The Prince of Darkness (42 page)

Infuriated by this, John seized William and said he personally would conduct him to England.

John realised that he had not finished with the troublesome family so far. When they crossed to England William escaped to one of his strongholds in Wales and there declared open war on the King. John was maddened. It was the woman he wanted. She was the one who was going to spread the scandal all over the world. She was the one who would tell the world that he had murdered Arthur.

It was a rough journey which Matilda and her eldest son William undertook, and it seemed to them both that they had escaped one peril for an even greater one. Clinging to the sides of the boat they had little inclination to think of anything but immediate survival, but when the boat finally did reach the safety of Galloway her first thoughts were of what might have happened to William.

‘He has been less fortunate than we have,’ she said to her son. ‘I shudder to think of what will happen to him in the hands of that tyrant.’

‘Father is clever,’ said the younger William. ‘It may well be that he will think of a way of outwitting the King.’

‘John has so much on his side. It won’t always be so, William. Rebellion is growing throughout the country. He is disliked everywhere. The barons are ready to rise against him. Your father is one of the first of many. The day will come, you will see, when John will be forced to listen to the will of those he calls his subjects.’

‘We will hope so, Mother.’

‘It must be so. I only wish that they would band together now and come to rally round your father. What a leader he would make!’

Where could they go now? she wondered. They had reached Scotland but it did not seem a very hospitable land.

A party of fisherfolk who had seen their arrival came out to see who they were and when they realised that they were people of quality, they took them into their homes and gave them food.

One of their party went to tell Duncan of Carrick that they were there and he came to greet them and offer them hospitality of a kind suited to their rank. Gladly they accepted.

Matilda told him who they were and why they had escaped so hurriedly from Ireland; he listened closely, nodding sympathetically but, when they had retired for the night and being exhausted soon fell into a deep sleep, he sent a messenger to England asking what should be done with them.

The answer came back promptly.

Thus it was that while William, having seen that his position in Wales was untenable, had fled to France, Matilda and her eldest son were delivered into John’s hands.

They were taking her to Windsor. She knew it well.

What would he do to her there? Imprison her in a dungeon? She held her head high. Whatever he did he would not intimidate her. She was not afraid of him. He was a coward, she told her son William, who rode with her, and it was always a mistake to show fear to cowards.

Windsor, she thought, where the Saxons had built a palace, and which in those days was known as Windlesofra or Windleshora because of the way in which the Thames wound through the countryside. There were some who said its name had come about because travellers had to be ferried over the river with a rope and pole and people had said, ‘Wind us over the river.’ It was a bleak spot and Matilda thought the real origin of the name might well be ‘Wind is Sore’, referring to the bleakness of the gales which assaulted the place in winter.

Edward the Confessor used to keep Court here but when William the Conqueror came he had set his mark on the place as he had done throughout England, and there was the Round Tower to proclaim it. It was his son Henry I who had built a chapel there and made it a residence.

John secretly watched their arrival, chortling with glee. Now, my proud lady, he thought, you will be a little less bold, a little less inclined to spread calumnies concerning me.

His mouth tightened. Of one thing he must make sure. She was never to leave this place alive.

He sent for them and when they stood before him he noted that she was as arrogant as ever, although her son William looked a little subdued. He wished that it was her husband he had there.
He
had cleverly made his escape. No matter, it was the woman he wanted most. She was the one who had made trouble and, he doubted not, led her husband into it.

He dismissed the guards for he did not want anyone to hear any reference to Arthur which he feared she might make. Some women might be a little humble in her desperate position, but one could not be sure of Matilda de Braose.

John looked at her slyly, keeping her standing while he sprawled in his throne-like chair.

‘So we meet at last,’ he said. ‘By God’s ears, I thought we never should. First you are in Wales, then in Ireland and finally in Scotland. You lead a wandering life, my lady.’

‘It was no wish of mine, my lord, that I wandered so much. I should have preferred to remain in my rightful castle of Hay, or that of Brecknock or Radnor.’

The impertinence of the woman! If he were not afraid of her and what harm she might do him he might have found it in his heart to admire her.

‘And now you have come to rest at Windsor. It pleases me to see you here as my guest.’

He savoured the last word. He is a devil, she thought. He will murder us as he murdered Arthur.

‘I trust you feel a like pleasure,’ he added, smiling
sardonically; and when she was silent he went on: ‘You do not answer me, my lady. I must tell you that when I speak I expect to be answered.’

‘I thought you did not want an answer which must be obvious.’

‘You are not pleased to be my guest,’ he said. ‘But you who are usually most eager to speak your mind should say so.’

‘And trust I always shall be. I was never one to say one thing and mean another.’

‘I know it well, so I believe did that husband of yours. You’re a forceful woman, my lady.’

She bowed her head.

‘And now you stand before me,’ he went on, ‘knowing that you have been speaking ill of me. That should give you cause to tremble.’

‘I speak nothing but the truth.’

‘That is for us to decide.’

‘Nay, my lord, it is for the world to do that.’

‘You are an insolent woman,’ he cried.

She knew that she was looking straight into the face of death but she shrugged her shoulders almost nonchalantly.

‘I have said that which has offended you,’ she said, ‘and I care not because I know it to be the truth. If it is not so, where is Arthur of Brittany?’

‘You have not come here to question me. Remember you are my prisoner. You stand there with your son. Your husband has deserted you.’

‘Nay,’ she said, ‘we have been parted through evil circumstances. He is not the man to desert his wife.’

‘You contradict me at every turn.’

‘I have told you that I shall speak the truth.’

‘Very brave, very brave. Save your bravery, my lady. You are going to need it.’

‘I know that well. I have spoken outright what has been in people’s minds these many years – in fact ever since the night when Arthur disappeared from the castle of Rouen. You cannot keep your sin a secret for ever, my lord.’

John began to shout. ‘Guards. Guards. Take this man and woman. Put them in one of the dungeons. I shall decide then what shall be done with them.’

The guards came in. Matilda went out, still holding her head high, and her eyes flashed scorn at the King and although she did not speak, her lips formed the word Murderer.

How could he punish them? When he thought of that woman his rage was almost out of control. He had to be careful though. William de Braose was still free. What could he do if he maimed his wife – put out her eyes or more appropriately cut out her tongue? The spectre of Arthur seemed very real at that moment. Was he never going to forget Arthur? The barons were growing more and more rebellious. Caution, whispered his good sense.

Of one thing he was certain. Matilda de Braose should never leave Windsor.

‘Take these two to a dungeon,’ he said. ‘See that they are fettered. Let them be kept in the same dungeon.’

He smiled to himself. There they could watch each other’s misery which would be an added torment.

His wishes were immediately carried out.

Each day he wondered how they fared. How could they be living in that cell from which there was no escape? They had no food and even the valiant Matilda could not live for ever without sustenance.

He thought of her with pleasure every morning when he awoke and sat at table. Succulent flesh, rich pastry – he took great delight in them, more especially because he knew that proud Matilda and her son were starving.

After two weeks he sent his guards down to the dungeon to see what had happened. They were both dead. The son had died first and in her agony the mother had gnawed at his flesh in the very extremities of starvation.

John laughed aloud when he heard.

So died proud Matilda! That would be a lesson to any who thought they could accuse him of his nephew’s murder.

But it proved otherwise and after the death of Matilda de Braose the whispering started up as fresh as it had been at the time of Arthur’s death.

Chapter XIV