Matilda told him who they were and why they had escaped so hurriedly from Ireland; he listened closely, nodding sympathetically but, when they had retired for the night and being exhausted soon fell into a deep sleep, he sent a messenger to England asking what should be done with them.

The answer came back promptly.

Thus it was that while William, having seen that his position in Wales was untenable, had fled to France, Matilda and her eldest son were delivered into John’s hands.


They were taking her to Windsor. She knew it well.

What would he do to her there? Imprison her in a dungeon? She held her head high. Whatever he did he would not intimidate her. She was not afraid of him. He was a coward, she told her son William, who rode with her, and it was always a mistake to show fear to cowards.

Windsor, she thought, where the Saxons had built a palace, and which in those days was known as Windlesofra or Windleshora because of the way in which the Thames wound through the countryside. There were some who said its name had come about because travellers had to be ferried over the river with a rope and pole and people had said, ‘Wind us over the river.’ It was a bleak spot and Matilda thought the real origin of the name might well be ‘Wind is Sore’, referring to the bleakness of the gales which assaulted the place in winter.

Edward the Confessor used to keep Court here but when William the Conqueror came he had set his mark on the place as he had done throughout England, and there was the Round Tower to proclaim it. It was his son Henry I who had built a chapel there and made it a residence.

John secretly watched their arrival, chortling with glee. Now, my proud lady, he thought, you will be a little less bold, a little less inclined to spread calumnies concerning me.

His mouth tightened. Of one thing he must make sure. She was never to leave this place alive.

He sent for them and when they stood before him he noted that she was as arrogant as ever, although her son William looked a little subdued. He wished that it was her husband he had there. He had cleverly made his escape. No matter, it was the woman he wanted most. She was the one who had made trouble and, he doubted not, led her husband into it.

He dismissed the guards for he did not want anyone to hear any reference to Arthur which he feared she might make. Some women might be a little humble in her desperate position, but one could not be sure of Matilda de Braose.

John looked at her slyly, keeping her standing while he sprawled in his throne-like chair.

‘So we meet at last,’ he said. ‘By God’s ears, I thought we never should. First you are in Wales, then in Ireland and finally in Scotland. You lead a wandering life, my lady.’

‘It was no wish of mine, my lord, that I wandered so much. I should have preferred to remain in my rightful castle of Hay, or that of Brecknock or Radnor.’

The impertinence of the woman! If he were not afraid of her and what harm she might do him he might have found it in his heart to admire her.

‘And now you have come to rest at Windsor. It pleases me to see you here as my guest.’

He savoured the last word. He is a devil, she thought. He will murder us as he murdered Arthur.

‘I trust you feel a like pleasure,’ he added, smiling sardonically; and when she was silent he went on: ‘You do not answer me, my lady. I must tell you that when I speak I expect to be answered.’

‘I thought you did not want an answer which must be obvious.’

‘You are not pleased to be my guest,’ he said. ‘But you who are usually most eager to speak your mind should say so.’

‘And trust I always shall be. I was never one to say one thing and mean another.’

‘I know it well, so I believe did that husband of yours. You’re a forceful woman, my lady.’

She bowed her head.

‘And now you stand before me,’ he went on, ‘knowing that you have been speaking ill of me. That should give you cause to tremble.’

‘I speak nothing but the truth.’

‘That is for us to decide.’

‘Nay, my lord, it is for the world to do that.’

‘You are an insolent woman,’ he cried.

She knew that she was looking straight into the face of death but she shrugged her shoulders almost nonchalantly.

‘I have said that which has offended you,’ she said, ‘and I care not because I know it to be the truth. If it is not so, where is Arthur of Brittany?’

‘You have not come here to question me. Remember you are my prisoner. You stand there with your son. Your husband has deserted you.’

‘Nay,’ she said, ‘we have been parted through evil circumstances. He is not the man to desert his wife.’

‘You contradict me at every turn.’

‘I have told you that I shall speak the truth.’

‘Very brave, very brave. Save your bravery, my lady. You are going to need it.’

‘I know that well. I have spoken outright what has been in people’s minds these many years – in fact ever since the night when Arthur disappeared from the castle of Rouen. You cannot keep your sin a secret for ever, my lord.’

John began to shout. ‘Guards. Guards. Take this man and woman. Put them in one of the dungeons. I shall decide then what shall be done with them.’

The guards came in. Matilda went out, still holding her head high, and her eyes flashed scorn at the King and although she did not speak, her lips formed the word Murderer.


How could he punish them? When he thought of that woman his rage was almost out of control. He had to be careful though. William de Braose was still free. What could he do if he maimed his wife – put out her eyes or more appropriately cut out her tongue? The spectre of Arthur seemed very real at that moment. Was he never going to forget Arthur? The barons were growing more and more rebellious. Caution, whispered his good sense.

Of one thing he was certain. Matilda de Braose should never leave Windsor.

‘Take these two to a dungeon,’ he said. ‘See that they are fettered. Let them be kept in the same dungeon.’

He smiled to himself. There they could watch each other’s misery which would be an added torment.

His wishes were immediately carried out.


Each day he wondered how they fared. How could they be living in that cell from which there was no escape? They had no food and even the valiant Matilda could not live for ever without sustenance.

He thought of her with pleasure every morning when he awoke and sat at table. Succulent flesh, rich pastry – he took great delight in them, more especially because he knew that proud Matilda and her son were starving.

After two weeks he sent his guards down to the dungeon to see what had happened. They were both dead. The son had died first and in her agony the mother had gnawed at his flesh in the very extremities of starvation.

John laughed aloud when he heard.

So died proud Matilda! That would be a lesson to any who thought they could accuse him of his nephew’s murder.

But it proved otherwise and after the death of Matilda de Braose the whispering started up as fresh as it had been at the time of Arthur’s death.

Chapter XIV

THE VIRGIN OF DUNMOW

In the castle of Gloucester, Isabella was delivered of her third child. This time it was a girl and she was christened Joanna. Having borne three children in the space of three years Isabella felt that she could give herself a rest from childbirth. She loved her children but her nature made her more interested in the sexual side of marriage than the maternal.

She was growing more and more disenchanted with John. She could still attract him in a way, although naturally the tremendous appeal she had had for him had slackened a little. He liked to add different flavours to his activities and as he grew older his desires did not diminish.

It was always a daring adventure for a queen to take lovers because of the possibility of children. Royal children should be those of the King, for illegitimate offspring could cause endless trouble. Isabella was royal enough to be aware of this. But having presented John with three children she felt she had earned a little respite and there were one or two personable men on whom she had cast speculative eyes.

Her inborn fascination for the opposite sex had to be great indeed for them to dare risk the dangers which discovery would mean. As gentlemen of the Court they would have experienced from time to time the mad wrath of the King and although he might think it perfectly natural for him to take a mistress wherever he fancied, he would certainly not offer the same liberty to his Queen.

Therefore to one of Isabella’s character the thought of infidelity was irresistible. John was absent a great deal and opportunities offered themselves.

There were one or two men who were ready to take the risk, Isabella discovered, when she looked about the Court for likely partners with whom she could spend her nights. They did not have to be of high birth; their only qualifications were their sexual prowess and their courage.

There were not a great number who had both; but she did find the occasional man who was prepared to risk everything for her favours.

Life was spiced with exciting adventure for Isabella.


John was becoming a little suspicious of Isabella. There was something sly about her. When they met they were as amorous as ever and no matter what women he encountered none of them could really compare with Isabella. He had set spies on his wife where she would least expect to find them but still nothing had come to light about the lovers he suspected her of taking.