The Forsaken Monarch Page 25

  Despite his defeat on the field of battle and long imprisonment, Duke Robert’s cause was not altogether dead, hence the rebellion of Waleran of Meulan. And as long as William Clito lived and breathed, and the French king had cause to support him, King Henry could not rest easy in his rule of Normandy. Thus were the two traitors brought to England to fulfill those words I often hear: “It is best to keep your enemies where you can see them.”

  We sailed two days from Honfleur to Ramsgate, where we gathered fresh provisions. We then made a further stop in Gravesend at the mouth of the Thames before moving along the sacred way to Westminster. I remained in the same boat as my father, but as a measure of caution introduced following the tragedy of the White Ship, the rest of the king’s lads and members of the nobility were divided between the ships to ensure that if one sunk, it would not take all of England down with it. Thus, the only three persons I could truly converse with on our ship were my father, his chancellor Geoffrey, and the physician Grimbald. Drogo was there too, but he was often occupied with duties. Needless to say, I spent much of the time reading.

  However, on that final day, the king called me over to himself and spoke with me at great length, telling of all the changes England had undergone. Most of it was of little interest to myself, concerning matters legal and ecclesiastical that were unlikely to affect me. Even so, I was impressed to see the degree of concern he showed for every corner of his kingdom, which naturally led me to wonder why he showed not a bit of concern for some of those closest to him. But that is a king, I suppose.

  “Look, Mathilda!” he said to me, as we were standing upon the bow. “The great Tower of London! See how we have made improvements to the walls?”

  I looked to the northern bank of the river, where the high walls of the fortress begun by my grandfather stood watch over the city. They did appear more fearful than I had remembered, with further layers of stone added here and there.

  “Yes, it is even grander than I remembered, but I see they are still hard at work on Saint Paul’s Cathedral,” I said, looking farther to the west at where the tower of the church was still being finished. “I think they were repairing that roof when I left.”

  “Less money, less speed,” he concluded.

  We were coming very close to the heart of the city, and I suddenly smelled an odor that I had not experienced since the days of my youth: filth and rubbish flowing into the river, the stinking rot of fish laying out in the sun, and pigs being slaughtered.

  “Oh my!” I said. “It still smells just the same.”

  He placed his hands on his hips and breathed in deeply, seeming to bask in the odor. “What of it? That is the smell of good business.”

  “It smells like dung,” I countered, placing my hands over my nose and mouth.

  “Yes, the manure that makes our kingdom grow!”

  “That is not what I meant.”

  “You had best improve your opinion of our chief city!” he said, shooting an evil glare at me.

  “I like the city well enough. Just not all the rotting fish.”

  “Never fear! We are making the turn, and then we will come to Westminster. Your dainty nose will be spared.”

  “Thank God for that,” I muttered.

  Within minutes, we reached the pier of Westminster, and there as he had always been was the second most powerful man in the kingdom: Bishop Roger of Salisbury, grown more gray and wrinkled but still as well clothed as ever. His gold crucifix caught a sun ray and threatened to blind me. The bishop stood right next to the pier, with a host of other officials gathered behind him. Above, the palace of Westminster stood gleaming in the midday sun.

  “Home,” I whispered.

  The king was first to set foot on land. “Bishop Roger!” he cried. “How has England been in our absence?”

  “As fair as ever, and even fairer now that you have returned!” he shouted, smiling quite eagerly. Indeed, I thought it was almost too eager.

  “Excellent, excellent!” the king replied, embracing the much shorter man with a firm pat on the back.

  I had followed the king on to land and was standing just behind him. After the two men exchanged a few words I could not make out, my father stepped to the side and Bishop Roger looked at me, recognition appearing on his face.

  “But this must be your daughter!” he said, stepping toward me and bowing low. “I should not have recognized her but for the marks of royalty she carries. Tell me, fair empress, how do you find our island?”

  “Much the same as when I left, only it seems sweeter to me now, for I have missed it so!”

  “Well spoken!” he replied. “I thought you might like to stay in the same room where you resided as a child. It is not quite the same, for it has been new furnished, but you will find it somewhat familiar.”

  “You mean the room I shared with William?”

  “Yes,” he said with a nod. “That is not a problem, is it?”

  A flood of memories entered my mind. I saw my brother and me playing together, teasing one another, or simply ignoring each other in those rooms. I felt a surge of joy at the thought of it, followed directly by a pang of loneliness, for I knew I would never again have a full sibling on earth. I was not about to reveal these personal thoughts to the bishop.

  “No, I am sure it will be fine,” I replied simply.

  “Right,” the king said. “Now, while the others are still arriving, there is a matter we must attend to, Roger. I have brought over the traitors Hugh and Waleran.”

  “Do you wish them to be kept at Devises?” he asked, referring to his own castle.

  “No, three traitors under one roof would be two too many. I will send Waleran up to Bridgnorth and keep the other at Windsor.”

  “Quite right, Your Highness.”

  There was a slight pause in which the king looked at the ground and laughed slightly: not a hearty laugh, but a forced one, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his thoughts. I could guess the reason easily enough. My uncle, the king’s brother, was kept at Devises. Given that they had gone to war with one another, there was little in the way of filial affection left, if any. My father had shut his brother up where he need never see him again. He had left him to rot, and yet they were still brothers, and he could not change that.

  “How is the former duke these days?” the king finally asked Bishop Roger.

  “Your brother?”

  “The former duke—he is no brother of mine,” my father replied with some conviction.

  “He is as well as any man could be after spending two decades in a cell. He is well fed and does not complain as much as he did in the early days. He knows his fate is sealed. Why?” he asked, turning his head slightly. “Do you have some reason to worry?”

  “No, that man could never concern me!” my father declared. Then he said a bit more softly, “I do wonder though if we shouldn’t transfer him to some place more remote.”

  There it was: the fear of rebellion. More than anything else, King Henry wished to safeguard his dynasty. He was desperate for control over the future. Any man who stood in the way, whether William Clito or Waleran of Meulan, would feel the king’s wrath.

  “Where, my lord?” the bishop asked.

  Here I decided to force my way into the conversation, as I had been excluded for some time. “You could send him to Wales with Earl Robert,” I offered. “That is most remote.”

  “A fair point,” the king said.

  Oh my. He actually approved of something I had to say, I thought. I must treasure this moment, for it may be a long time until it comes again.

  My suggestion did not seem to please Bishop Roger. The look on his face was suddenly one of deep concern. “But, my lord, have I not kept him in security all these years?” he asked, leaning forward to beseech, almost as one begging for his life. “There is no fortress stronger than Devises. You have no need to fear.”

  The king appeared to consider the matter for a moment, then reached a conclusion. “I know what I shall
do. I will discuss it with my brother when he comes.”

  “I thought you just forbade us to call him that,” I said.

  “No, I mean the king of Scotland, your mother’s brother.”

  “King David?!” I asked, feeling a sudden excitement at the mention of my beloved uncle. “Do you mean to say that he is coming here? Oh, I would love to see him!”

  “Yes, he will be here just after Michaelmas. It has all been arranged.”

  “Will he be staying at court for some time?” the bishop asked.

  “Possibly as much as a year,” the king replied.

  This revelation was a bit of very good news. As a young girl, I treasured my uncle’s visits. He had always taken a great interest in William and me, and since the death of my uncle Alexander, he was the final living link with my late mother. He had liked me far better than my own father did, though it remained to be seen whether the passage of years had changed that.

  “I can’t believe I will see Uncle David again—that is, King David! I don’t mind saying that I have always favored him more than all my uncles,” I said.

  The king laughed. “Yes, but that is not saying much, given that your other living uncle does not even warrant the name, being a traitor to this house.”

  My father had made a good point, but he was not about to lessen my joy at this news. I had intended to speak with the king about Brian soon after our arrival, but chose to wait until after our royal visitor had come. If there was anyone who, by the strength of his person, could lend credence to my case, it would be King David. Therefore, I waited for the opportune moment.

  X

  The isle of Westminster, formerly Thorney Isle, is by no means large. It can hold the palace of Westminster with its great hall, the abbey church and grounds, and a few roads of shops and taverns. From all else it is cut off by water, and it is therefore a world unto itself, despite being so close to the city of London.

  In that time, the palace included the hall built by my uncle, King William II, and three levels of rooms closer to the river. The kitchens and cellar were on the lowest level, the official rooms just above that, and the private chambers at the very summit. As always, it was of greatest import for the king’s palace to send the message that he was on top. From the second and third levels, one could enter the great hall on the ground level or the upper walk, a great convenience in my childhood when I had wished to secretly gaze down at the revelers. The first level was further down the slope—very near the water’s edge. Here goods could be received at the pier and brought directly into the storerooms.

  In addition to the main building, there were several wood structures nearby for the keeping of animals, weapons and armor, and the like. But the main business on the island often occurred in the yards. The new yard lay to the north of the palace, very near where the carts came in from London, having traveled down the Strand. The old yard stood between the palace and the abbey, and this is where visitors were typically received.

  It was in this outer yard that we gathered three weeks later to welcome the king of Scotland, his queen, and their son Henry, the latter named for the king to whom David owed his advancement: my own father. I had longed for this moment ever since I heard of my uncle’s coming. It had been a difficult period for me, for though I loved being back in the place of my childhood, I had been granted few opportunities to speak with Brian. Even as I readied myself to address the king with my supplication, I felt distant from the man for whom I was doing it all. In the months since I returned to the Norman court, my thoughts of having children and becoming queen had not disappeared, but rather had become combined with my desire to marry Brian fitz Count. I felt that I no longer had those dreams for myself alone, but for both of us. Mad dreams, yes, but what dreams aren’t a bit mad?

  These thoughts filled my mind as the company from the North arrived to the sound of trumpets. My father and I stood in front of the others, who formed something like a line. Queen Adeliza was not with us, having declared yet again that she was ill.

  We watched as the first riders came into view. The court of Scotland was not as large as that of England, but its composition was much the same, for my uncle had surrounded himself with men from the South, as I plainly saw upon their arrival. Only a few rustics accompanied them, most of lower rank. The rest were dressed as Norman nobles, even wearing their hair the same way.

  At the front, riding upon a great black steed, was my uncle in all his splendor. The Scottish king looked just as I had remembered him, apart from the new crown on his head and the lines of care upon his face. Surely you have noticed how kings tend to show their age faster than the rest of us, and King David of Scotland was not immune, as I plainly saw when he drew near and alighted from his horse. Yet I could tell that his spirit had lost none of its vigor as he spun around to help his queen. Next was young Henry, who in truth was not so young, for he refused his father’s aid and stepped down of his own accord.

  “Hail, King David of Scotland!” my father called out.

  “And all hail, King Henry of England!” he replied, not bowing but dipping his head slightly. “And all hail, Empress Maud, if it is indeed you: I cannot call you my ‘wee niece’ any more, I see.”

  I did not hesitate to walk up and embrace him, nor did I hesitate to call his speech into question.

  “I hope you are not implying that I have grown fat, Uncle,” I said.

  He laughed heartily. “No, only tall and graceful, just like your late mother, may she rest in peace.”

  How apt that he should speak these words, for I had just been thinking of how much he resembled the late queen himself. His hair was not so red, but his eyes were just as green, and there was a great likeness in their features.

  “Let me see my name twin then,” King Henry said, commanding the attention of all. “Henry, how you have grown! I see you are a man now and not a boy.” Here he pushed his first two fingers into the young man’s chest, as if to test his strength. “How many years have you on this earth?”

  “Twelve, lord uncle,” he answered, beaming with pride.

  “Twelve—that is a good age. Indeed, you are not unlike my William when he was that age. He was a fine knight, and you shall be too, provided you receive the proper training up north.”

  “We are not so distant,” King David said. “Were you to visit, you would find a great many improvements, I dare say. Scotland is coming into the new age. I make sure of it.”

  “Lovely to see you, Queen Mathilda,” my father said, taking her hand and raising it with a bow of the head. “Why, here is a Mathilda, there a Mathilda—everywhere a Mathilda!”

  “That is because it is the best name: don’t you agree, Queen Mathilda?” I asked.

  “Yes, naturally,” she answered. “I am honored to share it with you.”

  “Earl Robert! How are you?” King David called.

  I turned to see my brother had walked up from the line behind us. He stepped forward and embraced the Scottish king.

  “Very well,” he replied. “I have my own son with me.”

  Here he beckoned for my nephew to come forward. The boy had been held back by cousin Stephen, who now pushed him toward his father. When young William had made his way to us, his father commanded, “William, greet your uncle the king.”

  “Good day, Your Highness,” the boy said rather meekly.

  “And good day to you, young William!” said King David. “You look to be a few years younger than your cousin Henry, but I am sure the two of you will make good friends.”

  “Here you will find the rest,” my father said.

  We all turned and made our way to the line, where the other nobles and officials were standing. The king began introducing them one by one.

  “We have Count Stephen, son of my sister, and Bishop Roger, who hardly needs introduction. And there is Brian fitz Count and Robert Beaumont, and my chancellor, Geoffrey, and the butler William …”

  On he continued down the line, with the Scottish king sto
pping to shake each hand as the roll was called. I stood back a bit with Queen Mathilda and took the opportunity to seek out her conversation.

  “So how was your journey?” I asked. “Not too long, I hope.”

  “It was most miraculous, actually. It did not rain once.”

  “Really? That is fortunate.”

  “Yes, when you consider that we might have received a deluge this time of year.”

  Here she looked up toward the sky as if she thought the rain would fall at any moment.

  “It sounds as if you intend to stay here a while,” I said hopefully.

  She nodded. “As long as we can. Things are more stable in the North than they were in the early days. We have had some trouble from the false king—Máel Coluim mac Alaxandair—and King David has been working to bring all the lands under his control, but we have reason to hope.”

  Although my uncle had officially been king of Scotland for some time, he had faced some difficulties from this false claim to his throne. Naturally, I supported King David entirely.

  “I am glad to hear it,” I said. “You are always welcome at court.”

  “Thank you, that means a great deal. But tell me, where is Queen Adeliza? She is not still in Normandy, is she?”

  I dropped my voice slightly. “No, she came, but she has been unwell ever since. Indeed, I have not seen her for the past week, not that we talk much anyway.”

  There was some pain in my heart as I uttered these words, for I feared that I had offended Queen Adeliza greatly by bringing up the subject of her injury. I was only thinking to help her—to discover the truth. However, she seemed to view me as more hurtful than helpful.

  “Such a shame!” the Scottish queen commented earnestly. “I would dearly like to meet her.”

  “Perhaps she will join us tonight.”

  “Empress Mathilda!” Drogo called.

  I looked to my right and saw him approaching.

  “Yes, Sir Drogo, what is it?” I inquired.

  “The king … that is, the kings are going inside now.”