Before Plantagenet - Chapter 264
December 1137 - Lydford, England
“Are you all right, my queen?”
The sound of Assalide’s voice caused Ælfflæd to lower her cup and turn her head toward her chief lady. The wife of Berard de Perigord’s brow was arched, and she seemed concerned - perhaps because Ælfflæd had not spoken a word in sometime, despite the presence of her expanded group of ladies.
In the past, Ælfflæd might have met the gaze of Assalide and then turned back inward, remaining silent. But things were different now, and she told herself such actions could not be afforded.
“I have much on my mind, Lida,” Ælfflæd said. “My thoughts are many. And somewhat troubled.”
Given her obvious mood, there was no point in lying about it. Though when the entirety of her ladies picked up their heads to look at her, Ælfflæd found herself regretting honesty.
To say Ælfflæd had trust issues with most of them was an understatement. Gone were the days where she could look to Helie, Benoite and Escarlemonde and know their love toward her ensured their loyalty. Instead, Ælfflæd found herself with a varied group of women, most present to fill some sort of obligation, and more loyal to someone else than to their queen.
Benoite and Escarlemonde did remain, but there were new additions - all from the noble families of England. The youngest of the group was Duchess Adelise’s daughter, Avelina, just six years. Of all the new additions, Ælfflæd liked her the most, thinking strong-minded and not out for anyone, since Adelise already was privy to most of the queen’s thoughts as her advisor.
Such warm feelings were not present for the other child among them - the second daughter of Duchess Maud, who shared the same name as her mother. The eight-year-old almost certainly relayed any information she could find back to her mother, who had been left on the outside looking in when Ælfflæd had arranged her new court in Lydford.
Young Maud was usually silent however. Duchess Ealhflæd almost never was.
“What troubles you, my queen?” she asked. “Is the clergy once more?”
It was, in fact, the clergy. And it annoyed Ælfflæd that her lady knew that already, for it underscored why she was hard to trust. The consort and wife of Duke Hlothere of Northumbria, as well as the daughter of Duke Sigeric of Essex, Ealhflæd had two powerful lords which she could undermine her queen to.
And Ealhflæd served herself as well - she was Sigeric’s heir and thus in line to become Duchess of Essex in her own right.
She also angled to have her children, she already had four despite only being 24 years of age, wedded to Ælfflæd’s. And while Ælfflæd knew she was not alone in that desire, the duchess was the most persistent about it, with opportunistic quips about a betrothal a daily occurrence.
It grew so tiresome, even Assalide had reprimanded her for it a few days earlier, informing Ælfflæd she had told the duchess in private it was uncouth for a woman to be so blatantly opportunistic.
Not that Assalide didn’t have her own problems. She also was acting as a spy of sorts, likely sending information to her husband about Ælfflæd’s actions, which Berard would then pass to Geoffrey. It may or may not have been malicious, or anything more than a wife speaking about her duties with her husband, but the effect was the same.
At least in that case, Geoffrey might undermine her but he was unlikely to plot her removal or death, which could not be said for her English lords.
There was a certain irony to it all - a decade before she would have given up so much for Saxon ladies instead of the Occitans she ended up with. Now, placed with women, some of whom were family and most should have been peers, she was left to eye them with distrust.
Ælfflæd thus treaded carefully, having to be forthright enough to not leave them insulted, but guarded to prevent her potential enemies from seeing a weakness.
“It is many things, Lady Ealhflæd,” Ælfflæd said. “Such is the life of a queen. And a mother.”
An old trick of the late Lady Agnes - speak from truth, even when deflecting. And it was true, she did have a great many things on her mind.
She thought of her sons. Guilhem, at least, was safe, and had been in good spirits when she saw him briefly in Toulouse during the summer. Excited to be trusted with official page duties, and bragging about how he was helping his father. There was a pride in his speech that reminded her of her late brother Eadwulf, when he had been tasked to aid their father.
Ælfflæd tried to forget that it was as their father’s spymaster, when he was murdered.
Of more difficult thought was her babe, Geoffrey. Born in April, a month after his brother’s birthday, he was named to celebrate his father after the king’s great victory in Pau, where she’d heard he’d undertaken a “bold and brilliant” maneuver to dislodge an enemy dug into a mountainside.
The only joy Ælfflæd could find in the victory was that it meant the war would be over sooner, rather than later, and Guilhem would be out of harm’s way. But she had no great choices for the name - she knew a Saxon one would never suffice, so she did not fight hard against naming the child after his father.
Of greater struggle was adjusting to life without her sweet little child, whom she was forced to leave behind in Bordeaux as per his father’s orders.
She still remembered his cry as she handed him over to the nurse, the shrieks echoing through her head and causing her chest to ache. It formed a horrid cacophony with Margo’s cries, with the princess begging her mother not to leave her behind, and refusing to believe Geoffrey would allow such a thing.
But he had in fact commanded it, and reiterated that order when Ælfflæd had seen him again in Toulouse. They had come for the wedding of Duke Simon and Princess Aines - an affair neither wished to be a part of but were required due to obligations.
The reunion of king and queen had been brief. Geoffrey arrived the day before the ceremony and wedding feast and departed the morning after. In between was a night of passion, part of which Ælfflæd hoped would win Geoffrey’s favor to allow her to take Margo and the babe to England.
She had hope - their night was enjoyable and they bonded over their disgust for Aines, agreeing the sooner they could be away from Toulouse the better.
But Ælfflæd’s hopes were soon dashed when Geoffrey had refused her request. So she had gone to bed alone the night of the feast, angry at her husband, and was cold to him as they parted ways again the next morning.
“Leaving our family may be easy for him,” she had complained to Benoite. “But hearing my children cry like that was as bad as when I was dragged away from Wiltshire by the heathens.”
Ælfflæd hated Geoffrey at that moment - hated him for forcing her and their daughter to suffer, hated him for doing it because she didn’t think he believed in her ability to keep their family safe in England. Hated that he would deem it appropriate for her to be separated from her babe, and that he would make her choose between her kingdom and her children.
But she would not openly defy him on this, if for no other reason than if she were wrong - if some harm did come to them - she could never forgive herself for it.
And she knew she could not stay, for her presence was required in the land she “ruled.” Duchess Aevis had been handling things in Lydford in her stead during the pregnancy, with Adelise by Ælfflæd’s side in Bordeaux, fulfilling her advisor duties.
That did produce some awkwardness - as Ælfflæd was given some token of regency powers in Aquitaine in Geoffrey’s stead, even if she was to share it with Bishop Edouard. And with Adelise present, that gave the impression an Anglo-Norman duchess might be having some say in how the realm of Aquitaine was being handled.
That had lasted through the mid summer, when Ælfflæd completed her churching with Prince-Bishop Emmanuel and made her return to England.
Her kingdom was actually fairly prosperous. Because most of the war had taken place in the southwest, the good news was that England was mostly functioning as it had prior to her ascension. But the prosperity and relatively light nature of the war to install her was not proving a tonic toward the hostilities she faced - specifically from the clergy.
Ælfflæd had been attempting to arrange a coronation ceremony since her victory nearly a year and a half before. And she had been unable to get the support of the clergy for such a ceremony.
There had been a myriad of excuses. They had delayed initially, then, once Ælfflæd had returned to Bordeaux and become stuck there due to her pregnancy, Ælfric, the Archbishop of Canterbury claimed there could be no discussion if she were not in England. They could not crown her in Aquitaine after all.
When she returned to Lydford, the clergy insisted they could not go forward if Geoffrey was not present. They did not wish to anger the king, they said.
So Ælfflæd had sent word to Geoffrey, requesting he give word that he was busy and the coronation could happen without him present. He had sent word back, with the additional input of Prince-Bishop Emmanuel, the coronation could go forth, even if he were not present.
That should have solved it, but the clergy continued to hem and haw, now saying they needed guidance from a more important official, since Emmanuel was not their superior, but their equal, and his word could not be considered bond.
So now another person was to be thrown into the mix - Cardinal Ardgal, an Irishman in Tyrconnell, who was a member of the College of Cardinals and as a result, the highest ranking church official in the Isles. And it was the church which prevailed upon Ælfflæd’s thoughts that day, for she was to meet with Ardgal and Ælfric. It was a meeting that would go a long way toward showing Ælfflæd where she stood - and she would have been lying if she felt optimistic.
A knock on the door offered the potential of escape from her ladies however, and it was fulfilled when Adelise made her way into the chamber, bowing before the queen and greeting the ladies.
“They are ready for you,” Adelise said.
The words sent a chill down Ælfflæd’s spine, and she took a deep breath before finishing her cup of ale. She hoped it would calm her nerves. It did not.
“Be well my queen,” Assalide said. “I am certain you will find what is needed. They must - given the king’s great successes.”
Ælfflæd mustered a weak smile. The Saxon clergy had shown they “must” not do anything. And she suspected the Irish cardinal would prove no different.
“What do you have for me?” Ælfflæd asked as they descended the staircase from the solar to the main hall.
“Bishop Cytelbearn says you should expect further resistance,” Adelise said. “I almost told him to inform the Cardinal and archbishop to cancel the meeting.”
Ælfflæd, unhappy at the news, shook her head. “So I am to waste my time?”
“Sigeric believes he stands a chance at convincing them,” Adelise said. “With him, myself and Aevis present, we represent over half the realm. If you add Osmund and Hlothere, the entirety of England save Cornwall and perhaps East Anglia are for finally proceeding with your coronation. It may be hard for the church to resist such pressure.”
“I am not so sure,” Ælfflæd admitted.
“Cytelbearn and Aevis both think it’s possible,” Adelise said. “And we have little choice. You cannot afford another snub of a prominent church official. They have not forgotten you and Martinus a decade ago.”
A mild protest after an attempted rape was apparently a black mark that would follow her through the rest of her existence. To say nothing of what might have happened had she accepted her fate… and it had been discovered.
The anger bubbled within her again. “Even dead that monster haunts me.”
“It does not help that his protege has ascended in Rome,” Adelise said. “We must move carefully.”
It was true - after the death of Pope Anastasius after just a year as the Holy Father, Cardinal Nicola had ascended as the new pope, taking the name Urbanus II. And while Nicola was a eunuch, and thus unlikely to be bedding Ælfflæd or anyone else any time soon, he was Martinus’ most trusted cardinal. If anyone would continue to fight the wars of a man dead for a few years, it would be him.
The main hall was mostly empty today - cleared out for the meeting with anyone looking to petition the queen told to come back tomorrow. There was a long table in the center of the main hall, normally used for supper in the evening. And it would serve that purpose later - but for now it was where the talks would take place.
At one end of the table was a throne for Ælfflæd, while sitting at the other end was a tall seat for Cardinal Ardgal. On the right and left of Ælfflæd would sit Duke Sigeric, as chancellor, and Duchess Adelise respectively. Duchess Aevis was also present, as Ælfflæd still continued to involve her in policy despite the end of her regency duties.
Bishop Cytelbearn of Exeter, Ælfflæd’s spymaster, sat next to Sigeric, straddling between the loyalties to his queen and to his church.
And rounding out the group was Archbishop Ælfric of Canterbury, to the right of the cardinal. All stood when Ælfflæd and Adelise entered the hall, but only the queen’s vassals bowed, Cytelbearn included.
“Queen Ælfflæd,” Cardinal Ardgal began, “I trust your day has been fine thus far?”
Ælfflæd eyed the wisened clergyman, who made no attempt at modesty, dressed in fine robes and wearing a minter adorned in many jewels. As his hands rested on the table, Ælfflæd could see the many rings on his fingers as well.
Ælfric was only a touch less adorned than Ardgal, with only a couple of rings, but just as many jewels upon his minter.
Such was to be expected given their status, with Cytelbearn’s jewel-less outfit showing the difference between them.
“I have had much on my mind,” Ælfflæd replied. “But more importantly, how has your stay been thus far?”
“It is quite quaint,” Ardgal said. “Much quieter than London, on the rare times I’ve visited there. One would hardly have even known your husband sacked this place such a short time ago.”
A dig at how I came to be queen, Ælfflæd wondered. But she put it aside, for now.
“It was longer than it appears,” Ælfflæd said. “The war has been done for over a year and a half now. I have been acknowledged by all in England as the rightful queen.”
“Even Ecgwyn herself bows before our queen,” Adelise added.
“Well, she had little choice in the face of King Geoffrey’s knights,” Ardgal noted.
“Be that as it may,” Aevis began, “that battle is now over. All in England acknowledge my cousin as their queen, and we hope we can move forward.”
“Do you not?” Ardgal asked. “It seems as things continue to progress here, even with your husband in Iberia.”
“The queen rules in England,” Adelise added. “King Geoffrey in Aquitaine.”
“The queen rules with his grace, I assume,” Ardgal said. “As queens often do with their husbands away.”
Ælfflæd eyed the old man, trying her best to maintain her composure. He might have been belittling her to show how weak she was, or to remind the lords present at who might truly rule England, or both. But it was difficult to stomach.
“I did not think you came this way to discuss the inner dynamics of the queen and Lord Geoffrey,” Sigeric said. “Instead, we would like to discuss the coronation ceremony that is required yet has been delayed repeatedly.”
Cardinal Ardgal shrugged. “It is a complicated process, Duke Sigeric. And as such, we look to guidance from Rome.”
“Guidance from Rome?” Ælfflæd interjected. “I thought the archbishop looked to you!”
“It is true, but it is out of my hands,” Ardgal replied. “We require the Holy Father render judgment. In anticipation of this meeting I sent word weeks ago. But so far we have yet to hear a response. So we wait.”
“There should be no need for guidance on coronations,” Adelise said. “The lady is queen. We have all taken our oaths. That should be the end of it.”
“With all due respect Duchess Adelise,” Ardgal began, “The church does not take their cues from men, but from God. And we look to the Holy Father for such guidance.”
“But what guidance is required?” Ælfflæd demanded. “If there are no objections here, or in Aquitaine?”
“My lady,” Ardgal said, “are you truly the rightful queen among your family? Your nephew, the King of Jerusalem, was forced from his throne, perhaps wrongly. And what of his brother? And your sister, who was your father’s oldest child? I personally have no qualms with what has happened here, but the Holy Father must give his blessing in the face of such questions.”
Ælfflæd’s eyes widened as her heart raced. It was absurd to actually argue this - force had installed her on this throne. Just as the threat of it had placed Burgheard upon it in the place of her nephew. Just as, had Rae’s husband been capable, he may well have tried to do as well.
In the end, Geoffrey’s army was stronger than all comers. As had been the case for many conquerors over the years, including Charlemagne, who had been crowned Emperor of the Romans despite not being born into such a title. And to say nothing of William the Bastard who took the English crown. Why was she different?
“The Bastard took the crown from Harold Godwin,” Ælfflæd spat. “And he was crowned by the church.”
“His claim was found to be just,” Ardgal said.
“HE WAS A FOREIGN BASTARD!” Ælfflæd shouted as she stood from her throne.
Her actions actually caused Argdal to flinch in his chair, before the cardinal narrowed his gaze. The others did not appear pleased either, with Adelise and Aevis likely insulted given it was their great-grandfather who Ælfflæd spoke of, and the clergy men because of her tone. Only Sigeric seemed amused, smirking as he stroked his beard.
“I would suggest calming yourself,” Ardgal warned. “Such demeanor is unbecoming of a lady, queen or not.”
Ælfflæd kept her gaze on him, but sat back down.
“My point remains the same,” Ælfflæd said. “The church seems intent on preventing my coronation, throwing up reasons it routinely overlooked with kings of days past. It is tiring.”
“It is the will of God,” Ardgal said. “That we receive proper guidance before moving forward.”
“Are you to tell me that the church would demand we place another on the throne?” Sigeric asked. “Forgive me father, for I think that would be impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible if God wills it,” Ardgal said.
Ælfflæd didn’t doubt Sigeric’s response here. Even if she didn’t trust him, the idea of her nephew, who Sigeric had helped dethrone, or Rae, who’s husband was as foreign as Geoffrey, certainly could not have been appealing to him.
“I think it would be mad to tell King Geoffrey that his wife is not queen of the kingdom he has won,” Adelise said. “And I doubt the lords and ladies in England have the stomach to do so.”
“If Rome says he is to relinquish the crown and the claim, then he must,” Ardgal said.
“
You tell him that,” Sigeric scoffed.
“I will,” Ardgal said. “If it is required. But we shall see. I just speak of possibilities. It is entirely possible in six months time we shall have a grand ceremony to properly crown the lady Queen of England.”
Ælfflæd wanted to scream again. They were playing games, trying to weasel out of her coronation.
It wasn’t just Nicola, though he provided a nice excuse for them. She knew part of it was Geoffrey seizing the crown by force - the Saxon clergy did not like the idea of falling under the rule of Aquitaine, and an Occitan king and church in the future.
Part of it was also her sex. There had almost certainly never been a Saxon woman crowned queen - Æthelflæd of Mercia likely wasn’t and though Ecgwyn “ruled” she had not been crowned either. And she suspected the Saxon clergy wished to keep it that way.
Would they be so desperate as to force conflict by declaring her nephew king? She doubted it… but who could be sure?
“I grow tired of this,” Ælfflæd said. “I am Queen of England. And I will be crowned as such. If you will not do it here, then I will take my vassals to Bordeaux and have Prince-Bishop Emmanuel do it.”
“Is that something you wish, my lady?” Ælfric asked. “It would only spur further talk that you are not truly an English queen, but a pawn of your husband.”
“I think a crown of my own would go far in stopping such talk,” Ælfflæd replied.
“Prince-Bishop Emmanuel will not agree to such a thing,” Ardgal warned. “It is a flagrant attempt to circumvent the clergy of your land. Such things are frowned upon and could lead to consequences.”
Ælfflæd narrowed her gaze. A thinly veiled threat. Excommunication for being crowned in Bordeaux? Unlikely by itself. But it would be another mark against her for subverting the will of the church - and she already was paying for the first one.
“I don’t believe the queen wishes to go that far,” Sigeric said. “But you must work with us. You give us no timetable. No inkling of what it will take. Instead, we receive almost a threat.”
“Patience is required,” Ælfric said. “These things take time, especially given the new Holy Father deals with much.”
“My husband’s coronation took months, not years,” Ælfflæd added. “And I would expect more for the daughter and granddaughter of the men who brought the Holy Lands back to Christendom.”
“And were unable to hold them,” Ardgal said. “Most of them anyway, since I do not wish to pay disrespect to the fief Lady Aevis holds.”
Aevis gave a slight nod in response, but Ælfflæd was left to sulk. She was trying to argue reason against men intent on subverting her. If they would not even take Sigeric’s request for some terms, then they had no interest in her arguments, even if they came from God Himself.
With little left to discuss, the meeting soon came to an end. The Cardinal and archbishop made their exits, escorted by Bishop Cytelbearn, leaving the queen alone with her lord and ladies.
“The nerve,” Ælfflæd grumbled. “They seek to play games with the realm. To risk tearing it apart because they cannot stomach…”
She could not bring herself to finish. She wanted to pound the table. She wanted to hurl her goblet at them. She wanted to throw the cardinal and archbishop into the oubliette until they begged forgiveness. And perhaps Nicola with them.
“They are bluffing in one sense,” Sigeric said. “They will never declare someone else king or queen.”
“What makes you so sure?” Ælfflæd asked.
“Because that person would have to pay for it,” Sigeric said. “Crowns are not free. And then that person would have to fight for it. As of now, there might be one man in Christendom who could buy a crown with gold and then win it with blood. And that man lays siege to a boy king’s keeps in Navarra.”
“What of the Kaiser?” Aevis wondered.
“The one who finds himself excommunicated as often as the sun rises?” Adelise asked. “The one who lost half of his “empire” to revolt? I think not.”
That made Ælfflæd feel a bit better, knowing that her husband was about the only man strong enough to take the English crown.
“They can only antagonize him for so long,” Aevis reasoned. “Not if they wish him to support their other endeavors. The renewed crusade I hear discussed.”
“So perhaps when his war in Navarra is finished,” Sigeric said. “Perhaps the summer or the end of next year. It would also give time for Rome to save face.”
End of next year. More delays. Further wait. And again, a crown because her husband would will it. Her title. Her family. Her crown. All of it dependent on him.
She didn’t know why she was surprised. It was what was expected.
And yet, it was not what she had been promised.
Some Boudica I am.
…..
Ælfflæd sat alone that evening, after having mustered the strength to sup with Ardgal, Ælfric and the others. She had said but a few words during and made her escape as early as possible, but she could not hide. Not as a queen, puppet or not.
She was again with her ladies as they prepared to turn in for the evening - Ælfflæd allowing those without husbands present in Lydford use of her solar while Geoffrey was away. It not only gave the image of a good host, it also helped dispel any rumors she was bedding men while her husband was away - an annoying rumor she believed popped up to drive a further wedge between her and Geoffrey.
But to her surprise, her guardsmen poked their head in to inform her that Archbishop Ælfric wished to speak with her. Ælfflæd wasn’t in the mood, but the guardsman said it was a matter of great importance, so she relented. Her ladies all cleared the solar and Ælfric entered.
“Queen Ælfflæd,” he said as he gave a slight bow.
That was different than normal - Ælfric had rarely addressed her by title, or bowed before her.
“Archbishop,” Ælfflæd replied. “Forgive my lack of refreshments. My ladies and I were about to turn in for the evening.”
“Of course,” Ælfric replied. “It is my fault for disturbing you. And I appreciate you willing to see me, for it is a matter of great import, especially after the day’s events.”
The memories of such brought a frown to Ælfflæd’s face once more. “I did not believe there is much to say. The cardinal was quite clear in his judgment.”
“Forgive me,” Ælfric said. “It is not my doing. I would crown you, if I could.”
“What’s stopping you?” Ælfflæd demanded. “It was you who called for Ardgal in the first place!”
“I had to,” Ælfric argued. “There is resistance among my clergy, the Isles themselves and in Rome. They all fear your husband. In time, perhaps it will dissipate.”
“And in that time, I am forced to look weak and unloved by the church,” Ælfflæd said. “Do not think me a fool to what your game is.”
“It is not my game, my queen,” Ælfric said. “But it may be what they play at, using many tricks to deny you. They whisper you are not a true Christian. That you are secretly a heathen. Others still believe you the wife of a demon, regardless of his blessings from Rome, which they feel are political more than spiritual.”
All that confirmation did was make Ælfflæd’s blood boil further.
“Enough,” Ælfflæd said. “I am sick of this. Sick of them. Sick of you. Get out!”
“My lady,” Ælfric began. “My queen, please! I come to offer a solution to your problem. To
our problem.”
Ælfflæd’s heart was racing so hard, she could feel her pulse cause her temple to throb. She glared at him, as if throwing daggers from her eyes. “Solution? What solution?”
“We must force their hand,” Ælfric said. “By a deed which cannot be denied by Rome, nor the men here.”
“A deed?” Ælfflæd asked. “What deed? What would you have me do?”
“Your grandfather is beloved by all as the man who saved the Holy Lands from the heathen scourge,” Ælfric replied. “Your father… was respected for completing that work and trying to preserve it. But he did fail, for most of the Holy Lands have again fallen to the heathens.”
“You need not instruct me over my father’s failings with the heathens,” Ælfflæd said. “I am well aware.”
“I realize, I just…” Ælfric stammered. “I believe that if you could make a show in reversing that, Rome would have no choice but to agree to your coronation.”
“Reversing that?” Ælfflæd asked. “You seek for me to win the Holy Lands once more?”
“Not the whole of them,” Ælfric said. “At least not at once. You have no grand crusade at your back to aid. But the lands of Acre are held by a singular heathen lord. Winning them back would be a show of your strength, and your devotion to Christendom. Rome would no doubt agree to your coronation then.”
Ælfflæd’s anger faded for a moment.
A war… a war in the name of Christendom?
She could immediately see the political benefit - and also a bit of personal enjoyment as well. She endeavored to prove herself better than her father, and what better way than helping to turn the tide in his greatest disappointments?
But… Ælfflæd also knew her situation was not exactly one where she could be making such calls on her own. Geoffrey had to be involved… and it would be months before she could send and receive word back from him. And there was a decent chance he’d not want any part of such a war in the Holy Lands so soon after England and Navarra.
Her intrigue quickly turned to disappointment.
“I cannot agree to such a thing without my husband’s approval,” Ælfflæd lamented. “So we must wait.”
“My queen, if I may,” Ælfric said. Ælfflæd motioned for him to continue. “You rule in your own right, correct? If you wait for your husband’s approval, then it will just prove to everyone he is the one who rules England. The clergy will continue to have their doubts.”
“But they will do it, won’t they?” Ælfflæd asked. “They will be forced to.”
“Perhaps,” Ælfric said. “But they might claim it is your husband who has won the war, and use that to deny you.”
“You are telling me to go to war without my husband’s approval?” Ælfflæd demanded.
“I cannot tell you to do anything, my queen,” Ælfric said. “I just think that he is your husband. He fought to see you raised here. He will not abandon you. And in the meantime, you establish you are not his puppet… but his ally. It will lessen the concerns of the Saxon clergy.”
“The church seems intent on having someone greatly anger my husband,” Ælfflæd said.
“It seems unavoidable,” Ælfric admitted. “But you are best positioned to handle such things. Lord Geoffrey can not be rid of you, my lady. You are his reason for calling England part of his realm. You are the mother to the children he hopes to rule this land in the future.”
All of that was true, but the bishop overstated things. There were plenty of ways for Geoffrey to essentially keep Ælfflæd from doing anything, while still maintaining she was queen. Even if he did do something as drastic as dispatching his cousins, the d’Uzes, to rule in her stead. The nobles might not like it… but Geoffrey might not care if he was willing to again break England by force.
“You underestimate my husband,” Ælfflæd warned.
“Perhaps,” Ælfric admitted. “But surely he will be able to understand your position. Not only do you need to prove yourself no puppet, but your history makes it almost necessary to attack the heathens. Your family has lost much of its reputation over the last decade and a half. You yourself were imprisoned by the heathens. Both harm you, not only in the eyes of the clergy and Rome, but with the nobles as well.”
Ælfflæd didn’t need to be told that. She had known that since before she left for Aquitaine to marry Geoffrey. It ruined her trust in so many people she had considered friends, and left her miserable in her own home.
“What’s your point?” she demanded. “That doing this will put to rest all that talk? All those rumors?”
“It cannot solve everything,” Ælfric said. “But you hear what they say. You can prove yourself no puppet, and a true defender of Christendom, as well as a worthy heir to your grandfather in one decisive action. Is there risk? Of course. But would your grandfather be deterred by such things? Your husband? Or… Lady Boudica?”
Ælfflæd’s brow rose. “You have learned of Boudica?”
Ælfric nodded. “Your tales left me in disbelief, but I was able to request histories written by Tactitus, and Cassius Dio from monks on the continent. And both tell her story. It is… most impressive.’
Ælfflæd almost wished to smile. She resisted. “So you see we do not make things up… like mythical links to Arthur Pendragon.”
Ælfric smirked. “No you do not. But my queen, it is one thing to say you carry the legacy of great persons of the past. It is another to step forward and actually carry them. Christendom looks for champions. I have doubts your husband will ever truly answer the call. But you can guide him, as any good wife should. And in the process, perhaps you both find a measure of salvation.”
“What makes you think we are in need of such things?” Ælfflæd demanded.
“Your husband wishes to keep the favor of Rome, despite the presence of those who do not care for him,” Ælfric said. “He has only attacked Christians in his wars of expansion. To say nothing of his personal choices… bedding his vassals and others, acknowledging bastards with not a care toward what it does to the image of a good Christian king. His prince-bishop may excuse such actions. But others notice and if he does not change soon, he will face a reckoning.”
The words sent a chill down her spine. She did not think it was because she cared for Geoffrey, but she was linked to him. And their children would suffer the consequences, just as Rae’s husband had lost the chance at being Kaiser because of his father’s failures.
“So you think I can convince my husband?” Ælfflæd asked.
“Not easily,” Ælfric admitted. “Which is why you must go forward, and pull him with you. It is for both of your benefits. Even if he does not see it now, he will in time. Or others will tell him.”
Ælfflæd shook her head. “I… I don’t know.”
She knew Ælfric was out for himself. But she also suspected much of what he said to be true. Her reputation had been damaged by what happened in Tunis, and her father’s failure. Geoffrey was running a risk by solely attacking Christian rulers - especially as he eschewed opportunities to attack heathens to do so. Could she really dismiss Ælfric so easily when she suspected most, if not all, of what he said was true?
“I… I will consider what you have said,” Ælfflæd conceded.
“I could not ask for anything more, my queen,” Ælfric said. “Thank you for your time.”
….
Over the next few days, Ælfflæd struggled to put her mind at ease.
Memories of Wiltshire’s fall and her imprisonment were at the forefront of her thoughts, with the memories of how the heathens had broken her mother. But those thoughts were pushed out for brief moments by stressful thoughts of Geoffrey bringing the full might of Christendom upon himself and their family.
If he does lose favor of Rome, there will be no shortage of enemies who wish to bring him down. And me as well.
But she also knew she couldn’t trust Ælfric. He didn’t truly care about her. He wanted her humiliated, he wanted to turn Geoffrey against her… and perhaps he wanted to claim to be instigator for a Christian victory in the Holy Lands.
And yet, his intent might be irrelevant. If she could win a Holy War… then she could repair her reputation, stave off the church’s ire at Geoffrey, finally get her ceremony… and gain some small measure of vengeance for my mother, myself and the humiliation my family suffered.
The heathens had burned her home, taken her prisoner, and broken her mother, all while destroying her father’s reputation… and weakening him to the point where the nobles tried to remove her family from power. This would not make it even, but it would be a symbolic strike at those who had wronged them.
It led to the idea gaining traction in her mind, with the doubts growing quieter and the desire to push forward getting stronger.
Geoffrey will not care, she reasoned.
He does not understand. If it is not in his interests then it will not be done. So if I do not make the first move, it will never be done.
He would be angry. But he would be made to see reason. If Geoffrey wanted to stay in the good graces of Rome, they needed a heathen target after England and Navarra. If he kept attacking Christians, he’d end up in the same situation as the Kaisers - constantly finding himself excommunicated.
But for a war, Ælfflæd knew she had to get the approval of her council, and prepared to call a meeting to do just that. And before she would do that, she needed to talk it over with the nobles she trusted the most.
“The archbishop wants you to do what?” Adelise demanded.
“War on a sheikdom in the Holy Lands,” Ælfflæd said. “In order to win the favor of the church, both here in England and in Rome, for myself and Geoffrey.”
“I can see the logic in it,” Aevis said. “Your family were considered the defenders of Christendom, though Uncle Thoræd’s defeats along with Æthelfirth’s removal damaged such things. If that reputation could be restored…”
“A lot of ifs,” Adelise noted.
“There’s another as well,” Aevis said. “King Geoffrey holds, at least on the surface, a strong reputation with Rome. If you then strike a victory for Christendom… you could claim no union is a greater standard bearer for the cross.”
“So you like this plan,” Adelise said.
“You clearly don’t,” Ælfflæd noted.
“No,” Adelise said. “The archbishop is using you. He encourages action, but it is risky, and you will bear the brunt if things go wrong. To say little of the fact it is not even possible at the moment - Geoffrey will never commit his men to such a venture while in Navarra. He already holds men back for his own war because he finds too many entanglements.”
Ælfflæd sighed. The hesitation in revealing the truth made it even clearer this was a road she should not venture down. And yet… did she have a choice?
“The archbishop suggested to me that I move forward with the war, and force Geoffrey by my side,” Ælfflæd said. “He would have no choice - to abandon his wife to heathens would look poor upon him and weaken his hold on England.”
Adelise and Aevis traded wide-eyed glances and slowly shook their respective heads. Aevis stammered: “That is…”
“Madness,” Adelise said, finishing her sister’s thought. “Geoffrey will be livid.”
“I know,” Ælfflæd said. “But if I don’t do this, the clergy will continue to delay. And I expect no hope from Rome - if anything, Nicola will be even more of a hindrance.”
“And if they might still delay even if you do,” Adelise said. “It’s clear the church here is your enemy. There is no need to add Geoffrey to their ranks.”
“So I am to beg him again?” Ælfflæd asked. “As I did with my children? No, he will do as he did then - refuse me. Perhaps he will promise me some vague action in the future, but most likely he will refuse all together. His interests do not lay in the Holy Lands. He will probably turn on the Franks next, and then get himself excommunicated for attacking another Christian ruler.”
“The church will not do such a thing,” Adelise said.
“I would not be so sure,” Aevis said. “They allow much because of the promise that the queen’s husband will act against heathens. If he instead refuses to and turns on a Christian ruler who does, as King Alphonse has, then… our queen is right to be fearful.”
“But I do not think this is the way,” Adelise said. “What happens if he refuses, Aevis? What then?”
“Refuses to join?” Aevis asked. “He will not. He cannot. He would look weak to not be able to control his wife, or look like a poor Christian to abandon her to heathens. He can do neither.”
Ælfflæd agreed with that reasoning. But she also remembered the impetuous teen who she had married as well, who might just cut off his nose to spite his face. He was older now, but…
No, I must go forward, she thought.
“I advise patience,” Adelise said. “Consult with Geoffrey. Even if he refuses, we can work on him. Duke Adhemar will be amenable to this, I think, especially if Aevis and I both emphasize the risk he faces. Waiting is probably our best choice.”
“I’m tired of waiting!” Ælfflæd exclaimed. “No one else is made to wait. Just me. It is a testament to my weakness, perceived and otherwise. I want to change it. I need to change it. I have the chance to prove myself, redeem my family, and actually make my husband live up to the ideals he hides behind. He wanted Boudica?
Let him have Boudica!”
Again the sisters traded glances. Ælfflæd could tell by their expressions how uneasy this made them.
“If this is what you insist,” Aevis said. “I will support you. But I do so with reservations.”
“As do I,” Adelise said. “And I implore you to prepare for action but to send word to your husband.”
Ælfflæd knew it was good advice. But she also knew she couldn’t. Because she knew Geoffrey well enough to know he would want no part of this.
Even if it is to his benefit.
….
A few days later, Ælfflæd convened her council - with five members present - Dukes Hlothere of Northumberland, Sigeric of Essex and Æthelsige of Somerset, along with Bishop Cytelbearn and Duchess Adelise.
She had yet to entirely fill her council. The master of spies role had been particularly difficult to fill with few nobles in England who earned both her trust and confidence. She had been tempted to turn to her husband’s court for the role, but he too was lacking in good candidates. And none could speak Saxon or Norman, making them questionable choices.
Her aunt Gunhilda had spoken of the Bishop of Exeter, Cytelbearn, who Ælfflæd had originally earmarked for her court chaplain role. Adelise was less enthusiastic about that, but admitted she could recommend no one better so to take him for the time being.
It meant Ælfflæd had a bishop leading her spies but no one to technically guide her court’s religious matters in an official capacity, though Cytelbearn did fulfill bits of that role too. But then her council did a lot of things in an “unofficial” manner.
Adelise was her official advisor. But Aevis operated as a second advisor in that unofficial capacity, sitting in on council meetings as she did today, with Ælfflæd not revoking the privileges granted during her absence.
Ælfflæd figured it worked well enough - the previous rulers had six council members. She had five and Aevis… was that not the same thing since it was about the realm’s nobility advising the crown?
And Ælfflæd knew she’d need all the support she could get, given the risky nature of her plan, and the reaction she got as soon as she revealed it.
“This is madness,” Sigeric said. “With all due respect to the church, we are in no position to wage war in the Holy Lands.”
“Not alone anyway,” the Duke of Somerset said. “The queen’s husband could provide substantial aid, however. Which might make this profitable after all.”
“Yes, if Aquitaine is willing to fight it,” Hlothere added. “Then I see no objections.”
“Geoffrey could not have given approval of this,” Sigeric noted. “He is in Navarra. So it will be weeks before we hear from him.”
“Surely he has, or else the queen would not bring this to us,” Somerset said.
Heart racing, Ælfflæd said: “I do not have any intention of asking for his permission. I am Queen of England and it is my decision on whether England wars or not.”
The men were silent to that, staring at her in varying degrees of surprise. Hlothere seemed flustered, unable to muster anything but some incomprehensible babbling. Somerset had his mouth hanging open slightly. Sigeric simply and slowly shook his head.
“The church believes Lord Geoffrey will be more likely to come to the aid of the Holy Lands if the queen makes the first move,” Cytelbearn explained. “If he simply hears of it, he is unlikely to agree to such a thing. And… it is not for Lord Geoffrey to decide England’s fate. I thought the lords of this realm would understand and agree.”
“I understand you seek to make us the target of Lord Geoffrey’s ire when he learns of this!” Somerset exclaimed. “He will think we manipulate him to war! And he will have been… if he agrees to join.”
“That is… that cannot work,” Sigeric said. “We would have no guarantee your husband would come to our aid. We could be left in a disastrous war on our own.”
“My husband is mindful of his reputation,” Ælfflæd said. “And what he has worked to build. He will not let us lose.”
“That is a gamble,” Sigeric said. “I will not risk my huscarls lives on such a thing.”
“You will do as your queen commands,” Ælfflæd warned. “For it is your responsibility by the oaths you swore to me.”
“For protection,” Sigeric said. “To defend the realm. This is no defense. It is madness.”
“It is defense,” Adelise argued. “Defense of Christendom.”
“The duchess is right,” Cytelbearn added. “It is not as if we simply seek to attack on a whim. These were lands won to Christendom, by King Ælmær and King Thoræd, taken from us by heathens. It is our duty of any good Christian to win them back.”
“We all benefit if Christendom regains control of the Holy Lands,” Aevis said.
“You would say that, Aevis,” Sigeric said. “You hold one of the few fiefs left under our control in the Holy Lands. This might expand your holdings. Or give you more protection.”
“This suggestion comes from the Archbishop of Canterbury,” Aevis said. “It will look poor upon us if we refuse the call.”
“Is this true?” Hlothere asked Cytelbearn. The Bishop of Exeter nodded.
“If the Archbishop wishes this war, then he should gain men for it,” Sigeric said. “Getting what we can muster is not enough. Let him lobby Geoffrey of Aquitaine to aid us. Or others in Europe for a renewed Crusade. As it stands, I think he proclaims things and wishes for us to take all the burden, all the risk. Can you not see that, my queen?”
Ælfflæd lowered her head, responding initially with a small grunt. Of course she could - she was no fool. But she was willing to, believing Geoffrey would aid her if forced to, and that this could help her banish the ghosts of her family’s past. Not to mention let her earn her coronation ceremony.
“I know what this is,” she finally answered. “But sometimes one must take risks for glory.”
“King Geoffrey fought a dangerous maneuver months ago that has won him great renown,” Adelise said. “He was not afraid of taking a chance. I would expect you all to be as brave.”
“And it was a great risk when King Ælmær embarked for the holy lands to begin with,” Aevis argued. “Many in Christendom shunned the call of the church. Look no further than the Franks and Occitans to see that. But he fought. And he won, with our cousins, the Normans of Sicily. Together, why could we not do the same?”
Ælfflæd smiled. Aevis was good at these speeches. Perhaps she should consider making her chancellor.
“You speak well, Lady Aevis,” Sigeric said. “But I also remember how the Occitans refused the call to liberate the Holy Lands and then ignored the union of Lord Geoffrey’s brother to Queen Ælfflæd’s sister to defend them. That is why I cannot voice support for this war. You do not have my vote to pursue this, not without guarantees from your husband of assistance.”
“Agreed,” Hlothere said. “I would give support once Geoffrey states his intention to aid.”
“Me as well,” Somerset said. “With respect to my wife’s lovely daughters, this is hardly any of your business. You do not understand the nature of war, and why we cannot move forward.”
“And you do?” Aevis snapped. “When you ran and hid in the face of her husband’s armies rather than face them like the man and lord you profess to be? Then going before him and groveling?”
“I would not be eager to boast of resisting our proper queen,” Somerset warned. “Wouldn’t you agree Duchess Adelise?”
Adelise frowned. “That war is past. I think it does none of any good to focus on it.”
Ælfflæd eyed her cousin. Adelise was certainly one to do just that in private with her - after all that was her argument against giving Aevis anything. But in public, she refused to join in. Was it because of her rumored affair with Somerset, because Aevis would hear her accusations directly… or both?
“I think Duchess Adelise has the right of it,” Bishop Cytelbearn said. “We must look forward, not back. And on that note, if the queen does not object, I think we should vote on the matter.”
Ælfflæd nodded. She expected victory here - since she, Cytelbearn and Adelise all agreed on the matter, albeit the duchess doing so reluctantly, the trio of dukes could only match their votes. And as queen, Ælfflæd’s vote was the decider.
And sure enough, that is exactly what happened. Dukes Sigeric, Hlothere and Somerset stood opposed, while Ælfflæd, Adelise and Cytelbearn were in favor. Aevis, not officially being on the council, did not vote.
“It is a tie,” Adelise noted. “Therefore since the queen votes for the war, the council hereby approves the declaration and we move forth.”
“It is only a tie because the council is short a member,” Sigeric replied. “Therefore it should not stand.”
“Short a member?” Cytelbearn asked. “I was unaware there was a hard and fast rule over how many members a council must have.”
“Since the Witenagemot’s choice of Morcar of York as king, the council has always held six positions, with the king as the seventh vote,” Sigeric said. “We currently only have five councilors and are thus one short. Precedent states that vote is considered a vote against the king.”
“The vote is the council,” Ælfflæd said. “Positions which remain open are neutral.”
“I disagree,” Sigeric said. “It is not how it has been handled before.”
Ælfflæd’s stomach twisted. The monarchs of England after the Bastard’s conquest had been limited by the Saxon nobility, so she had no reason to doubt Sigeric’s words. And for the most part, the kings of England lacked the strength to directly challenge the nobility on much of anything.
In theory, Ælfflæd did not either. But in practicality, Morcar, nor any of his successors, could call forth the might of Aquitaine to defend them in the event of noble insurrection.
Of course Geoffrey might not be in much mood to aid her after this, so Ælfflæd tried to come up with a compromise.
“If we wish an end to the deadlock,” Ælfflæd began, “then Aevis can contribute her voice.”
“Aevis is not a member of this council,” Sigeric said.
“She advises me,” Ælfflæd said.
“That is officially Duchess Adelise’s role,” Sigeric said. “I care not which sister has it, but only one has an actual vote in these matters.”
“I held a vote months ago,” Aevis said. “I see no reason given the situation I cannot again.”
“You were exercising authority at the queen’s request,” Sigeric said. “That authority no longer exists with the queen returned to us. Simple as that.”
“This is unacceptable,” Ælfflæd said. “There is enough support.”
“There is not,” Sigeric said. “The council has spoken.”
“Then I appoint Duchess Adevis as my new court chaplain,” Ælfflæd argued. “And her vote breaks the tie.”
“She cannot serve in such a role,” Sigeric said. “And even if she could, it would still be a naked attempt to override the will of the council.”
“I will not be denied by ceremonial crap,” Ælfflæd snapped. “I would not stand for it any more than my husband would.”
“And I desire a promise of actual aid from him,” Sigeric said. “Get it, and you will have my vote.”
“I do not need your vote,” Ælfflæd said. “I have the votes I need. We go to war. You will provide your men, or you will be in violation of your oaths, Sigeric.”
“You cannot…” Sigeric argued. “This is tyranny!”
“Do you wish to risk the ire of the church?” Ælfflæd demanded. “Or my husband?”
“Your husband will probably agree this is foolishness,” Sigeric said. “And will have much sympathy.”
“He will have no sympathy for your refusal to abide by your oaths,” Ælfflæd warned.
Sigeric narrowed his gaze. “I will not deny you my men. But the people shall know of your actions here. The nobles will not approve.”
“I am to be a tyrant because I refuse to be a puppet?” Ælfflæd snapped.
“No, because you refuse to heed the will of your nobles,” Sigeric replied. “It is like when you refused to accept the Witenagemot would not name your son king. Instead you simply invaded your homeland, caring little for anyone but yourself.”
“You raised a child to be your puppet because you cared not for England, but your own personal power,” Ælfflæd said. “So do not preach to me of accepting anything.”
“The girl was the best choice given the tragic loss of her father through… suspicious circumstances,” Sigeric said. “I could have tried to elevate my late wife, Duke Burgheard’s sister. I didn’t, because I wished for a healthier realm. I just wonder if I am alone in that wish.”
“Never question my love for my realm,” Ælfflæd warned. “I have seen it and it’s people suffer more than you have. I know what it is like to bear the burdens of a king’s decisions. I make no move lightly.”
“We are at an impasse,” Bishop Cytelbearn interjected. “The queen has stated her desire to move forth. We should do as she asks.”
“Commands, is more like it,” Sigeric said. “I will not stay silent. I will not deny you my men, but you will not deny me my voice.”
“Nor ours,” Somerset said. “I beg you to reconsider, my dear. The lords and ladies will not be happy.”
Ælfflæd just glared at them all. Two dukes who stood by as her nephew was forced from power, if not actively pushed for it, and another who was worthless in any capacity beyond the huscarls he could call forth. They would seek to deny her? After using her as a shield to avoid acknowledging Geoffrey as their king?
“The meeting is finished,” Ælfflæd said. “Go. You will hear my orders once my plans are finalized.”
She drew the glares of the dukes, but she did not care. They may not have liked it, but she had enough council support, no matter what Sigeric claimed. And once the men had departed, leaving Ælfflæd with just her cousins, the queen was eager to express her frustration at their perceived hypocrisy.
“They wish for me to fail,” Ælfflæd swore. “They suspect me because they think me my husband’s puppet. And when I move without him, to use him for our benefit, they call it tyranny and try to use him to bind me. What they want is a meek, docile woman to do their bidding. All of them. The nobles. The church. My husband.”
“We do not think you are a puppet,” Adelise said.
“No, we do not,” Aevis said. “But… perhaps it is better to wait until Geoffrey gives some promise of aid. It would break the resistance on the council.”
“The council doesn’t have worthwhile resistance,” Ælfflæd said. “It is three and three. Therefore I break the tie.”
“They argue otherwise,” Aevis said.
“I was there, I know,” Ælfflæd said. “You do not agree with them… do you?”
“I…” Aevis stammered. “I think… there is some validity to the argument. If we take it to the logical end, could a ruler remove all dissenting voices and then claim approval from the council? It makes a mockery of why the council exists.”
“And what of the tyranny of the council?” Ælfflæd demanded. “You do not see Sigeric grasps at straws?”
“I agree with his logic,” Aevis said. “Even if I agree with your war. I think a compromise to get Geoffrey’s approval beforehand would head this off.”
“Then they will claim me a puppet,” Ælfflæd said.
“If you have your coronation, then what does it matter?” Aevis replied.
Ælfflæd frowned, her anger now growing at her cousins’ lack of support. So she turned to her other cousin. “What of you Adelise?”
“I question both sides,” Adelise said. “I think you venture down a dangerous road, Elf. But Sigeric is playing games. He doesn’t want this war. So he uses any means he can to stop it.”
“Exactly,” Ælfflæd said. “So I will not be party to it.”
“But also you play into his hands,” Adelise said. “I think this is a mistake. You will have my men for the war, but I beg you to reconsider.”
“As do I,” Aevis said.
“I will not let Sigeric, Hlothere and Æthelsige deny me,” Ælfflæd swore. “I am here, alone, without my children, because my husband thinks he knows what is best for me. But he is my husband, and I am powerless to deny his right over my children.”
She paused for a moment as she felt the emotions threaten to explode from her. Taking a deep breath, she continued: “But I will not beg him to do what I like in my kingdom. And I will be damned before I am to let three men who are not my husband, father or son tell me how to rule, and what is proper procedure on my council where they serve at my behest. We go to war. Get your knights ready, cousins. If I am to fight my enemies with the two of you as my generals, then so be it.”
They were silent after that for a time. Both duchesses had their heads down, occasionally sneaking peaks at each other and the queen. The atmosphere uneasy, it was the Duchess of Lancaster who finally spoke.
“Let us hope it does not come to that,” Aevis said. “For one of your cousins is not in… condition to fight.”
“You are ill?” Ælfflæd asked her.
Aevis grinned. “No, I am with child.”
Ælfflæd’s frown finally faded. Her cousin had struggled for the past half decade trying to find a child with her much older husband - to the point where they had begun to wonder whether she was barren. That she wasn’t was no doubt a relief for the duchess, and Ælfflæd could not have been happier for her.
“Finally, some good news,” Ælfflæd told her. “Congratulations Aevis. I knew you would be blessed eventually.”
“Yes, congratulations sister,” Adelise said. “It’s about time your husband managed to fulfill his duty.”
Aevis chuckled at that. “I am surprised myself. I thought for certain I would need to wait until his age took him. But it appears I am blessed after all.”
“May we all be blessed,” Adelise said. “The road forward will not be easy. But with God on our side, and a little help from Aquitaine, I think we will find success that England has too often struggled to find in the recent past.”
A little help from Aquitaine, Ælfflæd thought. The words sent a chill down her spine. She could practically imagine Geoffrey’s response. Red in face, shouting, cursing her for forgetting her place.
It was a frightful image. And one that made Ælfflæd’s stomach twist.
But she had challenged him before. And Ælfric wasn’t wrong - she could be reprimanded and she could be punished, but if Geoffrey wished to keep hold of England, she could not easily be disposed. At least not until Guilhem was of age, and that was still a good seven years away.
No, Geoffrey may hate her for it, but he would have to stomach it, just as she had to stomach his affairs, his selfishness and the forced separation from her children.
You wanted Boudica, husband, Ælfflæd thought.
And now she is about to challenge the might of the most powerful king in Christendom.
