Текст книги "The Lion of Justice"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
‘He is very clever indeed,’ said Gunilda.
‘And loves his comforts.’ added Emma.
‘He is able to enjoy them in spite of the rules which affect humbler men.’ went on Gunilda.
‘What mean you?’ asked Matilda.
The women exchanged glances and Matilda with a little rush of indignation asked herself: Why is it that I am always the last to hear what is going on in this kingdom? Why do people constantly protect me from the truth!
‘Oh, he is clever.’ said Gunilda evasively, but Matilda insisted that she tell what was in her mind.
‘It is well known, my lady, that the Bishop of Salisbury lives openly with his mistress, Matilda of Ramsbury.’
‘But how could this be so and he a bishop?’
‘He is a very powerful bishop, my lady.’
‘But the King has expressly laid down the law...’
The women were silent.
‘Does the King know of this?’ asked Matilda.
There was silence, and Matilda said sternly: ‘I wish to know.’
‘My lady, the King often visits the Bishop and is very gracious to the Lady of Ramsbury.’
A wave of anger swept over Matilda. She could not shut out of her mind the faces of those poor clergy who had implored her to help them. And Henry would do nothing; he had been stern and adamant. The few had to suffer for the good of the many, he had said, when all the time he was visiting the Bishop of Salisbury who was flaunting his mistress to the world. And the King looked on and was gracious!
Now that Emma and Gunilda had started to talk they could not stop.
‘The Bishop’s nephew who is also a bishop, Nigel of Ely, is married and makes no secret of it.’
‘I cannot believe it.’
‘It is true. But it may be that the King feels these are special cases.’
Special cases! Favourites of the King! Was this the Lion of Justice?
She said sternly: ‘I would have to have proof of this.’
The women were silent. They feared they had said too much.
* * * * *
Matilda wrestled with herself. She must find out if this were true. Women listen to tattle she told herself and there would always be scandal about those in high places.
Of course Henry would not countenance such behaviour. She would not dishonour the King by believing such gossip.
Then she laughed at herself because she knew that she did believe it and she was avoiding trying to discover because she feared what the result would be.
Then she knew she had to discover.
The truth was even worse than she expected. The Bishop of Salisbury was living openly with the voluptuous Matilda of Ramsbury. The Bishop of Ely was in truth a married man.
This cruel edict had affected only those clergy in the lower ranks because they either did not enjoy the favour of the King or could not pay the fines he imposed on those who wished to keep their wives.
She learned that many of the rich clergy had been allowed to defy the law by contributing to the war in Normandy.
She was deeply disappointed. It seemed that she must continually be so. She imagined herself explaining her feeling on this point to Henry and what his reply would be. He would say: ‘Yes, I fined these men. They have provided money for the conquest of Normandy. Normandy will be saved from the anarchy which will always follow feeble rule. For the greater issue I have waived the lesser.’
She could never reason with Henry. His lawyer’s brain was too clever for her.
But once again she must regard her husband with bewildered dismay. She had accepted the sensualist, the libertine, but she had believed in his sense of justice.
He had always said there was much she had to learn of life. How right he had been.
* * * * *
There was news from her sister Mary.
She often thought of her sister, wrote Mary, and wanted to come and see her.
‘It is not meet,’ she went on, ‘that sisters should be apart. We were closer than most, my dear Edith. (I shall never think of you as Matilda.) I want you to meet my daughter, my little Matilda, for I have a desire to place her in an abbey that she may receive an education similar to that which you and I had. She is our only child and I doubt we shall have another, so as you can imagine, she is very precious to us. I long, too, to meet your own Matilda and little William. These children must be friends. So very soon I shall be coming to see you and would you in the meantime look about and tell me which abbey you think would be most suitable? I shall certainly not send her to Wilton. I could not allow our Aunt Christina to lay hands on my Matilda. I want marriage for her not the veil and I think Aunt Christina might be tempted to make a nun of her. This will be an anxious time for you, sister, with the King in Normandy. I shall hope to hear from you ere long. Your sister, Mary, Countess of Boulogne.’
Matilda was delighted at the prospect of seeing Mary and immediately began the search for a likely abbey where Mary’s daughter could be educated.
She agreed that the education so acquired was good and that she owed a great deal of her ability to keep pace with Henry to her grounding in the classics and history.
She finally decided on the Abbey of Bermondsey, the Abbess of which, realizing that she would receive munificent gifts from the Countess of Boulogne if she promised to educate and care for her daughter, declared that she would be delighted to take the young Matilda with the object of giving her the best possible education which would prepare her for a good marriage.
Mary was pleased with all she heard of Bermondsey, immediately sent a gift to the Abbey and made her preparations to leave Boulogne with her daughter.
* * * * *
The battle of Tinchebrai took place exactly to the day on the fortieth anniversary of the Norman Conquest. This was seen to be significant.
It was the year 1106 and the 28th September; and it had been on September 28th of the year 1066 that William the Conqueror had landed at Pevensey.
And now here stood his son Henry before Tinchebrai in conflict with his brother Robert. So on the date when their father had begun his conquest of England, the two brothers wrestled with each other for the conquest of Normandy.
Many said that the spirit of the Conqueror brooded over Tinchebrai on that fatal day and that he gave the victory to the son who could best preserve that for which he had spent his life in conquering and holding.
The castle of Tinchebrai belonged to Robert of Mortain, the Conqueror’s half-brother; and the battle was lost from the beginning because so many Normans had been bribed to fight under Henry’s banner and his forces as well as his generalship were immensely superior.
Robert of Bellême, commanding the rearguard of the Duke’s army, and becoming aware that defeat was inevitable, made his escape, and not only did Robert of Mortain fall prisoner to Henry but Robert of Normandy also. Perhaps more important, too, one of the captives was Robert’s little son William, known as the Clito. The boy was six years old and Henry, realizing that although at this time he could be said to hold Normandy in his hands and that the battle of Tinchebrai was a decisive one, like his father before him he would have to hold the Duchy and this would be no easy task. His father had found it one of the utmost difficulty, even before he became King of England, and to hold both titles, King and Duke, had meant a life spent in battle.
There would be uprisings and Henry wanted to make sure that there was no heir of Normandy who could win adherents to his side. Robert had proved himself useless as a ruler and even the staunchest Norman was realizing this, but a child was always appealing.
He discussed with his generals and advisers what would be done with the prisoners. Duke Robert and Mortain should be taken to England and held there. The boy too.
No, said those Normans who had been won to his side. That would be disastrous. There would be an immediate uprising if the boy was taken out of Normandy.
‘There will be risings if he remains,’ countered Henry.
‘When he grows older mayhap, but to take the boy to England and imprison him would mean the indignation of the people would be aroused to such an extent that they would immediately rise against you. Beaten as they are they would rally to this cause and fight with more spirit than they have shown at Tinchebrai.’
Henry was at length persuaded to this point of view and agreed that the boy should be placed in the hands of one of his many kinsmen. He saw the wisdom of it but he knew that while the boy was free he would have to be very watchful.
Robert, brought before him as a captive, was too proud to plead for himself but he did ask that his son be well looked after.
‘What will you do with me?’ asked Robert. ‘Shall you remember our boyhood days?’
‘What I shall do with you you will discover. Yes, I remember our boyhood days. There was an occasion when you were ready to kill Rufus and me because we threw water down from a balcony on you and your friends.’
‘I was young and headstrong and you were children to be taught a lesson.’
‘You would have killed us if our father had not prevented you.’
It was just a flash of the family temper.’
‘Robert, you have been a fool throughout your life...from the days when you attempted to pit your strength against our father. Now you have done the same towards your brother. You were doomed to failure in both these enterprises. Take your reward now and blame no one but yourself.’
‘Nor shall I if you preserve my son.’
‘Rest assured he shall not be harmed as long as he obeys his Duke.’
‘I shall see that he obeys me.’
‘You forget Robert there is a new Duke of Normandy and that is not you.’
‘You are a hard man, Henry, as hard as our father.’
‘You could not compliment me more than to make this comparison.’
Robert turned away in desolation. He knew that he could expect little mercy from Henry.
Very soon after he was sent to England, there to be lodged at Wareham.
‘He is my brother,’ said Henry, ‘so let him have some comforts. But in prison he must remain.’
His uncle, Robert of Mortain, was less humanely treated. His eyes were put out as a warning to any who did not obey Henry, the new Duke of Normandy. None would be spared however close to him, as they would see from the example of Robert of Mortain, the remainder of whose life would be spent within the walls of a prison he would never see.
He meant this as a warning to those who hoped in due course to set up William the Clito. What he had ordered should be done to an uncle would also be done to a nephew should he warrant it.
He was very uneasy that the boy should be left free in Normandy, but he saw the wisdom of not alienating his new Norman subjects.
Another who was taken prisoner at Tinchebrai was Edgar Atheling. The King asked that he be brought to him and when he saw the old man he felt a mingling of contempt and pity.
‘So,’ he said, ‘you fought against your niece’s husband. What do you think Matilda will say to that?’
‘Matilda must know that I must be loyal to my friends.’ replied Edgar.
‘I had thought I was your friend.’
‘I deplore these wars.’ said Edgar.
‘Of a certainty when you are on the losing side.’
‘Nay, Henry. I would we could all live in peace. Robert was ever my friend, as you know, and I felt it my duty to support him. England is yours and as I see it your father intended him to have Normandy.’
‘You know full well my father hated Robert. He saw through him as a feckless fool.’
‘But he left him Normandy.’
‘Because of a long-ago promise to our mother.’
‘Nevertheless it was his.’
‘Know this, Edgar Atheling: I had my father’s blessing at Tinchebrai.’
‘You had better troops, and a better general.’
Henry laughed. ‘Well, you are in my hands now.’
‘And you must do what you will to me.’
‘I shall release you for two reasons. One because I have nothing to fear from you and the other because you are Matilda’s uncle and she is fond of you. It would grieve her if aught ill befell you. You may thank her for your release.’
Edgar lowered his head and the King went on: ‘You will come to England and there keep out of further mischief.’
‘I thank you, Henry.’
Henry waved his hand dismissing him.
There were some men in life, he mused, who were doomed to failure. Robert his brother was one and Matilda’s old uncle was another.
* * * * *
Henry was fully aware that the battle for Normandy had only just begun. He might call himself the Duke but he had yet to win over his new subjects. Just as he was accepted in England because he had been born on English soil and educated there, so in Normandy he was reckoned an alien. If he was to win the people of Normandy to his cause he must constantly remind them that his father had been the greatest Norman of them all and, even though circumstances had been such that his parents were in England at the time of his birth, he was none the less the Conqueror’s son.
He made himself agreeable to his new subjects. First of all he wanted them to understand, as his English subjects did, that he wished to bring law and order to their country.
He knew that he would find most favour with the people if he showed himself to be of a pious nature so he made a point of going to church when he passed through every town.
He had always been very proud of his hair which he wore long and in ringlets. It was his finest feature and many said it was the second reason—the first being his crown—why so many women found him irresistible. He wore it in long curls which hung about his shoulders; he also flaunted a luxuriant beard and side pieces. As the King adopted a fashion as a matter of course so did his Court and the men’s hair was as much an adornment as that of the women. The fashion had started in the reign of Rufus when court manners and mode of dress had been decidedly effeminate. There was nothing effeminate about Henry except his luxuriant curls and it was solely because he possessed such bountiful growth that he had allowed the fashion to remain.
The Normans had been astonished by the appearance of the English and had mistakenly thought that they would be easily beaten in battle. It was a Saxon custom to wear the hair long but the fashions set by the men of Rufus’s court had been greatly exaggerated.
In the church of Seez where the Bishop was preaching, Henry and a party of his followers took their places in order to join in the service and show the inhabitants that they were a godly band. They were unprepared for the sermon, the theme of which was vanity.
‘Men who look like women.’ thundered the Bishop, ‘are the prey of the Evil One.’ He went on to talk of the fashion which could only be offensive in the eyes of God. He believed that those who flaunted their locks as women might be forgiven for doing, would find them consumed eternally in the fires of hell. Such hairy men reminded him of goats.
Everyone was awaiting their cue from the King. Would he rise and demand the arrest of the Bishop? Have his eyes put out declaring that since he could not look with pleasure on the hair of Englishmen he should not be able to look at all?
Henry was indeed angry. How dared the man speak thus to his conqueror. His father would have fallen in one of his wild rages. But who could imagine the Conqueror with curls?
Henry’s anger was cool; it gave him time to reason. He had to win these Normans and he would do so.
He pretended to be affected. ‘Yes,’ he answered the Bishop, ‘we have been sinful. We have been over vain of our hair. We have displeased God by our vanity.’
The Bishop came to the King and said: ‘My Lord, I see that you are as wise as men say, and that you will repent in time and set a good example to your subjects.’
‘It is what I shall always strive to do,’ said the King.
The Bishop then took a pair of scissors from his robes.
‘Then, my lord,’ he said, ‘you will give those assembled here the opportunity of seeing that you are a man who means what he says. If your lordship will be seated I will remove that which is offensive to God, and the people of Normandy will rejoice in their Duke.’
Henry was aware of his men watching him. It was an awkward moment. He could snatch the scissors from the fellow’s hands and order his arrest. But only for a moment did he hesitate. Then he sat down. Whereupon the Bishop triumphantly cut off his curls and not content with that cut off his beard and side pieces also.
Nonplussed but determined not to show it, Henry ordered the Bishop to shear his friends also.
That day he sent out an order. No man was to wear his hair long. The fashion for curls was over.
* * * * *
Crossing back to England Henry was elated. He had ceased to regret his hair. He had his prisoners; he had his dukedom; he was victorious.
When he landed he was greeted not only by Matilda but by his cheering subjects.
On the very day of the month forty years after the Normans had conquered England the English had conquered Normandy. Henry was English born, English bred. He was their King. He was their Lion of Justice, and although they had suffered cruel taxation to finance the war it had been worthwhile.
Matilda was at first shocked and then amused by the shearing of his locks. He himself was able to laugh at the incident now and ask himself how a great King and conqueror could ever have thought it admirable to look like a woman.
All had been well in his absence and he was longing to see his children. He was prepared to enjoy for a brief respite the cosy domesticity of his home.
He told Matilda of his triumphs and that his brother was his prisoner and should remain so that he might not make trouble again.
‘He will be well treated.’ said Matilda apprehensively.
‘I knew you would wish that.’ replied Henry. ‘Yes, he will be treated well, but you understand that I must keep him in close confinement.’
Matilda nodded.
‘There is something else I must tell you. Your uncle Edgar is my prisoner also.’
He saw the alarm in her eyes and for a moment let her imagine the horrible death which could overtake her uncle if her powerful husband gave the word.
‘Do not fear.’ he said tenderly ‘No harm shall befall him. For your sake I have pardoned him. He will never rise against me again, but will live in peace. He has learned his lesson.’
He was rewarded by her gratitude. At least, he thought, if I am not a faithful husband I am a considerate one.
He wanted to hear more of what had been happening and she told him that her sister was sending her daughter to Bermondsey and they might have her at Court from time to time; he replied that as his nephew Stephen of Blois would be joining them in due course they would have a merry family of children.
She assured him that very soon they would be able to hold court at Windsor for Gundulph had excelled himself and she was sure the King would be pleased with his new castle.
But first home to Westminster where they would feast and revel because of his safe return. There the finest deer would be roasted and she would see that some of his favourite lampreys were prepared for him.
It was a wonderful homecoming and he was determined to enjoy it, for he knew in his heart that Normandy, though it had fallen into his hands, was going to be as slippery as an eel to hold.
Weddings in the Family
In Cotton Garden, at the Palace of Westminster, the royal children were at play. This was Matilda’s own garden which she often tended herself, growing herbs which she used for medicines and the flowers she liked best.
They had been warned not to pick the flowers unless given special permission but the young Matilda for this very reason must show the others that such rules did not apply to her.
‘You may not pick them, but I may.’
‘We were told all of us were not to,’ William reminded her.
She looked at her brother. ‘That does not mean me.’
‘But it does,’ insisted William.
Their companions, children of the Court nobles, looked on with interest. There were often differences of opinion between the royal pair from which Matilda invariably emerged the victor.
Matilda said: ‘You are younger than I so be quiet.’
‘I am the heir though,’ William reminded her. ‘Not you.’
‘You are not,’ she said hotly.
‘But,’ put in one of the other children boldly, ‘the boy is always the next King.’
Matilda’s eyes flashed. ‘If you talk of the next King that’s treason because it means my father has to die first. You will be taken to the White Tower and your eyes will be put out.’
The frightened child put his fingers to his ears but William said soothingly: ‘You won’t. I shan’t allow it.’
‘You!’ said Matilda scornfully. ‘You will do what you’re told.’
‘And so will you.’ replied William. ‘Now let us play a game. I shall hide and you will find me.’
Before Matilda could reply he had run off shouting: ‘Count ten first and hide your eyes.
As Matilda could never resist the game she counted with the rest and was certain that she would be the one to find William for she knew his favourite hiding-place was in the courtyard behind the great buttress close to the stables.
Matilda always wanted to lead; in all games she must excel; so must she in lessons. She had once heard her father say that it was a pity she had not been born a boy. She thought it a pity, too for is she had she would have been heir to the throne.
She had asked her mother how she had felt when she was born. Was she sorry that she was not a boy?
‘As soon as I saw you I was glad you were just as you were.’
‘Was I very beautiful then?’
‘No, but you were mine.’
‘Whose did you expect me to be?’ asked Matilda, and her mother repeated what she had said to her father to show what a clever little girl they had.
It seemed that her mother was always trying to make up to her for being the elder and not a boy. Her father, of course, while affectionate towards her, could not hide his greater interest in William. It was for this reason that Matilda must always assert herself, and with her nature that was not difficult.
‘You will be your grandfather over again.’ said her father.
Her grandfather had been the great William the Conqueror. She like to hear of his adventures. He was a man to be proud of, but listening to an account of his exploits only made her wish all the more that she had been born a boy.
She was however not going to allow that fact to affect her. She was going to show everyone that even though she might be a girl she was as good as any man.
William had not hidden in his usual place and there were sounds of arrival from a little way off. Who was visiting them?
She forgot the game and went to see.
There was a retinue of very rich-looking men. Their clothes were colourful but strange and they spoke in unusual tones.
Her father and her mother were there to greet them and so they must be very important people.
She heard a shout of triumph. Someone had found William. That was the signal to go back to the Cotton Garden. She ignored it. She always liked to know what was going on. She kept her ears and eyes open. Then she could talk to the others as though she had very special knowledge.
She did not go back to the Cotton Garden but watched the visitors instead. Her father was talking with one of them and leading him into the palace, her mother with another.
They were ambassadors from abroad. How she would love to know who they were and what they had come for.
It must be wonderfully exciting to be a King and have such people come to talk to you.
She felt a fresh resentment because that silly little William would be the next King of England while she, Matilda...what would she be?
* * * * *
Matilda was not long in discovering the object of the strangers’ visit.
Later that day her mother sent for her.
The two Matildas were so unlike each other that they would never have been taken for mother and daughter. The Queen often thought the one thing we share is our name and that is not really mine. But it was so long ago that she had been Edith that even she had come to think of herself as Matilda.
The Queen held out her hand and Matilda came to her and kissed it.
Matilda thought her mother quite handsome in a meek kind of way which would never be her daughter’s. She looked as though she had become resigned to life. Young Matilda had heard that she had been brought up in an abbey and how her Aunt Christina had tried to make a nun of her. I should like to see anyone try to make a nun of me! thought Matilda with eyes flashing. But her mother was so meek she wondered often why the ogre Christina had not succeeded. The Queen wore her favourite colour blue and her mantle was scarlet. The blue kirtle had gold buttons and her fair plaits hanging over her shoulders ended in ringlets.
The dress was formal and her daughter guessed that it had been donned because she knew that the important visitors were coming.
‘Now, my daughter,’ said the Queen, ‘I have something very important to say to you.’
‘Has it anything to do with the visitors?’
‘You saw the visitors?’
‘Yes, we were playing hide and seek and I came into the courtyard near the stables to look for William.’
Why was it that Matilda was always in some strategic position at important moments, wondered her mother.
‘Then you may have guessed that they have come on an important mission.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘It concerns you.’
Matilda’s eyes sparkled. ‘How?’ she cried. ‘What does it mean? Oh, my mother, what does it mean?’
The Queen smiled and laid her hand on her daughter’s head. ‘This may come as a great surprise to you.’
‘That they came about me? No, my lady...’
‘You believe yourself to be of great importance I know.’
‘I am the daughter of the King,’ replied Matilda proudly.
‘You are shrewd beyond your years. A very great honour is about to befall you. You are asked for in marriage.’
‘In marriage? Oh, my mother! Who wants to marry me? I shall not take him unless he is the greatest King in the world but that is my father and I cannot marry him. It will have to be the second greatest king. Who is that?’
‘Matilda, Matilda, you are too hasty and too proud. But you have reason to be proud for the Emperor Henry V of Germany is asking for your hand in marriage.’
‘Oh, my mother, I shall be an Empress!’
‘That is so, my child.’
‘And is an Empress as great as a Queen?’
‘Some would say greater.’
Matilda clasped her hands together and raised her eyes in ecstasy. ‘When shall I be married?’
The Queen smiled. ‘My dear child, you are seven years old.’
‘But the Emperor wants to marry me.’
‘People do not marry at seven.’
‘Then why does he ask for me?’
‘It is the result of friendship between our countries. Your father is now the Duke of Normandy as well as King of England and that means that he will have influence in Europe and his friendship is important there. So the Emperor wants this alliance.’
‘Will he wait?’
‘He is prepared to do that.’
‘For how long?’
‘Until you are of an age to marry.’
‘But when will that be?’
‘My dear daughter, are you so anxious to leave us?’
‘Oh, no, my lady, but to be an Empress...’
‘I see you love the prospect of honours more than your family.’
Matilda considered this. ‘I love you and my father.’ she answered. ‘But it is not fair that I am a girl and not my father’s heir. I would be a better ruler than William.’
‘You must not say such things. William is little more than a baby. Your father would be most displeased. You must try not to be so ambitious Matilda; it is not becoming.’
‘How can one try to be what one is not, my lady?’
‘Every one of us must curb the weaknesses in our nature.’
Afraid that in a short while her mother would be suggesting they kneel and pray if she did not change the conversation Matilda said hastily, ‘I will try, my lady. What is the Emperor like?’
The Queen hesitated.
‘He is older than you are.’
‘How old?’
‘He is forty years older.’
‘Forty years! Then he is an old man for I am seven. That makes him forty-seven.’
‘He will be kind and gentle because he is old.’
Matilda lifted her shoulders philosophically. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘he is an Emperor and much can be forgiven him for that.’
The Queen shook her head over her daughter. She was a true Norman—ambitious and already showing signs of that love of possessions together with the quick temper which were an inheritance from her paternal grandfather.
Most children would have collapsed into tears of horror at the thought of marriage with a man forty years older and the Queen had been prepared to soothe the child and tell her that it would be many years before she must leave them.
But Matilda was no ordinary child. As soon as she had heard that she would be an Empress she was completely contented with her lot.
From then on she gave herself new airs. She was no longer the King’s daughter merely; she was the Empress Matilda.
* * * * *
Anselm was very ill and it appeared that he had not long to live.
The Queen sent kind messages in which she assured the Archbishop the King joined. Henry however did not view the imminent death of his Primate with any real dismay.
He needed money badly. The war in Normandy had proved expensive; it seemed very likely that he would soon have to make an expedition to that troubled land. It was hardly possible that the barons would not take an opportunity of rising against him; they would use the young Clito as an excuse. So that was something for which he must be prepared.
He was flattered and honoured that the Emperor of Germany should have asked for the hand of his daughter; but naturally he would seek some advantage from the match. For instance Henry would have to provide a dowry and it would have to be a handsome one.
Anselm would have reminded him of his promises to the people. Had he not on his accession sworn that he would abolish the cruel taxes which his brother Rufus had demanded?
Yes, yes thought Henry. I had to. What would have happened if I had said I would need money for my various enterprises? Would Anselm have had him not make those promises? Would he have wished England to have been passed over to the feckless Robert? And now he had Normandy and there was need to hold it. There was need to strengthen alliances with those countries close to Normandy. And therefore he must provide a dowry for his daughter.
He talked of these matters with the Queen as always.
‘We must find the dowry before the proxy betrothal takes place,’ he explained. ‘There will have to be new taxes.’
