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ChapterTwenty-Three

London.

As they rode through the gates, Amalia now more acquainted with the next queen than she ever thought possible, she said aloud what had been on her mind for days.

“I was unsure if we would reach the city.”

Just as she spoke the words, their coach came to a stop.

“It appears you may have hexed us, Amalia,” the empress said.

Amalia could not tell if it was a jest or not; Matilda’s countenance often difficult to read.

Her door swung open.

“I would steal her from you,” Roland said to the empress, “so that Amalia might ride alongside me. She’s not been to London before.”

“Go,” Matilda said. “’Tis a sight to behold.”

“Do you wish to ride with us?” Amalia asked both the empress and her lady’s maid, whom Amalia had also become acquainted with on the journey.

“I’m certain my captain will not allow it.”

“Nay,” the maid said. “I have seen it many times before.”

Leaving them, Amalia allowed Roland to help her mount as the coach once again began moving forward.

She’d been watching Roland, not having seen him much these past days as their eating and sleeping arrangements prevented them from more than quick, private conversations. But looking ahead now, she gasped.

On the horizon, jutting into the sky, was the very impressive-looking Tower of London. Constructed by William the Conqueror, the tower had been used as a residence, a fortress, and source of Norman power. But it was never something Amalia expected to see firsthand.

“You’ve seen it before?” she asked Roland.

He was watching her and not the landscape in front of them. “I have.”

Continuing their approach, they eventually made their way to the London Bridge.

“I would not have expected shops and houses along the length of a bridge,” she said, marveling at the vibrant and crowded thoroughfare. Merchants, traders, and all sorts of travelers watched them as they rode past. Some even cheered, but many revealed no sign of their allegiances, for it must be known who rode in the coach behind them.

Roland simply smiled as the sounds around them drowned out any possibility of conversation. As they crossed the bridge and made their way through the narrow and winding streets of the city, they passed a mix of tightly packed timber-framed and stone buildings. From blacksmiths hammering to calls from street vendors, it was more lively than anything Amalia had ever seen in her life.

The very tower she’d first seen in the distance was where they headed now.

Its defensive wall was massive. The armed sentries at the gatehouse now spoke to Matilda’s captain far ahead of them. She glanced at Roland. He’d not spoken since they entered the gates. Like the others, he seemed prepared for threats, though Amalia thought once inside the city’s walls they were safe.

She asked him as much when the drawbridge finished lowering for their riding party.

“You seem ill at ease.”

“I like not the reception she has received thus far.”

Amalia had wondered about that very reception. If the empress garnered so much support, as reports had claimed, would there not have been more cheers? More smiling faces as they rode past?

They began to move once more, through the outer bailey with its defensive walls into the inner bailey. The white tower before them was even more impressive up close.

“I did not know ’twas actually white,” Amalia said.

“The Normans constructed it from Caen stone,” Roland replied. And perhaps would have said more, but the men they’d brought with them began to disperse. Two men, very finely dressed, emerged from the tower and waited, presumably for the empress, who had just stepped down from her coach.