Текст книги "The Lion of Justice"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Their uncle Odo had been Robert’s general. Odo! That Bishop who had been in disgrace with the Conqueror because he had passed over much English treasure to Rome. The old fool had had a fancy to become Pope and believed that by bribing the Cardinals he could persuade them to elect him. Fortunately William had discovered this, and sent him back to Normandy where he had languished in a dungeon until his brother Robert of Mortain (like Odo, the son of their grandmother’s marriage after their grandfather’s death, to Herlwin de Conteville) misguidedly persuaded the Conqueror, on the latter’s deathbed, to set him free.
Free to come against the King whom William himself had chosen!
Rufus had been in danger then and he prided himself that he had acted with extreme astuteness. He had asked the people of England whether they wished to put their necks in the Norman yoke. This amused Rufus for it struck him as highly amusing that he, the Norman son of a Norman father, should be pleading thus. But there was some truth in it for while Robert had remained entirely Norman, he, Rufus, had to some extent become Anglicized.
‘My good people.’ he had declared, ‘rally to my banner, I swear to you that if you will stand beside me and thrust out the unwanted Norman, there shall be no more unjust taxation, every man shall enjoy his own hunts and chases in his own woods and wilds, and all abuses of the law shall be abolished.’
How they had cheered him! How they had rallied to his banner. And when Odo arrived he was set upon and taken prisoner, and it was not until Rufus had won the day that Robert characteristically, put in an appearance. How typical of Robert! How had he ever thought he could outwit their father? That had been just another of his miscalculations, of course.
Rufus could not be hard on his captives. How could he be...on Normans? Moreover many of them had been friends with whom he had played in his childhood. More important was the fact that he might need their support in the future for he knew that he would not be able to keep the promises he had made to the people; the taxation which the people called unjust, could certainly not be abolished; nor would he change the forestry laws for nothing was going to be allowed to interfere with his pleasure in the chase.
So he and Robert made a pact. If death should overtake either of them that one would pass over all his possessions to the other. Thus the survivor would have both England and Normandy.
It had been at this time that Henry had become so incensed against his brothers. He said they ignored his existence; they forgot that he also was their father’s son, and he demanded to know what his inheritance would be.
‘The ladies of England.’ retorted Rufus. ‘And I doubt Robert would debar you from enjoying the Norman ones when you visit his Duchy.’
‘And I’ll leave the men to you.’ answered Henry, and for a while they hurled insults at each other. But Henry was indeed resentful. He had set himself up in the fortress of St. Michael’s Mount with the intention of making himself a nuisance to both his brothers.
It was not possible to enjoy a peaceful reign. There would always be conflict. It was looming now in yet another spot. The Church! The Conqueror had been a deeply religious man and he had lived in harmony with his Archbishop of Canterbury, Lanfranc. Rufus lacked his father’s devotion to the Church. Often he blasphemed against it and he did not suffer from those twinges of conscience which had beset the Conqueror when he considered his reception in heaven. Rufus had an inherent dislike of churchmen. Many of them were rapacious, a characteristic he understood perfectly being well endowed with it himself, but whereas he admitted this they hid their avaricious natures under a guise of hypocrisy. At least Rufus was not a hypocrite. In private Rufus could laugh at himself and did. Very few people of his time could do that; many of his intimates had whispered among themselves that it was only this characteristic which made him tolerable.
He could not accuse Lanfranc of hypocrisy. There was a man of great integrity and Rufus had never had any intention of removing him from his post. Death had done that. The See of Canterbury was very rich and Rufus had made a habit of keeping the abbeys and bishoprics under his own control whenever the occasion arose. He found this highly profitable; so when Lanfranc died he added Canterbury to those over which he held sway and was in no hurry to find a successor to the Archbishop.
Since he had been ill, however, even he had experienced a few qualms. His priests had shaken their heads over him as though they feared his future in Heaven if he did not repent and, although had he been in good health he would have laughed at them, it was not so easy with Death lurking not far distant.
It so happened that Anselm, the prior of Bee in Normandy, was visiting England and because of this man’s qualities, Rufus decided that he should become Archbishop of Canterbury.
When the offer was made to Anselm, he thanked the King but shook his head. ‘My home is in Normandy.’ he told him. ‘I have lived so long at Bee that I could consider no other.’
Rufus smiled grimly. We shall soon see about that, he told himself.
Craftily he ordered that Anselm should visit his sick room where he had ordered the leading churchmen to assemble. When the bewildered Anselm entered a crozier was thrust into his hands and a Te Deum was sung to celebrate his election.
The sick King lay back on his bag of straw smiling. He could never resist baiting the clergy.
Anselm looked sternly at him. ‘My lord.’ he had said, ‘you must understand that I am not one of your subjects. I am a Norman and owe obedience only to my Duke.’
Rufus laughed at him. ‘So you would lay down the crozier we have bestowed on you, would you? Do so...for a while. You will take it up again.’
And he did, for Robert at the time was eager to come to terms with his brother after having been so disastrously defeated in his attempt to take the English crown that it was necessary for him to comply with the request of Rufus. So the reluctant Anselm had been obliged to take the post offered him and now presided over the See of Canterbury.
These fanatical men were a menace to peace. They had to question this and that. They could never let well alone; and now master Anselm was trying to prove that the Church was more important that the State, a belief which Rufus would never accept.
He had a power though, Rufus would admit that. These religious fanatics often had. He had preached to Rufus so eloquently of the dire punishment that befell sinners in hell that even he had become a little shaken and had released numerous prisoners, cut taxes and forgiven people their debts to the crown. But now he was well again and he had repudiated all that he had been persuaded into promising when the gates of Hell had appeared uncomfortably close and warm.
‘Death has receded.’ Anselm had told him. ‘But do not imagine it will not return.’
‘Time enough to repent when I see it in the distance.’ Rufus had commented with a laugh.
‘You are asking to be struck dead without warning.’
‘Must I give up all then for the sake of my future life?’
‘That is the Christian way.’
Rufus grimaced. ‘My good Anselm, my sins are so many that I doubt they’d all be forgiven however many good works I performed. So I will do as I wish down here to make sure that I get what I want at least in one place.’
Anselm was horrified. Let him be. Rufus was not sure that he believed all these pious men told him. He liked better the religion of his ancestors—feasting in Valhalla after death, a paradise to be reached through valour rather than pious deeds. He could have his place there with the utmost ease, for he had inherited his father’s courage and was well skilled in the arts of war.
He might bait Anselm but all the same he knew that there would be trouble in that quarter.
The immediate anxiety though was the presence of Edgar Atheling in the country. Many of his advisers had said that the Atheling claim to the throne must never be forgotten.’
It was true, but Edgar was no fighter. He did not believe Edgar would come against him. Such a pleasant boy, though more Robert’s friend than his. He was too rough for the Atheling, but Robert with his charm and his extravagances and his love of poetry had been as a brother to Edgar.
One of his knights asked for audience and he received him in his bedroom. He must have important news to come to him thus in the morning when his temper might not be too good.
‘What bad news bring you?’ he growled. He liked to see the alarm in faces. Why he could order the fellow to a dungeon and have his eyes put out if he offended him. Not that he would do this. That was a punishment he reserved for real offenders. But it gave a pleasant sense of power to set men trembling.
‘One of your knights has been slain in combat, my lord.’
‘And what concern of mine should this be that I must be awakened at an early hour of the morning to learn of it?’
The hour was not early but the fellow dared not contradict.
‘I believe you would wish to know, my lord, that he was slain by a friend of Edgar Atheling because he said that he was raising up a family who would try to take the crown.’
Rufus nodded slowly.
‘So this man was slain by a friend of the Atheling. He has good friends, has he not? And indeed so have I for they bring me news when they think I should know it.’
The man smiled slowly and Rufus broke into loud laughter.
‘Brave man,’ he said.
‘To take up the cause of the Atheling, my lord, ‘tis so.’
‘Nay!’ roared Rufus. ‘You are a brave man to disturb me from my rest. You know my temper. ‘Tis not of its best at this hour, man.’
But his humour was good. He was pleased with the fellow.
He wanted to think about this Atheling and his family. A young boy deprived of his crown by a usurping bastard; and the family taking refuge in England. Edgar was brave to come here where many would say he had more right to the throne than William Rufus.
Edgar was not a coward; he had always known that; but he was not a fighter either.
There was one thing that was certain. Edgar had not come to England to claim the crown. How could he? He had no army. All the same it would not be a bad idea to keep him occupied.
He decided he would send for Edgar Atheling.
* * * * *
Edgar came in answer to his summons.
They took stock of each other. He has grown coarser, thought Edgar. But he had always been coarse with his red face, thick form, his rather stuttering speech and his manner which could change from bantering friendship to haughtiness in the space of minutes. Edgar had always been more in tune with Robert.
Very handsome, these Saxons, thought Rufus. Some of them are good fighters though. I remember Harold’s coming to my father’s court when he was made to swear away his kingdom over the bones of dead saints. There was a handsome man, but a fighter too. Edgar was not that, but no coward. A dreamer more like. Another such as Robert.
‘So Edgar you have brought your sister’s brood here.’
‘And grateful we are for your hospitality.’
‘Well if I denied it where else would you have gone? To Normandy?’
‘I had wondered whether I should throw myself on Robert’s mercy.’
‘Robert is not my good friend at this time, Edgar. You know he fancied he would like my crown...or rather his barons did.
Robert is too indolent to fancy much but extravagant living.’
‘You wrong him, William.’
‘You were always his special friend. But they were good times we had together, eh, Edgar? The trouble with my brothers and myself is that we’re a fighting brood. Robert wants what I have. I confess I should not mind having what Robert has and Henry would like what we both have. What can you expect with a father such as ours?’
‘He was one of the greatest men the world has known.’
‘Ay to that, but an uncomfortable one, Edgar. Though in the latter years he and I grew close. After Richard died he took me into his confidence. He was determined to make a king of me and I was determined to be one—and to remain one—that worked well. But, Edgar, I have not brought you here to talk of the past but of the future. What of these nephews and nieces of yours?’
‘As you know, William, Donald Bane has snatched the crown of Scotland.’
‘And the poor little rightful king is too young to make an attempt to regain it.’
‘Too young and too poor.’
‘Well, he has an uncle who is not so young.’
‘But poor, William.’
Rufus burst into loud laughter.
‘Well, we shall see, we shall see. There are girls I believe of marriageable age?’
‘They are over-young as yet. Edith, the eldest, is not yet sixteen.’
‘What do you propose to do with them?’
‘I had hoped you would give your consent for them to be educated in an abbey with the nuns.’
‘You don’t propose they should take the veil?’
Edgar shrugged his shoulders helplessly. ‘Who would wish to marry dowerless princesses?’
‘Their coffers may be empty, Edgar, but their veins are furnished with good royal Saxon blood.’
‘‘Tis true. Their parents dead though, their brother dispossessed, themselves penniless...’
‘You tell a doleful tale. Is not their aunt the Abbess of Rumsey?’
‘That is so.’
‘Well then, Edgar, that takes care of the girls. Let them go to their aunt and when the time comes we shall see whether it will be the marriage bed or the nun’s veil for them.’
‘William, I was certain I could rely on your friendship.’
‘The younger ones may go to Rumsey too until plans are made for them. But it is your Edgar of whom we must think. There is a young King without a crown. This Donald Bane is a man who holds a high opinion of himself, I am told. He has displaced a young boy who had just become an orphan and who had no army behind him. He has installed himself in his castle and prates of marching below the border to harry my good subjects. You would have thought that which happened to his predecessor would have warned him, would you not, Edgar?’
‘As I warned Malcolm.’
‘Ay, you were always a cautious man, Edgar. I have a proposal. What if I provided troops and placed you and young Edgar at the head of them and you marched into Scotland and displaced this traitor?’
‘You would do that, William!’
‘I would like to see this young Edgar. If I had as high an opinion of him as I have of his uncle, I might well do that. I want this Donald Bane put down, Edgar. And when I have set young Edgar on the throne I shall expect him to be a good friend to me. He will swear fealty to me. He will be a good vassal; then there will be peace between me and the King of Scotland.’
Edgar’s eyes were gleaming. Rufus of course would want repayment for his help. That was natural. But it was far better for Edgar to be restored as King of Scotland, even though he was also vassal to the King of England, than to wander about the world stateless as Edgar Atheling had done for so many years.
The pact was concluded.
Edgar should have the chance to regain his kingdom and when he did he would always be grateful to the King of England.
* * * * *
The Abbess received the children in her sanctum. The stone flags were cold to the feet and there was no furniture, only a board on trestles and a rough stool on which the abbess sat.
The children stood before her while her cold stern gaze flickered over them.
The eldest, Edith, was the most handsome, she decided. Therefore she would need the most correction. Her hair was in two thick plaits and as one of these hung over her shoulder, the Abbess Christina assured herself that her niece had placed it there for adornment and must be cured of the cardinal sin of vanity.
Pray remove that object. It disgusts me.’ said Christina, staring at her niece.
Edith had no idea to what she referred and stammered: ‘I do not understand …’
‘That piece of hair which you have wantonly placed where you think it will be admired. Hide it, I say.’
Edith flushed and taking the plait threw it over her shoulder where it could no longer offend the Abbess.
‘You will learn how we deal with vanity here,’ she said. ‘We pray that it shall be taken from us and if it is not it is whipped out of us.’
‘I was not meaning to show my hair. I …’
‘Silence.’ said Christina. ‘We do not excuse our follies. We admit them and pray for the power to cast them out. They are devils that possess us and need to be exorcised.’
Edith silently prayed that Uncle Edgar would return and take them away from this cold unfriendly place and this hostile woman. But she knew that she prayed in vain. It had been her mother’s wish that their Aunt Christina should care for them. Could their kind and gentle mother have known how harsh a life of religion had made her sister?
The little ones were cowering close to her. Mary was dismayed; but Edith knew that Aunt Christina had decided that she should be her main victim.
‘You are here to learn to become worthy members of a great family.’ said the Abbess, ‘but first of all you must be children of God. Here we show no mercy to those who stray from virtue. Understand that, every one of you. You will now go to the apartments reserved for you and there you will find your garments ready. Those which you now wear will be taken from you. They are the vestments of the world.’
A nun had come into the chamber and the Abbess said to her: ‘Take them away, Sister. You know your duty.’
Edith was about to protest and for a few moments she and her aunt looked into each other’s eyes. When her parents were alive she had resisted Aunt Christina’s efforts to put her into a nun’s habit. Once Aunt Christina had brought the rough serge garment to her and forced her to put it on. It had scratched her skin and was uncomfortable and ever after Aunt Christina had always terrified her. There was something satanic about her for all her piety or perhaps because of it. She was so sure of her virtue that she did not care how much she hurt others in her efforts to make them as good as herself.
How angry her father had been when he had seen her in the nun’s habit!
‘Take that thing off,’ he had roared. And how happily she had done so. ‘My daughter is not destined for the cloistered life.’ he had shouted. ‘A match will be made for her. She is to be a wife and a mother.’
Aunt Christina had been angry, but she could not stand out against the King of Scotland. Alas, her father’s eye had been cruelly pierced by a traitor’s lance and there was no one to protect her now and she was at the mercy of stern Aunt Christina.
The chamber to which she was taken was small and cold. There was a crucifix on the wall and a bag of straw on the floor. On the straw lay a black robe—of the same starchy material which she remembered. She shuddered with horror as the nun bade her remove her clothes. ‘Everything,’ said the nun, her eyes glinting. Off came the soft shift and it was replaced by the rough one and over that went the black robe.
Never in her life had Edith felt so desolate. Her parents dead, herself a prisoner in this gloomy place presided over by harsh jailors.
The nun left her and when she was alone she ran her hands over the hateful cloth; then in a sudden rage she took off the robe and throwing it to the floor, stamped on it.
‘I will never, never take the veil,’ she cried. ‘Never!’
Then the realization of the futility of what she was doing swept over her.
What was the use of stamping on the cloth? What was the use of raging?
She knelt down by the straw and clasping her hands together prayed: ‘Oh God, help me. Save me from my aunt Christina.’
She rose in despair, supposing God to be on the side of a pious abbess rather than on that of a young girl with thoughts of worldliness.
‘What can I do?’ she whispered in despair.
Then she heard footsteps, so hastily she picked up the robe and put it on.
For a while she must accept defeat.
* * * * *
A great enthusiasm had arisen throughout the Christian world to make what was called Holy War on the Infidel.
For many years pilgrims of all Christian nations had taken the journey to Jerusalem believing that by doing so they would expiate their sins. Jerusalem was in the hands of the Infidel and this influx of visitors, often very wealthy, had become a profitable trade to them.
Robbery had flourished; worse than that, pilgrims had been seized and taken into captivity; many of them had been tortured and killed. For years men had been preaching against these practices; and one of these was Peter the Hermit, a man of great eloquence who had aroused indignation throughout Christendom.
Pope Urban II had called a council at Placentia and during this the suggestion had been put forward, and unanimously agreed upon, that there should be a crusade against the Infidel.
Those who craved for adventure seized on the idea. To make war, to fight and kill and earn a place in Heaven for so doing seemed an excellent plan; and very soon after the meeting at Placentia, the first Crusade was being made ready.
This was an idea which appealed whole-heartedly to Robert of Normandy. This adventurer, dreamer and idealist who had recently been defeated by his own brother, saw in the venture an escape from the tiresome business of making terms with Rufus, who was more wily than he was.
He had lived a life of great extravagance; he had squandered many fortunes; he had been guilty of self-indulgence. Now he would go and fight the Infidel for the glory of God and the Christian Faith and so earn a remission of his sins.
So must his grandfather—Robert’s namesake—have felt. Robert the Magnificent, they had called him. He had been a second son and could not tolerate that his elder brother should inherit Normandy. So he had tried to wrest it from him and, legend had it, had poisoned him. After that his conscience had smote him so continuously that he finally decided to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land in the hope of wiping out his sins. And he, the present Duke Robert? Well, he had chafed against his father’s delay in granting him the Duchy and when they had met in combat had come near to killing him. So he had need of expiation too.
If he were to go to Jerusalem to join in this Holy War he would need more money, for he would have to equip an army which would be worthy of him. And how could he do this in his circumstances? He had never been able to keep money. Perhaps it was this failing which had incensed his father, for the Conqueror was avaricious in the extreme and never spent money unless it was going to bring him some good which would be more beneficial than the sum spent. But Robert could never resist giving money to his friends, to his mistresses, to any who asked for it. Money and possessions were to be enjoyed, not hoarded; and he found great pleasure in giving. Unhappily he often gave what was not his to give; consequent he was invariably in dire straits.
Now he was as penniless as usual and he desperately needed money to prepare himself to join the crusade. What could he do?
He sent for Alan, Duke of Bretagne, his brother-in-law. Alan had married his sister Constance and was now a widower, for after a few years of marriage Constance had died. Alan was looking for a suitable wife and having been the husband of one of the Conqueror’s daughters he was looking high. An idea had come to Robert.
When Alan came to him, Robert told him that he had a mind to join the Crusade.
‘I need money,’ said Robert, ‘more urgently than you need a wife.’
‘You would need a fortune, my lord, to equip yourself for this venture.’
‘And where should I find it? If my father had left me England...’
Alan was silent. Rufus was showing himself to be a more able ruler in England than Robert was in Normandy, and he doubted whether Robert would have been more able to equip a crusade if he had been King of England than he was as Duke of Normandy.
‘I have been thinking of my brother Rufus for I believe I could get the money from him.’
‘Has he so much money?’
‘He has means of raising it. He could tax the people of England.’
‘Would he do this for you?’
‘If the bargain was attractive enough.’
‘How could that be so?’
‘If I offered him something he would like to have...in pawn say. For a sum of money to be repaid on my return from the Holy Land I would offer him...’ Robert paused and Alan looked at him in disbelief. Robert lowered his eyes and said: ‘Normandy.’
Alan stared at the Duke.
Robert squirmed uneasily. ‘It would only be for a few years. He would be a kind of Regent. It would protect the Duchy against my enemies. I have decided that for a sum of 10,000 marks I will offer him Normandy. It is to be returned to me when I come back and repay the loan.’
Alan was too dismayed to comment and Robert went on: ‘I want you to go to my brother and lay this suggestion before him. At the same time you might well find a wife. The royal Athelings are in an abbey at Rumsey of which one of them is the head. The eldest girl is Edith and marriageable. You might well find that she is a suitable bride for you; and in view of the project you will be laying before him, I think my brother will be in a temper to approve the suit.’
So Alan set out for England.
* * * * *
When Rufus heard the proposition he was thrown into a great state of excitement.
Normandy for 10,000 marks. He would find that money no matter where he had to go for it.
Oh what a fool Robert was! What a mad dreamer! He did not deserve Normandy. That much was clear.
Yes, yes, he declared, Alan of Bretagne might go to the Abbey of Rumsey and see the girl. He waved his hand for him to be gone. He could not wait to call together a meeting of the men he would need to carry out his plans.
How were they going to raise 10,000 marks? There was one way of raising money known to him. Taxation. If his subjects had land and money and he needed it, they must provide it. And if they refused, there were dungeons waiting for them.
First he called in Ranulf Flambard, his greatest friend and favourite.
‘Ha, Ranulf my boy, listen to this.’
Ranulf sprawled familiarly on the faldestol. He roared with laughter when Rufus told him of Robert’s proposition.
‘We’ll get the money.’ cried Ranulf. ‘We’ll get the money and Normandy.’
Rufus gazed affectionately at Ranulf—a man after his own heart. He had been attracted to him the first time he had seen him. His sexual tastes were similar to those of Rufus and they were immediately close companions. Ranulf was the son of a parish priest of Bayeux who had come to London soon after the Conquest. Hearing much of the King’s manner of life he came to Court and his rude manners, his hearty laughter, his malicious tongue and a certain rough wit immediately appealed to Rufus.
Ranulf had quickly discovered that the best way to stay in the good graces of Rufus was to keep him well supplied with money and he had devised new methods of taxation. It was for this reason that he had been given the name of Flambard– the firebrand; for his methods of extortion were not over nice.
Ranulf now threw himself whole-heartedly into the matter of raising 10,000 marks. He instituted a new form of bribery. Men could pay their way out of trouble. Criminals were set free if they could raise enough money to buy their release.
‘The church is rich.’ said Ranulf; and they laughed together. Ranulf knew how his sovereign enjoyed discomfiting the clergy.
‘Get to it, my good friend.’ cried Rufus. ‘And begin with our reluctant Archbishop of Canterbury.’
* * * * *
Anselm was amazed to learn of the bargain into which Robert of Normandy had entered with his brother. He would have refused to help raise the money but he was warned by his friends that that would be unwise. He must remember that Rufus was a violent man and that Rome was too far off to offer him protection. He could be thrown into a dungeon and blinded—a revenge often taken by the King on his victims, for the Conqueror himself had abolished the death penalty and decided that it was a more just punishment to rob rebels of their eyes than their lives.
Anselm therefore raised five hundred pounds of silver in answer to the King’s command.
Rufus roared with anger when he received this offer.
‘Of what use is that to me?’ he demanded. ‘From the rich See of Canterbury I want more and shall have more.’
Anselm replied that he could not give what he did not possess; and he sold the silver and distributed the proceeds among the poor.
Well, mused Rufus, five hundred pounds worth of silver was better than nothing. So he sent a messenger to Anselm to tell him that he would accept the silver after all.
Anselm was not displeased to reply that the silver had already been sold and the money it had raised given to the poor.
Rufus’s face grew purple when he heard this.
He would have to show that insolent priest who was master in this land, he decided, and that soon. In the meantime his great concern was money...money for Normandy.
‘I want money.’ was the message sent to Anselm. ‘Have you not gold and silver boxes full of dead men’s bones?’
That the King should suggest using the ornaments on coffins was repugnant to the Archbishop and he ignored the King’s request.
Rufus forgot Anselm temporarily. He had accumulated the 10,000 marks. The agreement was drawn up. Normandy was in pawn; and if Robert could not repay the loan and if he failed to return, then Rufus King of England would be also Duke of Normandy.
A Suitor at the Abbey
How dreary was life at Rumsey. There were lessons and prayers all through the day; and the girls were made to wear the black Benedictine robe of the order which had been founded by King Alfred.
They were rebellious as far as they could be. Edith had often taken off her robe when she was alone and stamped on it to relieve her feelings. One day when she was thus engaged she perceived a pair of eyes watching her through the aperture in the door of her cell and she was suddenly more frightened than she had ever been in her life. The eyes disappeared but shortly afterwards her aunt came into her cell, but by that time she had hastily put on the robe and was kneeling before the cross on the wall. The Abbess stood quietly behind her for some seconds; then a pair of hands was placed on her shoulders and she was forced down until her head was on the stone floor.
