The Lion of Justice Page 18

  If he banished Robert of Bellême to Normandy he would be rid of him; he could take his estates which were considerable; he could give him an opportunity to disrupt the peace of Normandy and at the same time adhere to his part of the treaty in which he had promised leniency to those Norman barons who had worked against him.

  There was great rejoicing on those estates where Robert of Bellême had lived, and so angry was the Norman baron that he appeased his fury with the blood of his Norman victims.

  Henry, outwardly shocked, was inwardly amused when Duke Robert had to take action against the conduct of his vassal, who was carrying out the most fearful atrocities on any who strayed into his path.

  How typical of his brother not to be able to subdue the monster! How different from Henry! Robert was forced to make a truce with the Bellêmes and the atrocities continued.

  When news of what was happening came to England people began to rejoice in their King. They saw that it was a mistake to have tried to replace him. If he had seized the throne when it should have gone to the eldest son, so much the better. In snatching victory from defeat by his clever treaty, by turning out Robert of Bellême and introducing law and order into the affairs of the kingdom, Henry had proved that he was going to be a good King.

  It soon became apparent that rape and robbery were diminishing. Roving barons who had taken the law into their hands, an extreme example being Robert of Bellême, were punished and began to disappear. There Was one law which had to be obeyed and that was the King’s law.

  There could be no prosperous country without a good government, he insisted; and a good government there must be if all the petty barons who plundered and murdered at will were to be stopped. He was going to bring peace and prosperity to England. He was going to bring back the law and order which his father had instituted but which had been lost during the reign of his brother.

  The people began to see what was happening. They were living in a more peaceful state than many of them had ever known.

  It was due to the King’s rule. They called him ‘The Lion of Justice’.

  Matilda’s Eyes are Opened

  THE JUST LAWS of the King and the piety of the Queen were beginning to have their effect. When they appeared together people would cheer them. It was gratifying to Henry when he remembered how uneasy the first months of his reign had been. As for Matilda, she believed that she had achieved absolute perfection.

  She had her dear little Matilda and she believed she would soon be pregnant again. Then, she was certain, she would have a son.

  She told her attendants, ‘My happiness would be complete if I did.’

  The King was affectionate and tender, though she saw less of him than she had at first. State affairs, he told her, were constantly calling him away.

  Sometimes when she spoke of the King and his goodness to her and his people and how she considered that she had achieved the perfect union, she would notice that there was often a heavy silence, and once or twice she had seen her women turn away as though to control their features.

  The poor gave her the title which in the past Saxons had bestowed on those queens who had been assiduous in their care for the needy: Hlaefdige which meant the Giver of Bread. She was glad that they had done this. It was an indication that she was carrying out her duties in the same pious manner as her mother had done.

  She never failed to do some good deed whenever the opportunity offered itself. Discovering on a journey she made near Stratford that the people would find a bridge very useful at that point, she caused one to be set up. It was the first arched bridge to be built and the spot was called Bow after that. She founded the hospital at St Giles’s-in-the-Field and another at Duke’s Place.

  These good works were noted and the people declared that England would be prosperous now that it had a Norman King – albeit he had been brought up as an Englishman – and a Saxon Queen.

  But there were some to carp at them and to jeer at the affection they obviously had for each other. They did not behave as King and Queen, declared some of the courtiers who would have liked to see a return to the profligate court of Rufus. They sneered at them, calling them Gaffer Goodrich and Goody Maude, as though they were a married couple from one of the villages.

  Matilda did not care. She was happy. She heard news from her sister Mary, whose marriage was not quite as idyllic.

  Mary intended to visit her sister as soon as the opportunity arose. Eustace was a tolerable husband. He was many years older than Mary and she had discovered that he had a mistress. Mary wrote that she supposed it was to be expected in marriages such as theirs, because they were arranged for them.

  Matilda felt indignant and extremely sorry for Mary. She could imagine nothing more sad than an unfaithful husband. She thanked God that He had given her Henry, the perfect one.

  Poor Mary! She grieved for her. It seemed unfair that one sister should have had so much and the other have to endure such sorrow.

  All those years of wretchedness in the abbeys of Rumsey and Wilton were worthwhile since they led to this.

  ‘You, of course,’ wrote Mary, ‘will understand too well what I mean.’

  Matilda read that through several times without understanding. Then she thought: She means because I am so happy in my marriage.

  It was not a very pleasant encounter when William Warren, the Earl of Surrey, came to Court.

  She was a little embarrassed because it was necessary for her to meet him. Henry was away on State business which he had told her had taken him as far as the borders of Wales. When he was away he left her, as he said, in charge. It was a little practice in case one day he should have to go, say . . . to Normandy.

  So at Winchester or Westminster she would receive certain nobles and she was able to talk to them of State matters, many of which she promised to lay before the King on his return. It was a habit for any who had a favour to ask to lay it first before Matilda. Often if she thought the cause a worthy one she would plead for it with the King and always secure a favourable hearing; and sometimes the petition or whatever it was would be granted.

  She was proud of her influence with the King, but determined never to abuse it.

  She was at Westminster when William Warren came to Court. She did not care for his manner right from the beginning, but she understood. Naturally, he had been a little hurt because she had pleaded her interest in the religious life and made that an excuse for not marrying him, and then very soon after that had accepted the King.

  As he sat next to her at the table, for his relationship to Henry entitled him to that, he said, ‘So you decided that a crown was more inviting than a veil?’

  There was a faint edge of sarcasm in his voice.

  ‘I chose the man,’ she said a little tersely, ‘not the crown.’

  ‘So it was only to a lesser man that you preferred the veil?’

  ‘It would seem so.’

  ‘And I trust you found the exchange worthwhile?’

  ‘Completely so.’

  ‘Well, a crown is a crown. One can close one’s eyes to much for such a glittering thing, I doubt not.’

  ‘I have no need to close my eyes, my lord Earl. They are perfectly satisfied with everything they see.’

  ‘Of a certainty. They see the crown and the sceptre.’

  ‘And the man,’ she answered. There was something in his manner which was quite insolent. He was insinuating something and she was not sure what. She would have asked him to take a place farther down the table but she feared that would attract attention; and he was, she must remember, Henry’s nephew, which no doubt he would consider entitled him to a little licence.

  ‘So you are ready to shut your eyes to certain frailties?’

  ‘You are speaking treason.’

  ‘Not in the family. I would have been a faithful husband.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  He put his hand to his lips in mock alarm. ‘Have I betrayed a royal secret? Why, I thought ’twas commo
n knowledge.’

  ‘What was common knowledge?’

  ‘Holy Saints, then you do not know. You have never heard of Nesta of Windsor?’

  ‘Of whom?’

  ‘Then you have not! How did he manage to keep it from you?’

  ‘What should I know?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘But clearly nothing. Forget I mentioned her.’

  ‘Now that you have I insist that you tell me what you mean.’

  ‘Clearly if the King had wished you to know he would have told you himself.’

  ‘I do not understand you.’

  ‘Then I am glad, for I have committed no indiscretion.’

  She wanted to slap his smiling face. He was staring before him, delighted by her confusion and misgiving.

  She noticed that several peope were looking at her.

  She began to talk of State matters.

  In the solitude of her own chamber she could not sleep. She could not shut out of her thoughts the sneering face of William Warren. What had he been implying? It was something Henry had done, or was doing. What could he mean?

  Henry was away a good deal. Of course he was. He was a king with a kingdom to govern. But where was he and whom did he meet on these occasions when they were separated?

  She sat at her window until the dawn appeared. Then she sent for one of her women.

  ‘I wish to have speech with you,’ she said.

  ‘My lady?’

  ‘Have you ever heard of a woman called Nesta . . . Nesta of Windsor?’

  The woman immediately looked startled. She cast down her eyes.

  ‘Come, tell me,’ said Matilda. ‘You have heard of her, have you not?’

  ‘Y . . . yes, my lady.’

  ‘In what connection?’

  ‘I . . . I believe she is a Princess of South Wales.’

  ‘And what have you heard of this Princess of South Wales?’

  ‘I . . . I know nothing, my lady.’

  Matilda took the girl by the arm and shook her gently.

  ‘You do know something and I want you to tell me.’

  ‘My lady, I dare not.’

  ‘You will tell me or suffer my displeasure.’

  ‘Others . . . may know more than I.’

  ‘That may be, but I will hear first what you know.’

  ‘My lady, I dursent. The King would be angry. My lady . . .’

  ‘Why should the King be angry?’

  ‘Because . . . because . . . he has been her lover.’ The woman raised startled eyes to Matilda’s face. ‘All know it, my lady.’

  ‘All!’

  ‘Except you, my lady.’

  She closed her eyes and misery swept over her. All knew but his wife. While she was living in her blissful state he was no more faithful to her than Eustace was to Mary.

  ‘When did this happen?’ demanded Matilda.

  ‘It has been happening over a long time. There are the children . . .’

  ‘The children!’

  ‘My lord’s sons by the lady. Oh, I have said too much. But you asked me. And all know save you.’

  She said, ‘Leave me.’

  And the woman went away and she was alone.

  What was this wave of desolation which swept over her? Her dreams had become nightmares. The beautiful romance which she had built up out of the simplicity of her heart and mind had no reality.

  He pretended to love her. He was practised in the art, and all his protestations of love, his endearments which she had believed had been for her alone meant nothing to him. It might well be that while he was with her he was thinking of this woman whom he had long loved and who had borne him sons.

  Henry came back from the Welsh border, refreshed, gay and seeming delighted to be reunited with his wife.

  She had been asking herself how she should deal with this new situation. What could she do? Accept it. Was it not the lot of royal spouses? Not all. He had talked to her of the love between his father and that other Matilda and she had believed that theirs was similar to that. She had often said, ‘But I would never support any children I might have against you.’ And he had fondled her and said that their love-match had everything that of his father had had and more also. And all the time he was going off whenever he could to visit his mistress!

  She was not subtle enough to hide her discovery, and as soon as he returned he knew that something was wrong.

  ‘Why, Matilda, my dearest love, what ails you?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘You will not have far to seek for the reason,’ she answered.

  As he looked nonplussed she went on, ‘I know that you have been visiting the borders of Wales, which is a very attractive part of the country in your eyes.’

  ‘Attractive. A troublesome spot, I do assure you.’

  ‘But with consolations. I refer of course to your mistress. Nesta, I believe, is her name.’

  He stared at her in dismay. ‘By God, who has told you this?’

  ‘It is unimportant. Suffice it that I now know what has been common knowledge to everyone else – for how long? How long is it?’

  ‘Listen. I will explain.’

  ‘What explanation is there? You must go to this trouble spot. It is not the first time since our marriage that it has been necessary to visit it. And there resides the irresistible Nesta, your ever attractive bedfellow and the mother of your children.’

  ‘Matilda,’ he said, ‘there is much you have to learn of life.’

  She said, ‘I am quickly learning that it can be very bitter.’

  ‘You must not take it so. You must be wise, my dear. You must understand that life cannot be seen clearly through convent eyes.’

  ‘I did not wish to learn. I have been happy. I know I shall never be so again.’

  ‘What nonsense is this? Have I not made you Queen of England?’

  ‘I bear that title being married to a faithless husband.’

  ‘You have a loving husband, my dear.’

  ‘Loving to other women, I agree.’

  ‘And to you.’

  ‘I should be grateful to be one of a number, I suppose.’

  ‘You are the first because you are my Queen.’

  ‘I became your Queen because I am the sister of a King. I am Saxon and therefore it was wise to marry me.’

  ‘That’s so.’

  ‘It is a pity that you had to perform the painful duty of marrying me because of my position.’

  ‘Let us not be foolish. It was no painful duty but one of pleasure. You know that is so.’

  ‘Not as pleasurable as it would have been with this . . . Nesta.’

  He hesitated and thought of marriage with Nesta. One thing was certain, he would never be having this conversation with her. She was a worldly woman; for all her experience of marriage and the bearing of a child, Matilda still retained a nun-like innocence.

  He shrugged his shoulders. This revelation had to come to her sooner or later. A King who had illegitimate children scattered over the country, and who was determined to remember them in due course, could not keep his many indiscretions secret for ever.

  He had always been aware that she would have to know sooner or later and this was as good a time as any.

  ‘I see that you would have preferred her.’ With that, Matilda threw herself down on the bed and gave way to tears.

  He let her weep passionately for some minutes, while he sat beside her stroking her hair.

  He was fond of her. She was a good woman. She’ loved him sincerely. He almost wished that he could have been all she desired of him. That was folly. He was himself. He must try to explain to her. Once she grew up, once she understood the ways of the world, he would have no trouble with her.

  ‘Matilda,’ he said gently, ‘I have known this revelation would come sooner or later. I want you to listen to me. Of course I would not wish to marry anyone but you. We have been happy, have we not? Answer me.’

  ‘Until now,’ she said. ‘Now I know I shall never be happy a
gain.’

  ‘You are talking like a child, thinking like a child. When I came to the throne I was thirty-two years of age. Could you expect a man such as I am to have lived without women until that time?’

  ‘I did,’ she answered. ‘You were not married.’

  ‘Oh, you are so innocent of the world. I have desires like most men, only in me they are more intense. It is nature’s way. Some men need physical satisfaction more than others. Some need it so intensely that it cannot be repressed.’

  ‘If they prayed for help . . .’

  ‘There speaks Aunt Christina. Nay, Matilda, you have much to learn.’

  ‘And this Nesta . . . she was your mistress before our marriage?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And after?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because you preferred her to me?’

  ‘Because you were not there and she was.’

  ‘But you went to Wales to see her.’

  ‘You will never understand.’

  ‘I understand that you go to her when I am here. She is beautiful, I suppose?’

  ‘She has an appeal that is rare.’

  ‘I understand. And she has borne you children?’

  ‘I have two sons by her.’

  ‘And you go to see them . . . as well as her.’

  ‘I naturally see them.’

  ‘She should marry. Then she would have legitimate children and a husband of her own.’

  ‘She is married.’

  ‘And still . . .’

  ‘And still. Matilda, you must grow up . . . quickly. You must understand what goes on in the world. You are my Queen. I respect your intelligence. If I had to leave the country I could without fear leave you as regent. You are educated as few people are. That is book learning. In the ways of the world you are completely ignorant.’

  ‘Does knowledge of the world mean that I must happily pass my husband over to other women?’