Читать книгу The Conquerors: The Pageant of England - Thomas B. Costain - Страница 33

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To tell the story of the next reign, it becomes necessary to recapitulate in greater detail the events preceding the death of Henry I.

Matilda brought back three things from Germany: the richly jeweled crown she had worn, the sword of Tristan, and the most imperious temper that ever plunged a nation into conflict. Picture the long White-Hall at Westminster crowded with the people of the court waiting to see her, the men in their most be-banded and embroidered tunics; the ladies, with their hair hanging down over each shoulder in front in tight silk cases, and their sleeves so long that the tips almost swept the floor; the old King in his short black tunic and tight-fitting black hose over legs which were showing a tendency to shrivel, a massive gold chain around his neck at the end of which dangled a ruby worth a king’s ransom, sitting on his low throne chair and staring straight ahead of him with unseeing eyes and causing one of the long and intensely uncomfortable spells of complete silence which his courtiers had to suffer through. The first glimpse of her was most exciting: a fine-looking woman, truly regal, rather tall and graceful and with a way of carrying her head up which was an indication of her character, eyes dark and with a light in them, skin white.

She was displaying a garment which had come into an amazing popularity on the Continent but which was still new to English eyes, a silken sort of coat worn over her rich ceremonial gown. It had short sleeves and fell almost to the knees. Drawn in tightly at the waist, it flared out with such a gay effect that every woman there possessed one of them as soon as the nimble fingers of a lady’s maid could cut and snip and sew it together. This new garment was a pelisse, and it was perhaps the first important style departure of those early days. Matilda’s would be in one of the new colors she introduced to a country which had used only reds and blues and greens; violet, perhaps, or gold or rose madder; whichever it was, a shade to set off best her fine dark hair.

She met at White-Hall, of course, and for the first time, Stephen of Blois. How well he looked, this tall cousin, in his wine-colored cloak over tunic of silver cloth, his gray leather shoes fitting him tightly to the rounded portion of his handsome calves and then turning over to show lining of the same rich red of the cloak!

It did not matter at all to the Empress that the small fair woman beside Stephen was his wife and that she was showing her deep devotion in every move and every look she gave him. This was another Matilda, a daughter of the Princess Mary who had been at Rumsey with Good Queen Mold and who had later been married to Eustace of Boulogne. Eustace was a fine soldier and had come within a trace of being elected King of Jerusalem after his brothers Godfrey and Baldwin had occupied that perilous throne. The Empress (it will be necessary henceforth to use this title to prevent confusion with the other Matilda) knew also that her father had been so pleased with the marriage of Stephen to the heiress of rich Boulogne that he had built the Tower-Royal for them, a very strong castlelike structure which reared its battlemented peak almost as high above the roofs of London as the White Tower. Stephen, affable, easygoing, prodigal, had won the sincere affection of the Londoners since he and his fair Matilda had occupied Tower-Royal. Every man was his friend, and every woman kept somewhere in her mind or heart the image of the handsome earl. The children of the pair, an ailing son named Baldwin and a daughter who had been christened Matilda, were treated as though they were royal.

The Empress was a discerning woman in some matters. She realized at once that Stephen’s wife was so deeply in love that she would never do or say anything to injure him. The home-comer does not seem to have made any effort as a result to prevent herself from falling in love with Stephen.

It is abundantly clear that she would have married him, instantly and gladly, if he had not already led another woman to the altar; and it may be that as partners they would have ruled England as well as could be hoped for in those days. Matilda’s severity, her Norman sense of possession, her instinct for order inherited from her father would most certainly have offset the free-and-easy tendencies of Stephen. On the other hand, his amiability and sense of moderation might have tempered the imperious instincts of the regal Matilda.

But standing beside the tall earl was his very attractive wife, and hovering around them all was the scheming King with a look in his eyes which told that he at least was taking account of certain realities. There was a glint in them which indicated that he had plans of his own for his new-found daughter.

In the weeks which followed, the Empress saw many things which pleased her, chiefly Stephen, and many things which did not please her at all. The first glimpses of her father’s household had been disillusioning to the proud widow who had presided over the most brilliant court in the known world and in the Eternal City itself. She was puzzled to see groups of men standing about in the anterooms, common men who wore dull-colored tunics and some of whom had even allowed their yellow hair to grow so long that it hung down over their shoulders like an untidy woman’s. These ill-bred clods surrounded the King whenever he appeared and actually seemed to dispute with him. Were these uncouth fellows Saxons? Could this be the race from which her own lovely mother had come?

She was puzzled also that no commotion was created when that silent man, her father, entered or strolled down one of the royal corridors. When she, the Empress Matilda, had walked into or out of a room there had been court functionaries to carry four high-arched iron candlesticks in front of her, the lights flaring and flickering with the motion and the drafts, and a seneschal in the lead intoning, “Her Supreme and Excellent Lady and Most Royal Highness!”

Particularly disconcerting was the fact that the aging but still impatient Henry wanted church services hurried so he would not have to spend much time in chapel. His daughter remembered how this had hurt her devout mother and what talk there had been when the King had made a certain Roger le Poer his own royal chaplain because that clever rogue knew enough to keep his exhortations short. Could it be that the aging and corpulent ecclesiastic who was now jumbling the Latin phrases and wheezing in his haste was the selfsame Roger? She was horrified to find that it was and that he now filled as well the high post of chancellor. She thought of the great cathedrals of Germany and Rome where the Gregorian chants, intoned by hidden choirs of trained singers, made her flesh tingle with delight, and of mighty chords crashing about her ears from the bronze pipes of the organs.

It was not long before London was dumfounded to learn that the Empress, after this triumphant return to her father’s court, had retired from the public eye. She had withdrawn herself into the household of Queen Adelicia in the Cotton-Hall at Westminster and was not seeing anyone, not even the handsome earl, most particularly not Stephen. Tongues clacked furiously, and a score of reasons were advanced for this strange state of affairs. It is doubtful if anyone guessed the exact truth.