The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [145]
Sad news came from Rouen. I knew that the Empress Matilda had been ailing for some time. Ever since she had caught a virulent fever some seven years ago there had been occasional recurrences of it. Early in the morning of September 10 she died.
Matilda’s character had changed a great deal as she aged. In youth she had been fiery, ambitious, imperious and very reckless, antagonizing so many people with whom she came into contact. How she had mellowed! She had become very wise; she had always been clever but, losing her recklessness, she had given quiet thought to her problems and those of her family and had acquired a shrewd wisdom. If only Henry had listened to her over Becket . . . But one could not go on saying “If only . . .”
On her deathbed, so pious had she become that she took the veil as a nun of the Abbey of Fontevrault.
I should have liked to be with her at the end. She and I had a great deal in common. We had admired each other, and that is always a reason for mutual regard. She had made a very careful will and had given a great deal to the poor. She had founded many religious houses and supported many more. She had set aside a large sum for the completion of the bridge over the Seine at Rouen—an object which she had started some years before her death. So she died full of good works.
I mourned her and I knew Henry would.
Now my great task was to see that young Matilda left the country for her future home in a fitting manner, and to do my best to make her believe that she could be happy in her new life.
We were to go to Dover and there embark for Normandy. Robert, Sheriff of Kent, was in charge of our passage and three vessels from Shoreham had been engaged to carry our small party and all Matilda’s belongings. We were going to Argentan, where the King would be waiting for us. There we were to celebrate Christmas, after which Matilda would begin her journey to Saxony.
I was looking forward to my meeting with Henry. I had been thinking of it for a year, and many times had I rehearsed what I would say to him. I wanted to see his face when he knew he had lost Aquitaine.
And so we came to Argentan. It was to be a family Christmas. Henry greeted me warmly. He was always attentive after long separations. I received his embrace coolly in the presence of others.
He had the effrontery to come to my bedchamber, smiling confidently, certain that we were going to resume marital relations. I looked at him coldly. I said: “Henry, there is something I have to tell you. I have decided I am going to leave you.” He stared at me uncomprehendingly.
I went on: “I shall return to Aquitaine. It will be as though I never married you . . . except for the children, of course. They are mine and I do not forget it.”
“By God’s eyes,” he said, “you strike a dramatic pose. Does aught ail you?”
“I am well, thanks be to God. I have made a few discoveries. I went through your maze at Woodstock one day. I think a piece of embroidering silk must have become attached to your spur. It led me to her pretty little home. I must say it is very charming. Did you design it, or did she? You seem as though you have not understood. I am talking of Rosamund Clifford.”
His eyes narrowed and I saw the smile curve his lips.
“You were at one time extremely fond of her,” I went on. “Don’t tell me you were guilty of that weakness of some women . . . and men even now and then. Were you in love?”
“With Rosamund,” he said. “Yes. She is a delightful woman.”
“The mother of your two sons?”
“I admit the charge.”
“And you took her to live in the palace . . . in my place?”
“Ah, that is what rankles, is it? That is what you could not bear. Yes, she did live in the palace. She was a more gracious queen than you ever were.”
“She had to please her master. Has it occurred to you that I do not have to please you?”
“Enough of this nonsense.”
“It is no nonsense. This did not happen