‘Thank you, Prince Edgar. Where is my brother now?’
‘He is on his way home from Apulia. Hugh Percy led about a third of his army; your brother is leading the rest, a force of many thousands. He drew men to his colours throughout the campaign: Norman knights from Italy and Sicily, Franks, Provençals, Germans. When men like Raymond of Toulouse, Bohemond and Baldwin of Boulogne decided to stay in the Levant, many of their men flocked to Robert’s banner.’
The mood in the room suddenly changed. Henry’s scornful demeanour softened and his henchmen began to look discomfited.
‘The treasure he brings from Jerusalem will fill many a king’s treasury, quite apart from the huge reward he was given by the Emperor Alexius. And there is the dowry he carries from Sybilla’s father, who, as you know, is the richest man in southern Italy.’
‘Prince Edgar, Sir Sweyn, do join us.’
Henry had taken the bait, even though I was stretching credibility to the limit. He clapped his hands and told the stewards to bring wine.
‘Would you join our coronation eve celebration? I will call the girls back.’
It looked like a night of drunken revelry and wanton debauchery beckoned – but all in a good cause.
After about half an hour, Henry summoned me to a quiet corner of the hall. He dropped the faux act of kingship and treated me like an equal.
‘Edgar, you have some private messages from Robert? But before you tell me about them, let us talk about the harsh realities of life.’
‘Of course, where I’ve been for the last three years has been all about the harsh realities of life.’
‘Was it as awful as I have heard?’
‘No words can describe it, other than Hell on earth.’
‘You have my sympathy and respect.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Your courage and leadership in the Holy Land will earn you great respect here, from both Normans and Englishmen. I would welcome your support at my coronation tomorrow and during my reign.’
‘That you will have.’
‘I am very keen to consolidate the blending of Normans and English in my realm. The vast majority of the lords who will owe me fealty after tomorrow are Normans who were born here and speak English like a native. I intend to consolidate our position in Wales and Scotland and have a fancy to let our destriers enjoy the rich fodder of Ireland. I need to build a new army – an army of Englishmen, led by Normans. I am going to take an English wife. Will you help?’
‘I will, of course. Do you have someone in mind?’
‘Yes, she is ideal, the daughter of Malcolm Canmore and Queen Margaret – your niece, Edith.’
I tried not to let my shock be too obvious. But he was right, of course. She was ideal – the daughter of the royal house of Scotland and a direct descendant, through my sister, of the Cerdician kings of England. Their children would create an Anglo-Norman dynasty, which had to be in the long-term interests of the English, so I quickly warmed to the idea.
‘I will do all I can.’
‘It is delicate. Your sister sent her to the nuns at Romsey several years ago, where your other sister, Christina, is abbess. Some say she has taken Holy Orders and wears the veil. She says that she hasn’t taken her vows – and only wore a veil because her mother told her to, in order to protect her from lustful Normans.’
‘I’m not sure I can help much on ecclesiastical matters.’
‘You don’t have to – just deal with your niece. Rufus banished Anselm, the clever Burgundian Archbishop of Canterbury. I’m going to bring him back and tell him to proclaim that she’s not a nun. People will believe him.’
I could not help thinking about the irony of Edith wearing a veil to protect her against ‘lustful Normans’ while she was likely to end up marrying the most lustful of them all.
‘Now, about my brother. What do you understand to be his intentions with his mighty army and treasure of Solomon?’
The satirical tone of Henry’s question made me wonder how far he’d seen through my pretence, but there was no turning back now, so I ploughed on.
‘First of all, when Robert and I last spoke, he knew nothing about the tragic circumstances of Rufus’s death; indeed, he is unlikely to know for some time yet. Even so, I don’t think anything he asked me to convey to you is altered in any way by the King’s death or your succession to the throne. You should know that Robert is much changed by events in the Holy Land, as we all are. The truth of it is, although our intentions may have been noble, we Christians behaved in a way that many of us, including Robert, found appalling. We were participants in some of it and we all carry regrets that will haunt us for the rest of our lives.’
‘What sort of appalling things do you mean?’
‘Well, in short, the wholesale slaughter of soldiers and civilians alike – women and children included – rape, torture, mutilation and the breaking of all God’s commandments. Most of it was done without provocation or justification and all of it in Christ’s name.’
‘I see, but how does that affect me?’
‘Robert will pay back to the English treasury his mortgage on his share of Normandy’s wealth. Robert desires only to live out his days quietly in Normandy. He has no designs on the English crown at Westminster and will not use his powerful allies and army, or his significant wealth, to force a claim for the throne.
‘That is a concession to Rufus, not to me.’
‘But it applies to you now.’
Henry had seen the hole in the middle of our pretence, as Sweyn and I had thought he would, so I played the gambit that we had discussed.
‘As testament to his sincere belief in harmony and his regard for you, Robert is prepared to share the Duchy of Normandy with you. You would have Lower Normandy – the dioceses of Avranches, Sées and Coutances – which you would rule from Caen. Robert would have Upper Normandy – the dioceses of Lisieux and Évreux – which he would rule from Rouen. He is also prepared to use his now considerable influence in Rome to have Pope Paschal declare both parts of Normandy as separate dukedoms.’
‘That is generous indeed! I am happy to accept his offer.’
Sweyn and I had anticipated this predictable response as well. I smiled; it seemed right to treat his reply as light-hearted, even if he may well have meant it.
‘Very amusing – of course, your succession here in England, and particularly your ambitions on our Celtic borders, means that it is impossible for you to rule Lower Normandy as well.’
I swallowed hard, realizing that I was in the middle of a fake game of chess, with two realms and the fate of thousands of people resting on the outcome.
Henry stared at me, as if trying to see behind my eyes.
I tried to hold my composure and forced another smile, this one more pronounced.
He smiled back; had the moment passed? Had the deception worked? If it had, it was time to haul the catch in.
‘Robert would be happy to swear an oath recognizing your sovereignty here and guaranteeing his loyalty and his support for your attempts to strengthen our kingdom.’
‘Edgar, you are a very shrewd emissary, you should have been an ambassador. Do your advice and Robert’s loyalty come at a price, by any chance?’
‘Only two small amounts. Robert would, of course, expect you to take an oath affirming his lordship of Normandy and your acceptance of mutual loyalty and cooperation.’
‘And?’
‘The second trifle would be of enormous benefit to your reign and go a long way to securing the loyalty of your magnates and the affection of your English subjects.’
‘This sound like more than a trifle.’
‘Not at all, it would be a simple affirmation of the laws of England and your respect for them. There would be nothing new; you would acknowledge the laws enacted by your father, King William, and those he respected from his predecessors, particularly those of King Edward and Cnut the Great. You would also reject the excesses of Rufus’s reign and promise to correct th
e wrongs he did. You could call it your Coronation Charter and have it read in every burgh in the land. It would be a hugely popular beginning to your reign.’
Henry stared at me again, as if I were a strange creature he had never seen before.
‘Edgar, Prince of the English, you are a clever man, and, I suspect, a cunning one. But I like the idea of a Coronation Charter being read all over England. It will begin my rule in England with an outcry of popular support – something my brother never had, and certainly not my father. Can you read Latin?’
‘I can.’
‘I will get my scribes out of bed. You can work on it with them tonight – all night, if you have to. I’ll read it in the morning and, after my coronation at Westminster, I will ride to the old city to proclaim it from my father’s chapel of St John the Evangelist in the Great Tower. I will call it Henry of England’s Charter of Liberties.’
I nearly lost control at that point. For some unfathomable reason, he had proposed a title for the Charter that I would never have dreamed of suggesting, fearing it might seem too bold. I changed the subject immediately to help hide my elation.
‘And what will I say to Robert?’
‘Again, you are very astute. I wonder how much of what you told me are my brother’s words – or are they yours? But it doesn’t matter much; tell him I agree to the oaths. We will take them together, at a place of his choosing – as long as it’s not the Holy Land, of course – when he’s finished bedding his young bride. By the way, is she tall, average height…?’
‘She’s very petite.’
‘That must be a relief for little Shortboots! I will leave you to your scripting; I have the two lovely daughters of a London goldsmith awaiting my pleasure. He has sent them to plead his case to become one of my assayers. He doesn’t have very strong credentials, I’m afraid, so they are going to have to do a lot of pleading.’
34. Treaty of Alton
Sweyn and I rode out for Romsey the day after Henry’s coronation to fulfil the undertaking I had given to the King to help with his plan to marry my niece.
Although I would never tell him so, it was not a difficult task. Edith knew her own mind and she had had enough of convent life. She had turned twenty years of age and, although she had attracted many suitors, this new one would make her Queen of England.
Archbishop Anselm was recalled from Normandy and he duly resolved the ecclesiastical issue of Edith’s status as a nun. Taking the Norman name Matilda, she was married and crowned Queen later in the year.
Significantly for me, as the Queen’s uncle, the marriage made me a part of England’s royal household and rendered my status as a prince of the realm real again. I was entitled to an allowance from the King’s purse, a small retinue of my own and a chamber at Westminster. I made Sweyn my steward, thus making him an official member of the King’s court and free to come and go as he pleased.
There were only a handful of Englishmen in his position.
When we returned to Westminster from Romsey, we were met with the news that a guest had arrived to see us – a nun, Estrith, Abbess of Fécamp.
We were lodging in the King’s palace at Westminster, a beautiful collection of buildings behind old King Edward’s towering cathedral and very close to the River Thames. Estrith was waiting in the King’s garden just upriver, next to the stairs which led down to the mooring for his royal barge. It was a bright, fresh morning and I could see, even at a distance, that Estrith looked as fetching as ever.
She rushed towards us and embraced us, while a young nun showed us the heavily swaddled two-year-old Harold of Hereford, who was smiling cheerfully. Sweyn beamed in delight at being reunited with Harry.
Estrith glowed with pride as we admired her young son. ‘He’s doing well. This is Mabel, who is helping me with him.’
Sweyn had a stream of questions – rate of growth, appetite, temperament – all the usual things that every father demands to know before deciding that, firstly, his son is just like him and, secondly, he has no peers in all the important gifts. Here was a boy who I felt sure was destined to live a life as remarkable as his parents and grandparents.
Mabel and I stood back after a while to let Sweyn and Estrith walk along the river, which was in full flow with the deep waters of a high tide, and enjoy a few private minutes with their son.
However, when they returned, Estrith’s happy demeanour in greeting us was soon gone.
‘We mustn’t be too much longer, we don’t have much time. Mabel, please take Harry for a while.’
Estrith took us across the great close between the cathedral and the palace and into the Benedictine infirmary behind the cathedral cloisters. Dozens of sick and dying filled every available space of the long, rectangular room as the nuns and monks did their best to cope with what seemed to be an overwhelming number of patients. We went into one of the private bedchambers at the end of the room, where two nuns were leaning over a bed, tending to a patient.
‘It is Adela, she is dying.’
We rushed to her side, but the fragile figure of jaundiced skin and bone was unconscious and barely breathing.
‘I shouldn’t have done it, but when I returned to Rouen from the Peloponnese with Harold, I heard that Adela was with the nuns. When I went to see her, she bullied me into bringing her to England; you know what she’s like. The nuns said she had been fighting death for weeks, hoping that you two would return soon. She wanted to die on English soil and be buried at Bourne. I have no idea how she survived the crossing; I had to pay the captain a fortune to take her because he was certain she would die at sea and bring his ship bad luck. When we were on board, she just stared over the side, desperate for the first sign of England. It was sheer willpower that kept her alive.’
I took one of Adela’s hands and Sweyn the other. She was cold and her hands, almost without flesh on them, weighed no more than a goose feather.
Sweyn spoke to the sisters. ‘When did she become unconscious?’
‘Yesterday morning, sire. She is your wife?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry, sire, she is unlikely to see out the day.’
Sweyn let his head fall to his chest.
I spoke to Adela, hoping against hope that she could hear me.
‘I have some wonderful news for you. Rufus is dead, killed in a hunting accident. King Henry I, the new King, has put his seal to a Charter of Liberties for all Englishmen. It guarantees respect for the law and the right of everyone to be dealt with fairly according to the law. What was fought for at Ely has not been forgotten. We’re going to take you to the Fens to celebrate.’
She did not respond visibly, but both Sweyn and I were sure she squeezed our hands.
Adela of Bourne, Knight of Islam, died later that day without regaining consciousness.
We travelled to Bourne immediately with, to his immense credit, a royal escort provided by King Henry, where we intended burying her with as much ceremony as we could muster.
Bourne had sprung to life again, reborn after the dark days of the Conquest. The little Saxon church was being rebuilt and new houses were sprouting all over the village. Everyone knew of the tragic history of Bourne and welcomed the opportunity to meet Sweyn, one of their own, and Estrith, the daughter of the man whose deeds would make their village part of English folklore for ever.
At our request, Simon of Senlis, Earl of Huntingdon, sent four of his knights and a platoon of men to join the King’s men in an honour guard. The Abbot of Ely, Richard Fitz Richard, sent two monks to pray for Adela and a choir of six more to sing plainchant during the interment.
We waited until dusk and lit the road into the village with beacons so that we could bring her body home like the returning heroine she had become. Estrith, Sweyn and I, with Harold in his father’s arms, walked behind the cart that bore her body as it entered the village, and the entire community formed a cortège to accompany her to her grave.
As the amber glints of the processional torches lit our tear
-stained faces, the honour guards raised their swords in respectful salute and the monks sang their simple melodies. Sweyn and I lifted Adela’s body, wrapped in a simple linen shroud, and placed it in her grave. Her weapons and armour were laid on her body and we took it in turns to cover her with earth. Nothing was said; she did not want any words spoken or prayers read. She had asked Estrith for silence when the time came so that she could hear the sounds of the Fens drift over her on the evening air.
She had searched all her life for her destiny and had found it in many places (Normandy, Sicily and Palestine) and in many forms (as a Knight of Islam, as a leading proponent of the Mos Militum, as a founder of our Brethren and in the Charter of Liberties) and in love, generosity and devotion – the love she had shown to Sweyn during their phantom marriage, the generosity she had shown to Estrith in helping her to disguise her pregnancy, and the constant devotion she had always shown to all of us.
Now she had come home.
The journey back to Westminster was a time of sombre reflection for the three of us.
Adela’s death, coinciding with the King’s Coronation Charter, seemed to bring to a close many of the paths we had each pursued. Estrith had turned forty, Sweyn was nearer forty than thirty and I would soon be in my fiftieth year. Yet, there were new challenges: Estrith and Sweyn had a two-year-old son to worry about and I, on a foundation of falsehoods, exaggerations and subterfuge, had built a concordat between the two most powerful men in northern Europe that one of them was totally unaware of.
We had much to think about.
Estrith had hardly spoken about her time with Hereward and Harold on his mountain. I wanted to know more.
‘What was it like?’
‘Just as he said it was: a lean-to at the top of a craggy mountain, bitterly cold in winter, hot as a blacksmith’s forge in summer. But it was a very profound experience for me. My father has become a perfect reflection of my grandfather, the Old Man of the Wildwood. He is totally at ease with the world around him, able to listen and dispense his wisdom. He seems not to need a woman, or any companionship. Of course, I couldn’t help living out the fantasy of being my mother, learning about the world at the feet of my grandfather.’
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