and her expression softened. ‘But I don't want to go, now,' she added. ‘I don't want to go one little bit.'

‘You won't hate your going half as much as I shall,' said Stephen, his face growing melancholy – which Matilda thought made it look more beautiful than ever.

‘Dear, dear Stephen! The Emperor is an old man. I wish he were young and beautiful.' She and Stephen exchanged smiles and she went on, ‘
You
think I'd make a better ruler than William will, don't you, Stephen?'

Stephen was never at a loss for words. ‘I think you would both make the very best rulers it is possible to have.'

Matilda went to him and threw her arms about his neck. She loved kissing Stephen. She thought him the most
beautiful creature she had ever seen. Stephen returned her kiss lingeringly.

William watched them and said, ‘Stephen always says what people like hearing, but it is not always what he means.'

‘William is trying to be clever,' retorted Matilda, watching Stephen.

‘He doesn't have to try, he is,' replied Stephen, always the diplomat, making sure that his replies could never be taken amiss by any member of the company.

Stephen had the cleverest tongue of all the young people at Court, it had been said. He was very popular with the women. Matilda knew that he often did what he should not do. Many of these women had husbands. She had heard it said, ‘He will be another such as the King.'

Matilda would have liked to share Stephen's adventures. It was a little game between them. There was so much he would like her to share with him but always he remembered that she was the King's daughter, an Empress-to-be, and Stephen's position at the Court was one which had been given him by the bounty of his uncle. His home was really in Blois and his parents had impressed upon him that when in England he must do nothing to displease the King or Queen, for if he did, such action might result in his being sent back to Blois, his prospects in ruins.

He knew the King and Queen well. The Queen must never hear of his little adventures; if the King did – and he believed he had – he would shrug his shouders and laugh, for he had had very similar adventures when he was Stephen's age. But of course if Matilda was involved in those adventures it would be a very different matter.

Matilda knew this, too. It was a titillating situation, though. She wondered how she would have felt if she had been able to marry Stephen. Very excited, she believed, and looking forward to the consummation.

But Stephen was not for her. He was merely a humble son of the Count of Blois and not even the eldest son. He was only at the Court because his mother was her father's favourite sister and she had asked the King to look after Stephen's future.

Matilda was reserved for a more glorious match; but she
was not sure now whether she would have preferred to be the wife of Stephen of Blois or the Emperor of Germany.

Until Stephen had begun to fascinate her with his good looks, his lazy ways and his gallant speeches she had been absolutely sure that the finest thing in the world was to be a great Empress.

It was spring when the embassy arrived from Germany. From a window the young Matilda watched their arrival. She knew, of course, for what purpose they came. For the first time she began to feel afraid. It was one thing to be told when one was seven years old that great honour had been done to one, the result of which was that one would be the wife of a great ruler and an Empress. But when one was twelve years old and began to understand something of the meaning of marriage, it was a different matter.

She was going to a man she had never seen. He was forty years older than she was. She would be conducted to his country with great ceremonies which her proud heart loved, and that was well enough if only she did not have to arrive. But she would, and in the not very distant future. Then there would be the greatest ceremony of all, and after that . . . she shivered.

She was frightened. She, Matilda, the bold one, who had sworn to William and the other children that she was never frightened of anything! She was frightened of this old man who would be her husband; and she did not want to leave her home to go and be his Empress.

Someone was standing behind her. She knew who it was before she turned, for he, too, would come to see the arrival.

‘Stephen,' she said with a little catch in her voice.

She turned to him and threw herself at him. He put his arms around her and stroked her hair.

‘This means I shall soon be gone, Stephen,' she said.

‘I know.'

‘Oh, Stephen, what am I going to do?'

He did not answer. He went on stroking her hair.

‘I don't want to be married to him. I don't want to be an Empress.'

‘You'll be all right. He will love you dearly.'

‘I don't want him to. I don't want him. I want to stay here.'

‘You will be a great Empress, Matilda.'

She brightened a little at the thought, but only momentarily. ‘Oh, Stephen,' she said, ‘I wish . . .'

‘I wish it, too,' he told her.

‘I wouldn't mind not being an Empress . . . I wouldn't mind anything . . .'

‘We have to marry those who are chosen for us, Matilda. It happens to us all.'

‘Perhaps . . .'

Speculation shone in her eyes. She did have the wildest fancies. Somewhere in her mind was the thought that she, Matilda, could do anything she wished simply because she was Matilda.

Stephen was not like that. Stephen was lazy; he would do nothing to offend the King because he feared that if he did he would be sent back to Blois and that was the very last thing that must happen. Perhaps she liked Stephen so much because he was so different from herself.

Stephen said, ‘I shall think of you all the time.'

She nodded. That must be her consolation.

There was little time for grieving. The ceremonies to entertain the embassy occupied all her time. She must be presented to this one and that and she was aware of the new respect with which she was treated, and this gave a little balm to her feelings.

If only she could stop thinking of Stephen, and how beautiful he was, how young and amusing. And the Emperor was forty years older than she was. That made him fifty-two! He was a very old man . . . older than her mother and father.

Bishop Burchard of Cambrai, in whose charge she was to be put, was very stern, although, like all the others, respectful. He told her that she would continue with her education in Germany after her marriage. The Emperor wished her to speak German so she would have to work hard at that, for everyone around her would be speaking German. She would learn to live like a German, to
be
a German.

She felt angry and resentful. She was English, she wanted
to say, and so she would remain, but she merely regarded the Bishop haughtily and replied that she would do what
she
judged to be her duty.

Her father sent for her that he might make her fully aware of the importance of what was happening to her.

‘My daughter,' he said, ‘you are fortunate indeed. This is a great match and you are doubly blessed, for you will be an Empress, the wife of a great ruler, and you will bring great good to your country. Never forget that you are English and that it is your duty to make sure that you bring good to me and your family. Never forget that.'

‘I shall not forget,' said Matilda.

‘You are a good brave girl,' he said.

Her lips trembled slightly as he embraced her.

‘I'm proud of you, Matilda,' he went on. He left her, for he did not wish to know that she was apprehensive: it disturbed him. Poor child, she was only twelve years old. He was thinking that she had always been self-reliant. Once she had children, if she did, all would be well – as long as she remembered her allegiance to her father's kingdom.

It was different with her mother. The Queen was gentle, remembering that this was the little baby who had filled her with tenderness when she was born, and had continued to do so until Matilda had shown herself to be in no need of tenderness, and was indeed a little impatient with it. Matilda had always wanted admiration beyond all else.

But now the child looked a little forlorn. It was a long way to go from home to a strange land and a husband whom she had never seen. She would know nothing of what marriage entailed. The Queen thought of herself at that age and did not know that Matilda was unlike her and not entirely ignorant as her mother had been.

‘My dearest daughter,' said the Queen, drawing the girl into her arms, ‘you are going far from us and we shall miss you sorely. But you will have a husband to care for you. You must love him dearly. You must promise me to do so.'

‘How can I until I know I can?'

‘You must strive for this.'

‘My lady, can one strive to love?'

‘One can strive to do one's duty.'

Matilda said suddenly, ‘I don't want to go.'

‘My child, this happens to Princesses. They must leave their homes. They must marry where it will do good to their families. It happens to many of us.'

‘It did not happen to you.'

‘No.' The Queen smiled, thinking of Henry's coming to the Abbey. How wonderful he had seemed, a shining hero coming to rescue her from the harshness of her Aunt Christina. And it had not turned out quite as she had hoped. The chivalrous knight had turned out to be a lecher, a man who, while he was courting her, was living in intimacy with another woman, perhaps several – so that she was never surprised when some new young man or woman was brought to Court and she discovered him or her to be yet another of her husband's bastards. ‘Your father came and courted me and I loved him before I married him. Love will come to you after marriage.'

Matilda said nothing.

She was thinking of Stephen, for as the day of her departure drew nearer she thought more and more of Stephen. He was always in her company; they both knew that they wished to see as much as possible of each other, for when she went to Germany and he maybe followed his uncle to Normandy, they would have only memories of each other.

The last day came.

Matilda was dressed in a kirtle of blue, edged with gold embroidery; the little cap on her head was covered in precious stones and her long hair fell under it in two long plaits. She looked very handsome and slightly older than her twelve years. There was a faint colour in her cheeks, in spite of the fact that she was about to leave her home, because she was the centre of attraction and that had always meant a great deal to Matilda.

Down to the coast she travelled with her parents and the members of the embassy from Germany. Stephen was of the party, and he was never far from her side.

Sadly he watched her, and Matilda thought often of how different it would have been if instead of being her poor cousin he had been a great king.

Her parents bade her a tender farewell; she boarded the
ship which was to take her to her new life. She was the centre of all attention, for all this pomp had been devised for her.

She stood on deck watching the last of England fade away.

Somewhere on the shore which would soon fade from her sight was her dearest cousin Stephen, but he was not meant for her. She turned her face from the white cliffs and looked out to sea.

She must put away childish romantic dreams and begin to think of her new role of Empress.

THE QUEEN'S SISTER
Mary came to Court. Matilda was delighted to see her, as always, for they still both enjoyed talking of the old days under Aunt Christina and congratulating themselves on their escape.

‘Although,' Mary admitted, ‘it wasn't quite as wonderful as I used to think it would be when, as a prisoner in the Abbey, I dreamed of love and marriage; and I know it was not for you either, Edith.'