The Lion of Justice (19 page)

‘I 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 worth while, 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 a 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.

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 to 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.'