Текст книги "The Lion of Justice"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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‘Never shall I forget it. How could any please me as you do.’
‘There you speak truth. You are a man of wide experience but you must admit that Nesta was the best.’
‘I could never deny it.’
‘Remember it...always.’
‘I do. Now listen. I shall be occupied with affairs of state...’
‘Including Matilda.’
‘She is in a manner of speaking an affair of state.’
‘One of the more enjoyable duties I trust.’
‘Nesta, I am concerned for you. That is why I have planned for you.’
‘A life which does not contain visits from you will have little savour.’
‘Nay. I have spoken to a good man, a friend of mine, who has always had my cause at heart. He is Gerald de Windsor. He is good-looking, a fine virile fellow.’
‘So I am to be passed to him.’
‘You will marry him.’
‘This is indeed the end, when you pass me to another.’
‘I swear to you that I should be the happiest man in England if I could make you my Queen.’
‘Alas, poor helpless King, who cannot marry where he will!’
‘You have been constantly in my thoughts. I cannot rest until I know you are settled. I want our children to have a good home. I trust Gerald de Windsor.’
‘I have never heard of him. Is he rich?’
‘He will be. I will give him a barony in Pembrokeshire on the day he marries you. There is a fine castle there, Carew Castle. Go and look at it. You will be enchanted by it. I will send Gerald to see you. It is for you to decide.’
‘And our boys?’
‘Rest assured they will always be in my thoughts.’
‘And what is more important, recipients of your bounty?’
‘I swear it on our love, Nesta.’
‘Is that a firm foundation on which to swear?’
‘I would swear on that more fervently than anything else.’
‘You always had the right answers. I wonder if Matilda will find it so?’
‘So you accept?’
‘What else can I do? You are the King. It is different for a penniless prince to come riding this way and to find a loving heart waiting for him. But a king! All his actions are noted. What is Matilda like I wonder? Is she beautiful, tell me that?’
‘She is not ill-favoured.’
‘As I am not?’
‘You are as the sun, blazing hot, without which no man could live.’
‘Which is what you are proposing to do.’
He ignored that. ‘She is as the moon.’
‘The moon is considered beautiful.’
‘I said she was not without a charm.’
‘A man can live without the moon, is that not so?’
‘I know only that this parting breaks my heart.’
‘Now that is not worthy of my lawyer King. Your heart is sound enough, Henry, it’s your head we are concerned with, not your heart.’
‘Have done.’ he said, and drew her to him.
‘The last.’ she said.
‘Let us make it as memorable as the first. But you know I shall come back.’
‘Could I be faithless to what is his name...Gerald?’
‘Yes, I think you might.’
‘As you will be to Matilda?’
‘It seems likely.’
‘Oh yes.’ said Nesta, ‘it seems very likely.’
As he rode back to Winchester he congratulated himself that the interview with Nesta had gone off better than he had anticipated. But then Nesta was a woman of the world. She would understand.
However, when he returned to Winchester he was met by a concerned Roger, who told him that the Abbess of Wilton had made a statement to the effect that the Princess Matilda was a confirmed nun and that it would be an act of sacrilege to remove her from the Abbey.
* * * * *
Henry was furious. Matilda had sworn to him that she had not taken the veil and he believed her. The girl was too innocent to lie. It was that wicked old Abbess who was lying.
‘Nevertheless,’ said Roger, ‘the doubt will always be there. The Church will be against the marriage and that means that many of the people will be with them. It will not be the popular marriage you need. If you did marry the least little trouble would be laid to its door. Remember how ready people are to see signs and portents. Remember how they were sure the cathedral tower crashed because Rufus was buried beneath it, though it was well known that the work was too hurriedly done. If you are going to marry Matilda, it will have to be believed without a doubt that she never took the veil.’
‘She swears she didn’t.’
‘That is not enough. You want the leading churchmen to confirm absolutely that she is able to marry.’
‘Churchmen! The clergy are more likely to support that old harridan of an Abbess than me. One moment. An idea occurs to me. You know my father was excommunicated for his marriage to another Matilda. For years he was ostracized by the Church. He had exiled Lanfranc and then reinstated him. Lanfranc went to Rome and the excommunication was withdrawn. There is a very clever churchman who had a quarrel with my brother. I have it. Anselm. I will recall Anselm.’
‘You think he will work for you against this Abbess?’
‘Yes, for he will be grateful to me for recalling him.’
‘They say he lives in pleasant retirement. Is it at Lyons?’
‘My good Roger, in spite of his piety he is an ambitious man. He lost the great See of Canterbury. What if I promised to return that to him? Do you not think that might prove irresistible?’
‘We can but try it.’
# # #
Anselm in the house of his friend Hugh at Lyons received the messengers from the King.
He read the dispatches and discussed the matter with his friend.
‘Henry has become King. He is cleverer than his brother. He will make a better ruler than Rufus did. He will be more like his father. He is educated as Rufus never was. We shall be able to understand each other.’
‘Well, he is offering to reinstate you.’
‘It is clear why. He is determined to marry the Princess Matilda. If it is true that she has taken the veil he cannot do this. Such a marriage would be cursed.’
‘But you say the Princess denies this.’
‘Yes. She is, I have heard from her uncle, a good and pious young woman. It seems hardly likely that she would lie.’
‘Either she or the Abbess is lying. Would the Abbess lie?’
‘The Abbess might well do so and convince herself that she was obeying God’s will.’
‘Could you make the decision?’
‘I doubt if I could alone. I would have to convene some sort of council.’
‘Well what will you do?’
‘I think I should at least return to England and have discourse with the King.’
# # #
Henry had impatiently awaited the coming of Anselm and when he arrived, greeted him warmly.
Henry said: ‘I intended to recall you in any case. It is not fitting that the Church of England should have no head. You are the Archbishop of Canterbury. Even though you were in a form of exile nothing could alter that.’
Anselm bowed his head.
T trust since you have arrived here you have been treated with all the respect due to an Archbishop of Canterbury?’
‘I have nothing of which to complain on that score. Although a very important ceremony over which I should have presided was held in my absence.’
‘ You mean my coronation?’
‘I believe the Bishop of London performed that duty which rightly belongs to the Archbishop of Canterbury.’
Ha, thought Henry, we are going to be a somewhat intransigent Archbishop and I shall not be ruled by the Church any more than my brother was. But at the moment Anselm’s help was needed so he should be placated.
‘The circumstances were such, my lord Archbishop, that they brooked no delay. It was for this reason that I allowed the Bishop of London to crown me.’
Anselm said that he could understand the reason while he regretted the act.
‘Now, my lord, I need your help. I am determined to marry the Princess Matilda. Her aunt, the Abbess of Wilton, had made other plans for her against the Princess’s will. For years she has been ill-treating her and endeavouring to force her to take the veil. This the Princess refused to do; and now that I am ready to marry her, the Abbess insists that she has taken the vow.’
‘So it is a question of who is speaking the truth, the Abbess or her niece.’
‘There is no question in my mind and I want you to prove the Abbess is lying.’
‘This would be too big an undertaking for me alone. I should have to set up a council.’
‘Then, for the love of God, set up a council. But do so without delay. I am impatient for this marriage.’
* * * * *
An emissary from the Archbishop arrived at Wilton. There was nothing Christina could do to prevent his seeing Matilda. He stated what was expected of her.
‘The Archbishop has set up a council to decide whether the marriage of the King and yourself can be proceeded with. It will be necessary for you to appear before that council and tell the truth.’
‘I always tell the truth.’ said Matilda warmly.
‘You will have to convince the council that indeed you are free to marry. Will you do this?’
‘I will,’ said Matilda, ‘with all my heart. I can stand before God if need be without fear and say that I have never taken the veil.’
‘That is well for you will be on oath to state the true facts.’
He left and Matilda waited for the summons.
She rarely saw the Abbess. Christina was furious because it looked as though her hopes were going to be frustrated. She had rejoiced at first when she had heard that Anselm was back and would preside over a council. She had thought that as a good churchman he would have the interests of the Abbey at heart. But the King had sent for him. The King was urging him to discover that Edith...she would not call her by that absurd name Matilda...was in the right.
She was anxious; and when the summons came and her niece left the Abbey she was even more apprehensive.
* * * * *
The Archbishop announced that there was a report that the Princess Matilda had embraced a religious life. If this were the case and she had already made her vows to Almighty God, no power on earth would induce him to give her a dispensation. If it were indeed true that she had taken the veil then she must return to the Abbey of Wilton and could never be the King’s wife.
Matilda was exultant. How glad she was that she had resisted her aunt’s harsh persuasion! It had all been worthwhile, for now she could stand before the Archbishop and the council and, before God, with a clear conscience.
The Archbishop from his chair on the dais asked her to come forward and stand before him.
This she did.
‘I ask you,’ said Anselm, ‘before God, is there truth in the statement that you are a confirmed nun?’
‘There is no truth in this.’
‘Are you prepared to make this denial on oath?’
‘I am prepared.’ answered Matilda firmly.
She took the oath and Anselm continued to question her.
‘Was it the choice of either of your parents that you should take religious vows?’
‘I believe my mother hoped I would. My father was against it.’
‘Did you ever in your father’s court wear the black veil of a votaress?’
‘Yes.’
The members of the council looked at her intently and she went on steadily: ‘My Aunt Christina was at my father’s court and she put the veil on my head and face. When my father saw it he was angry. He snatched it off and announced that the convent life was not for me, for he intended that I should marry.’
‘But you wore the veil in Rumsey and Wilton Abbeys?’ persisted Anselm.
‘I did.’
‘But it is the dress of a votaress.’
‘My aunt insisted that I wear it. I hated it. When my aunt found me without it she beat me severely. Often when I was alone I took it off and trampled on it.’
‘Yet you wore it constantly in Rumsey and Wilton?’
‘I did so only because my aunt forced me and because often the soldiers came that way and it was some protection against their rough usage. I tell you before God that I never wished to wear these robes, that whenever possible I discarded them.’
The Archbishop consulted with his council and a box of sacred relics was brought out and placed on the board supported by trestles.
‘This coffer contains the bones and relics of saintly men. You are required to swear on them. You know that if you take a false oath you will be eternally damned and great misfortune will overtake you in this life.’
‘I understand.’
‘Now you are required to swear on this that you never took the veil, that you have made no vows to Almighty God, that you are free to marry the King.’
‘I gladly swear,’ she cried fervently.
She was taken from the council chamber.
Very shortly after that Anselm and the Council declared that they unanimously accepted the word of the Princess Matilda.
The King and she were free to marry.
* * * * *
The summer was past and November had come. It was three months since the death of William Rufus, St. Martin’s day, and a Sunday, the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the year 1100.
Matilda’s coronation was to take place immediately after her wedding, and crowds had gathered in the streets and about Westminster Abbey. There was a certain amount of murmuring, for many people still believed that Matilda was a nun who had denied her vows for the sake of marriage with the King.
Henry was uneasy. His position was not as strong as he wished it to be. What, he wondered, if this marriage was to rob him of the popularity he had gained? Was it a wrong step after all?
Anselm was strong. He had said that before the ceremony took place he would make an announcement from the pulpit that the Princess had never taken religious vows and was entitled to dispose of herself in marriage as she thought fit.
It had been a wise move to bring back Anselm. There was something about the man. He had an air of authority as well as sanctity. The people would believe that if he gave his support all must be well.
All the nobility were gathered together and Henry and Matilda stood before the Archbishop at the altar.
Anselm said in a loud voice, ‘Is there any man here who objects to the decision of the council regarding this marriage?’
Henry waited in trepidation, but immediately there came the reassuring shout which echoed through the Abbey. ‘That matter has been rightly settled.’
The ceremony proceeded. The Princess Matilda was married to Henry and afterwards crowned Queen of England.
* * * * *
Henry was the perfect lover. He had had practice enough. She was less afraid of him than he had feared she might be.
He could not stop himself thinking of Nesta and Gerald of Windsor. He supposed he would think of Nesta often. But his bride was pleasant, young, undoubtedly a virgin, and he could be fond of her if only because she so adored him.
She whispered to him of the revelation which her aunt had made to her when there had been a question of her marriage to Alan of Bretagne.
‘It is so different.’ she cried. ‘That is because I am with you.’
He responded as tenderly as she could wish.
There was no point in spoiling her wedding night. She would learn soon enough that the lover she adored was not quite all she thought him to be. Well, she who was so innocent of the world would have to learn, and when she did, as she inevitably must, she would after the first shock settle down to be a loving wife and when she produced the heirs of the kingdom she would be a good mother.
That should satisfy her so that when he strayed—as he surely would—she would come to accept this state of affairs as a natural course of events.
For the time though he feigned to share her ecstatic happiness.
Escape from the White Tower
Robert, Duke of Normandy, had had enough of his Crusade. His friends often reminded him of the need to go back and redeem Normandy. Robert, feckless, extravagant but of undeniable charm, was restless by nature. His enthusiasms waned quickly and his greatest excitement was in making grandiose plans which he deluded himself into believing would come to glorious fruition. That they never had in the past he refused to see. His was an optimistic nature and he always believed in the future.
He was a brave fighter and had distinguished himself in the Holy Land, but that little adventure was over. It was time he embarked on a new one. And that new one must be the recovery of Normandy. Crusading hero that he might be, he was, first of all, Duke of Normandy and he must win back his inheritance.
During the long journey back he made elaborate plans. He needed money. He knew Rufus; Rufus always wanted money, but he was of course hoping that Robert would not be able to raise that 10,000 marks. Nor could Robert at the time see any means of doing so.
He had ridden into southern Italy and had come to the castle of Count Geoffrey of Conversana. The Count greeted the hero of the Holy War with great warmth and begged him to give him the honour of entertaining him before he passed on.
‘My good friend,’ said Robert, ‘your kindness is appreciated, but my dukedom needs me.’
The Count said then he would hope for merely a few days of the Duke’s company.
Robert, conferring with his friends, decided that it would be churlish to refuse such a gracious honour so they would stay for a few days, during which they would plan for the recapture of Normandy.
The Count’s castle was a pleasant place; the weather was delightful—it was warmer than in Normandy and less exhaustingly hot than the Holy Land. It was a golden country, said Robert, a country which invited one to dally.
Robert had never needed a great deal of encouragement to do that and in this case the Count had a beautiful daughter, Sibyl, whom Robert found enchanting. They rode together; they talked together, and he told her of Normandy and his childhood there, of his great father who had never understood him and who had refused to recognize that he was a man so that he had perforce on more than one occasion taken up arms against him.
Sibyl was sympathetic.
And so the golden days passed. There was time to enjoy the Italian sun and the company of Sibyl before he recaptured Normandy.
* * * * *
In his prison in the White Tower, Ranulf Flambard was getting restive. He was not ill-treated; he had wine with his food every day; the jailers were his friends; and it had become clear to him that the King was uncertain how to treat him.
That Henry was shrewd, he had always known, and he believed Henry had some notion that he might make use of him at some time. Therefore the King was holding him a prisoner, but a well-treated one.
Ranulf had friends outside. He preserved the two shillings he received each day and determined to spend it wisely. The wine was a necessity for he had plans for that, but he would spend on nothing else save bribes to those whom he believed he could trust.
News was brought in to him. Robert of Normandy was on his way home. That was important. If he could get to Normandy he might offer his services to Robert. He would have offered them to Henry but Henry had imprisoned him. He knew Henry’s reasons. It was to placate the people. Henry had disliked him when he had made jibes at him in Rufus’s company, but Henry was too wise to waste time on personal vengeance, and was also shrewd enough to know a clever man when he saw one. But he, Ranulf, was unpopular in England. His work for Rufus had made him so. He would do better in Normandy so to Robert he would go.
Robert would be more amenable than Henry. Robert was easy-going; he needed a man like Ranulf. Henry was stronger. He would govern alone. Certainly Robert was his man.
Therefore his first task was to get to Normandy—but before he did that he had to escape from the White Tower.
There was only one way out as far as he could see. Through the window by means of a rope.
How get the rope?
It was not impossible. How wise he had been to feign a greater love of wine than he really had!
He asked that his brewer might come to see him as he wished to order some wine.
This was all right, said the guard, for orders had been that the prisoner was to have his two shillings a day to provide him with comforts.
The brewer was respectful. Ranulf had met him before when he ordered wine. They discussed the quality of the brews he had sent and Flambard not only astonished the man with his knowledge but amused him by his wit—that very wit which had pleased King Rufus and been one of the reasons why he had held a high place in his affairs.
It was a risk, but he took it.
‘I am confined here.’ he said. ‘A man of my abilities! And to tell you the truth, my good friend, I know not the reason why, for I have committed no crime.’
The brewer was delighted to be called the good friend of such a cultured man. Ranulf watched the effect.
‘I see you are a man of intelligence. You will not be influenced by the views of the rabble. You are a man who will make up his own mind. Therefore you are a man to whom I can talk.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I get precious little opportunity of doing so in this place, I assure you, my friend.’
The brewer said that it was a sin that men should be imprisoned for breaking no laws and for a cultivated man—and he was wise enough to know one when he saw one—it was doubly irksome.
‘I carried out the laws, but not on my own behalf, my friend. I did it for the King. I was his servant. I did for him what you would do for any of your customers.’
The brewer nodded sagely.
‘I am no ordinary prisoner. Although my property is in the hands of those who took it from me, I hope to regain it one day and when I do I shall remember my friends. But I am here, and while I am here I can do nothing.’
‘Where would your lordship go if you escaped from here?’
Ranulf pretended to hesitate. Then he said earnestly:
‘I see that you are a man of wit and courage. Forgive me for hesitating. So much is at stake.’
Flattered out of all good sense, the brewer said: ‘You may trust me, my lord sir.’
‘I know it. I would go to Normandy.’
‘How would you do that?’
‘If I could get out from this place, if a horse was waiting for me, if a boat was waiting to take me over the water...then I could get to Normandy.’
‘How could this be, my lord?’
‘I have friends. I shall regain everything one day and I shall never forget those who help me.’
The brewer’s cupidity showed in his eyes. The oaf is considering what he will gain, thought Ranulf.
He was right. The brewer was considering. He was easily prevailed upon to take messages to Ranulf’s friends outside.
It was in this manner that he learned that the Duke of Normandy was dallying in Italy. He seemed to be so taken with the daughter of Count Geoffrey that he could not tear himself away from her. The months were passing and instead of returning to Normandy he remained in Italy.
Yes, Robert was the one for him. He could govern Robert as he had not been able to govern Rufus even.
The brewer had played his part well and it had come to the vital stages of Ranulf’s plan. It was surprising how so much depended on this poor tradesman.
There were two casks of wine sent into him. He looked into one. This contained rich red wine; he looked into the other. Good man! Inside it curled round and round was a thick rope.
* * * * *
He said to his guards: ‘I have a new cask of wine. You must come and sample it.’
They were nothing loath. In fact there was little they enjoyed as much as an hour or so in the company of this unusual prisoner.
He could amuse them with his stories of the late King’s Court. What a place it had been by his account! He would mince round the cell describing the manners and customs of the King’s friends until he had them helpless with laughter. And he always had a supply of good wine too. Very often they left his cell a little tipsy.
‘Welcome, welcome!’ he cried.
He looked round. There were three men to be taken care of: his own special guard whose duty it was never to leave him unobserved for more than a minute or two at a time; the keeper of the door of that part of the White Tower in which they were; and another whose duty it was to prowl round every hour for inspection.
‘Well, my friends, what think you of this brew?’
‘Excellent. Excellent.’
‘Better than the last?’
‘Well, my lord, I couldn’t rightly say as to that.’
‘Drink up then and put it to the test.’
They could not agree on it, by good fortune, so he kept them testing and drinking so that they lost count of the amount they had taken.
He then began to amuse them once more with stories of the Court, never forgetting to fill and refill their glasses.
The keeper of the outer door was the first to succumb; he slumped from his stool and lay on the floor in a stupor.
This unfortunately seemed to sober the others.
‘We should drink no more, sir. Look at him.’
‘He could never hold his wine. He is something of a low fellow who has never learned the gentlemanly trick. Now you two are different. I have always known that. You could hold your drink with the rest of us. I’ll warrant you can stand up to it as well as I can.’
They had not been aware, the simple fools, that while they had been engaged in the testing, he had drunk nothing. Flattery was the weapon to use against these people. They could not resist it.
He knew that it would not be long before he had reduced those two to the state of stupor which had overtaken their fellow guard.
Nor was it.
There they were muttering to themselves—three men, overcome by the intoxication of good strong wine!
There was no time to lose; at any moment, one of these men might be aroused sufficiently from his stupor to know what was happening.
He drew the rope from the cask. He attached one end to the staple near the window. It was a pity it was not nearer, for the drop to the ground was far.
He looked out of the window and a feeling of apprehension overtook him. It was indeed a long drop and he had to rely on the security of the rope attached to the staple.
It was strong and coarse and he had bruised hands merely in tying it.
He let it out of the window, then cautiously clinging to it, lowered himself.
The agony! He had forgotten to ask for gloves. The coarse rope was taking the skin off his hands and they were raw and bleeding. He was dangling at the end of the rope which was far too short, and there remained a long distance between the end of it and the ground.
Fool, he thought. Why had not the brewer sent a longer rope? But the man had sent the longest that would go into the cask.
What now? Was he to wait here dangling at the end of a rope until he was captured? He could not if he wished to. His poor bleeding hands would not endure it.
He must take the risk.
He let go and fell.
Pain enveloped him; he was almost fainting, but he dared not do that. He could see the horse tied to a block a few yards away. His friends had done their part and he must get up. He must forget the pain. He stood.
Yes, he could stand, so it seemed his legs had not been broken.
He staggered to the horse, ready, saddled, waiting.
They had not failed him.
He mounted and galloped off towards the coast.
* * * * *
Geoffrey Count of Conversana had watched the growing friendship between his daughter and Robert of Normandy, and it occurred to him that a match between them would be a good one as far as his daughter was concerned. The Duke of Normandy, if he could regain his lands, was a man of great importance and as there was a possibility that he might be King of England also, the marriage would be a brilliant one for Sibyl.
He found an opportunity of broaching the matter as they sat in his gardens overlooking his vineyards and Robert remarked that it was time he moved on. Not that he necessarily meant it. He had been talking of leaving ever since he came; but there would always be something to detain him—a ball, a banquet, which Sibyl would point out would be spoiled by his absence.
‘Yes, I must depart,’ mused Robert. ‘I have stayed over long.’
‘My lord Duke,’ replied the Count, ‘you could not stay too long under my roof.’
‘You have been a gracious host to me. I shall never forget you...or your delightful daughter.’
‘I wish you all luck in your return to Normandy, my lord.’
‘I need it, Geoffrey. I need it as I rarely needed it before. I have heard that my brother Rufus is dead. Killed in the New Forest as my brother Richard was. And Henry has taken the throne of England.’
‘Has he a right to do this, my lord?’
‘Nay. England should be mine. Rufus and I made a pact that if I died before him I would leave him Normandy and if he died before me he would leave me England. Of course I needed money to make my journey to the Holy Land and I borrowed from Rufus, giving him Normandy as security.’
‘You will redeem Normandy as soon as you return?’
‘I have not the means to do this. Ten thousand marks is the sum I need. I cannot do this. But I shall succeed. I shall not allow my brother Henry to take the throne of England from me. I shall regain Normandy, never fear...and England too...but I need the money if I am honourably to take Normandy out of pawn.’
‘And where will you find this money, my lord?’
‘I have good friends in Normandy.’
‘Your charm and grace have given you good friends wherever you go.’
‘I trust that you are one of them, Count.’
‘My lord, you never had a better and I would be closer than a friend. Let me explain. You need 10,000 marks, the sum for which you put Normandy in pawn to Rufus. I have a marriageable daughter. Her dowry would be 10,000 marks if the Duke of Normandy would be prepared to take her.’
‘My dear good friend! I can think of nothing better. I love your daughter and I venture to think she does not regard me with distaste.’
‘Well then, ‘tis settled.’
‘I will first ask the Lady Sibyl if she will take me.’
‘She will take you, my lord. Her father will insist on that.’
‘I would rather the lady chose me of her own free will.’ He knew that she would do so most gladly. Nor was he disappointed.
Before he left Conversana he and Sibyl were married, and together and by slow stages, being lavishly entertained on the way, they made the journey back to Normandy.
The Chivalry of the Duke
Matilda was happy. The long years of incarceration in the Abbeys of Rumsey and Wilton under the strict rule of Aunt Christina were like an evil dream; yet she often told herself she could never have appreciated her happiness quite so wholeheartedly if she had not been able to contrast it with all that wretchedness.
Henry was a wonderful husband. He was tender and loving and not only this, he quickly realized that she was a woman of unusual education and as he was more learned than most men, this gave them a great deal in common.
He talked to her as though she were one of his ministers and more frankly, for while he must necessarily be on his guard with them, he knew that he never need be with her. She would be loyal in every way.
