The Passionate Enemies Read Online Free PDF

be against everything they believed to be right. In the first place she was a woman and they would consider it beneath their dignity to be ruled by a woman. In the second place they would not accept the wife of the Emperor as Queen of England. They would suspect Germany of trying to unite the two countries. No, never while the Emperor lived . . .
    Of course he would not live for ever.
    While she lay in bed Henry came into the chamber. Poor old Henry, he sat down heavily on the faldestol, seeming a little breathless, his eyes somewhat vague as they often had been for some time.
    He looked at his beautiful young wife and his eyes brightened a little. She was a very handsome girl with her long hair flowing about her and those proud flashing eyes.
    He half rose from his stool.
    You foolish old man, thought Matilda scornfully, you haven’t the strength.
    â€˜My love,’ he said, ‘not yet risen?’
    â€˜Nay,’ she answered. ‘I will rise when I have a mind to.’
    â€˜Yes, yes.’ She had made it clear on her arrival in Germany when she was little more than twelve years old that she would have her way. Then he had been very willing to indulge her. A beautiful, clever child wife and he an ailing man even then.
    She compared him now with Stephen and she felt the familiar mingling of longing and resentment.
    â€˜News from England,’ he said. ‘I thought you would like to hear it, my dear.’
    She felt angry. News from England and it went to him. Her father should send news to her. Was she not his daughter? But she was merely the Empress. She was a woman. She was going to show people that a woman could be as forceful, as shrewd a ruler as a man.
    Yes, a ruler. She had always wanted it. A ruler in her own right. A ruler of England. That was what she had always wanted. How she had railed against being born a girl. She would have been a better ruler than William ever could. Poor William. But one must not say aught against the dead because that brought ill luck. Yet had she been the son instead of the daughter, she would never have been so foolish as to get drowned on the White Ship for she did hear that there had been far too much merry-making on that ship before it set sail and that many of the crew had been drunk. But ever since the death of William she had had in her mind that one day she would go back to England and be its Queen.
    The stumbling block was the Emperor – poor senile old man – for while he lived she must stay here. Her consolation was that he could not live for ever.
    The forests of England seemed greener than these; she longed to be riding through them. The deer there were more fleet, the boars more wild; the minstrels’ songs were more appealing; the people were more gay. That she should think so was, she knew, a symptom of homesickness. Well, she was homesick for England and obsessed by a desire to claim her dues. And more than anything she wished to see Stephen.
    â€˜Stephen,’ she would say, ‘I am a widow now. There is no longer the need for caution . . .’
    She could imagine his response.
    And if she were indeed the Queen! She pictured his kneeling to do his homage. Their eyes would meet; there would be understanding between them. You are my lover, Stephen, she would convey to him, but never forget that I am not only your mistress in the bedchamber but in the State also.
    Exciting dreams – and this old man stood between her and them – and even when there was news from England her father must needs send it to the Emperor, not to his daughter.
    â€˜You are breathless, Henry,’ she said. ‘Has this news so excited you?’
    â€˜Nay. You know what my breathing is like.’
    Yes, poor old man, she thought. Soon I doubt not it will cease to be at all. Then I shall be free.
    She nodded as though with compassion. ‘This news from England. What is it?’
    â€˜There is to be a marriage.’
    â€˜A marriage? Who