The Lion of Justice Read online

  ‘With a husband such as you have, yes.’

  ‘Then I can never be worldly.’

  ‘You will be unhappy if you do not see that these matters are of scant importance.’

  ‘Then is my love for you unimportant?’

  ‘Nay. You have an affection for me as I for you. But you do not see me as I am. I am a man who needs women and a variety of them. It has always been so from my earliest days. I am as I am. I have fathered many children. It is said in the Court – and you will hear it said – that I am the father of more children than anyone in my kingdom.’

  ‘So my daughter is one of many.’

  ‘Our daughter is certainly not that. Our children are the most important in the land – in a class by themselves. They are the children of England, for our son will inherit the crown after me. That is why I may have children wherever I fancy, but you, my dear Matilda, must never have a child that is not mine. If you were unfaithful to your marriage vows that would be treason, for by so doing you could foist on the nation a child who was not of the royal blood.’

  ‘I would not wish to. Nor shall I ever wish to bear a child again. It is not what I thought. Nothing is what I thought. Perhaps if I had known I might have taken the veil after all.’

  He laughed at her then and seizing her in his arms kissed her violently in an effort to arouse a passion in her.

  She was surprised at her reaction. It was different. It was profane whereas before she had considered it sacred.

  And afterwards she knew that she had changed. She knew that she would accept her fate and that her first violent disappointment was over.

  Very soon after that she was pregnant once more.

  She prayed for a boy.

  Her marriage had turned out to be not what she had thought it. But Henry was right. She must grow up. She must understand the ways of the world. She had her dear little daughter Matilda – that demanding child who was already making her forceful personality felt – and when she gave birth to a boy, she could be content.

  The child was called William.

  Although she would never be reconciled to her husband’s infidelities Matilda made up her mind that she must accept them. She spent a great deal of time with her children, who were a source of delight to her.

  She was delighted to hear that her sister Mary had also given birth to a child – a little girl who, like her cousin, was called Matilda.

  Mary hoped that the child would be educated in England, for, as she wrote to Matilda, their education had been of the best available and Matilda no doubt found, as she had, that the harshness of convent rule was good for the discipline of the mind: it made one able to endure the troubles of life; also the education received gave one an opportunity to be more than simply a good mother.

  Matilda agreed with her sister. When she looked back on the days spent under Aunt Christina’s harsh surveillance she was sure that she was happier in the outside world – in spite of cruel understanding – than she could ever have been in the abbey.

  To Henry’s relief she did not mention Nesta or any of his other mistresses. A dream had been shattered and perhaps she would never feel the same towards him again, but she had the children and they – at least so far – had not disappointed her. They were two healthy children, intelligent, lively, and although Matilda was more forceful than her brother, she could tell herself that no doubt that was because she was the elder.

  She gave herself up to a study of state matters, so that if the intimate relationship she shared with Henry was impaired, their partnership in state affairs flourished.

  He was pleased with her. He was glad she was not going to prove a hysterical jealous woman. If she would shut her eyes to his occasional amatory adventure she was indeed the perfect wife.

  He could wish that she were a little less pious, but even that was good for the country. He was rather more fastidious than most men and he did not care that she should come near him after she had washed the feet of the poor. However, his acceptance of these Lenten trips to the churches and her preoccupation with prayer, was given in return for her acceptance of his desire for other women.

  The marriage had survived the rocks of discovery, he assured himself; and because of it he was relieved of the burden of pretence.

  He could now bestow honours on his illegitimate children without fear of Matilda wanting to know why.

  So when a difference arose with Anselm, he was able to discuss the matter with Matilda just as he would have done before the revelation.

  ‘These churchmen always want to interfere in state affairs,’ he complained. ‘As I see it, there is beginning to grow a mighty conflict and in this the Church will be on one side, the King on the other.’

  ‘Rufus quarrelled with Anselm, and he was almost excommunicated.’

  ‘Anselm can be a maddening fellow. As head of the Church in this country he feels he is on a level with the head of the State.’

  ‘Surely the Church and the State should work together?’

  ‘They should, Matilda, but I for one shall not allow the Church to have the upper hand.’

  ‘Are you sure that is what Anselm wishes?’

  ‘He wants the Church to stand aloof from the State. He wants the power to decide matters which should be for the King to settle.’

  ‘What is he asking?’

  ‘He would deprive me of the right to appoint bishops. All Saxon kings appointed their own bishops. I insist on appointing mine.’

  ‘They are members of the Church . . .’

  ‘Powerful members of the Church, Matilda. I cannot have men of such power chosen without my sanction. They could be my enemies and work against me. If Anselm and I disagreed on some policy he would have the support of the men he had appointed. That is something I could not allow.’

  ‘And if Anselm insists on appointing his bishops . . .’

  ‘I shall insist on appointing mine.’

  ‘He will not agree with you.’

  ‘And I shall not agree with him.’

  ‘That is a stage which you have reached?’

  ‘I fear so. I and my Archbishop of Canterbury do not agree, Matilda, as Rufus did not agree with his – and his and mine are the same man . . . a stubborn fellow.’

  ‘What shall you do, Henry?’

  ‘He insists on taking the matter to Rome. That’s what angers me, Matilda. Every difference between the King and the Church must be taken to Rome.’

  ‘But His Holiness is head of the Church.’

  Henry narrowed his eyes. ‘My father would never allow him to have a say in the governing of the country. That is for the King. My father was a religious man, but he would not brook interference from the Church. Rufus had no religion, and so he stood more openly against the Church.’

  ‘And you, Henry?’

  ‘I shall govern as I will, come what may.’

  She knew, of course, that the impasse between Henry and his Archbishop would persist. Neither was of a nature to give way.

  She was right. Letters were sent back and forth between England and Rome. Henry stated his case; Anselm stated his.

  The Pope was ready to agree with Anselm, which, said Henry to Matilda, was exactly what one would expect him to do.

  ‘I will not relinquish my right to invest prelates and abbots,’ cried Henry. ‘I have it in my mind to banish Anselm and sever England’s connection with Rome.’

  ‘Henry, you would never dare!’ cried Matilda in terror.

  ‘My dear Queen, I would dare much.’

  The outcome of the quarrel was that Anselm asked for permission to go to Rome and put his case before the Pope; and, as in the case of Rufus, the King was glad to give his permission and, if the sorry question could not be settled, at least to have a rest from it.

  The Pope was aware of the mood of the English King and, having no desire to lose any of his adherents, vacillated. But he could not do so for long. He must make a decision; and as Anselm was his representative in England he came dow
n in his favour.

  Henry was furious and declared that since Anselm was so well received in Rome he might stay there until his King was in the mood to recall him.

  For the second time, Anselm was in exile.

  The Queen and the Duke

  ROBERT DUKE OF NORMANDY was growing restive. Since his attempt to invade England had ended in a treaty, the advantages of which had been largely on Henry’s side, he began to consider new adventures.

  To his great delight, Sibyl had presented him with a son who had been christened William. He was known as the Clito, which meant the Prince; and Robert was ambitious for him.

  Normandy was in a state of chaos. Robert of Bellême, having been expelled from England, was back and, in an access of rage against Henry for banishing him, practised his vile cruelties with even greater vigour than ever before from his Norman strongholds. No one was safe. He would send his band of followers – almost as cruel as himself – to bring in victims for his entertainment and that of his guests. Young girls, young men, the elderly and the infirm, were not exempt. The name of Bellême was like a plague that swept through the countryside. Robert of Bellême gave up his time to devising new and more exquisite tortures, and was in a constant fever of anticipation to try them out.

  The custom of impaling men and women on stakes was a practice in which he delighted. That he was fiendishly mad was undoubted; the perverted wickedness of his actions was having its effect on Normandy; and it became clear even to the Duke that if he was going to save his country from absolute disaster he must do something about it.

  He decided that he would go into battle against the tyrant. Henry had satisfactorily driven Bellême out of England, where he had attempted to establish the same diabolical rule that he practised in Normandy, so the Duke would follow his brother’s example and take Bellême’s castles one by one and if possible destroy him.

  Alas for Robert, he lacked Henry’s skill. He went into action but was very soon suffering a humiliating defeat at the hands of his vassal.

  Bellême concluded a treaty of peace with the Duke which was to the effect that he was to be permitted to live as he pleased in his own domain.

  The troubled state of the country continued as before.

  Robert had given shelter to many of the Norman barons who had escaped from England to Normandy, for they had proved themselves to be his allies and therefore he must befriend them. This gave Henry the excuse he had been looking for. The pension, he said, was to have been paid while there was friendship between him and his brother. To shelter the King’s enemies could scarcely be called a friendly act, in which case the Duke had broken the treaty.

  Ranulf Flambard, still chafing against his ill-judgment in the first place, realized immediately that Henry was going to take an opportunity to seize Normandy. He had admired the manner in which Henry had extricated himself from a confrontation which could have been disastrous to him. He knew that Henry had not meant to pay that pension for long; his lawyer’s mind had been searching for a loophole and he had found it. Ranulf was now eager to see Normandy pass to Henry. He knew what was in Henry’s mind. As the son of the Conqueror, he had inherited to an intense degree the avariciousness which was one of the strongest characteristics of his father. Ranulf was well aware that Henry yearned not only to remain King of England but to be Duke of Normandy as well.

  Well, why not? Ranulf could grow rich and powerful in a prosperous land – as he never could in one such as Normandy had become, with Bellême’s power rising and that of the Duke diminishing.

  ‘The King of England,’ he reminded Robert, ‘has not paid the pension which was granted to you.’

  ‘Nay,’ answered Robert. ‘He is cheating me of it.’

  ‘Will you allow this, my lord?’

  ‘By Saint Mary, I will not, Ranulf.’

  ‘Nor did I think you would, my lord.’

  Ranulf’s eyes were gleaming with the prospect of an enterprise which should be devious and cunning, such as his soul loved.

  Robert said, ‘I should go to England and demand it.’

  ‘Would my lord take an army with him?’

  ‘How else?’

  ‘You did that before, my lord, and what resulted but this treaty?’

  ‘I never cared to take up arms against my own brothers.’

  ‘Kings and rulers can be enemies as well as brothers. You made this treaty in good faith and Henry has not honoured it.’

  Robert’s face grew scarlet with a sudden rush of temper. He smote his knee with his fist and cried, ‘’Tis so. I should teach him a lesson.’

  Ranulf surveyed the Duke through half-closed eyes.

  ‘He complains that you have given shelter to barons who have displeased him.’

  ‘They are Normans. Why should I not?’

  ‘Perhaps this is a matter which you should talk out together.’

  Robert looked interested. When they were making the treaty he had stayed at the English Court for six months. It had been a pleasant experience. He had greatly enjoyed the company of his sister-in-law Matilda – a charming cultivated lady, and she had been very gracious to him because she said she had greatly appreciated his gallant gesture in not bringing his soldiers into Winchester where she was lying-in.

  They had good beverages to drink at his brother’s court, and he had on several occasions drunk himself into a stupor and had had to be carried to his bed. It had been vastly entertaining and he had been sorry to leave the English Court. Perhaps he had had enough of fighting. He had distinguished himself in the Holy Land; but it was different fighting an infidel, from engaging in what could prove a death struggle with his own brother.

  ‘To go in peace to my brother, discuss with him the reasons why he has not paid my pension: that seems a good idea.’

  ‘This suggestion of yours does seem a good one.’ It was always wise to shift the responsibility of a doubtful enterprise to other shoulders and Robert, like most men in his position, could always be persuaded to believe that an idea which seemed to him a good one had originated with himself.

  ‘I am sure it is,’ cried Robert, his enthusiasm mounting. ‘I will take a few gentlemen with me and cross to England. Henry will then see that I come in peace and we can together discuss our difference. I am sure I can make him realize that he does in truth owe me the pension and that I need it desperately.’

  Ranulf nodded slowly. What a fool Robert was. Did he think that Henry was the man not to take advantage of every opportunity offered him? Did he really think that he could pit his flighty mind against that astute lawyer’s brain?

  It would be interesting to see what came of this visit, and as Henry’s very covetous eyes were almost certain to be fixed on Normandy – now that he was so admirably putting his own house in order – it might well be that Robert would never see Normandy again.

  Henry was hunting in the New Forest when news was brought to him of his brother’s arrival in the country.

  The Count de Mellent who had come with the news was disturbed when he saw Henry’s delight.

  ‘He comes,’ said the Count, ‘with only twelve gentlemen in attendance.’

  ‘Can a man begotten by my father be such a fool?’ cried Henry exultantly.

  ‘He has said that he has come in friendship to speak with you. He wishes to reason with you about his unpaid pension, my lord,’ said Mellent.

  ‘Now is my chance. I shall take him and put him in such a dungeon from which he will never be able to effect an escape.’

  ‘My lord, he is your brother.’

  ‘What mean you? Do you think I am not aware of that?’

  ‘It would be considered a villainy.’

  Henry’s cold rage had begun to rise. ‘You dare . . .’

  ‘Yes, my lord, I dare,’ said the bold Count. ‘I dare because I serve you well. You are our Lion of Justice. The people are beginning to understand what it means to be ruled by a good strong king and most of all a just king. Do not allow them to doubt your justice,
lord, for it is the quality in you they most admire.’

  ‘And think you it is unjust to imprison my enemies?’

  ‘This is your brother who has come in good faith. It would become no great king to take as a prisoner one who came with only twelve attendants. If you will give me permission to talk with him I will send him back to Normandy, and I believe I know a way in which I can give you acquittance of his pension.’

  ‘You have a high opinion of your talents, my lord Count.’

  ‘I would serve my King with all my powers, and I believe you would regret deeply to lose the respect of your subjects.’

  ‘None would have dared talk to my brother William as you have to me.’

  ‘Your brother was no Lion of Justice, sir.’

  Henry said thoughtfully, ‘I believe in your loyalty to me. My brother is unfit to rule the Duchy my father left in his hands. It could well be a wise act to seize this opportunity. But you say you can send him back to Normandy and relieve me of my obligation to pay his pension. I’ll keep you to this. Do what you say you can. If you fail you will face my displeasure.’

  ‘My lord, I know that I can succeed.’

  Henry was not so sure. He continued to follow the deer but he was thinking of Robert and how foolish he had been not to take him prisoner.

  The Count de Mellent rode to Winchester, where the Queen sat with her women. She was embroidering cloth which would be made into a gown; it was an art at which she excelled and which was practised to a great degree in England.

  The Count was shown into her presence, as he assured her servants that he came with some urgency.

  He then told her that the Duke of Normandy was in England.

  ‘Does the King know?’ she asked.

  ‘I have come from the King.’

  ‘He sent you to me?’

  ‘Nay, he does not know I come to you.’

  She looked alarmed, and he told her quickly what had transpired between him and the King.

  ‘And why do you tell me this?’

  ‘Because I have an idea that you can be of great service to your husband.’