When William de Braose heard that the King had arrived in Ireland he was greatly disturbed.
‘God help us,’ he said to Matilda, ‘if we fall into his hands.’
‘We must see that we do not,’ she replied firmly.
John, however, had come with a powerful army behind him and the Irish chiefs flocked to Dublin to pay homage to him; he had no difficulty in seizing much of the land which the Lacys had considered theirs; he deposed them and set up his old friend John de Grey in their place. He had failed to make him Archbishop of Canterbury but at least he could show his appreciation of him in some way.
If there was one thing John enjoyed it was easy triumph and he had achieved what he wanted with the utmost ease. He could not stay of course. He must return to England; that was why he sent for John de Grey.
‘I do not wish you to stay here,’ he said. ‘Just long enough to let the people see that this is the end of the Lacys’ rule. It cannot be long before the Braoses are in our power and when you have them, I want you to bring them to me in England. I have plans for this arrogant family.’
He could trust John de Grey, who had always been a good friend and now had the added reason for being loyal to John – the promise of the Archbishopric of Canterbury when the controversy with the Pope should be over.
John was a little too optimistic. Matilda was not the woman to submit easily. It was known that she was in residence at Meath Castle and John’s men besieged that castle, their purpose being to capture her. She was too wily for them, for she had already left the castle and crossed to Scotland.
Infuriated by this, John seized William and said he personally would conduct him to England.
John realised that he had not finished with the troublesome family so far. When they crossed to England William escaped to one of his strongholds in Wales and there declared open war on the King. John was maddened. It was the woman he wanted. She was the one who was going to spread the scandal all over the world. She was the one who would tell the world that he had murdered Arthur.
It was a rough journey which Matilda and her eldest son William undertook, and it seemed to them both that they had escaped one peril for an even greater one. Clinging to the sides of the boat they had little inclination to think of anything but immediate survival, but when the boat finally did reach the safety of Galloway her first thoughts were of what might have happened to William.
‘He has been less fortunate than we have,’ she said to her son. ‘I shudder to think of what will happen to him in the hands of that tyrant.’
‘Father is clever,’ said the younger William. ‘It may well be that he will think of a way of outwitting the King.’
‘John has so much on his side. It won’t always be so, William. Rebellion is growing throughout the country. He is disliked everywhere. The barons are ready to rise against him. Your father is one of the first of many. The day will come, you will see, when John will be forced to listen to the will of those he calls his subjects.’
‘We will hope so, Mother.’
‘It must be so. I only wish that they would band together now and come to rally round your father. What a leader he would make!’
Where could they go now? she wondered. They had reached Scotland but it did not seem a very hospitable land.
A party of fisherfolk who had seen their arrival came out to see who they were and when they realised that they were people of quality, they took them into their homes and gave them food.
One of their party went to tell Duncan of Carrick that they were there and he came to greet them and offer them hospitality of a kind suited to their rank. Gladly they accepted.
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.’