The Passionate Enemies (29 page)

His light love affairs she accepted as a woman married to such a man and loving him dearly must do. It was the Empress who had cast a shadow over her life. And when Stephen had taken the crown this change had come over his wife. He did not love the Empress. Love as the Queen understood it was devotion, sacrifice, the elimination of self-interest. Yet Stephen, instead of holding the crown for his cousin, had snatched it and held it himself.

In her heart she believed this to be wrong. Stephen had sworn fealty to the Empress Matilda. He had been the first of the knights to do so, and it had been the wish and command of the last King that his daughter should come to the throne.
Yet the fact that he had done this filled her with exultation for it showed clearly that he did not love the Empress.

It was for this reason that she the Queen had grown in stature and her true self had begun to emerge. She had discovered strength in herself which she had not known existed. She had wanted Stephen to know that she was beside him; that she would be with him no matter what happened. Whether it was right or wrong for Stephen, to have taken the throne was of no account to her. She loved Stephen; she was his wife; and she was going to help him hold what he had taken.

All through his recent illness she had nursed him and they had come more closely together. She had managed to convey to him her absolute loyalty; and he had realized the worth of such devotion. He had told her what it meant to him to have one person in the world who was entirely for him. She knew that beneath his tenderness on this occasion there was sincerity.

When he had left for Normandy he had said, ‘I go knowing that you will care for my affairs as no one else. These men who have sworn to serve me may well do so if it suits their ends, but only in you can I put my trust.'

These words she would treasure. She would die rather than fail to deserve them.

And so those about her saw the new Matilda emerge. The Queen who would stand beside her husband in success or failure; the woman who had no thought in her mind other than his good.

Her task was a difficult one and she knew that it would become even more so. Stephen was in Normandy where there had been continual trouble throughout the years; but since Stephen had taken the throne – and there were many who said it belonged to the Empress – numerous robber barons whose pleasure in the past had been to ravage the land, to plunder, to seize wealth and women and to terrify the countryside while they exercised their cruel lusts, saw the possibility of a return to the old days of William Rufus, which had existed before Henry, Lion of Justice, had brought order to the country with his stern laws. They knew full well that amiable Stephen was no Henry. The fact that he had shown
such leniency to the followers of Baldwin of Redvers and to Baldwin himself was an indication of what could be expected. The reign of Henry was over; a new order had begun and the barons were going to make the most of it.

There were disturbances all over the country. Rochester Cathedral was burned down; there were fires throughout cities as far apart as York and Bath. The King of Scotland was preparing to invade and insurgents displaying the banner of the Empress Matilda had taken Dover Castle which they declared they would hold for her until her arrival in England.

The Queen was alarmed. She realized the importance of Dover in the event of an invasion. It was the spot which must stand for Stephen at all costs.

She called her ministers to her and told them that they must with all speed gather together an army and she would march at their head to Dover.

There were murmurs against this project but she with her fierce new-born authority silenced them. She would conduct them there; she would see that Dover was taken and held for King Stephen.

They were sceptical. What could this woman do?

‘The country is beginning to turn towards the Empress,' they told her. ‘They are saying that Hugh Bigod committed perjury, that Henry would never have disinherited his own daughter, especially his grandson, young Henry. The King of Scotland will soon be on the march. It might be better for you to join the King in Normandy than attempt to hold Dover.'

She dismissed this with scorn.

They did not believe her capable of governing, so she would show them that she was.

Before setting out for Dover she sent orders to her subjects of Boulogne. They were to harass the castle from the sea; they were to prevent any ships arriving with provisions.

Thus began the siege of Dover Castle conducted by the Queen who such a short time ago had seemed a colourless princess.

The besieged might have held out had it not been for the people of Boulogne who, eager to show their loyalty to their Princess, responded with enthusiasm to her call. Attacked on all sides the rebels in Dover Castle were quickly vanquished.

Everyone knew that they must reverse their opinion of the Queen. She had shown herself as a woman of strength and resource, one to be respected.

When Stephen returned, Dover was his.

Like his subjects he was amazed by the actions of his Queen.

‘But why?' she asked. ‘Surely you know that your cause – whatever it is – must be mine.'

Then did he realize how kind fate had been to him in giving him such a wife.

There was no time though to celebrate the victory of Dover. He must march north to subdue the Scots.

WILLIAM DE ALBINI
was impatient to return to England. He had for long been in love with Adelicia – a fact which he had been forced to hide during the lifetime of the King – and now that she had promised to marry him, his great desire was to have done with Court life and settle quietly as far from it as possible. He was delighted to discover that Adelicia was of a like mind.

He was a man of great personal charm. Tall and with very clear-cut features and fine curling hair, he was immediately noticed in any assembly. His skill at the joust had made him one of its finest exponents and at any important ceremony he was expected to perform.

It was for this reason that he had been selected to attend the wedding celebrations of the young heiress of Aquitaine to the bridegroom who had recently become the King of France.

This was a grand wedding, for the French were even fonder of brilliant ceremonies than the English and they performed them with a greater dignity.

The bride Eleanor had been declared Duchess of Aquitaine when her father had died on a pilgrimage to Compostella
whither he had gone to ask the saints to intercede for him that a marriage he intended to make should be fruitful and yield a male heir.

Eleanor was a vivacious and extremely attractive girl of fifteen, ambitious and delighted with the new honours which had come to her; the dowager Queen, Adelaide, was by no means uncomely nor did she appear to be overburdened with sorrow on account of her recent widowhood.

Before this Queen and her Court, William de Albini had jousted to the admiration of all who beheld him, and it was not surprising that he won the prize which was awarded for the most outstanding performance.

The trophy was presented at the royal box set up in the field and seated here were the young bride and bridegroom with the Dowager Queen of France.

As William rode up to the box and bowed low he was aware of three pairs of eyes regarding him. Those of the young King were friendly but the gaze of the two females he found disconcerting.

The bride's beauty was startling. Never before had he seen such a lively expression on such a young face. Her beautiful eyes were speculative and he had seen that expression in the faces of women before when they looked at him, but never in one so young. But it was the Queen Mother who filled him with real alarm.

Her voice was low and husky as she complimented him on his performance. Never, she said, had she been so excited by any performance at a tournament, never had she presented a prize with greater pleasure.

He bowed low, accepted the trophy and rode off.

He continued to think of the glitter in the Queen Mother's eyes and the manner in which the young Queen had regarded him. So he was not entirely surprised when he was summoned to the presence of the Queen Mother, although it was strange that she should wish to see a knight who, although he was the outstanding performer in the tournament, could scarcely be said to be of very exalted rank.

When he arrived she immediately dismissed her attendants and came to him; she stood before him breathing deeply, her eyes – alert and glittering – surveying him from head to feet.

‘I had to tell you what great pleasure your performance gave me,' she said.

‘You are gracious,' said William.

‘And you are brave and handsome. I never saw a man who pleased me as you do.'

‘I am honoured . . .'

She laughed at him. ‘Come,' she said, taking his hand, ‘be seated near me.'

She sat on an ornate chair and indicated a stool which he might use. The stool was very close to the chair.

From her exalted position she looked down at him.

‘From whichever way I look at you,' she said, ‘I like you more. Come, my good friend, do not look so surprised. You are not going to tell me that ladies have never smiled on you before.'

He said: ‘I am unprepared for such gracious . . .'

‘You will soon be prepared. Such a fancy I have taken to you that I would wish to keep you near me.'

He rose and stood before her. ‘I must ask your leave to depart.'

‘It is not granted,' she answered. ‘I believe you are afraid of me. Fear is not becoming to a knight.'

‘I am not easily frightened,' he said with dignity. ‘What I fear is that I may be forced to speak frankly and in doing so, offend you.'

‘There shall be frankness between us. I like you. There is no reason why you should not stay here in my apartments.'

‘That I could not do.'

‘I am a Widow,' she said. ‘A King's widow. I might find it in my heart to marry you. What say you to that?'

‘I could say that I am sure you would not be so unwise.'

She stood up and came very close to him. He shrank from her for he was fully aware that she was a passionate and sensuous woman. There could not have been a greater contrast to Adelicia; their only point of resemblance was that they were both Dowager Queens.

‘I would be prepared to be very unwise as you call it for a man like you.'

‘Then I must warn you against such acts which it could well be that you would later regret.'

‘I regret nothing. Have done with your coyness. There is one thing I will not endure and that is wasting time in idle talk when acts are so much more to my taste.'

He drew away from her in horror,

‘I ask your leave to retire, Madam.'

‘It is not given,' she snapped. ‘You are a fool. Do you not realize what is being offered you?'

‘I realize this, Madam, and marvel that you be so generous.'

‘Oh, come, my handsome knight, you are not so reluctant as you pretend. I like you. From the moment I clapped eyes on you I marked you for mine. You should be marvelling at your good fortune and determined to make the most of it.'

It was not the first time William de Albini had found himself in a similarly embarrassing position. His good looks, his equestrian skill, his tall fine figure had brought him constant feminine admiration, but never before had he been confronted by an imperious woman who appeared to regard him as her subject who must obey her wishes no matter what she demanded of him.

Usually fair words cleverly chosen to convey his rejection had sufficed to extricate himself and save the importuning lady from embarrassment, but his Queen was too direct, too blatant in her desire to make him her lover. She needed plain words.

‘Madam,' he said, ‘I must tell you that I have recently become affianced. I am true to my betrothed. We have taken our vows.'

The Queen burst into loud laughter. ‘We will forget your little English lady, my lord. You are now in France and it may well be that when you and I have made life pleasant here you will have no will to return to her.'

‘That is not so, Madam. I have no fancy for another.'

‘You are mad. Your foolish little virgin cannot give you one tenth of the pleasure I can offer. Come, you waste our time. This night is for enjoyment. I will make a promise to you . . .'

‘I must tell you, Madam, that I am betrothed to the Dowager Queen of England.'

That startled her. She narrowed her eyes. ‘The widow of King Henry!'

‘We are pledged. We shall marry on my return. I trust now, Madam, that you understand my position.'

‘That woman,' she cried. ‘She is barren. The King was in her bed only for the purpose of getting the children she was too barren to have. He sought pleasure elsewhere. And you would put
me
aside for that woman.'

William would endure no more. He bowed and hurried towards the door.

‘Stay!' she cried.

He turned his head and temporarily looked into eyes which blazed such hatred at him that his one desire was to get away.

The Dowager Queen of France was in a fury. She was not a woman to consider her words once her passions were aroused. She had never sought to restrain them when her husband was alive and she saw no reason why she should do so now.

‘That man gives himself airs,' she declared. ‘It is time he was taught a lesson.'

Her attendants smirked; they knew the tastes of their mistress. She had been accustomed to beckon and expected the object of her desires to respond with alacrity. Invariably they did; for all knew that the Queen Mother was insatiable in her desires and to have them frustrated maddened her.

Many had noticed the looks she had bestowed on the handsome William de Albini; and the fact that he had refused the Queen was discussed throughout the Court.

The young bride Eleanor was amused by the situation. Her mother-in-law should realize that there were younger and more attractive women at Court. And it seemed that the desirable Albini had pledged himself to another Queen. Her name was Adelicia and she was a Queen Dowager too.