Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,2

have instructed them to burn incense and put out bowls of rose petals to sweeten the air. They hung new tapestries on the walls this afternoon and the furniture is all assembled. I…” Henry raised his hand to silence her. “I am sure her chamber will be perfect.”

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Adeliza flushed and looked down.

“I think you will be good company for each other, being of a similar age.” Henry gave her a slightly condescending smile.

“It will be strange to call her daughter when she is older than me.”

“I am sure you will both quickly grow accustomed.” He was still smiling, but Adeliza could tell his attention lay elsewhere.

Henry’s conversations were never just idle gossip; there was always a purpose. “I want you to cultivate her. She has been a long time absent, and I need to consider her future. Some matters are rightly for the council chamber and for father and daughter, but some things are better discussed between women.” He stroked the side of her face with a powerful, stubby hand. “You have a skill with people; they open themselves to you.”

Adeliza frowned. “You want me to draw confidences from her?”

“I would know her mind. I have seen her once in fifteen years, and then but for a few days. Her letters give me news, but they are couched in the language of scribes and I would know her true character.” A hard glint entered his eyes. “I would know if she is strong enough.”

“Strong enough for what?”

“For what I have in mind for her.” He turned away to pace the chamber, picking up a scroll and setting it down, fiddling with a jewelled staff, turning it end over end. Watching him, Adeliza thought that he was like one of the jugglers he employed to entertain his courtiers, keeping the balls all rotating in the air, knowing where each one was and what to do with it, adapting swiftly as a new one was tossed into the rotation, discarding another when he had no more need of it. Lacking a legitimate son, he had to look to the succession. He was grooming his nephew Stephen as a possible successor, but now Matilda was 6

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a widow and free to come home and make a new marriage, the game had changed again. To think of making Matilda heir to England and Normandy was beyond audacious. The notion of a woman ruler would make even the most liberal of his barons choke on his wine. Adeliza’s brows drew together.

Her husband often gambled, but he was never rash and he was accustomed to imposing his iron will on everyone.

“She is young and healthy,” he said. “And she has borne a child, even if it did not survive the birthing. She will make another marriage and bear more sons if God is merciful.” A pang went through Adeliza. If God was merciful, she herself would bear sons, but she understood his need to pursue other avenues. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

“Several candidates,” he replied in an offhand tone. “You need not trouble yourself on that score.”

“But when the time comes, you expect me to smooth the path.” Henry climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over them both. He kissed her again, with a hard mouth. “It is a queen’s duty, prerogative, and privilege to be a peacemaker,” he replied. “I do not think for one moment you will fail me.”

“I won’t,” Adeliza said. As he pinched out the bedside candle, she set her hand between her thighs and felt the slipperiness of his seed, and prayed that this time she would succeed.

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Two

The Road to Rouen, Normandy, Autumn 1125

A wet unpleasant morning had cleared to the east as Matilda’s entourage wound its way through the forests of the Beauvais towards the great city of Rouen, heart of Normandy on the banks of the Seine. Now, with barely an hour till sunset, the blue sky was welcome, but the wind had picked up and was blustering hard. Tonight they were making camp by the roadside. They should have been met at noon by a party from Rouen led by one of her father’s barons, Brian FitzCount, but thus far there was no sign of it, and Matilda was growing annoyed and impatient. Her mare was lame on her offside hind leg and she was having to ride pillion on Drogo’s crupper as if she were a woman of his household, rather than