Текст книги "The Lion of Justice"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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‘An Archbishop of Canterbury, my lord. And as such I ask that the lands of die See which were taken when Lanfranc died be restored.’
‘You would be a rich man, Anselm.’
‘I have no wish for riches. But there is much I would do for the poor—spiritually and temporally.’
‘Churchmen, I am of the opinion, enjoy rich living as much as do their kings and masters.’
Anselm ignored the gibe which certainly could not apply to him.
‘I asked that in all matters spiritual you should take my counsel.’
‘There is little in which I would seek your counsel then, for I am not a spiritual man. I like well the pleasures of the flesh and I need no man’s counsel to tell me how to obtain them.’
Ranulf ostentatiously suppressed his laughter.
‘There is the matter of my pallium.’
‘Ah,’ said Rufus. ‘Did you know, Ranulf, that an archbishop cannot perform his duties without his vestments? Now a king is by no means so handicapped. I can go about my business garbed as I will and do it none the worse.’
‘Without my pallium I cannot consecrate a bishop nor yet hold a council.’
‘We have a surfeit of bishops,’ growled Rufus.
Anselm said: ‘It is necessary that I go to Rome to receive my pallium from the Pope.’
‘From the man who calls himself Pope,’ said Rufus narrowing his eyes.
‘From Urban II.’
‘Ah, the man whom you call Pope.’
‘He is widely recognized as Pope.’
‘He is not so in England and you are in England now, my Archbishop.’
Anselm was embarrassed. There were two popes at this time. One was Urban II who represented the reforming party and Clement III who was supported by the imperialists. As Abbot of Bee, Anselm had sworn allegiance to Urban, but the King of England had done no such thing.
‘If I am to carry out my duties I must go to Rome and collect my pallium, and if I am to succeed in office the lands of my See must be returned to me.’
‘How can you go to Rome and take this pallium from a man
who, in England, is not accepted as the true Pope?’
‘My lord King, there are few countries who do not accept him.’
‘I have told you I do not accept him. Am I or am I not the King of this realm? My father swore that no Pope should be acknowledged in this country without the consent of the King. I agree with him and I have not acknowledged Urban.’ His temper was rising and as usual on such occasions his face had grown scarlet with fury. He pointed to Anselm: ‘If you do, you defy my authority. You serve the Pope not the King. You are a traitor to your King, Sir Anselm, and what you are trying to do is tear the crown from my head.’
Anselm was pale and calm in contrast to the red fury of the King.
‘If you will grant me permission to retire, my lord, I will do so. But I must tell you that it will be necessary for me to call together a council.’
‘Your departure will please me, but before you go let me tell you this, Sir Anselm. I begin to wish I had never set eyes on you. I hated you yesterday. I hate you today and I shall hate you more the longer I live.’
‘Then it was an ill moment when you thrust the crozier onto me.’
‘Ill, indeed.’
Tor now,’ Anselm reminded him, ‘you cannot dismiss me without the permission of the Pope—and that will be the Pope accepted by the world if not by you, my lord.’
‘Get out,’ screamed Rufus.
When he had gone he looked at Ranulf and his anger faded suddenly. They began to laugh.
‘We must devise some plan,’ said Ranulf, ‘for teasing your naughty Archbishop for there is no doubt that good as he may be in the service of the mock Pope, he is bad for my lord’s temper.’
‘He is an obstinate man,’ mused Rufus. ‘He will go on demanding the return of these lands and I shall continue to refrain from giving them to him. As for his pallium, he’ll not go to Urban for it. And what care I if he has no pallium at all? He can dispense with all his churchman’s robes for all I care. Although I fancy he would be far from handsome without them.’
‘Not of a kind to tempt my lord to the pleasure of the flesh.’
‘Be silent, fool. That man has plagued me too much. I have matters of moment to think of.’
‘And I see they do not include the naked Anselm. You should rid yourself of him. Send him back to Normandy and find an archbishop who knows that the King is King and will have no one gainsay it.’
‘These churchmen are too powerful. I see conflict ahead. Who is to rule—the King or the Pope?’
‘For a man who fears hell’s torments it is indeed a problem, but you, my lord, have few such fears.’
‘Nay. I was brought up to be a Christian but I never took to it. I like better the gods of my more distant ancestors. Odin the All father, Thor with his hammer, Valhalla, Ranulf, where men feasted and made love according to their inclination. That is a way more to my fancy. And in my heart, Ranulf, I doubt that their heaven awaits these Christians. And if it is peopled by such as Anselm who would want to go there?’
‘Not you. Not I.’
‘So I’ll make sure of my pleasure here and if they are right and hell fire awaits me, I must needs endure it. Now this Anselm would call together a council. If they decide he shall go to Rome to collect his pallium they defy me. I’ll not have that, Ranulf. My father never would. And nor shall I. I will make known my anger to the men who form this council. I’ll warrant you, Ranulf, they will not dare to go against me.’
‘Then,’ said Ranulf, ‘we must wait and see.’
* * * * *
It was an uneasy council that met at Rockingham. Rufus had made it clear to all those concerned that his fury would be aroused if it supported Anselm. All knew that the outcome of Rufus’s anger could be violent and it was greatly feared. On the other hand many of them felt that their souls could be imperilled if they supported the King against the Archbishop.
Anselm declared that he would obey the King and serve him well except where his actions would be in conflict with the Pope.
‘Who governs this land?’ roared Rufus. ‘Is it the King of England or the Pope of Rome?’
He ordered the council to rid him of Anselm.
This however could not be done without the consent of the Pope. Anselm had taken the crozier during a solemn ceremony. He was the Archbishop of Canterbury and only the Pope could depose him. Anselm, calm in the face of the storm, and, as the King said, stubborn as a mule, declared that the only course open to him was to appeal to the Pope.
‘Rid me of him,’ cried Rufus. ‘This man is a traitor.’
But the barons and churchmen replied that they could not pass sentence of deposition on a man who was ecclesiastically their superior.
* * * * *
Alone with Ranulf the King gave vent to his rage.
‘This land,’ he said, ‘is governed by the Pope, not by the King. I swear I will not countenance that. My father never did and nor shall I. Anselm! There will be trouble while he remains here. Would I had never kept him here. I would I had sent him back to Bee’
‘Alas, my lord, but he is here and here he will stay until this Pope displaces him.’
‘In my own kingdom, Ranulf! My own kingdom!’
‘There are herbs that are tasteless in wine.’
‘I know it well. But this is not the way with a man such as this. I want him removed in a manner which will arouse no suspicion. How Ranulf? How?’
They pondered it for long but could come to no satisfactory conclusion; and it was Urban himself who came to their aid.
Under the Conqueror, England had become a power of some importance and Urban chafed that he had not received recognition from that land. His spies kept him well informed of what was happening there and he sent a messenger to the King, implying that he might be willing to help him in return for recognition.
Rufus laughed when he received this letter. It appealed to his sense of humour that he should see a way out of his dilemma through the Pope himself.
As a gesture of his willingness to come to terms, Urban sent the pallium to England with instructions that it should be placed on the high altar at Canterbury. Thus he had delivered it neither to the King nor to the Archbishop and the controversy had been solved in a most delicate manner.
It was true that Anselm, by the consent of all concerned, took the pallium and continued in office, but the Pope had intimated to the King that he would be willing to work in secret to bring about his desires providing of course he was satisfactorily rewarded.
* * * * *
One of the pages came to tell the King that Alan of Bretagne had come from Rumsey.
‘Bring him to me,’ said Rufus, and in an aside to Ranulf who was his constant companion at this time: ‘He has been inspecting the Atheling girl. What did he find, I wonder?’
Alan bowed and the King said: ‘Well, brother, so you are impatient for a wife and have found one to your liking.’
‘I have, my lord.’
‘So there is to be a wedding in the family?’
‘If you give your consent, my lord.’
‘And why should I not? It was always my father’s wish to pump good Norman blood into the Saxons.
‘So I am to have the girl?’
‘Have her. Take her back to Normandy and let me know when you get your first boy. Better luck than with my sister.’
Alan hesitated. ‘There may be some barriers set up by the Abbess.’
‘That Abbess! She is Edgar’s sister. She has too high an opinion of her royalty, I think.’
‘Indeed so,’ replied Alan. ‘She was anxious to show me that she was the ruler of her Abbey.’
‘Under the King, I hope.’
‘I doubt she recognizes that. She may try to stop the marriage.’
‘When I have consented.’
‘She may try but with your consent I’ll marry the Princess in a week or so.’
‘May she give you all you want,’ said Rufus.
‘Now I have my lord’s consent that matter is settled,’ said Alan.
‘You should ride back to Rumsey to tell the happy girl what is in store for her.’
‘When I have celebrated my victory, I shall do so.’
Left alone with Ranulf, Rufus said: ‘If only it were possible to deal as easily with Anselm as with my brother Alan!’
‘Alan is easily satisfied. A good bedfellow and a cask of wine will do for him. Anselm wants power and that is in truth another matter. You have no wish for the girl nor the wine—so he can have them. But the power is yours and not to be shared. Oh, never fear, my King, we’ll settle Master Anselm– ay, and before the Princess begins to grow large with Alan’s seed if need be.’
* * * * *
Alan of Bretagne was very pleased with himself. He had the King’s consent to his marriage. The girl was personable– young and royal. Her brother had now become King of Scotland. This marriage would be almost as advantageous as his first.
He sat drinking with the company he had brought with him from Normandy. It grew late as he enlivened the company with stories of his prowess both as a soldier and lover.
His little Scottish Princess had a treat in store.
The stories grew more wild and more ribald as the evening progressed and again and again Alan’s goblet was filled.
‘Well, my friends,’ he said, ‘it is time I left for Rumsey. The Princess will be anxious. She’ll think I’m never coming to claim her.’
He stood up. Hazily he saw the faces of those who had been drinking with him. He was vaguely aware of the smiles changing to expressions of concern as he fell to the floor.
* * * * *
The Abbess sent for Edith.
‘I have a message here.’ she said grimly. ‘The King has given his consent to your marriage with Alan of Bretagne.’
Then Edith knew that on no account would she take this man. Yes, even a life here in the Abbey was preferable to that. Moreover if she consented to take her vows her aunt would be less harsh to her. She had been so in these last weeks because she knew of the turmoil which was going on in Edith’s mind.
‘I will not marry him. I’ll take the veil.’ cried Edith.
‘You fool.’ retorted her aunt. ‘Don’t you understand? It is too late. The King has given his consent. You have no choice.’
Edith stared with horror at her aunt.
‘Did I not warn you? Did I not tell you that God would avenge your renunciation of him? You have had opportunities given you and constantly you turned away. You could not decide. You were set against the holy life. You longed for a man and then when you saw one, some sense of decency prevailed. But it is too late. The King has decided.’
‘Perhaps I could go to the King.’
‘Go to the King? It is not possible.’
‘If I pleaded with him...If I could tell him...’
‘You do not know the King. He would not be moved by the tears of women.’ The Abbess laughed as though momentarily enjoying the situation; but she was almost immediately grim again. ‘Nay, you have been chosen and you have rejected God’s wishes. He has now decided to punish you.’
‘Oh, Holy Mother.’ whispered Edith.
‘Yes, you may appeal now. It is too late I tell you. Had you taken your vows none could have touched you. They would not have dared. But no...you would not. You deserve everything that befalls you. You have chosen. You will be handed over to that vile man and he will make sport with you.’
‘Please...’
The Abbess laughed bitterly. ‘Your ancestors are mocking you. Go. I cannot bear the sight of you.’
Edith went to her cell; she lay on the floor and trembled. Hideous images came in and out of her mind. ‘Oh God.’ she prayed, ‘save me.’
* * * * *
It seemed that God answered her prayers in a most dramatic manner.
The Abbess sent for her. Rarely had Edith seen her aunt in such a pleasant mood.
‘God has decided to be merciful.’ she said.
‘How so?’ asked Edith eagerly.
‘Alan of Bretagne, celebrating his success in getting the King’s approval, drank himself to a stupor. When he stood up, God struck him down. That lustful body is now being consumed by the fires of hell.’
A horrible image but how could she help but be grateful for her escape!
‘Come.’ said the Abbess, ‘kneel with me now and give thanks to God.’
But there was still the further problem. Aunt Christina was wrong if she thought the way was clear. Because one terror had
been removed it did not mean that the other alternative did not remain.
I will not become a nun, vowed Edith.
It would begin again, the persecutions, the taunts, the persuasions. But she would be firm. She had never given her word.
Did God in truth mean that he had determined she should become the future Abbess? Had he removed Alan de Bretagne in such a dramatic way as a sign?
She did not know, but the fact that she was saved from Alan did not mean that she loved the black Benedictine robe any the more.
The Abbess declared she had had a further revelation of God’s approval.
She was to be appointed to the Abbey of Wilton as its Abbess.
This delighted her. It was Wilton Abbey over which a member of the Atheling family had always presided.
She was to be its Abbess and she was determined to train Edith to follow in her footsteps.
The young Athelings could now return to their brother’s court in Scotland. Only Edith and Mary, she insisted, must remain behind.
The Vices of the King’s Court
The King was in his bedchamber with several of his friends. They were laughing together at Robert, a very special favourite of the King, who had come to show the new fashion he had created in shoes. Robert pranced round the room in his extraordinary footgear and coming to the King, bowed in an exaggerated fashion.
‘Get up, you fool,’ cried the King.
‘But like you not my feet now, sir King?’
‘They become you well, Robert. You must see that I have the like.’
Robert sat on the floor and drawing off his shoe presented it to the King.
‘The long points are stuffed with tow, my lord, and corned up like a ram’s horn.’
‘I never saw the like,’ laughed Rufus, giving Robert an affectionate push which sent him sprawling across the floor.
‘Get up, Horned One. Get up, Cornard.’
‘An’ you wish it,’ answered Robert. ‘But I see my lord likes well my shoe.’
‘I like it well. What say you?’ he demanded of the company.
‘My lord, we like well Robert Cornard’s horned shoes.’
Then Cornard he shall be named from henceforth. Come sit beside me, my Cornard, and tell me what adventures have been yours in the court today?’
‘Such as would make a bishop blush, lord.’
‘He is a shameful one, this Robert Cornard,’ said the King.
‘But a pretty fellow albeit.’
‘And always thinking of new fashions to amuse my King. Look, like you well my curls, lord?’
Rufus pulled Robert’s hair affectionately. It was long and had been curled with hot irons and parted in the centre, falling about his face.’
He looked more like a woman than a man. He was scented and his robes swept the floor as he walked, or rather minced, about the chamber. He had a bad reputation, for it was said that he was an adept at many evil practices known to men of his kind. The King was amused by him and although he was not the friend Ranulf was, Rufus never seemed to tire of his company.
In the hall below a banquet was being prepared and shortly the King would descend to the hall surrounded by his friends. They were all rivals for his attention, these young men, and each tried to outshine the others. Scented, their hair long and curled, their robes like women’s robes cut low at the neck, they crowded about him jostling for his attention.
Rufus could not help smiling as he watched them and wondered what his father would say if he could look into his successor’s bedchamber.
Rufus had no illusions about himself. One of his great virtues was the rare ability to see himself clearly; and an added quality was that he never shied from the truth.
Well, Father, he mused, as he looked on that scene and listened to the high-pitched voices of his friends, we cannot all be alike. My court is a gayer place than yours ever was. You had no time for the pleasures of life. For you it was continual conquest. You were known through the latter years of your life and mayhap will be known for ever more as the Conqueror. What shall I be known as? Rufus! Shall I leave behind nothing to be remembered by except my red hair and ruddy complexion?
Yet I am a soldier—not as good as you, but who could be? I have followed the laws you laid down. I have kept the country intact. And I have now got my hands on Normandy. It may well be that I shall bring it under the English crown, for how is Robert ever going to pay me back? I have built even as you did. There is this noble hall of Westminster. I have added the White Tower to your Tower of London, and I have built a bridge across the Thames. Cathedrals, monasteries and churches have been built, although I confess I have had little hand in those. There is something about the Church I cannot stomach. Perhaps it is because churchmen seem to me such hypocrites and, sinner that I am, I am not that.
There’ll be no son to follow me. I could not take to women, and marriage is too repulsive to me. I have brothers, Robert and Henry. Robert would be useless as King. I am not sure of Henry. He’s ambitious and clever, they say. But he’ll be an old man before I’m ready to go. There are the sons of my sisters. What a morbid subject! I’m not going yet. There is too much here to amuse me. I like life, Father. I enjoy it as you never could. These are my friends who amuse me—something you who were all man could never understand. The hunt...now there we are on common ground. It’s something we could always share. The feel of a horse beneath one...the baying of the dogs...the chase!
Nay, Father, if you watch me from wherever you are, do not think too badly of me. I have followed in your steps as far as possible. I think of you and your wise laws. I follow them. But I am myself and must act accordingly.
Robert had brought his face to that of the King.
‘My lord is thoughtful.’
‘Ay.’ said Rufus, ‘and it is time you dressed me for the banquet.’
‘My lord’s hose.’ cried Robert, and a page came running with the garment. Robert’s nose crinkled with disgust. He covered his face with his hands and pretended to weep.
‘What foolery is this?’ demanded Rufus laughing.
‘It is more than I can endure.’ wept Robert. ‘My lord King to wear such hose!’
‘What’s wrong with them?’ demanded Rufus.
‘They are unworthy. I could bow to my lord but never to such a pair of hose.’
‘Have done with your jesting and dress me.’
‘‘Tis no jest, lord; these hose are unfit for royal legs. Send for the varlet who brought them to you.’
Rufus looked on with amusement as the man appeared trembling before Robert who had seated himself on the faldestol, cleverly imitating Rufus.
‘Hose, man, hose!’ he shouted.
‘Yes, my lord,’ said the frightened man.
‘You bring such hose to our lord the King!’
‘They are the King’s hose, sir.’
‘Tell me the price of these hose, man.’
‘I know not.’
‘Then find out.’
The frightened man scurried away and Robert continued to amuse the company by murmuring: ‘Hose...inferior hose...an insult to my royal legs...’ He even endeavoured to make his face grow red with feigned temper.
The page returned with another man and Robert signed for them to stand before him.
‘These offending hose.’ said Robert. Pray what did they cost?’
‘Three shillings, my lord.’
‘Three shillings. You would encase the King’s royal legs in three shillings’ worth of hose? You should have your eyes put out for such treason.’
The frightened chamberlain began to tremble.
‘My lord.’ he began, ‘the King has never questioned...’
‘He is questioning now. A King should never wear hose that cost less than a mark. Bring me a worthy pair of hose if you do not wish to see how fierce my displeasure can grow.’
The chamberlain bowed and hurried off. In a few moments he returned with a pair of hose.
‘How much did these cost?’ asked Robert without looking at them.
‘Two marks, my lord. They are very fine hose.’
‘They will serve. And, fellow, never on pain of death offer the King three shilling hose again.’
The company was greatly amused and Robert minced over to the King holding the hose before him.
‘They look no better than the others.’ said Rufus.
‘Yet they cost two marks and are therefore worthy of your royal legs.’
Robert could always be relied on to enliven the company with amusing games and there was laughter while the King was dressed.
Then down to the hall they went to the banquet where three hundred ushers and doorkeepers had been placed at all entrances to keep out the hungry people, who attracted by the smell of roasting meat, and knowing the hour when the meal would be taken, had assembled outside and if not prevented would come rushing into the hall as the food was carried in and try to snatch it from the dishes.
Everything was in order. There stood the ushers, their rods in their hands, ready to keep out the rabble and make sure that the food and drink were carried to the table unmolested.
They feasted and in due course the King retired to his chamber accompanied by his chosen companions.
* * * * *
Anselm was preaching against the vices of the King’s entourage. He declared that the King and his friends partook in the most abandoned sodomy. They were extravagant; the new fashions were disgusting to all normal men, for gentlemen wore long robes and mantles which swept the floor and their gloves were so long and wide, that a man could not use his hands when encased in these ridiculous objects. Their hair was worn long and flowing; it was crimped and curled; their shoes with the ram’s horn toes, their mincing manners—all these, declared Anselm, were an abomination.
It should be remembered what had happened to the Cities of the Plain. How soon before God raised his hand against the King of England and his minions?
‘God curse Anselm,’ said Rufus, and he wished that he could rid himself of the man. When he thought of the rich lands of the See of Canterbury still remaining in the hands of Anselm he grew so angry that the veins knotted at his temples and his friends feared he would fall to the ground in a fit.
His hatred of the Pope had grown, for he had made a grave miscalculation concerning him. Urban had sent the pallium to Canterbury and saved a delicate situation, and Rufus had presumed, in view of the secret communications between them, that if he acknowledged him as the true Pope he would repay that recognition by relieving Anselm of his office.
Urban was wily. He was accepted in England. This was what he wanted, but since this had come about, why should he agree to the deposition of a man for whom he had the utmost respect in order to satisfy a king who lost no opportunity of stating his animosity towards the Church?
So Rufus having acknowledged Urban as Pope was still left with Anselm.
It was clever Ranulf who found a way. There had been a rising in Wales and all those in possession of goods and lands were by law forced to supply men and money to suppress the revolt.
The Welsh had been subdued but, pointed out Ranulf, Anselm had done little towards the victory.
‘The forces he sent were ill equipped,’ declared the King’s friend. ‘Why, with his resources he should have sent far more. This is an offence for which he can be summoned to your court and made to answer this charge.’
‘Let him be sent for,’ said Rufus, ‘and let him be accused. Let him be proved to be a traitor. Can I be expected to allow a traitor to hold my See of Canterbury?’
Ranulf arranged that Anselm should be sent for, but Anselm did not answer the summons.
The King was furious. He wanted to have him brought by force, but he realized that this was not wise. Anselm was head of the Church and as Archbishop of Canterbury was not under the jurisdiction of the King. He answered to the Pope, and Rufus cursed himself for having acknowledged Anselm’s friend and ally.
It was a false step, but Rufus was too honest to blame anyone but himself for that.
Anselm should be condemned and they would see what could happen then.
A messenger arrived from Anselm for the King. He would not come to the court and the King had no powers to force him. He in his turn must have the King’s permission to leave the country and he asked for it now. He wished to go to Rome to discuss his affairs with the Pope.
Rufus’s immediate reply was a refusal; but after some consideration it occurred to him that it would not be a bad step to get Anselm out of the country. Once he was out, what harm could he do? The Pope could rage all he liked, Rufus was King in his own country; and with Anselm no longer there why should not Rufus seize the rich lands of Canterbury? Archbishop! He could do without an Archbishop.
So he let it be known that he might possibly accede to Anselm’s request and as a result the Archbishop prepared to leave for Rome.
He came to take his farewell from the King and give him his blessing.
‘Spare yourself.’ shouted Rufus. ‘I’ve no need of your prayers.’
‘We all have need of prayers, my lord. A king more than his humblest subject.’
‘I’ll do my own praying.’ shouted Rufus. ‘Go where you will but get out of my sight.’
Anselm left and as soon as he had gone Rufus sent for several of his knights. ‘Go to Dover.’ he commanded, ‘and make sure you reach there before the Archbishop. Search his baggage lest he be taking to Rome any of the treasures of the Church.’
The knights left and Anselm was treated to the indignity of the search. Meanwhile the King lost no time in seizing the rich lands of Canterbury.
* * * * *
When he arrived in Rome the Pope received Anselm with all honours and even lodged him in his own palace.
News reached the Archbishop that the King had already taken the Canterbury lands which as Anselm was still Archbishop came under his jurisdiction.
‘The King is a man without religious feelings.’ Anselm told the Pope. ‘He has no fear of God nor of hell.’
‘All men fear eternal damnation.’ replied the Pope. ‘If I threaten excommunication he may well restore your property.’
The Pope sent a messenger to England with a letter to say that unless the King restored to the Archbishop that which was his due he should suffer excommunication.
When Rufus received this letter he roared out his fury.
His father was once excommunicated for marrying his mother without the consent of the Pope. The Conqueror had snapped his fingers at the Pope. Did they think that he, William II, would accept what William I had not?
He roared at the messenger: ‘Get out of my realm. If you are not gone from here by the end of this day I’ll pull out both your eyes.’
Back went the messenger to Rome, his eyes safe, and when his story was told the Pope called together a council to consider the King’s way of life, his lack of religion and his quarrel with the saintly Anselm.
It was decided at the council that Rufus should be excommunicated and this threat would have been carried out but for Anselm who implored the Pope to wait awhile.
Rufus, he knew, would be quite unmoved by excommunication, a fact which the Pope, not knowing him, could not be expected to understand. No good would be served by the carrying out of the threat which Rufus would laugh to scorn.
Rufus was amused by the controversy. He declared that there was no question of returning the lands, for had not the Archbishop gone to Rome without his royal licence and having done so had he not forfeited the archbishopric?
Anselm realized that this in a way was a victory for the King. He was in England snapping his fingers at Rome; and there was nothing the Pope could do to frighten him.
Anselm settled down to the peaceful life. He was often in Rome with Urban and at times went into the monastery of San Salvatore where he worked on the treatise which was to become famous—the Cur Deus Homo, He began to understand that Urban, after his first gesture, was not eager to pursue the threat of excommunication. England under the Norman kings had become too important a country for that. Rufus had acknowledged him and for this reason he did not wish to alienate him too far.
Anselm realized that he had made a mistake and that he could not expect more help from Urban, so he decided to leave Rome altogether. He had a great friend in Archbishop Hugh who resided in Lyons. He joined him and receiving a warm welcome decided to settle there until such a time as he could return to Canterbury. As it seemed that would never be while Rufus lived, it could be said that Rufus had won the battle.
Love Comes to Wilton Abbey
The thick stone walls of the Abbey of Wilton had become a formidable prison for Edith. On this spot had once stood a wooden building and Queen Editha (the wife in name only of Edward the Confessor who was, it was said, too saintly to have ever consummated his marriage) had rebuilt it in stone at the same time as the Confessor was building Westminster Abbey.
