The Forsaken Monarch Page 19

  Before I knew it, Christmas morn had arrived. The interrogation had carried me through to the sun’s rise with naught but a wink of sleep. This weariness did nothing to lessen my mental distress. I did not understand how I could have passed through years of marriage without this feeling, or why it had taken hold of me at such a time. I had enjoyed pleasant conversation with many men over the years, and had even felt strong bonds of friendship. Near the end of my marriage, I had loved my husband as a family member, even as he had me. That is, we respected one another and wished the best for one another, but we did not drip with passionate longing.

  This was something different. It overwhelmed my thoughts, and the more I thought about Brian, the more sick I was with desire. Rather than filling me with joy, it scared me. Having long been starved for affection, I had contented myself in the knowledge that it was not all that essential. However, I felt suddenly—indeed, rather urgently—that it was the most essential thing of all. I feared this would ruin me.

  I would be married to someone, but it would not be Brian fitz Count. He was not a foreign lord. There was nothing for the king to gain through such an alliance. And even if it was allowed, which I knew most certainly it would not be, it would do me no good if he did not love me as much as I loved him. That’s the thing about love: you want the other person to utterly rejoice in you, as if your very bones and marrow were the same and your hearts beat as one.

  By the time I formally arose, I had reached the conclusion that I must adopt the most practical course. I could not assume that he was anything but indifferent. Therefore, I needed to make myself equally indifferent, and the surest way I saw to achieve this was to simply avoid him. The trouble, of course, was that the very nearness that had caused such feelings to grow was now my chief enemy. Was it possible to make one’s self indifferent after having become devoted? It seemed nigh on impossible. Nevertheless, I intended to try. I did not see that I had any choice.

  A storm had come through during the night and left even more snow on top of what was already there. I tried to imagine as I left my room and walked through that cold, my toes half frozen, that I was back at the Doge’s Palace in Venice, the summer air coming in from the sea and warming my bones. This did not work as well as I might have hoped, but it at least distracted me from my thoughts about a certain person.

  As soon as I entered the hall, my first task was to find the man whom I was seeking to avoid, that I might therefore avoid him. Fortunately, he was at the opposite end of the room in conversation with one of the local barons.

  How handsome he looks today! I thought, then chided myself. I was not off to a good start.

  “Handsome, isn’t it?” someone behind me said.

  “Yes. Wait … what?”

  I turned around and saw that my brother Robert had walked up next to me.

  “The hall—the way it looks today,” he said.

  “Oh, yes,” I agreed, glad that I had not given myself away.

  Indeed, it did look like something out of a dream. The tables had been pulled back, and the king sat upon his throne on the dais, which was draped in all sorts of green boughs and dried flowers. There were candles lit on every wall and in every window. A great gold star had been hung from the ceiling, and it guided us to the celebration, even as the Magi were led to the Christ child.

  “You looked a bit lost in thought,” Robert said.

  “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

  “Oh, I know! I slept in here beside the fire, but it was still too cold. I can only imagine what it must have been like out where you were.”

  Of course, the cold was not the reason for my lack of sleep, but I saw no need to correct him.

  “Where is the queen?” I asked. “Is she feeling any better today?”

  “She’s over there,” he said, pointing. “You can ask her yourself.”

  Sure enough, Queen Adeliza was standing in the corner—alone.

  “Thank you, brother. I think I should go speak with her.”

  “Good luck with that. I can’t get two words out of her.”

  “Yes, it is truly amazing that anyone would not want to talk with you,” I mocked.

  “It’s Christmas Day! Have some heart!” he protested.

  I left him to his murmuring and walked over to grab some spiced apple juice. This had been made as a special treat for the Christmas feast. I dipped one goblet into the large silver bowl, causing the apples floating on top to bob up and down. After I had filled a second goblet, I walked over to where the queen stood.

  “Merry Christmas, Queen Adeliza!” I said, extending one of the goblets toward her. “May I stand beside you? I am in need of some good female conversation. These men do wear me out exceedingly.”

  “Of course,” she replied rather quietly, accepting the drink.

  After we had both sipped for a moment, I continued, “The king told me you were ill. I hope it is nothing serious.”

  For a moment, she said nothing, but looked rather uneasy. Although she was already a small woman, she seemed even smaller than usual, as if fear had shrunk her down to nothing. Her pretty face and golden hair were entirely hidden under an overly large head covering. Perhaps her attire was chosen on account of the feast, but it almost seemed as if she was hiding.

  “Forgive me. Did I say the wrong thing?” I asked.

  “No, no,” she assured me. “It’s just that I often become nervous at such gatherings.”

  “You mean, on feast days?”

  “At any great occasion of state, when the court is all together. I must admit, I feel a bit lost. Customs here are very different than they were in the empire.”

  I found it somewhat curious that the queen was willing to admit this to me, and I decided to tread lightly.

  “From what I can see, you have been doing just fine. Everyone here likes you.”

  “Do they?” she asked, with a clear note of doubt. “You have only arrived here of late, so perhaps they have not included you yet, but I am certain that they speak ill of me when I am not around.”

  This surprised me greatly. I would not have thought Queen Adeliza bold enough to gain anyone’s true ire, unlike myself.

  “Speak ill of you how?” I asked, leaning in slightly. “Your conduct seems blameless.”

  Until this point, she had mostly stared ahead, but she looked directly into my eyes, and I saw that there were tears forming in hers.

  “Empress Mathilda,” she whispered more than spoke, “you and I both know that a queen who cannot produce a child is never blameless.”

  Here was the root of the matter. I knew too well the pain of which she spoke, for I had felt myself rather useless during my time in the empire when I saw that I could not fulfill my first duty. I had also endured the pain of hearing false rumors about why I did not have children. Every day, I still wondered if I was barren. But what could I possibly say to put her at ease?

  “I know what you mean. When I was at the German court, I always feared what people said about me behind my back. They would never denounce me to my face, but we women can sense things,” I offered.

  “Exactly! And what is more, I am not as natural in these situations as you are. I do not possess the same easy wit as you. When I was with my friends, I could converse without a problem. But this—this is beyond me.”

  I laughed. “Perhaps you mistake my abilities. I can speak, yes, but as often as not I say the wrong thing. It has gotten me into trouble time and again. But I know what you mean about feeling nervous, for I too have felt that pang even today.”

  “Yes, but I think you feel it for a different reason,” she said, smiling.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, suddenly worried.

  The queen moved a bit nearer. “When one stands alone, one makes a study of everyone else in the room. I have watched each person who comes through that door. When you entered, you seemed to be looking for someone. Then you found him, and I spied on your face the same thing I have detected there before: you have
a special affection for Lord Brian fitz Count, but you are afraid for anyone to know.”

  The ease with which she had reached this conclusion struck me with fear. Were my feelings really so plain? Were they plain even to Brian himself, or worst of all, to my father? My first instinct was to deny, but I quickly sensed that would be useless.

  “How … how did you do that?” I stammered.

  “I told you. I have no skill in speech, but I have a great power of observation. It’s how I know that that lady there—the one in the green dress—is with child. And that man there, Robert Beaumont, has been carrying on an affair with one of my ladies.”

  “Truly, you amaze me,” I said, shaking my head in wonder.

  Sensing my fear, she stroked my arm. “Do not worry! I have no intention of sharing your secret. It’s rather sweet, actually. He is a good man. He always asks after my welfare, and I think he truly seeks to know. Has he spoken of his love for you?”

  I let my eyes trail across the room until they found Brian playing dice with my brother while several others looked on. He was smiling broadly, and while I wished very much that smile could be for me, I knew it was not.

  “You mistake me, madam,” I said, looking down at my goblet as if it was a compelling object of study. “There is nothing between us but friendship. It is true that, of late, I have grown rather fond of him—too fond. I have done myself a great injustice by allowing things to get to this point.” Here I looked back up at her and said, “I have no reason to suspect that he has any particular love for myself beyond that which is owed by convention.”

  “So he does not return your affection then? He is a fool.”

  “I hardly think that makes him foolish! Even if he did care for me, how would such a thing work? He is to marry the lady of Wallingford, and I am to marry God only knows whom. He is the illegitimate son of the former duke of Brittany, while I am currently the heir to the throne of England. My father would never—no, it is wrong for me to even speak in this way. Whatever silly hopes I entertain must be done away with.”

  “I suppose that is wise,” she agreed. “It would not do for us all to become love lorn, and to what purpose? Even so, you are a passionate person. There is a fire inside you.”

  “Perhaps, but it may one day destroy me, or else be snuffed out by the will of others.”

  We continued to stand there together, listening to the tunes of the minstrels and sipping. Before we spoke, I had never considered how alike our situations were.

  “Did you ever love anyone?” I asked.

  “Once, when I was fifteen,” she said with a smile. “He was the son of a local lord. He was all wrong in every way. Perhaps that is why I liked him so much. I suppose it was not love in the mature sense, but it was close enough.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He died of dysentery. It was awful. I cried for weeks. My poor mother had no idea what was wrong with me. My father was sure I was going mad. Then I got better, and they sent me here to marry the king. Such an honor for our family!”

  “Only now you are married to a man you hardly know, who scares you at times, and you cannot have a child.”

  I thought I saw a tear trail down her cheek and felt guilty for what I had said. I had allowed our common experience to cause me to speak when I ought to have remained silent.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady. I should not have said that.”

  “No, it’s true!” she said, then let out a great sigh. “I wish it was not, but it is. I do not know where to turn or whom to talk to.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, you can always speak with me. My advice may be worth little or nothing, but you’ll find I give it quite freely.”

  This brought a small smile to her face. I placed my hand on her arm and said to her, “Child or no, you are a comfort to my father: I am sure of it. You bring honor to this house, and I am very glad to have you here.”

  “Oh, thank you, Empress Mathilda! You are a good friend. I only wish I could do better.”

  “Don’t we all,” I agreed. “Don’t we all.”

  VIII

  October 1165

  Rouen, Normandy

  Forgive me, daughter, for I cannot continue our tale today. My mind is o’er consumed with this controversy of late—that is, the matter of Archbishop Thomas Becket. God knows I am too old for this! Would that he had spared me from such things in my present condition, but the thing must be done with and quickly, or it may threaten all we have achieved.

  Perhaps it is wrong of me to speak thus: all is not yet lost. And why should I trouble you—you who are not yet in being and are patient enough to endure all I have written up to the present time? Yet I must trust you with my story, for no one else will listen.

  Here, then, is an account of the day’s proceedings. I awoke to the sound of rain for the seventh day in a row: weather fit for Noah himself. My bones ached and I turned over in bed, heeding not the song of the monks. I stared up at the wood beams above me. There was no fire in the hearth, so the only light came in through the window to my left, and a rather pitiful light it was, leaving shadows. My eyes moved to the wall opposite, where a spider was attempting to make its way from floor to ceiling. I wanted to crush it, but that would have required the effort of rising from my bed. I sighed and turned over again, watching the water drops pelt the glass panes.

  Suddenly, I heard the door swing open and turned back to see Adela standing at the threshold, looking so wet that I might have believed she had swum to the monastery. It is less than a mile from her home—where she resides with her husband and three boys—to the guest house where I am staying, so this is a testament to how hard the rain was falling. In her hands, she held a bundle of some sort wrapped in cloth.

  “Good morning my—oh, pardon, are you still asleep?” she asked.

  “I might have been but for your presence,” I said.

  This was a bit uncharitable, I admit, but I was not feeling my best. My arms and legs felt stiff as they so often do at break of day, and my hands ached.

  “Are you still feeling ill then? I could fetch the doctor.”

  “Not ill—just old. I shall be like this until I die, which God knows is likely to be soon.”

  “Don’t say that!” she scolded, concern written on her face. “I am sure you have many years left!”

  “What is that you have in your hands?” I asked, finally rising and sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “These are your letters. I did not want them to get wet.”

  She set the bundle down on the small table beside the hearth and unwrapped it with care, as if it were the Holyrood. She then untied the letters and began to sort them. I stood up, grabbed the blanket that lay on my bed, and wrapped it around myself. There was a chill in the air, and I very much wanted Adela to finish sorting my correspondence and light the fire.

  “I am sure they are of little value,” I said.

  “I think you’ll find that this one is,” she replied, turning toward me and holding it up for me to see. She was smiling and seemed very pleased with herself, much like a cat when it puts a dead mouse on display.

  The letter bore a red seal. I had to move closer to read it, for my eyes are not as good as they were in my youth. I squinted and was finally able to make out the letters. The mark was impossible to mistake.

  “From Pope Alexander?!” I said, truly surprised.

  “Yes, now you get it! But I suppose you have no wish to read it, as it is of little value.”

  “Very well, I repent. Now let me see it!”

  She handed it to me, and allowed me to read its contents.

  “So what does His Holiness want?” she asked, when I had finished.

  “He wishes me to work a miracle,” I replied, still staring at the parchment, hardly able to believe what I was reading.

  “Is there a leper needs healing?”

  “I wish that was all. No, he asks me to heal a kingdom.”

  “This one, or another one?”
/>   “This one, of course!” I said, setting the letter back on the table.

  “Sorry, I thought I might lighten the mood. This has to do with the archbishop of Canterbury, I presume?”

  “Yes, everything has to do with the archbishop these days, but I have no intention of allowing him to steal all the pleasure from my few remaining days on this earth.”

  I was still staring at the letter on the table as I said all this, but I heard a slight noise behind me and turned to see that Adela was stifling a laugh.

  “What? Why are you laughing?” I asked.

  “I was only smiling!” she declared, biting her lower lip.

  “Neither seems appropriate under the circumstances.”

  “It’s just—you are still you. Still fighting the old battles, never willing to surrender. I do not know why it makes me smile. Perhaps to think of everything you have been through—every time life has tried to take you down. You are still standing. You are still Empress Mathilda through and through.”

  It was my turn to smile. “Thank you, Adela,” I said, embracing her. “Your friendship is so dear to me. Now fetch Lawrence, will you? The Holy Father asks me to reconcile these two of his sheep—King Henry II and the Archbishop Thomas—for the remission of my sins. He actually said that: ‘the remission of your sins.’ Well, I love the Holy Father, and God knows I am a child of iniquity, but it seems to me in this case the one who needs forgiveness is Thomas Becket and possibly a few others, not myself. Even when there was much I could say and many accusations I could level against him, I kept my mouth shut and submitted to the Lord’s will. Now I must bring about peace between two men who do not desire it. Such an evil day!”

  “I will let the archdeacon know you have need of him,” she said, turning to leave.