The Lion of Justice (26 page)

Robert bowed low and declared himself speechless before such beauty.

‘Welcome,' said Matilda. ‘It rejoices me to see you.'

‘Your welcome is warmer, good lady, than that which I believe I must expect from my brother.'

‘The King is absent from Winchester at this time.'

She was aware of a faint inward indignation. Where was he? With some mistress at his hunting lodge in the New Forest? Or would the hunt take him in the direction of the Welsh border . . . accidentally, of course.

‘So,' she went on, ‘you must be content with just a welcome from me.'

‘Nothing could delight me more. It is good of you to receive me so graciously.'

‘How could I be aught else but gracious towards you?' she said softly. ‘Think not that I forget easily those who show me kindness. I remember another occasion when you did not come to Winchester on my account. Now you have come, and that pleases me.'

She took his hand and led him into the castle.

He must be refreshed.

‘I remember well the delicious beverages with which I was refreshed last time I was in England.'

‘You shall be so refreshed again. You must allow me to entertain you in the King's absence.'

Robert brought into play all his gallantries in an effort to charm Matilda. De Mellent had said he must, for Matilda could save him from the King's wrath and perhaps procure for him a safe passage back to his Duchy.

She had wine brought for him and filled his glass herself. His followers were entertained by certain ladies and
gentlemen of the court while she sat and chatted with her brother-in-law.

It was cosy and domestic at first. She said that before he left he must visit her nursery.

‘A girl and a boy,' she told him.

‘My brother is indeed fortunate.'

‘And they tell me you have a son.'

He glowed when he talked of his little William. ‘Such a bright boy,' he told her. ‘And William, like yours. I doubt not your son is named after his grandfather as mine is. I'll confess this to you, Matilda my dear sister, I am fonder of my father in death than I ever was in life. He was a tyrant. His word was law. He and I were in constant conflict.'

‘I have heard the story of how you saved his life in battle.'

‘Oh, did you hear that, then?'

‘Yes, of how you were engaged in combat against each other. The Conqueror was unseated and at your feet. But you heard his voice and knew him for, your father and so you saved his life. It was a noble thing to do. I know from my own experience how chivalrous you can be.'

Robert was delighted to bask in her approval. How wise he had been to come! De Mellent was right when he said that she might be able to plead for him with Henry. He could well understand how difficult it would be to refuse her anything.

She talked about her children. ‘My Matilda is very imperious. Is your William so?'

‘He is young yet.'

‘Matilda is already aware that she is the daughter of the King of England, and she is not going to allow anyone to forget it.'

‘I doubt not she will grow up as charming and modest as her mother.'

‘Oh, my upbringing was very different.' Then she was telling him about Aunt Christina and the convent and the struggle between them to make a nun of her.

‘What a loss to the world!' cried Robert in horror. He took her hand and kissed it. ‘J rejoice that she did not succeed.'

Then he talked about little Clito. ‘They always call him that. I suppose there have been so many Williams in the family. He is a bright little fellow. I think it would be pleasant
if he and your little Matilda made a match of it. Let us drink to that.'

He was of course drinking a great deal. He had quickly forgotten that he might be in danger. Robert's custom was to live for the moment. He felt that he had been snatched from a possible peril to a very pleasant interlude and he was going to enjoy that.

Matilda had had apartments made ready for him and when he retired he was a little hazy from the amount of potent liquor he had consumed. His attendants helped him to bed and he was soon in a deep slumber.

When she knew that she was to entertain her brother-in-law Matilda had planned all manner of pastimes for his amusement. They rode together and she was able to show him the countryside; and she arranged for a tournament in the tilting yard. The gentlemen of the household had competitions in archery and with sword and buckler as well as tilting and wrestling, leaping and running. In some of these activities Robert took part, and whenever he did Matilda always contrived that he should be the winner.

Robert excelled at all sports, even the quintain which was a novelty to him. This was an old Saxon game. The quintain was a strong post with a piece set in a crosswise direction moving on a spindle at the top. On this was nailed a board and a heavy bag of sand. The game was to strike a hard blow on the board and dodge back in time to escape a heavy knock from the bag of sand which, as the board was hit, swung round with great force. As many of the competitors were not quick enough to escape the blow there was a great deal of hilarity.

After the banquet, tellers of stories entertained the company and there was dancing. Robert loved best of all the music and the songs of the minstrels; Matilda shared in his enthusiasm for this and it made an added bond between them.

Robert was enchanted when he and Matilda sang together; and during the evening he would partake heartily from the royal table, especially of the excellent beverages which he declared were superior to those of Normandy and all other parts of the world in which he had travelled. It seemed only
courteous to show that he was sincere in his appreciation by gratefully accepting all that was pressed upon him, with the result that he had invariably to be helped to his bedchamber. So enchanted with the company and the good wine was he that he completely forgot he was in an alien country, and since it was his dear sister-in-law who welcomed him to her board it would have been churlish to allow his friends to remind him of the precariousness of his position.

One evening when he was in a state of stupor he said to her in slurred tones, ‘My dear sister, I would I could show you my gratitude. If there was aught in my kingdom that you desired, most happy would I be to give it to you.'

‘I wonder if you would give anything I asked?'

‘With all my heart,' he stammered. ‘Tell me what you would have.'

‘I always need money. I give much to the poor. My mother always did and I have tried to follow in her footsteps.'

‘Ah, money,' he said. ‘It is what we all need and what we never have enough of. Believe me, dear lady, anything I have is yours.'

‘I could not take it from you,' she said.

‘Do you not regard me as your brother, then?'

‘I do indeed.'

‘Then I should be affronted if you would not accept anything . . .
anything
from me.'

‘You have one thing,' she told him.

‘What is that?'

‘I have heard it said that my husband pays you a pension. If instead of paying it to you he paid it to me . . .'

‘Anything you want,' repeated Robert. ‘Ask me . . . and it is yours.'

‘This pension, then . . . you would give it to me for my charities?'

‘Anything you ask, dear lady.'

Matilda smiled. ‘My lord Count,' she said to de Mellent, ‘you have just heard the Duke's most generous offer.'

‘I did indeed, my lady.'

She looked at Robert who had slumped forward, his head on the table in a drunken stupor.

‘I think the King would be most happy to learn of the
Duke's generosity. Tomorrow morning, my lord Count, at dawn, you should ride to him and tell him what the Duke has given me.'

Henry laughed aloud when he received the message. He must indeed be grateful to his clever wife. He lost no time in riding to Winchester.

There he embraced Robert.

Sobered by what had happened and no longer befuddled by drink, Robert had now realized what he had done; but, as his followers advised him, his plan now was to behave as though he had not given up his pension in a drunken stupor but out of affection for his sister-in-law. Once they were safe in Normandy they could consult with his ministers and friends and decide what could be done. The immediate need was a safe passage out of England.

Henry was so friendly that Robert was carried away by the situation.

‘I came to see you out of affection,' said Robert, untruthfully in fact, but so believing it while he said it that it seemed like truth. ‘We are brothers, Henry. Never should we forget that. I am older than you, but you are a King and have a King's crown, which is a greater honour than a ducal one. I seek nothing from you but friendship and I have given over to the Queen all you owe me for this kingdom. Let us exchange gifts as a token of our friendship. I will give you and the Queen jewels, dogs, birds . . . such things as mark the amity between friends and brothers.'

There were tears in Robert's eyes as he spoke and, thinking what a fool he was, Henry embraced him; for if he did not love his brother he loved his folly.

‘Now that the King is here,' said the Queen, ‘we will have an entertainment befitting the occasion. Robert and I have discovered a love for the same kind of music, and we have a minstrel who sings like an angel.'

‘I shall look forward to hearing him,' said the King.

In his chamber the Duke's friends said to him, ‘My lord, you should plead business in Normandy. You should leave as soon as you can.'

They feared what other follies their Duke might commit
and they were aware of the astute minds of the King and Queen of England.

Meanwhile the King warmly embraced his Queen.

‘My clever Matilda! How did you do it?'

‘He was drunk.'

Henry laughed aloud. ‘How could I have such a fool for a brother!'

‘I did not like doing it, Henry.'

‘Not like it! Why you have the art of a statesman.'

‘I am not proud of that.'

‘Oh come, Matilda, that conscience of yours will be the undoing of you. You have done good work for me and for England.'

‘That is my consolation. The Count de Mellent explained to me what the paying of the pension would mean in taxation to the people of this country.'

‘He did well.'

‘And I asked God for guidance. I believe that it is better for Robert to lose it than for the people here to pay and perhaps turn against you and begin to believe that the extortion under you was beginning to look like that under Rufus.'

‘I shall never forget what you have done, Matilda. I wish I could tell you what you mean to me.'

‘I know, Henry. You are fond of me, but not enough to love me only.'

‘You cannot understand. How could you, a woman who does not know of these mad desires which, when they suddenly arise, must be satisfied and then are forgotten almost immediately. They are not important, Matilda. Such is my nature that I cannot escape them but they are apart from my feelings for you.'

She sighed. ‘I did wrong to refer to them.'

‘You do wrong to remember them.'

‘Alas, I cannot forget.'

‘In time you will come to understand.'

But she knew she never would.

In a very short time Robert declared that Normandy demanded his attention and nothing was put in the way of his return. Henry and Matilda even went to Southampton to say farewell to him.

Robert embraced them warmly. He would send Matilda a set of jewels which would become her well; he had dogs too which he believed she would fancy.

He stood on the deck as his vessel moved slowly away from the shore. There were tears in his eyes.

But before he reached the shores of Normandy he began to see how he had been cheated, and he fulminated against his brother, hating him as much as he had thought he loved him such a short while before.

‘By Saint Mary,' he said, ‘I shall not rest until England is mine. Am I not the eldest son? Does not all the fair land belong to me?'

His friends assured him that it did, but the way to get it was not to venture there with only twelve knights and to place himself at the mercy of the country's scheming King and Queen.

Henry, watching the ship depart, turned to Matilda and said, ‘To think my father's Duchy is in the hands of such a fool. It should not be an impossible task to wrest it from him; and by all the saints that is what I intend to do.'

Matilda was a little sad. She was ashamed of the part she had played in the interlude, and she heartily wished that Henry would be content with England and leave Normandy to the Duke.

NESTA WAS NOT
ill content with her lot. It was not her nature to seek adventure. It had always come to her. She was naturally indolent and had no great desire to take part in state matters. She was the kind of woman who was content to be a mistress and did not look for political influence; but she was determined that her children should not be overlooked, although beyond that she made few demands.

Gerald of Windsor was a satisfactory husband, in that he was complaisant. He had to be. The King had selected him and given him honours that he might marry his mistress. It was understood that he must not display the normal feelings a husband might have on seeing his wife entertain her lover. Certainly not when that lover was the King.

Gerald had a barony in Pembrokeshire and the magnificent castle of Carew was his home. They had not been bestowed for nothing. In taking the King's mistress Gerald's fortunes had soared.

The castle was a great fortress of stone standing on its incline looking out boldly north, south, east and west as though defying anyone to come against it. Gerald should be proud to own such a castle and such new-found power which his wife had earned through her boudoir skills. Gerald understood perfectly. He was not a man who was capable of great passion. He was too old, in any case; he already had two sons and they were being brought up at the castle with the King's two.