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Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick
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rise, and directed him to the opposite window seat.
He sat down, removing his rain-jewelled cap. Today his boots were laced with blue cord to match the vamp strips up the centre and they had an elegantly pointed toe. “Madam, Domina, I am sorry to tell you that the Count of Flanders is dead,” he said. “Murdered by his servants while at his prayers in his private chapel.”
Matilda stared at him in shocked dismay. Adeliza gasped and crossed herself. “That is wicked!” She pressed her hand over her mouth.
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Brian grimaced. “Louis of France is to preside over the election of his successor, and William le Clito is his likely choice.”
Matilda felt as if she had been double-punched. Charles of Flanders was a close ally of her father’s and popular with his people. It was terrible to hear of his murder—wicked, as Adeliza said. Anyone who killed a man at his prayers was damned to hell. But then to be told that le Clito…She forced herself to think beyond her shock. “What’s to be done?”
Brian rubbed his chin. “Your father is sending your cousin Stephen to negotiate and put forward other names for the title.
Even if le Clito is elected, he will not stay in the saddle. There are already riots in Flanders over the count’s death and the disturbances are not going to settle down in a minute. Your father has given the order that England is to cease supplying English wool to Flemish looms.”
Matilda nodded. Such a move would cause severe unrest because without work, the weavers starved. Her father would then enrich his own candidates from England’s bulging coffers, supporting their rebellions with his silver, because he could not allow William le Clito to become the entrenched lord of Flanders. Given that political decision to make, she would have done the same.
Brian bowed and excused himself to other duties while Adeliza and Matilda went from the palace to the cathedral, there to pray for the soul of Charles of Flanders. As Matilda knelt before the altar, she could not help thinking of a young man murdered at his devotions and that their own bent necks were in just such a vulnerable position, waiting for the blow to strike.
ttt
Brian sat before the fire in the king’s private chamber, fondling the silky ears of a sleek gazehound. Robert of Gloucester was also present, standing by the hearth, gazing into the soft yellow 54
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Lady of the English
flames of a well-seasoned fire. They had been summoned by Henry for an unspecified reason, although Brian suspected it was concerned with the news about the young Count of Flanders, because the king now had to deal with a situation that had turned an ally into an enemy.
Henry entered the chamber with his usual vigour, his cloak an energetic swirl at his shoulders. He joined Robert at the hearth, rubbing his hands briskly, and waved aside their obeisance. Then he patted the dog and took the cup of wine that Brian poured for him.
“Curiosity is written on your faces as big as an incompetent clerk’s scrawl,” he said with scornful amusement before taking a hearty swallow.
“Are you not surprised, my lord father?” Robert replied.
“I scarcely think you have summoned us here to talk of the weather, or hunting.”
Henry grunted. “I wish that was indeed the nature of it.”
He sat down on a cushioned bench and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. “Let us say that the weather has changed and so has the manner of the hunting. I want to talk to you about my daughter’s marriage. I have been observing her conduct over the past months and she pleases me greatly. But for her sex, she would be entirely fit to rule when I am gone.”
Brian felt the heat of the flames on his face. He knew a decision had to be taken, but each time her father rejected a suitor, Brian was relieved to have a few more moments of borrowed time to enjoy her
He sat down, removing his rain-jewelled cap. Today his boots were laced with blue cord to match the vamp strips up the centre and they had an elegantly pointed toe. “Madam, Domina, I am sorry to tell you that the Count of Flanders is dead,” he said. “Murdered by his servants while at his prayers in his private chapel.”
Matilda stared at him in shocked dismay. Adeliza gasped and crossed herself. “That is wicked!” She pressed her hand over her mouth.
53
LadyofEnglish.indd 53
6/9/11 5:35 PM
Elizabeth Chadwick
Brian grimaced. “Louis of France is to preside over the election of his successor, and William le Clito is his likely choice.”
Matilda felt as if she had been double-punched. Charles of Flanders was a close ally of her father’s and popular with his people. It was terrible to hear of his murder—wicked, as Adeliza said. Anyone who killed a man at his prayers was damned to hell. But then to be told that le Clito…She forced herself to think beyond her shock. “What’s to be done?”
Brian rubbed his chin. “Your father is sending your cousin Stephen to negotiate and put forward other names for the title.
Even if le Clito is elected, he will not stay in the saddle. There are already riots in Flanders over the count’s death and the disturbances are not going to settle down in a minute. Your father has given the order that England is to cease supplying English wool to Flemish looms.”
Matilda nodded. Such a move would cause severe unrest because without work, the weavers starved. Her father would then enrich his own candidates from England’s bulging coffers, supporting their rebellions with his silver, because he could not allow William le Clito to become the entrenched lord of Flanders. Given that political decision to make, she would have done the same.
Brian bowed and excused himself to other duties while Adeliza and Matilda went from the palace to the cathedral, there to pray for the soul of Charles of Flanders. As Matilda knelt before the altar, she could not help thinking of a young man murdered at his devotions and that their own bent necks were in just such a vulnerable position, waiting for the blow to strike.
ttt
Brian sat before the fire in the king’s private chamber, fondling the silky ears of a sleek gazehound. Robert of Gloucester was also present, standing by the hearth, gazing into the soft yellow 54
LadyofEnglish.indd 54
6/9/11 5:35 PM
Lady of the English
flames of a well-seasoned fire. They had been summoned by Henry for an unspecified reason, although Brian suspected it was concerned with the news about the young Count of Flanders, because the king now had to deal with a situation that had turned an ally into an enemy.
Henry entered the chamber with his usual vigour, his cloak an energetic swirl at his shoulders. He joined Robert at the hearth, rubbing his hands briskly, and waved aside their obeisance. Then he patted the dog and took the cup of wine that Brian poured for him.
“Curiosity is written on your faces as big as an incompetent clerk’s scrawl,” he said with scornful amusement before taking a hearty swallow.
“Are you not surprised, my lord father?” Robert replied.
“I scarcely think you have summoned us here to talk of the weather, or hunting.”
Henry grunted. “I wish that was indeed the nature of it.”
He sat down on a cushioned bench and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. “Let us say that the weather has changed and so has the manner of the hunting. I want to talk to you about my daughter’s marriage. I have been observing her conduct over the past months and she pleases me greatly. But for her sex, she would be entirely fit to rule when I am gone.”
Brian felt the heat of the flames on his face. He knew a decision had to be taken, but each time her father rejected a suitor, Brian was relieved to have a few more moments of borrowed time to enjoy her
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