Lady of Hay (67 page)

Matilda was appalled when she saw the size of William’s debt. “Have you paid nothing to the king since his coronation?” She scanned the parchment and looked up from William to Giles to Will, who was leaning by the chancery window, his arms folded, a worried frown on his face; behind them the scribe and William’s clerk sat at the high desk, their pens at the ready. Why? Why the sudden demand after all these years? She had a vision of John’s face in the chapel and she closed her eyes, trying to steady the sudden irrational wave of fear that had filled her and the thought that the demand might not be unconnected with the fact that the king had seen her hand in that of Richard de Clare.

“We must pay something at once, William.” She beckoned her own steward, who was waiting with an armload of rolled parchments. Then she stopped. “I thought you were told originally to pay the taxes for Limerick to the Dublin exchequer. Why does Westminster suddenly want them?”

William shrugged. His shoulders drooped a little.

She gave an exasperated sigh. “Here.” She pulled a parchment from her steward’s hands and scrutinized it closely. “I can find about seven hundred marks. Those will be sent to the exchequer straight away. See to it,” she directed William’s steward, who bowed and began to scribble as she felt for the keys at her girdle. “It is lucky, William, that we had so good a year in the March. I was able to sell cattle and there is money in the coffers.” Giving one of the keys to her steward, she directed him to fetch the gold. “It is not safe to be so much in the king’s debt, William.” She put her hand on his arm gently. “We must pay it off.”

William laughed. The whole episode had frightened and annoyed him, and his family’s reaction to the size of his debt had first worried and then irritated him irrationally, but now that some money was to be returned, and so easily, he felt completely happy again. “That’ll be enough for the king,” he replied, shaking off her hand. “I’ll have a word with him. I’m sure it’s all a mistake.”

But it was not a mistake. The king had, it appeared, every intention of holding William to the repayment of his debts. He accepted the carefully chosen, exquisitely illuminated volume of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s
History of the British Kingdom
and within two weeks William had received a further demand from the exchequer.

Early the following year the next blow had fallen. William was ordered to give up his lordships of Glamorgan and Gwynllwg to one of the king’s new favorites, an adventurer named Fawkes de Breauté.

“Christ’s bones, Moll. What will he want next?” William had ridden in desperation to consult his kinsman William, Earl Ferrers, who remained high in the king’s favor, and he had returned with vague assurances of friendship from the young man but with the same advice—pay up as much as you can and keep a low profile until the king’s displeasure was dissipated.

“He wants money, William. You’ve got to accept the fact and we’ve got to find it.” Matilda forced herself to continue studying the embroidery before her, feeling the tightness of fear close across her chest like an iron band. “You cannot get out of it. He will not be fobbed off any longer. John is getting angry.”

Again and again William begged and pleaded with the king to extend the time he needed to repay his debts and reinstate him in favor, but to no avail. The king remained deaf to his desperate demands to be granted further audiences and turned to new friends. It was clear that the de Braose family was to be ruined unless something or someone could be prevailed upon to change the king’s mind. So, after long and worried consultations with Giles and Will, who had arrived with Mattie and their baby son, John, diplomatically named for the king, it had been agreed that Matilda should try alone, and try before the king heard that Giles had obeyed his conscience in deciding to support the church in its quarrel with the king over the election of the new Archbishop of Canterbury. Having read, in Hereford Cathedral, the papal interdict suspending church services throughout the kingdom, Giles had prudently followed the example of the other bishops, who had defied the king and fled to France.

The king was in council at Gloucester Castle, and it was with a profound feeling of foreboding that Matilda relinquished her mare to the esquire who ran forward to help her dismount and preceded William Ferrers and Adam into the great hall. John was, it appeared, busy and could or would not receive them at once, so, her heart pounding nervously, Matilda took the carved oak chair to which John’s chamberlain had shown her and sat down nervously, clutching her mantle around her and glancing up at Adam, who, resting an arm protectively on the back of the chair, stood close beside her. Ferrers, less in awe than the others, went off cheerfully in search of refreshment.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back for a moment, feeling the heavily carved ornamental wood press into the back of her skull.

Her courage, for the first time, was beginning to fail her. What if the king should refuse to grant her an audience? What if he refused her plea? What if he refused to see William and persevered with his plan to bring him, and thus the whole family with him, to ruin? She shivered a little in spite of the warm furs around her shoulders.

They waited a long, long time in the great hall, watching the busy throng who were gathered there. From time to time men passed into the presence chamber to see the king and reappeared again, but no one came to call the de Braose party.

Cold night had settled in outside. Through the ever-reopening outside door Matilda could see the swirling mist and the white haloes around the burning torches as men moved back and forth across her line of vision. More branches were heaped on the two huge fires, and aromatic smoke escaped now and then in puffs that hung beneath the high beams of the roof.

And then the door opened again and a party of men were hurried out. The usher approached the chamberlain and whispered, and the man turned and began to walk purposefully in Matilda’s direction.

She sat without moving, watching his stately progress down the hall, only the whitening of her knuckles, as her fingers clutched unconsciously together, showing the turmoil inside her.

Then he was before her. He bowed. “His Grace will see the Lady of Hay,” he stated gravely. “He does not wish to see you, sir, nor you, my lord.” He nodded at Adam and Ferrers in turn and then, without looking to see if she followed, he slowly retraced his steps down the length of the great hall.

***

John surveyed her for a long while without speaking and then, with a snap of his fingers, dismissed the clerks and attendants crowding the room and watching the tall, graceful woman who curtsied before her king.

He waited until the door had closed behind the last bowing figure and then he leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I wonder if I can guess what brings the Lady Matilda to Gloucester?”

She lowered her eyes. “Your Grace is probably aware of my predicament. I would not presume on our long friendship if I had not thought you might grant my request.” Glancing up, she saw something akin to amusement in his face and, taking courage, she smiled. “Please see William once more, Your Grace. Give him a chance to explain to you our temporary difficulties in raising so much money so fast. We will pay. But please, give us time, Your Grace. And please smile once again on William. He is so fond of you, so devoted to your service. You have broken his heart with your disfavor—” She broke off, seeing the black frown that, at the mention of William’s name, succeeded the look of humor.

“William, my lady, is a fool,” he snapped. “He preens and crows under my favor and amasses fortunes and lordships all on credit, and then when I seek to realize some of my debts, he fawns and whines like a kicked dog.” He leaned forward in his chair, his blue eyes suddenly flashing. “God’s teeth, Matilda. I made your Sir William. From a petty border baron I raised him to one of the greatest in this land. And I can reduce him again as quickly.” He smashed his fist against the palm of his hand.

Matilda shuddered.

“Your husband, madam, was becoming too ambitious, too powerful,” he went on. “I smell treachery there.”

Matilda gasped indignantly. “Your Grace, that’s not true! William is a loyal servant. And he is your friend.”

Rising, John stepped off the low dais on which his chair was placed and, throwing one leg over the corner of the table, rested there, his arms folded.

“He sought alliance with the rebellious lords of Ireland, my lady. Lords who have defied my justiciar there. They complained when he took Limerick from your son-in-law. Do you know why I took it?” He stared at her intently. “I took it because no dues have been received from William. The Earl Marshall was at court this winter pleading the cause of the Irish lords. You did not know, perhaps, that I have reinstated them now in their land in exchange for a pledge of loyalty. Yes, Walter de Lacy too. But my benevolence does not extend to your Sir William. He has driven me too far with his greed. God’s blood! He even covets an earldom!”

Matilda bit her lip and then nodded reluctantly. “There is no treachery in that, Your Grace.”

“Perhaps not.” John was thoughtful. “Nevertheless, I prefer men about me who serve me out of loyalty. I mistrust ambition.” He snorted. “A quality you did not display when you had it in your power to take a prince for a lover, though you did feel able to give your favors to a mere earl.” His eyes, deliberately insolent, slid up and down her body and she reddened violently.

“I am an elderly matron now, sire. Too old, I think, for such adventures,” she stammered.

John laughed again and, pushing himself up from the table, came and stood close to her. Slowly he raised his hand and touched her cheek. “You scarcely look a day older, my dear, for all your little Welsh princeling grandchildren.” He paused. “Is that what you have come for? Did you hope to seduce me into waiving your husband’s debts?” For a moment their eyes met. She saw the challenge in his gaze and something else—something that was veiled so quickly behind the hard, enigmatic stare that she wondered if she had glimpsed it at all.

She took a step back, feeling the heat mount in her cheeks again. The interview was not going the way she had intended. “I came here to ask delay from Your Grace for the sake of the friendship you once had for us both, no more than that, sire,” she said with quiet dignity.

John turned away abruptly. “Very well. I will give him another chance. For your sake. But I will require substantial proof of his intentions. Castles, hostages.” He spoke curtly.

“Hostages!” Matilda repeated indignantly. “Why hostages? Is our word not good enough?”

“William’s isn’t.” He threw the remark over his shoulder as he returned to his chair and lowered himself into it.

“Then mine, my lord. There should be no need of hostages.”

“Oh, come, Matilda, it is customary. Are you afraid I might demand your own fair self?” He smiled. “I’m sure we can take someone you won’t miss too much! Tell your husband to come to me the day after tomorrow at Hereford. I will hear his excuses then. But never again. This is his last chance to convince me he can work something out. His last chance.”

With a gesture he dismissed her. Then as she curtsied and turned toward the door he called out. “By the way, my lady. I have no doubt you have heard that following the papal interdict I am confiscating all church property for the use of the crown. I understand there are substantial properties waiting for me in Hereford. Episcopal properties.”

Matilda swallowed, nervously holding her breath.

“You must admit, my lady”—his voice was as smooth as a cat’s purr—“that I have grounds for scenting treachery within the de Braose family. Very good grounds.”

When William returned to the Hay from his meeting with the king three days later, it seemed that all had gone well. He strode into the hall, where most of the household were gathered for the noonday meal. At his side were two of the king’s officers.

Matilda laid down her napkin and rose to her feet, anxiously scanning her husband’s face for signs of worry or anger. He met her eyes and then glanced down, swallowing nervously.

“Father, what happened? What did the king say?” Will was around the table and off the dais in a moment, confronting his father. There was silence in the great hall. At the high table all eyes were fixed on William and at the lower tables where other members of his household ate; men and women alike waited with bated breath for their lord to speak. The only sound came from the fires, where logs hissed and crackled between the great iron dogs and from behind the serving screens at the back of the hall, where a hastily suppressed giggle rang out in the silence.

“We have reached an agreement.” William spoke at last. Matilda saw him swallow again and she felt a tremor of unease. Silently they waited for him to go on.

“The king has agreed that I can spread the payments of my debts over several years,” he continued, and then, as if conscious for the first time of the watching eyes from the depths of the hall, he stepped onto the dais, lowering his voice. “The king has requested one or two guarantees that I will pay.” He glanced over his shoulder at the waiting officers and then turned back, refusing to meet Matilda’s gaze. Full of misgivings, she slowly seated herself once more, forcing herself to stay calm.

“What guarantee does the king demand, William?” She reached slowly for her goblet, keeping her voice slow and steady with an effort.

“I have agreed that he take all my Welsh lands and castles into the royal holding, just until I pay. He has already sent constables to take them over—all but Hay, which he said was more yours.” He frowned. “And then…” Once more he looked at the floor, his voice trailing away uncertainly as a gasp of horror went around the high table.