lay back on her pillows again after Megan had gone, well pleased with the little Welshwoman’s conspiratorial smile of understanding.
Below in the courtyard the morning sounds were reaching a crescendo of excitement and down the winding stairs to the hall she could hear a hubbub of shouting and laughter and the crashing of the boards onto the trestles as the tables were set up. It was hard to lie idle with so much going on about her but she was content to rest for the moment. The time to get up would come later.
She watched as a boy staggered in with a basket of logs and proceeded to light a new fire, and then a man humped in her boxes of clothes. There was still no sign of Nell, but Megan was close on his heels. Throwing back the lids under Matilda’s instructions she began to pull out the gowns and surcoats, crying out with delight as she fingered the scarlets and greens of silks, fine linens and soft-dyed wools, laying them on the bed one by one.
Matilda looked at each garment critically, considering which she should wear. Ever since she had heard about the feast she had thought about the gold-embroidered surcoat brought to her from London by William for her name day. It had come from the east and smelled of sandalwood and allspice.
‘Oh my lady, you must wear this.’ Megan held up her green velvet gown trimmed with silver. ‘This is perfect for you. It is beautiful, so it is.’
Matilda took it from her and rubbed her face in the soft stuff. ‘William thinks that green is unlucky,’ she said wistfully. She loved that dress and she knew it suited her colouring. It would go well below the gold.
Nell appeared at last, fully recovered from the journey and in high spirits, as Megan was hanging up the last of the gowns in the garderobe. She had brought a message.
‘From one of Lord Clare’s knights,’ she whispered, full of importance. ‘He wants to see you in the solar, now, whilst Sir William is out in the mews with his hawks.’
She helped Megan dress Matilda hastily in a blue wool gown and wrapped her in a thick mantle against the draughts. Then, her finger to her lips, she led the way out of the bedchamber.
Richard was waiting in the deep window embrasure, half-hidden behind a screen. He was dressed for travelling.
‘Richard?’ Matilda stared at him as Nell withdrew.
‘I am leaving. Your husband demands it.’ He put out his hand towards her, then let it fall. He shrugged. ‘My men are waiting. I return to Gloucester.’
‘No,’ she whispered in anguish. ‘I thought he would change his mind and let you stay … I thought you would be here …’
He reached out and touched her hand. ‘This is your household, lady,’ he said sadly. ‘This is where you wished to be, at your husband’s side. There is no place for me here. Better I go now.’
‘But I thought it would be different – I thought it would be all right.’ She looked away from him, her bravery and excitement forgotten. ‘I had forgotten what he is like.’ She put her hands to her face trying not to cry. ‘And I have to stay with him for the rest of my life!’
Richard felt the sweat start on the palms of his hands. ‘You are his wife,’ he said harshly. ‘In God’s eyes you belong to him.’
They stood for a moment in silence. She wanted to cling to him. Firmly she put her hands behind her. ‘I am carrying his child,’ she said at last with an effort. ‘So he is going to let me stay. Not here, but at Brecknock. He is not going to send me back to Bramber after all.’ She gave a faint smile.
Richard stiffened. The pain in his face was hidden in a moment, but she had seen it. She clenched her fists in the folds of her long skirts. ‘Are you not going to congratulate me on fulfilling my wifely duty?’
He bowed slightly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘I couldn’t …’ she whispered. ‘I couldn’t …’
Outside the wind was rising, funnelling down the valley, turning the melted slush back to crisp whiteness. It rattled the shutters and screens and stirred the hay which covered the floors, releasing the smell of stale woodruff, tossing the fire-smoke back down into the rooms.
‘You said your men were waiting,’ she said at last. The words caught in her throat.
‘So. God be with you.’ He took her hand and raised it to his lips. Then he left her. She heard him walk across the room and slowly down the long winding stair, his sword catching on the stone wall as he went until the sound died away and she was alone.
She sat for a long time on the stone seat in the embrasure, then, stiff with cold, she returned to her room and crept back beneath the covers of the bed.
Some time later Megan reappeared. She was bubbling with excitement. Prince Seisyll had arrived with his eldest son Geoffrey and his retinue, his harper and his chief councillors.
‘Handsome he is,’ Megan reported breathlessly, her eyes sparkling. ‘A real prince to look at, and tall …’
Matilda dried her eyes, pushed back the covers, and slipped out of bed.
She was standing in the middle of the floor in her shift with Megan braiding her long hair to go beneath her veil when she heard William’s unmistakable step on the stairs. She glanced round wildly, looking for somewhere to hide, not wanting him to see her preparations.
‘Quick, madam.’ Megan threw a warm dressing-gown round her shoulders. ‘Wait in the garderobe and I’ll tell him you’re busy.’ She giggled nervously as Matilda fled for the little archway in the corner of the room.
Standing motionless amongst the hanging clothes just inside the doorway behind the leather curtain, shivering in the draught from the open closet hole, Matilda held her breath and listened. There was a moment’s silence, and then she heard William’s irritated exclamation as he saw that the bed was empty.
‘Your lady will be back in a moment.’ Megan’s voice was as firm as ever, Matilda heard, and she imagined Megan gesturing modestly towards the doorway where she was hidden. To her surprise William made no comment. There was a pause as he fumbled with the lid of a coffer, then she heard his loud step as he left the bedchamber and the squeak and clatter of his chain mail as he ran down the spiral stairs again. She emerged to find Megan pulling her gown from beneath a cover on the bed.
‘Lucky I thought to hide it, madam, isn’t it?’
‘What was my husband wearing, Megan?’ Matilda was puzzled. ‘Surely he wasn’t armed for a feast?’ She held up her arms as the other woman slipped the fine green cloth over her head and began to lace it up the back.
‘He was wearing a hauberk, madam, then he took his tunic and mantle from over there –’ she indicated the rail on the far side of the room ‘– and put them on over it. I suppose he can’t bring himself to trust his guest quite, even when by custom our people always leave their arms by the door when they accept a man’s hospitality.’ She smiled a little ruefully. ‘And Prince Seisyll is the Lord Rhys’s brother-in-law, and he’s the ruler of all south Wales and at peace with your King Henry, so there would be no danger and, besides, I’ve always heard that Seisyll is a good man, chivalrous, with honour better than many at King Henry’s court.’ The colour rose a little in her cheeks as she spoke.
Matilda smiled and touched her arm gently. ‘Of course he is, Megan. I expect William is just being careful, that’s all, out of habit.’
She bit her lips hard to bring out the red in them, and lifted a small coffer onto the table to find her jewellery and her rouge. ‘Are you going to attend at the back of the hall?’
‘Oh yes, indeed, as soon as you’ve gone down. I want to see all the finery and hear the music.’ Megan deftly twisted Matilda’s hair up and around her head and helped Nell adjust the veil and the barbette which framed her face.
They were pulling the folds of her surcoat of scarlet and golden thread into place and tying the