by Hilary Green
‘It is, madam. But we do not need to depend entirely on our own provisions. The city is well defended inside its walls and we can always call on the resources to be found there.’
Her forecast of Stephen’s intentions was proved mistaken. At the end of September she heard that he had left a garrison in Wareham and was advancing on Oxford with the rest of his army. She gave d’Oilly her instructions.
‘There is no question of meeting him in the open field. We must prepare ourselves to withstand a siege. Our only hope is to hold out until Robert returns from Normandy.’
Stephen arrived sooner than they thought possible. From the top of St George’s Tower she watched his army deploy on the far side of the Thames. The castle dominated the only bridge and at that distance they presented no threat. Her men on the ramparts greeted them with jeers and ribald jokes, and a shower of crossbow bolts, which fell short.
She turned to d’Oilly who stood beside her. ‘Is there any other way across?’
‘There is a ford a mile or two up river, but it is only passable in high summer when the water levels are low. Now, with the autumn rains, the river is in spate. Any man trying to cross now would be very foolhardy.’
Next morning a sentry on the tower raised the alarm. Stephen’s men had crossed the river and were advancing on the city. Watching from the battlements as the enemy troops came closer, she turned to Edith. ‘They must have swum the ford! Look! They and their horses are still wet. And Stephen is at their head, soaked to the skin!’
‘Let us hope he contracts an ague from it,’ the other woman remarked sourly.
D’Oilly was already mustering his knights in the courtyard below her and to her alarm she saw that he was preparing to ride out to face the advancing enemy. She scanned the field, assessing numbers.
‘The fool!’ she exclaimed. ‘They must stay inside the walls. There are too many of them. Our knights will never be able to withstand an attack from so many.’ She beckoned one of her squires. ‘Run down to Sir Robert. Tell him I order him to remain within the walls.’
It was too late. Before the message could reach him, d’Oilly had led his men out and formed a defensive line in front of the city gates.
As she watched, Stephen gave the order to charge and his massed knights swept forward with their lances levelled. There was a brief skirmish, d’Oilly’s men were forced back and the opposing knights rushed the city gate. D’Oilly and his men broke and galloped for the safety of the castle. They reached it ahead of the enemy and the gates were slammed shut behind them, but Stephen’s men were now in the city. Already she could see them spreading out through the streets, breaking down doors, rounding up prisoners, looting shops. Men and women ran for safety, many of them heading for the church. Some hammered on the castle gates but they remained firmly shut. A chorus of screams reached her ears. She turned away, sick not only with pity but with fear. Now that the enemy held the city, she and her men were bottled up in the castle with only their own limited resources to call upon.
‘Smoke!’ Edith cried. ‘I smell smoke!’
She turned back. Smoke was curling up from some houses close to the city wall. It might have been an accident, a brazier overturned in the panic, a blacksmith’s fire left unattended … but then she saw a second plume of smoke closer at hand.
‘May the wrath of God be upon him! He has fired the city.’
Most of the houses were of wood and the flames swept through them so rapidly that some of Stephen’s soldiers were almost caught up in the conflagration. She watched as they and the citizens struggled to push their way out of the gates to escape. Soon the smoke was so thick that it was impossible to see what was happening and the inhabitants of the castle could only listen to the roar of the flames and the screams of the dying. By next morning the castle stood in the middle of a smouldering wasteland, encircled by the tents of the enemy. Only the moat, a tributary of the river diverted when the castle was built, prevented the flames from reaching the walls.
Over the next weeks Stephen built two counter-castles, great mounds of earth and rock high enough to overlook the castle walls, and then they saw his men hauling throwing engines up to the top of them. She watched with growing despair. She had seen enough sieges to know what these instruments could do. The castle walls were strong, but for how long would they withstand the impact of the huge rocks that would be hurled against them? But strangely, the machines were not put to use. It seemed that Stephen had realized that all he needed to do was sit outside the walls until starvation forced them to surrender. Every day she scanned the fields and roads beyond in the hope of seeing a relieving army, but no one came. They were so closely invested that it was impossible to get news from outside, or to send a message out.
At the base of the tower there was a small chapel dedicated to St George and d’Oilly’s father, who built the castle, had endowed a college of monks to perform services there. She sent for the present incumbents, a dozen men of varying ages; some almost at the end of their lives, others who had barely finished their novitiate.
‘My friends, I do not need to tell you that our situation is perilous. The usurper Stephen will stay until we either starve to death or surrender, and since you are trapped here just as we are you will share our fate. We desperately need rescue, but the only person with the strength and the men to do it is Lord Robert, who is at present in Normandy with my husband. It is possible, indeed likely, that he is unaware of the terrible straits in which we find ourselves. I need someone to carry a message to him. I am asking if two of you will volunteer to do that.’
They shifted uneasily and exchanged looks. She went on, ‘I am asking you because two holy monks have a better chance of passing through the enemy lines and reaching the coast than any of my knights, no matter what disguise they might assume. And also because, even if you were to be captured, I do not believe even such an impious man as Stephen would do harm to men of the Church. Are there two among you who will offer themselves?’
There was another hesitation, then a young monk stepped forward. ‘I will go.’
Immediately another slightly older joined him. ‘And I.’
‘I thank you both from the bottom of my heart. Here is what you must do. You must find your way to the coast – not to Wareham, which is in the hands of the enemy – but to some small fishing harbour. There you will have to persuade a shipmaster to take you across to Normandy. Once there you must enquire for the whereabouts of Lord Robert and Duke Geoffrey. Tell them what a perilous state we are in and beg them to hurry to our aid. I am certain that when he learns of this my husband will bring his forces to England.’ She paused and drew a small package wrapped in cloth from under her cloak. ‘I will not give you a letter, because if it was found on you it would incriminate you. But you will need money to bribe a mariner to set forth at this time of year. Take these …’ She unwrapped a pair of crucifixes and held them out. ‘They are made of wood, but if you break them open you will find inside enough precious gems to pay for whatever you need. You must decide between you what story to tell if you are stopped. A mission of mercy, some holy pilgrimage – you will know better than I what to say.’
The older monk asked hesitantly, ‘When do we leave?’
‘Tonight. You can slip out of the postern gate under cover of darkness. I will see that you are given food for one day. After that you will have to fend for yourselves.’
She went to the postern to wish them Godspeed and watched them creep away into the night. There was no sound of a challenge but she had no means of knowing whether they had managed to slip through the lines, still less whether they would succeed in persuading a ship’s captain to put to sea so late in the year. She told herself that if only word could be got to Geoffrey, he must come to her rescue. To have his wife a prisoner would be too great a shame, even if he cared so little for her person. She had done what she could. Now all that was left was hope.
As the weeks passed, rations were cut again and again. Every loaf of bread
, every slice of bacon or ounce of cheese had to be hoarded and made to last as long as possible. Once again, hunger was her constant companion. Worse followed. It was the coldest winter in living memory. Night after night the temperature dropped; morning after morning they woke to find the world rimed with frost. Icicles hung from the ramparts; the courtyard was a sheet of ice which made walking treacherous; the moat, which had previously carried away the detritus from the garderobes, froze over and mounds of frozen excrement built up beneath the walls. Then the snow came, covering the blackened remains of the city and half burying the tents of the investing troops. One day a sentry watching from the tower reported in amazement that the River Thames itself had frozen and men were walking about on it.
Inside the castle the very walls were icy to the touch. Firewood ran out and they had to resort to chopping up benches and tables to burn. No matter how many furs she wrapped around herself, she was always cold. Robert d’Oilly suffered more than any of them. He coughed constantly and the slightest effort made him wheeze and choke. Edith dosed him with warm wine sweetened with the last remnants of their honey, but to no avail. He took to his bed, struggling for breath. It was no surprise when Edith came to her one morning, her face drained of all emotion, and told her that he had passed away during the night.
She sent for Alexander de Bohun, her trusted master-at-arms, and gave him overall command of the defences. Next day he came to her where she was sitting with Edith, crouched over a brazier where a few embers gave off a little warmth.
‘My lady, I have come to a decision but I need your agreement.’
‘What decision?’
‘I have taken an audit of the remaining provisions. Even if we halve the rations again we cannot hold out for more than a week. We need to surrender before we all starve to death.’
She lifted her head and gazed at him for a moment. She had known for days that it must come to this but she had tried to ignore it. The prospect was too terrible to contemplate. It was true that if they agreed to surrender it might be possible to negotiate terms. Stephen might be prepared to let most of the lesser men and women, the servants and grooms and others, go free. They would have no value for him. The knights might be able to arrange their own ransoms and Edith would probably be permitted to return to her family. It was her own fate that sent a shudder of fear through her. She would undoubtedly be made a prisoner and they had no captive of equal worth to exchange this time. She remembered how she gloated at the thought of Stephen fettered and in a dungeon. He would not have forgiven her for that humiliation and she could only expect similar treatment. She imagined herself, manacled and filthy, shut up in a place where no sunlight penetrated. Of course, Geoffrey would manage to either buy or force her release – but it might be many months before he succeeded. She had a presentiment that she would not survive very long in those conditions.
Alexander was still waiting for her response. She nodded and said heavily, ‘You are right. Surrender is the only option.’
‘But there is one more vital attempt to be made before we do. When we yield the castle you must not be in it. It is imperative that Stephen does not capture you. I do not like to imagine what treatment you might have to endure at his hands. You have to leave before we surrender.’
She gave a brief, bitter laugh. ‘Oh, and what am I supposed to do? Sprout wings and fly from the battlements?’
‘No, but there is a way, if you are prepared to attempt it.’
‘Go on.’
‘We know that the river is frozen over, so much so that men can walk about on it. This is my idea. If you can slip out through the postern gate with three or four knights you might be able to cross the river on foot and make your way to Abingdon. There you would be able to find horses to take you to Wallingford, to Count Brian.’
‘I would be seen and caught before I had gone a hundred steps.’
‘Not necessarily. You would go at night, of course. If we could find a white cloak to cover you I believe you might not be seen against the snow.’
‘I have just the thing you need.’ Edith roused herself. ‘Pure white and lined with squirrel fur. It would hide you and keep you warm.’
She looked from one to the other. ‘Is it possible, do you think?’
‘It’s a chance,’ Alexander said. ‘Which is better than waiting here for Stephen to take you. And if the worst happened and you were seen and taken prisoner, you would be no worse off.’
She had her doubts about that. An unidentified fugitive, seen dimly through the darkness, might well be the target for a crossbow bolt or a lance thrust, and capture by the ordinary soldiers might involve greater humiliation than even Stephen would dare to subject her to. But it was a chance. Anything was better than sitting passively awaiting her fate.
‘Very well. When do you suggest?’
‘In three nights it will be dark of the moon. That gives the best chance of not being seen. Which of your knights will you take with you?’
She hesitated. Whoever she chose, she might be giving them a chance of freedom, but she would also be asking them to risk their lives. She might be too valuable a prize to be killed, but that would not be true of the men trying to protect her.
‘I would prefer you to choose. Or ask for volunteers. Will you come yourself?’
‘No. My place is here, if you will allow. I would gladly risk all to help you, you know that, but someone needs to be in command to negotiate with Stephen for the surrender terms.’
‘Yes, of course, you are right. Well, ask my knights who will volunteer for this adventure.’
He came back an hour later with four men. She knew all her knights well, had observed their strengths and weaknesses over the months and years, and her first reaction was that these were the very four men she would have chosen. Sir Edwin was the oldest of the four, a big man who had been in her service since she first went to Anjou, not the most daring or skilful but steady and reliable; Sir Bertrand was clever, a wily man who was good at seeing a way round problems; the last two were Piet and Rollo, the boys she knighted after their escapade at Livarot. They had since proved themselves worthy of the honour, among her most daring and courageous knights.
She looked from one to another. ‘My friends, I am asking you to undertake a perilous adventure on my behalf. I know you all, and know your loyalty. I trust myself to you entirely.’
She spoke with more confidence than she felt. That night it was not the prospect of capture that kept her awake, but the fear that the ice on the river might not be as thick as it seemed. She imagined it cracking beneath her feet, the cold water closing over her head as she was dragged under by her heavy garments. Almost any death seemed preferable to that.
Three nights later they assembled at the postern gate. She was wearing male attire again, the whole enveloped under Edith’s white cloak, and her four escorts had also found white garments to cover their armour. She was shaking, partly from cold but also with fear. She had faced danger before, but always in the company of her knights and in daylight. It seemed that she was not as brave as she once thought. She clamped her jaws together to stop her teeth chattering.
Alexander came down from a window in the tower. ‘God is with us. It is snowing heavily. Stephen’s sentries will not be able to see more than a few yards in front of their faces.’
She turned to him. ‘And may God be with you, too, my old friend. If it is in my power to set you free, you know I will do so.’
‘I know it, madam. Now, go, and God speed you on your way.’
The door opened soundlessly. The hinges had been freshly greased. A flurry of snow whirled into her face and the cold made her catch her breath. Sir Edwin offered her his hand and they stepped out into a wilderness where every landmark was obscured and their feet sank into deep drifts with every step. She knew that they were facing towards the river, but between them and it were the ranks of enemy tents. Somehow they had to find their way between them, without alerting the guards. She comforted herself with the
thought that all the men on duty must be more concerned with keeping warm than looking out for fugitives. It was the sort of night when no one in their right mind would be abroad.
They plodded forward, Bertrand in the lead and Edwin and herself following with the two young knights behind them. Glancing back she saw that already the snow was obscuring their footprints. The shape of a large tent loomed up ahead of them and Bertrand altered his course to pass between it and the next. The snow deadened all sound except the faint squeak of her boots as she stepped in it. They passed one line of tents and then another. She tried to remember how many ranks deep they were pitched. She must have looked out at them a hundred times, but she had never thought to count. A larger pavilion appeared ahead and once again Bertrand altered course. Then suddenly, from quite close by, a voice shouted a challenge.
‘Who goes there?’
She stopped dead but Edwin shouted gruffly, ‘Mind your own business and tend to your watch!’
His voice had the authority of an officer and for a moment is seemed the sentry was satisfied. They went on a little further, then behind them a trumpet sounded and they heard voices and the clash of armour. Lighted torches flared between the tents. Someone had called out the guard. Edwin reached out and grabbed her hand and the five of them ran, stumbling and sliding, in the direction of the river. Behind them they heard shouted questions and replies, but it seemed that no one had any clear idea of who, or what, had been challenged. They reached a steep slope down and Matilda clung tightly to Edwin as they slid down it; then they were on a level surface and the way ahead seemed clear. She realized with a shudder that they were actually walking on the frozen river. Bertrand came to her other side and steadied her elbow and they forged ahead. The shouting died down behind them and looking back they could see the torches criss-crossing the area around the tents, but no one followed them down to the river bank. She trudged on and once or twice the ice creaked under her weight, sending her heart pounding, but at last they reached the far bank and her two knights helped her up it.