The Lion of Justice Page 6

  ‘It will rest with the King.’

  ‘And you say he has given his consent.’

  ‘He will, I believe. He is pleased with the man because he has satisfactorily given him Normandy in pawn. This marriage would be a kind of reward for the services he has rendered.’

  ‘And am I to have no choice, then?’

  ‘Oh come, Edith, you are young, and you have childish notions. Marriage to one or another . . . what matters it?’

  ‘It matters to me,’ said Edith.

  ‘You will go to Normandy; you will be châtelaine of a great castle; you will have your children.’

  ‘No, Uncle Edgar.’

  But Uncle Edgar was smiling serenely. He was obsessed by his own future glory. He was seeing himself in the battle – not that he was a great soldier nor did he love the battlefield – but he loved a cause; and this was the holiest cause of all: the wresting of the Holy Land from the Infidel and placing it in Christian hands.

  For his part in such an enterprise surely a man would win his place of honour in the life hereafter. And of what importance was an ignorant young girl’s fear of marriage compared with such glory?

  Edith looked at him sadly. He was very good, of course; he had always been that; and now he was even more good because he was going on this Holy enterprise; and when people were dedicated to the service of God they did not seem to care very much for the troubles of human beings.

  ‘Uncle Edgar,’ she went on, ‘I cannot marry this man. Please, I beg of you, tell me what I can do.’

  With what seemed like a mighty effort he forced his mind from the contemplation of Jerusalem. He took her chin in his hands and turned her face up to his.

  ‘If the King of England consents to your marriage there is only one thing that could prevent it.’

  ‘What is that, Uncle?’

  ‘You could take the veil.’

  She lowered her eyes: she wanted to give way to despair. There was no way out; wherever she looked those two unhappy alternatives confronted her.

  Edgar left on his glorious adventure and Edith went back to her fears.

  The Miraculous Escape

  IT WAS WITH reluctance that Rufus received his archbishop. As he had said to Ranulf, he had little love for any churchman. It was his belief that a king had no need of the fellows and it was a well-known fact that they fancied themselves as the rulers of the realm. They liked to put their kings in leading strings.

  ‘That’s something I’ll not endure,’ he told his favourite. ‘My father was a religious man – he had far more respect for the church than I ever could have. He gave Lanfranc much licence. We were all brought up to reverence Lanfranc. But Lanfranc is dead and now we have this man Anselm. I forced him to office but I could take the crozier from him with as much vehemence as I made him take it.’

  ‘They’d say you would have to have an archbishop,’ said Ranulf.

  ‘Ay, that they would. Lanfranc fancied himself as a statesman, and he was. My father made good use of him. He sent him to Rome when he was excommunicated for marrying my mother, and Lanfranc served him well. It would seem that this Anselm would wish me to serve him.’

  ‘He calls it serving God,’ said Ranulf.

  They laughed together.

  Rufus went on, ‘Why, to expect us two to pull together is like putting an untamed bull and a feeble old sheep in the same plough.’

  ‘Well, what are we going to do with our feeble old sheep?’

  ‘Let him know who’s master. He’ll be here soon.’

  ‘I’ll enjoy the encounter between the bull and the sheep. Will the bull savage the creature?’

  ‘Nay, my friend. But I’ll have some sport with him.’

  They laughed together, and in due course Anselm arrived to see the King.

  He was brought into the chamber and was clearly not pleased to see the insolent Ranulf present.

  ‘I would have speech with my lord alone,’ he said.

  The arrogance of these priests, thought Rufus, cocking an eye at Ranulf. They understood each other well and it was not always necessary to speak their thoughts. Ranulf raised his eyebrows in a manner which suggested he agreed.

  ‘You need feel no shyness in the presence of my good friend here,’ said Rufus.

  Ranulf smiled insolently at the Archbishop.

  ‘What I have to say to you, my lord . . .’

  ‘Can be said in the presence of Ranulf. Pray proceed.’

  ‘There is disquiet in the country because you, my lord, have not kept the promises you made to the people when the taxes were collected to pay the Duke of Normandy.’

  ‘Promises!’ said Rufus. ‘What should they care for promises when their King now holds Normandy? My brother Robert is going to find it somewhat difficult to regain the Duchy.’

  ‘They only wish, my lord, that those promises which were made to them should be kept.’

  Dreary old Anselm! His place was in a monastery. They should never have brought him from Bec to try to play politics. Rufus for all his flippant manner was well aware of the conflicts which could arise between the Church and the State. It was like a measure they danced, each jostling for the better position. The Church in England would have to learn it could not usurp the power of the King. For all his religious feeling, the Conqueror had never allowed that. He had respected Lanfranc; he had listened to Lanfranc and kept on good terms with him; all the same there had never been any doubt who was the ruler of England. Nor should there be now. William II’s rule should be as absolute as that of William I.

  ‘Tell me the true reason for your coming here,’ said Rufus.

  ‘You know, my lord, the conditions of my accepting the See of Canterbury.’

  ‘Ha! Here we have a monk of a little Norman monastery making terms with a king.’

  ‘An Archbishop of Canterbury, my lord. And as such I ask that the lands of the See which were taken when Lanfranc died be restored.’

  ‘You would be a rich man, Anselm.’

  ‘I have no wish for riches. But there is much I would do for the poor – spiritually and temporally.’

  ‘Churchmen, I am of the opinion, enjoy rich living as much as do their kings and masters.’

  Anselm ignored the gibe which certainly could not apply to him.

  ‘I asked that in all matters spiritual you should take my counsel.’

  ‘There is little in which I would seek your counsel, then, for I am not a spiritual man. I like well the pleasures of the flesh and I need no man’s counsel to tell me how to obtain them.’

  Ranulf ostentatiously suppressed his laughter.

  ‘There is the matter of my pallium.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Rufus. ‘Did you know, Ranulf, that an archbishop cannot perform his duties without his vestments? Now a king is by no means so handicapped. I can go about my business garbed as I will and do it none the worse.’

  ‘Without my pallium I cannot consecrate a bishop nor yet hold a council.’

  ‘We have a surfeit of bishops,’ growled Rufus.

  Anselm said: ‘It is necessary that I go to Rome to receive my pallium from the Pope.’

  ‘From the man who calls himself Pope,’ said Rufus, narrowing his eyes.

  ‘From Urban II.’

  ‘Ah, the man whom you call Pope.’

  ‘He is widely recognized as Pope.’

  ‘He is not so in England and you are in England now, my Archbishop.’

  Anselm was embarrassed. There were two popes at this time. One was Urban II who represented the reforming party, and Clement III who was supported by the imperialists. As Abbot of Bec, Anselm had sworn allegiance to Urban, but the King of England had done no such thing.

  ‘If I am to carry out my duties I must go to Rome and collect my pallium, and if I am to succeed in office the lands of my See must be returned to me.’

  ‘How can you go to Rome and take this pallium from a man who, in England, is not accepted as the true Pope?’

  ‘My lord King, there a
re few countries who do not accept him.’

  ‘I have told you I do not accept him. Am I or am I not the King of this realm? My father swore that no Pope should be acknowledged in this country without the consent of the King. I agree with him and I have not acknowledged Urban.’ His temper was rising and as usual on such occasions his face had grown scarlet with fury. He pointed to Anselm:

  ‘If you do, you defy my authority. You serve the Pope not the King. You are a traitor to your King, Sir Anselm, and what you are trying to do is tear the crown from my head.’

  Anselm was pale and calm in contrast to the red fury of the King.

  ‘If you will grant me permission to retire, my lord, I will do so. But I must tell you that it will be necessary for me to call together a council.’

  ‘Your departure will please me, but before you go let me tell you this, Sir Anselm. I begin to wish I had never set eyes on you. I hated you yesterday. I hate you today and I shall hate you more the longer I live.’

  ‘Then it was an ill moment when you thrust the crozier on to me.’

  ‘Ill indeed.’

  ‘For now,’ Anselm reminded him, ‘you cannot dismiss me without the permission of the Pope – and that will be the Pope accepted by the world if not by you, my lord.’

  ‘Get out,’ screamed Rufus.

  When he had gone, he looked at Ranulf and his anger faded suddenly. They began to laugh.

  ‘We must devise some plan,’ said Ranulf, ‘for teasing your naughty Archbishop, for there is no doubt that good as he may be in the service of the mock Pope, he is bad for my lord’s temper.’

  ‘He is an obstinate man,’ mused Rufus. ‘He will go on demanding the return of these lands and I shall continue to refrain from giving them to him. As for his pallium, he’ll not go to Urban for it. And what care I if he has no pallium at all? He can dispense with all his churchman’s robes for all I care. Although I fancy he would be far from handsome without them.’

  ‘Not of a kind to tempt my lord to the pleasures of the flesh.’

  ‘Be silent, fool. That man has plagued me too much. I have matters of moment to think of.’

  ‘And I see they do not include the naked Anselm. You should rid yourself of him. Send him back to Normandy and find an archbishop who knows that the King is King and will have no one gainsay it.’

  ‘These churchmen are too powerful. I see conflict ahead. Who is to rule – the King or the Pope?’

  ‘For a man who fears hell’s torments it is indeed a problem, but you, my lord, have few such fears.’

  ‘Nay. I was brought up to be a Christian but I never took to it. I like better the gods of my more distant ancestors. Odin the All-Father, Thor with his hammer, Valhalla, Ranulf, where men feasted and made love according to their inclination. That is a way more to my fancy. And in my heart, Ranulf, I doubt that their heaven awaits these Christians. And if it is peopled by such as Anselm, who would want to go there?’

  ‘Not you. Not I.’

  ‘So I’ll make sure of my pleasure here and if they are right and hellfire awaits me, I must needs endure it. Now this Anselm would call together a council. If they decide he shall go to Rome to collect his pallium, they defy me. I’ll not have that, Ranulf. My father never would. And nor shall I. I will make known my anger to the men who form this council. I’ll warrant you, Ranulf, they will not dare to go against me.’

  ‘Then,’ said Ranulf, ‘we must wait and see.’

  It was an uneasy council that met at Rockingham. Rufus had made it clear to all those concerned that his fury would be aroused if it supported Anselm. All knew that the outcome of Rufus’s anger could be violent and it was greatly feared. On the other hand many of them felt that their souls could be imperilled if they supported the King against the Archbishop.

  Anselm declared that he would obey the King and serve him well except where his actions would be in conflict with the Pope.

  ‘Who governs this land?’ roared Rufus. ‘Is it the King of England or the Pope of Rome?’

  He ordered the council to rid him of Anselm.

  This, however, could not be done without the consent of the Pope. Anselm had taken the crozier during a solemn ceremony. He was the Archbishop of Canterbury, and only the Pope could depose him.

  Anselm, calm in the face of the storm, and, as the King said, stubborn as a mule, declared that the only course open to him was to appeal to the Pope.

  ‘Rid me of him,’ cried Rufus. ‘This man is a traitor.’

  But the barons and churchmen replied that they could not pass sentence of deposition on a man who was ecclesiastically their superior.

  Alone with Ranulf, the King gave vent to his rage.

  ‘This land,’ he said, ‘is governed by the Pope, not by the King. I swear I will not countenance that. My father never did and nor shall I. Anselm! There will be trouble while he remains here. Would I had never kept him here. I would I had sent him back to Bec.’

  ‘Alas, my lord, but he is here and here he will stay until this Pope displaces him.’

  ‘In my own kingdom, Ranulf! My own kingdom!’

  ‘There are herbs that are tasteless in wine.’

  ‘I know it well. But this is not the way with a man such as this. I want him removed in a manner which will arouse no suspicion. How, Ranulf? How?’

  They pondered it for long but could come to no satisfactory conclusion; and it was Urban himself who came to their aid.

  Under the Conqueror, England had become a power of some importance, and Urban chafed that he had not received recognition from that land. His spies kept him well-informed of what was happening there; and he sent a messenger to the King, implying that he might be willing to help him in return for recognition.

  Rufus laughed when he received this letter. It appealed to his sense of humour that he should see a way out of his dilemma through the Pope himself.

  As a gesture of his willingness to come to terms, Urban sent the pallium to England with instructions that it should be placed on the high altar at Canterbury. Thus he had delivered it neither to the King nor to the Archbishop and the controversy had been solved in a most delicate manner.

  It was true that Anselm, by the consent of all concerned, took the pallium and continued in office, but the Pope had intimated to the King that he would be willing to work in secret to bring about his desires, providing, of course, he was satisfactorily rewarded.

  One of the pages came to tell the King that Alan of Bretagne had come from Rumsey.

  ‘Bring him to me,’ said Rufus, and in an aside to Ranulf, who was his constant companion at this time, ‘He has been inspecting the Atheling girl. What did he find, I wonder?’

  Alan bowed, and the King said, ‘Well, brother, so you are impatient for a wife and have found one to your liking.’

  ‘I have, my lord.’

  ‘So there is to be a wedding in the family?’

  ‘If you give your consent, my lord.’

  ‘And why should I not? It was always my father’s wish to pump good Norman blood into Saxons.’

  ‘So I am to have the girl?’

  ‘Have her. Take her back to Normandy and let me know when you get your first boy. Better luck than with my sister.’

  Alan hesitated. ‘There may be some barriers set up by the Abbess.’

  ‘That Abbess! She is Edgar’s sister. She has too high an opinion of her royalty, I think.’

  ‘Indeed so,’ replied Alan. ‘She was anxious to show me that she was the ruler of her Abbey.’

  ‘Under the King, I hope.’

  ‘I doubt she recognizes that. She may try to stop the marriage.’

  ‘When I have consented.’

  ‘She may try, but with your consent I’ll marry the Princess in a week or so.’

  ‘May she give you all you want,’ said Rufus.

  ‘Now I have my lord’s consent, that matter is settled,’ said Alan.

  ‘You should ride back to Rumsey to tell the happy girl what is in store for her.�
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  ‘When I have celebrated my victory, I shall do so.’

  Left alone with Ranulf, Rufus said: ‘If only it were possible to deal as easily with Anselm as with my brother Alan!’

  ‘Alan is easily satisfied. A good bedfellow and a cask of wine will do for him. Anselm wants power and that is in truth another matter. You have no wish for the girl nor the wine – so he can have them. But the power is yours and not to be shared. Oh, never fear, my King, we’ll settle Master Anselm – ay, and before the Princess begins to grow large with Alan’s seed, if need be.’

  Alan of Bretagne was very pleased with himself. He had the King’s consent to his marriage. The girl was personable – young and royal. Her brother had now become King of Scotland. This marriage would be almost as advantageous as his first.

  He sat drinking with the company he had brought with him from Normandy. It grew late as he enlivened the company with stories of his prowess both as a soldier and lover.

  His little Scottish Princess had a treat in store.

  The stories grew more wild and more ribald as the evening progressed, and again and again Alan’s goblet was filled.

  ‘Well, my friends,’ he said, ‘it is time I left for Rumsey. The Princess will be anxious. She’ll think I’m never coming to claim her.’

  He stood up. Hazily he saw the faces of those who had been drinking with him. He was vaguely aware of the smiles changing to expressions of concern as he fell to the floor.

  The Abbess sent for Edith.

  ‘I have a message here,’ she said grimly. ‘The King has given his consent to your marriage with Alan of Bretagne.’

  Then Edith knew that on no account would she take this man. Yes, even a life here in the Abbey was preferable to that. Moreover if she consented to take her vows her aunt would be less harsh to her. She had been so in the last weeks because she knew of the turmoil which was going on in Edith’s mind.

  ‘I will not marry him. I’ll take the veil,’ cried Edith.

  ‘You fool,’ retorted her aunt. ‘Don’t you understand? It is too late. The King has given his consent. You have no choice.’

  Edith stared with horror at her aunt.

  ‘Did I not warn you? Did I not tell you that God would avenge your renunciation of him? You have had opportunities given you and constantly you turned away. You could not decide. You were set against the holy life. You longed for a man and then when you saw one, some sense of decency prevailed. But it is too late. The King has decided.’