The Lion of Justice (33 page)

‘You are the King,' she said. ‘If you command me to help you to find wives and husbands for your illegitimate children I must needs do so.'

‘I would have you do it willingly.'

She shook her head sadly.

‘I would . . .' she began.

‘I know,' he interrupted. ‘You would I had been the hero of your romantic dreams as you made me out to be before you discovered my true nature. But now you know me for what I am, and in spite of all you have an affection for me.'

‘'Tis true,' she said, ‘but . . .'

‘But?' He smiled at her wryly. ‘We must all make the best of what we have, Matilda, my wife. We must curb our needs and desires to what we can attain. Come, be my good friend. Help me find this girl of mine a husband.'

She smiled. ‘I will do it,' she told him.

She was a little disturbed when she learned a few truths about Sybilla.

The young woman was by no means a virgin; nor was she of any special beauty. It would not be easy, Matilda decided, to find a husband for her. She told the King so.

He smiled at her indulgently.

‘You have no need to worry yourself further,' he answered. ‘I have found the very husband.'

‘And he has agreed?'

‘Not yet, but he will when he knows that it is my wish.'

‘I am sorry for him.'

‘Oh, he is capable of looking after himself.' Henry was smiling, well pleased. ‘Would you not like to know his name?'

She said she would.

‘Alexander, King of Scotland.'

‘My brother! But . . . it's impossible.'

‘No, my dear, it is quite possible, and when my good vassal knows my wishes in the matter I have not the slightest doubt that he will be happy to do my will.'

‘But I could not allow it.'

‘
You
could not allow it, my dear Matilda?'

‘It was different with the heiress of Gloucester.'

‘Nay. There was a similarity. You saw how quickly she changed her mind when she knew my wishes. You will see that the King of Scotland is every bit as amenable.'

‘Henry, please choose someone else for him.'

‘But I wish him to take her. I shall be well content to see her married. It is a pleasure to see one's children settled in life, as you will know when our own Matilda and William are given in marriage.'

She was hurt and angry; and she was surprised when, without a demur, her brother, who was known as the Fierce, meekly allowed himself to be betrothed to Sybilla.

Such was the power of the King of England.

HENRY WAS RIGHT
when he said that it would not be long before he left for Normandy.

Philippe of France had died, and his son Louis had ascended the throne. Philippe had been lazy and preferred the comforts of his Court to the battlefield. Louis, however, had a score to settle with Henry. He remembered, when they were boys and Henry and Rufus were visiting his father's Court, he, Louis, and Henry had engaged in a chess game. Henry had so incensed the French Prince when he won that he had thrown the pieces at him, to which Henry had responded by smashing the chess-board over his head. War between the Conqueror and the French had grown out of that incident – it was at the ensuing battle that William's horse had
trodden on a burning ember, which had resulted in the great King's death.

It was no wonder that Louis had a score to settle. More than that, it was becoming politically impossible to endure such a powerful enemy on his borders.

Stephen of Blois and his forceful wife were natural supporters of Henry, since Adela was his sister and one of the sons of the house was actually being brought up in the Court of his uncle Henry of England. It was different with Flanders and Anjou.

Henry knew that if the King of France could be robbed of the aid of Flanders, Anjou and the diabolical Robert of Bellême, he would be more or less powerless against Normandy. He often reminded himself that he had made two big mistakes in his policy. One which affected the present was the release of Bellême. He had had the man in his power and instead of despatching him, or robbing him of his eyes, he had banished him to Normandy. A perhaps greater error which had yet to be realized to the full was to have allowed the Clito to escape from his hands.

In the years to come it seemed certain that the Clito would be a figurehead to which men would rally. Fortunately, he was but a child at the moment, and his father was safe in prison. Robert had been moved from Wareham to Devizes and then to Bristol and shortly was to go to Cardiff. Henry had not wished him to stay too long in one place for fear attempts to rescue him might be carried out.

Now Henry knew that the King of France was conspiring with his enemies; he could safely leave England in the hands of Matilda and his trusted ministers headed by Roger of Salisbury, and so he set off for Normandy.

Luck was with Henry. The first news that reached him when he set foot in Normandy was that Robert of Flanders, one of the greatest enemies, had been killed when his horse threw him on the Meaux Bridge.

This was a good augury, he told his followers, and because of their superstitious natures and their certainty that this was so, success seemed to come their way. But Henry was the first to realize that these successes were temporary and the whole picture could suddenly change.

His great fortune was that England remained peaceful and he had no need to worry about events there, so that he could give his attention to Normandy, and this he did.

A year passed and he was still there. He dared not leave. Messages came from England that all was well under the wise hands of Matilda and Roger. He heard news of the children. Matilda was growing more forceful each day and was undoubtedly Queen of the nurseries; William was gentle, kindly and doing well at his lessons both indoor and outdoor; their cousin Stephen was a charming boy, inclined to be a little lazy at his lessons, but always with a reason for his misdemeanours and such a charming way of delivering it that he was always forgiven. He and young Matilda had become the greatest friends, and sometimes the Queen thought it a pity that she was betrothed to the Emperor of Germany for they might have made a match for her with Stephen. Then she could have stayed with them, or at least not so far from them. Germany seemed very far away and when the Queen considered that it would not be long before their daughter would have to leave them to go and complete her education in a strange land she was sad. But she did not wish to burden Henry with these domestic details. He would be pleased to know that all was well in England, and he need have no qualms about leaving the country while he settled the affairs of Normandy.

Henry could hardly believe his luck. Trust Louis to be so foolish. Henry could never quite forget that plump boy of about fourteen who had become so incensed when he was beaten at chess. Louis was in difficulties and he wished to call a truce, that some sort of conference might take place. His choice of envoy would have been comical if it had not been so utterly stupid. What sort of a man did he think Henry was?

When Robert of Bellême stood before him Henry could scarcely believe his eyes.

‘I come from the King of France in good faith and I expect you to show the same.'

Henry, seated in the ornate chair on which he received envoys and which was a kind of throne, looked up into that
cruel perverted face. This was the man who had brought misery to thousands, the man whose name had struck terror into innocent people; those eyes had looked on at a thousand indescribable tortures. And now they were fixed on the King of England in a manner which could only be described as insolent.

‘You are bold to come to me, Robert of Bellême,' said Henry slowly.

‘I come as a mediator.'

‘Whatever you come as, you are always my enemy,' said Henry.

He called to his servants, ‘Arrest this man.'

‘How can you do that? I come as an envoy.'

‘I can do as I will, Robert of Bellême. Have no doubt of that. Once before you were in my hands and unwisely I allowed you to go back to Normandy. What have you done since then? You have worked against me. You will always be my enemy.'

‘I am your enemy,' said Robert of Bellême. ‘You have robbed me of my lands in England.'

‘I shall now rob you of your vile and filthy pleasures. Let me tell you you shall never have an opportunity of torturing my subjects whether in Normandy or England . . . never again.'

Protesting, Robert of Bellême was dragged away. He was put in prison at Cherbourg until such time as he could be taken to England, where he would be doubly secure.

Two of his enemies were removed. First Robert of Flanders and now Robert of Bellême.

‘There is Anjou now,' said Henry. ‘When he is my prisoner, then the King of France will be of a certainty not well served against me.'

This was good fortune, but still he could not leave Normandy and so the government of England remained entrusted to Matilda and her advisers. She was both mother and Queen, and often she thought of Henry and wondered what adventures he was having in Normandy. Sometimes in the night she would awaken and think of him and she wondered then who was sharing his bed.

It was almost two years since Henry had left England and he still remained in Normandy. He was eager now to return to England. He was longing for a sight of Matilda and his family. He was weary of the conflict, but although he had had success in Normandy he could see that the final battle was yet to be won. In his heart he wondered whether it ever would be, and when he contemplated the future he admitted that before him stretched years of campaigning in Normandy.

There was another stroke of good fortune, or perhaps it should be called strategy, when Alençon fell into his hands. This lay on the borders of Maine, that constant trouble spot, and Fulk of Anjou was obliged to sue for peace.

Maine was forced to recognize the suzerainty of the King of England and believing that the best way of cementing an alliance was through marriage, Henry suggested that Fulk's daughter – yet another Matilda – should be betrothed to his son William.

This was a dazzling prospect for Fulk. His daughter to be the future Queen of England! True, her rich inheritance would pass into the hands of her husband, but it was a bait that was irresistible.

The alliance was made, promises were given by parents of the betrothed, and now that Louis of France was denuded of the most powerful of his allies, Henry thought that he might well return to England.

What a joyous homecoming that was!

‘Two years is far too long to be away from my home and family,' said Henry sentimentally.

Matilda was delighted to see him. She met him at Dover and they rode triumphantly back to Westminster, the people cheering them on the way. The Queen's piety and goodness to the poor had always been applauded. The King was harsh but he was a good king – as kings went – and he had wiped out the humiliation of the conquest in the minds of the Saxon community by winning victories in Normandy.

‘Welcome to the King of England and the Duke of Normandy,' they cried.

It was indeed good to be back.

The children had grown. His eyes lingered on William, a
goodly boy. He would have to teach him the art of kingship. That would be a pleasure. And Matilda: she was growing handsome, and how proudly she held her head and how her eyes flashed!

He said, ‘How is my young Empress?' He spoke ironically, for she was not entitled to the title until the marriage was solemnized. That day was not far off. But Matilda saw nothing ironical. She already saw herself as the Empress.

‘And Stephen, my nephew.'

Stephen bowed gracefully. He was a handsome young fellow and growing fast.

‘Why, Stephen,' said the King, ‘you will soon be joining me on the battlefield.'

‘It cannot be too soon for me, sir.'

‘So you want to be a soldier eh?'

‘I want nothing more than to be at your side and to put an end to all those who are traitors against my lord King.'

‘Well spoken. Very soon, then. Next time I go to Normandy I may take you with me. Your brother Theobald gives a good account of himself and that pleases your mother.'

Stephen bowed his head, full of respect for the returned warrior.

The Queen, watching, thought that Stephen had more grace than her own children. William was perhaps too gentle; Matilda was too proud. Henry would be able to report very favourably on his nephew to his sister Adela.

There was a banquet at which the children were present and the King ate heartily of his favourite dish of lampreys.

Yes, a very pleasant homecoming.

It would be advisable, Henry believed, now that he had returned, to show himself to his subjects. So he arranged with Matilda a succession of tours throughout the country.

They were well received in most places. The only dissatisfaction with Henry was his harsh taxation (which he always declared was necessary if he was going to subdue the rebels of Normandy and prevent England being invaded by men such as the cruel Robert of Bellême) and his even harsher forestry laws. The latter Henry's better judgment warned him to modify but he would not forgo his great passion for the
hunt any more than his father could. He needed the exhilaration the chase could give him. He spent much of his life in battle – or he had since the conquest of Normandy – and he must have the only relaxation that meant anything to him: hunting, whether it was the deer, the wild boar or a woman. He was not sure which of these gave him the greater satisfaction, but that satisfaction he must have.

Now for a while he would be the faithful husband of Matilda. She was not uncomely, with her long fair hair and her swan-like neck, and it pleased him to congratulate himself on his temporary virtue. Moreover they needed more children. Two was a poor tally. Daughters were as valuable in the game of statecraft as pawns were in the game of chess. Young Matilda had proved that through the alliance with Germany. He had his son and heir, it was true, but there should have been more. When he thought of his brother Richard's death in the New Forest he remembered the grief in the home, but his father had remarked, ‘By the grace of God, we have other sons.' And so he had – too many as it turned out. Robert, Rufus and himself . . . and not enough land for poor Henry. But he was no longer poor Henry, for he had more than either of his brothers had had, which was what his father had prophesied. But what would have happened if Richard had been the only one?