CHAPTER XVII

 

The Year 1120

The Royal Kennels at Caen

 

Mathilde found her brother down at the royal kennels preparing to go hunting. She watched William feed the greyhounds their bread, which was baked especially for them. The high-spirited dogs leaped for the bread he held teasingly above his head. The prince laughed as he dodged the dogs’ spiked collars, which they wore to protect them from boar tusks in the hunt.

“You treat your dogs better than most humans are treated.” Mathilde shouted above the din of the barking animals. “I am sure the local peasantry would like to take shelter in these heated kennels on a cold night.”

William smiled affectionately at his sister. “My dogs are more valuable than most people.”

“Do you have a moment, Will?”

The prince sat down on a bale of hay, snapping his fingers at the kennel master.

“Remove the dogs,” he said imperiously.

“It looks like we shall be home in time for Christmas,” Mathilde said.

“Home? You mean England?” William wrinkled his nose. “I hate England.”

His sister looked horrified. “How can you say you hate England, William? That is like saying you hate your mother. Do you really think it is wise to harbor hatred for an empire you will one day rule?”

“I loved my mother, Mathilde, but she is dead. Perhaps England is still home to you because your mother still lives there. As for me, I hate the cold and the damp. The people are pathetic boors, and the food inedible. Give me our Norman brandy, cider, and cheese. I would not feed English food to my dogs.”

Mathilde sat down on a stool across from her brother. “You have bigger problems than your diet,” she said. “We need to talk, Will.”

“About what?”

“About your wife.”

“I thought you meant to talk about something interesting,” he pouted.

“That was cruel,” Mathilde chided.

William shrugged. “I am only being honest. Want to go hunting with me?”

Mathilde shook her head. “Not today, Will. I have plans with my husband today.”

William pouted. “Are you angry with me? I could not bear it if you were angry with me. You are the one person in the world I really care about.”

His sister tapped her riding crop on her knee. “Marie has confided her unhappiness to me.”

“What does she have to be unhappy about? I never beat her.”

Mathilde sighed. “I believe you, for how could you beat a woman you hardly ever see? Will, you have been married almost a year and still your wife shows no sign of bearing an heir. Is there a problem? Was she not confirmed to be fertile before you married her?”

“Marie is fertile enough, sister. She is not at fault for not conceiving. I have been busy.”

“Busy? Doing what? Hunting, drinking, and whoring? It matters not to me if you prefer men in your bed, Will, but you still have an obligation to provide an heir, distasteful or not. Maybe you should close your eyes and pretend your wife is old Othuel so you can get her with child.”

William jumped up, his face red. “No one speaks to me thus, not even you.”

“Sit down, Will,” Mathilde said firmly. “You know I love you, and therefore I feel free to speak the truth to you and not what you want to hear. What is wrong with you? Why are you neglecting that sweet girl?”

“I do not mean to neglect her, Mathilde,” he sighed. “She just bores me. Marie is too pure, too pious. I hate her childish fascination with fables. The only thing I like to do with her is play games, but I tire of chess and fox and geese. The games I like to play frighten her.”

“What are you talking about?” Mathilde asked.

“Shall I paint a picture for you, sister? I am talking about connubial bliss, all right? When I try to make love to the little vixen, she lies there stiff and pale as a corpse with tears in her eyes. I feel like she is praying it will soon be over. She deflates me. I could find more satisfaction coupling with a bloody tree.”

Mathilde blushed. “You shall not shock me, Will. Let me ask you this. What do you do to arouse passion in your wife? What do you expect? She came to you a virgin, not an experienced whore, or a hot-blooded peasant, or one of your preening chanticleers. Are you gentle and patient with her or do you behave more like a rutting boar when you are in her bed? I wager you have never given a moment’s thought to her pleasure, have you? Did it ever occur to you that you have to teach her how to give and receive pleasure?”

“No. I go to brothels and ale houses to gratify my needs.” He grinned. “Those wenches need no lessons in how to please a man.”

Mathilde shook her head. “That is all well and good, dear brother, but unless you want your only offspring to be bastards like me, you will take yourself to your wife’s bed and produce an heir for the throne of England as is your duty. And it would not hurt you to learn some gentleness between the covers. If you want your child bride to act like a woman, perhaps you need to treat her like one. Grow up and be a man, Will.”