The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [186]
“The King thinks you may need garments, and he is arranging for some to be sent to you.”
I was exultant. The end of my imprisonment must be in sight. Should I be invited to Court? What excitement that would be! What was Alais thinking? I should not mind being at a Court where my husband’s mistress was. After all, I was the Queen. I should find it very amusing. I should be plunged once more into intrigue. What a pleasure not to have to rely on hearsay.
And to be with my dearest Matilda, to watch over her while she was waiting for her child!
A hamper of clothes came. Delicious red velvet. I handled the soft materials, loving the feel of them. How I had missed my beautiful clothes over all these years!
My women crowded around me. Amaria was so delighted for me, and the prettiest of them all who waited on me, Belle, whom we called Bellebelle, danced with joy. They would all love going to Court.
We were moving too fast, I told them. I was not yet released.
I stroked the white fur which lined the cloak and thought of facing Henry. How would he look after all these years? How would I look to him? I had taken care of myself and had not allowed my imprisonment to cause me undue anxiety. I had been shut away from the world, so he thought, but I had managed to keep myself aware of what was happening. The years had been kind to me as far as my appearance was concerned.
Should I see them all again? Most of all I wanted to see Richard, I wanted to talk to him about his father’s intrigue with his intended bride. But of course Richard would not have her now. There would be no compromise with Richard. It was either Yea or Nay, and as far as Alais was concerned it was most definitely Nay. What a joy it would be to see him! A boy no longer. A great soldier. And there was something else. He was now heir to the throne of England. What did Henry think of that? How I should love to know.
Well, I should soon be seeing and hearing at first hand all those things for which for so long I had had to rely on others.
Matilda was at Winchester, eagerly awaiting my arrival. We stood for a moment looking at each other. This was my daughter who had been a child when I had last seen her, and now she was twenty-eight years old, a wife and a mother who had endured much suffering.
There was no ceremony between us. We ran together and were in each other’s arms.
“My dearest child,” I cried.
“Oh . . . my mother . . .”
We held each other at arms’ length and stared eagerly.
“You are beautiful still,” she said. “I remembered always how beautiful you were. I expected to find . . .”
“An old woman? I am an old woman . . . but I try to forget it. That is the best way. I will not admit that. I am not an old woman to myself, and therefore I can pass for being younger than my years.”
I looked at her anxiously. She was heavily pregnant and looked tired. She told me that the journey from Normandy had been exhausting in her condition but her father had wanted the child to be born in England.
“Besides,” she added with the lovely smile I remembered so well, “it means that we can be together.”
There was so much to talk about during those days.
She told me of her life in Saxony, of how she had at first been impressed by her husband’s power. She described the ducal palace in front of which rose the column of Lwenstein at whose top was a great lion made of brass. It had been put there because her husband was known as Henry the Lion. He had received the title, a story ran, because when he was in the Holy Land he had watched a fight between a lion and a serpent; the lion was getting the worst of the combat, so Henry destroyed the serpent and the lion was grateful to him and became his companion, always at his side.
“Was it true?” I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Did you not discover from your husband?”
“He liked us all to believe it was true, but I could never say for sure.”
“Men like to preserve legends about themselves,” I commented.
“Henry wanted to make Brunswick the most beautiful city