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‘Oh, I will say what I mean,’ she said. ‘And so should you. We know that the men we married are not saints so should we pretend they are? You especially, Edith. All know you are married to the biggest lecher in Christendom.’
‘Mary, I beg of you!’
‘You may beg of me all you wish but nothing can change this. How many children has he? I’ll swear even he does not know. He only has to show favour to a young man or woman and the young man is said to be his son and the young woman his latest mistress.’
Matilda shut her eyes and shivered.
‘Forgive me, sister,’ went on Mary. ‘You are too good for the world; but I believe in speaking my mind. We were frank with each other in the Abbey. Should we not be so now? I know that you endowed Henry with the virtues of the perfect knight. Well, he is gallant enough.’ She leaned forward and laid her hand over her sister’s. ‘Do you fret because of his habits? Cheer up. When he gets older his desires will lessen. It is in the nature of things.’
‘Mary, could we talk of something else?’
‘With pleasure. We will talk of that which is uppermost in my mind. My daughter’s future. She will need a husband.’
‘And Eustace has plans for her?’
‘Eustace I He is piqued because she was not a boy. He thinks I should have given him a string of sons. How typical of these men! They never doubt their own manhood. They always blame us. He is so much older than I, yet he thinks the reason we have no son is due to me.’
‘So it is you who make plans for your daughter.’
‘I will, with your help.’
‘My help? How can I help you?’
‘By speaking to the King of course.’
‘You had someone in mind at this Court. Who?’
‘Stephen...Stephen of Blois.’
‘Why, that would seem an excellent match.’
‘I am glad you are in agreement with me. Stephen is not greatly endowed but I hear he is a personable young man. He is the son of the Count of Blois and his mother is the daughter of the Conqueror and your husband’s sister.’
‘He has little prospects.’
‘Little I agree, but in view of his relations with the King, it may well be that he will one day be not so ill-endowed.’
‘So you wish me to speak to the King and to ask him if he would approve of the match?’
‘I should be grateful if you would.’
‘Well,’ said Matilda, ‘there is no harm in mentioning it to the King. He has not said he has other plans for his nephew.’
* * * * *
How strangely quiet were the children’s apartments without Matilda.
They constantly talked of her and often said: ‘Now if Matilda were here...’ and then they would realize how much they missed her.
Stephen regretted her going more than any even though there were plenty of women who were ready to console him and he was eager to be consoled.
William said to him: ‘I shall be married one day, Stephen. Then I shall be gone, too.’
‘You will be married soon, depend upon it,’ replied Stephen. ‘Your marriage is so much a matter of policy.’
‘Perhaps you will be allowed to choose.’
Stephen contemplated that and wondered. It was possible that he would not be, for he was not far from the throne. Suppose William did not have any children, would he, Stephen, ever have a chance? There was Matilda to come before him. He had often cherished the idea that one day he might marry Matilda and even though she had been betrothed to the old Emperor he had gone on hoping. The Emperor was a very old man. Sometimes old men died on the night of their weddings when they were married to young girls like Matilda. Suppose the Emperor died and suppose Matilda was a widow and came back to England and needed a new husband.
Matilda would have taken him readily...as readily as he would have taken her. His feeling for Matilda had never been expressed except through i
Sometimes Stephen wished that he had been bolder. Who knew what might have happened then? Danger! What if he had got young Matilda with child? He believed that she was passionate and would conceive readily. He shuddered at the thought. The King could be ruthless. Sometimes he had imagined himself caught in a passionate relationship with Matilda which both of them were unable to resist, and wondered what the King’s reaction would have been. In his nightmares he imagined himself groping his way blindly through his prison, dark sockets in his face where his eyes had been. That could have happened to him if Matilda had been delivered to her Emperor anything but an unsullied virgin.
Nothing was worth the loss of eyes, of freedom; certainly not a woman. There were so many of them and very few who were not ready to be gracious to a handsome young man like Stephen.
The King sent for him and smiled in a friendly fashion when his nephew entered his chamber. He was a fine young fellow, thought Henry, who could never see him without wishing that he was his son.
‘My dear nephew.’ he said, ‘can you guess what I wish to say to you?’
‘I hope, my lord, that you are going to tell me that I may accompany you when you next leave for Normandy.’
‘Ha, that may be sooner than you think. Rest assured, nephew, you shall be with me. But it was not of that I wished to talk to you. What say you if I tell you I have found a bride for you?’
Hope leaped up. Matilda’s husband was dead. She was to have a new husband. Stephen had been chosen. If William died he and Matilda might reign together...
Wild dreams! Matilda’s old husband was a few steps from the tomb yet. He had let his imagination run on too far.
‘Pray tell me, uncle, whom you have chosen?’
‘I have chosen Matilda.’ said Henry.
The colour rushed into Stephen’s face. ‘Then, sir, it is so. The Emperor is dead...’
Henry looked at his nephew in amazement. ‘What say you?’
‘You said Matilda.’
Henry burst into loud laughter. ‘You are thinking of my daughter. Nay, nephew. She is well married and bedded by now I doubt not. The Emperor wants an heir before he is too old. There are many Matildas, Stephen. There is one now in the Bermondsey Abbey—a daughter of the Count of Boulogne and the Queen’s sister. That is the Matilda I had chosen for you.’
Henry was amazed by the expression on his nephew’s face for Stephen’s hopes had been so raised and they so fitted his dream that he was unable to hide his dismay.
Henry was amused. ‘So you thought it was my daughter. She would be a handful, Stephen. I trust this other Matilda will be more meek. It should be so for she was brought up in an Abbey and in such places they give a good grounding for meekness.’
Stephen was still silent.
‘My daughter Matilda would give a husband a merry dance I doubt not. She has something of me in her and my father and my mother. She does not take after her own mother at all. Be content with this Matilda I have chosen for you. By all accounts women are inclined to be gracious to you. Well, you’ll have little to complain of I’m sure. Do not look for too much pleasure in the marriage bed. Do your duty and look elsewhere for enjoyment. It is often so—and I know full well that you are one to come to a quick understanding of these matters.’
‘I shall, my lord, be happy to marry whomsoever it is your wish to choose for me.’
‘That is the spirit, nephew. I’ve no doubt you’ll make the lady happy. The marriage should take place soon, for it is time you married.’
Stephen bowed and left the King; then he went to his chamber and brooded on his future.
He was a fool to think that he would have aspired to that other Matilda. If she had been free a man in a very much more important position would be found for her. He was not even the eldest son of the Count of Blois and it was only because his mother was Henry’s favourite sister that he received his present favour.
His family would consider this marriage a good match.