by Hilary Green
‘I suggest I take him back with me to Bristol. As you know, I have put Walter in Wareham and now Roger has charge of Bristol. He has a son much the same age as Henry. He is being taught by Master Matthew, an extremely learned man, and Roger is pleased with his boy’s progress. Henry can join him, and of course they will both have the benefit of lessons from my master-at-arms in the knightly skills. Bristol is the most secure stronghold in the kingdom, so you need have no fear for the boy’s safety.’
Henry greeted the suggestion with fury. ‘I will not go back to studying frowsty old books! I will stay here and help you beat Stephen.’
She looked at him severely. ‘You will do exactly as you are told. I am your liege lady, as well as your mother, and you owe obedience on both counts.’ Then she softened her manner. ‘Listen to me. One day you will be king. If you are to be a great king, like your grandfather, you must learn from his example. He was not only a great warrior, he was a man of learning. A king must be more than a leader in battle. He needs to understand the hearts and minds of men. He has to know who he can trust and who must be closely watched; who to reward and who to punish. He has to make decrees and give charters and administer justice. Those frowsty books you speak of contain the wisdom of great men of the past. It is through studying them that you will prepare yourself for the tasks ahead of you. And do not worry, you will have ample opportunity to practise all the knightly skills you need. Your Uncle Robert has some of the best swordsmen and archers and riders in the country in his service.’ She took his face between her hands. ‘If you want to help me overcome the usurper, you could not find a better way to prepare yourself.’
He hesitated, frowning, then conceded. ‘I shall obey you in all things, Lady Mother.’
It was February, the month of Matilda’s birth. She was forty years old, and she had had enough of warfare. Stephen remained entrenched in Oxford and London, but all the lands to the west, in a triangle with its apex at Worcester and its sides extending to Exeter on the one hand and to Marlborough on the other, acknowledged her as their suzeraine, and Brian fitz Count still held out in Wallingford. Over the months that followed she brought to bear the skills she learned as the consort of the emperor and later as Countess of Anjou, skills of administration and the dispensation of justice. She appointed sheriffs and collected revenues and was able to settle her household knights and other followers on demesne lands of her own. The country was not at peace. The war of attrition continued, with each side raiding the other’s lands to replenish their own stocks of food and materials or to deny them to the enemy. From time to time Stephen launched attacks on the castles of her supporters and from time to time his own supporters rebelled against him, but she was content to leave the fighting to others and play a waiting game.
The first real attack came in the summer, when Stephen decided to make another attempt on Wareham. Robert had made sure of the only port they possessed and strengthened the defences, and Stephen turned instead on Salisbury. En route he stopped at Wilton Abbey, dispossessing the nuns and fortifying it. She learned of the events that followed when her brother rode into Devizes with a strong force of knights.
‘We almost had him!’ he exclaimed between gulps of wine. ‘I thought we were going to have a repeat of Lincoln but the whoreson got away.’
‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Tell me from the beginning.’
‘We made a surprise attack at dawn. Stephen came out to face us and the numbers were about even, but I ordered a charge and we split his forces, just as we did at Lincoln. That was when I thought we were going to capture him. But he’d learned from his mistake. He didn’t wait to fight it out this time, but called his knights to him and galloped off the field. I followed, of course, but his steward, Martell, chose to fight a rearguard action. We captured him, but by that time Stephen was well away.’
‘Martell? He’s a powerful man. I remember he served my father when he was alive and he’s been one of Stephen’s most loyal supporters. He will make a valuable hostage.’
‘Very true. It will be interesting to see what Stephen is prepared to offer in exchange. What do you want me to do with him?’
‘Send him to Brian fitz Count at Wallingford. He has a strong prison within the castle and Martell will be on hand if Stephen comes to an agreement.’
‘Very well. Let us see what comes of this.’
‘Wilton,’ she murmured. ‘You know I was educated there for a while? What has happened to the convent now?’
‘Burnt to the ground, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, I shall not shed any tears for that.’
Messengers plied backwards and forwards between herself and Stephen. He wanted Martell back and offered a large sum of money.
‘Tell him you don’t want money,’ Robert advised. ‘Tell him you want Sherbourne Castle and will not settle for anything else.’
‘Sherbourne? Stephen is desperate to get as many castles under his control as he can. He won’t give one up for anyone’s sake.’
‘Martell sacrificed his own liberty to save him. If he has any decency he’ll do anything he can to free him.’
‘I doubt it very much.’
She was wrong. After further negotiations Stephen reluctantly handed over control of the castle and Martell was released.
Soon Stephen had other troubles on his mind. Brian wrote from Wallingford:
It seems de Mandeville has got his just deserts. Stephen has had him arrested on suspicion of plotting treason. I do not know if the charge has any basis, but I would not put it past de Mandeville after the way he behaved to you. On the other hand, it could just be a pretext, so Stephen can get his hands on de Mandeville’s castles. Either way, it has done Stephen’s reputation no good with his barons. He arrested de Mandeville when he attended court at St Alban’s, which is just the kind of treacherous and underhand action we have learned to expect. He may have strengthened his position temporarily but in the long term it will turn men against him.
Events proved his predictions correct. She had her spies, merchants and travelling minstrels and wandering friars – or men in those guises – who reported back to her what was happening in the enemy territories. De Mandeville had handed over his castles, including the Tower of London, to gain his freedom, but on his release he immediately repudiated his allegiance to Stephen and retreated to the fen country of East Anglia, where he fortified the abbey of Ramsey. Stephen was forced to abandon any attempts to make incursions into Matilda’s territory while he dealt with this new rebellion. The rest of the summer passed quietly.
Henry came to visit her in Devizes from time to time. He was reconciled to his life in Bristol, had made friends and spoke highly of his teachers – even including Master Matthew. She quizzed him about his lessons and gave him texts in Latin to translate for her. He was proficient, if inclined to make errors through impatience, and she was pleased to find that he could sustain an intelligent discussion about the subject afterwards. While he was with her she arranged for him to take oaths of fealty from her vassal lords, in preparation for the day when he would inherit her powers. She began to instruct him in the skills he would require when he came to rule, skills which she herself learned from her father. He listened attentively, but at the first opportunity he was off to the stables and the tilt yard with the boys training as squires under her household knights. She watched him demonstrate his horsemanship and skill with the lance and sword. He was at ease with the other boys, and with her knights, relaxed and friendly without compromising the dignity of his rank. It was a talent she had never been able to master.
Men disinherited by Stephen or displaced by the fighting gravitated to her court. Thanks to the agreement extracted from Stephen before his release, that all the conquered lands should remain with their current overlord, she was able to settle them on new estates. She was surrounded now by men who owed their position and prosperity to her. She saw less, however, of her closest friends and supporters. Robert ranged the countryside, checking
their defences and raiding where he saw opportunity. Miles had his own earldom to administer now and Brian would not leave Wallingford, though they were in regular communication by letter. There was a cell of monks affiliated to the abbey of Bec at Ogbourne, not far from Wallingford. The monks travelled regularly between there and the mother house in Anjou, via monasteries at Chisenbury and Brixton Deverill and the port of Wareham, and they were happy to carry letters and unlikely to be the target of the robber bands that roamed the countryside.
Brian wrote that he was preparing a treatise setting out in detail her claim to the throne:
I am in correspondence with Gilbert Foliot, the abbot of Gloucester, and one of the most learned men of our time. He approves of my arguments and is supportive of our enterprise.
She smiled as she read this, remembering his room at Wallingford; the room of a scholar rather than a warrior.
At the end of September there was a new development. News arrived of the death of Pope Innocent II. This meant that Bishop Henry’s legateship lapsed, unless he could persuade the new Pope to reappoint him. It pleased her that Archbishop Theobold was now the chief authority in the English church. She had always respected him as a man of integrity, far better to deal with than the devious Henry.
When Christmas approached she made elaborate preparations. This time there would be no repetition of the previous year’s low-key celebrations. She had attracted to her court not only men of influence and learning but musicians and troubadours – and cooks. She was determined not to be restricted to the prevailing cuisine of bread and roast meat, lacking any kind of sauce. This year there would be a feast to remember.
She was leaving the chapel after mass on Christmas morning when a rider clattered into the courtyard and fell on his knees before her. She recognized him as one of Miles’s men and the look on his face told her at once that he was not the bearer of good news. She hauled him to his feet.
‘What is it? Is Gloucester under attack? Surely even a man as godless as Stephen …’
The young man shook his head wildly. There were tears in his eyes. ‘No, my lady, it is worse than that. Sir Miles is dead.’
‘Dead? Miles? How?’
‘It was an accident. Yesterday we went out to hunt boar. You know how it is … you hear a movement in the undergrowth … it is impossible to see properly. Someone let loose an arrow. It hit him in the chest. At first he tried to make light of it. Then he began to cough blood and before we could carry him to a physician he was dead.’ He dropped his gaze. ‘Forgive me, my lady. My tongue runs away with me.’
She turned away and headed back into the chapel. Her attendants tried to follow but she waved them away. ‘See that this man is fed and rested …’
Inside, she sank to her knees before the altar and buried her face in her hands. Miles! The man who was like a father to her; who took her into his home and made her feel that it was her own; who had risked his life for her in battle again and again. Then a terrible thought struck her. He had written not long ago that he had been excommunicated by the Bishop of Hereford for plundering a local church. It was a matter of necessity, to provide desperately need funds to pay his men, but it was a sin nonetheless. What help was there now for his immortal soul? She prostrated herself and sobbed convulsively.
There would be no Christmas celebrations this year after all.
With the New Year came better news. Geoffrey had finally succeeded in taking Rouen and made himself the undisputed master of Normandy. There was, however, a sting in the tail. He wanted young Henry back with him. She understood the need for this. Henry must be known to all Geoffrey’s vassals as the heir and their future liege lord, and he must take oaths of fealty from them. Also, he needed to begin to learn the complexities of governing a large and disparate dukedom. She consoled herself for his loss with the thought that at least he had a secure inheritance on that side of the narrow seas. For her the parting was a wrench but he went gladly, eager to take up his new position.
Brian wrote from Wallingford:
I have received threats of excommunication from Bishop Henry, as punishment for diverting a train of merchandise on its way to Winchester for the sustenance of my garrison. As you well know, in the current disturbed condition of the country much land is not under cultivation and normal taxes and tithes cannot be collected. I often have great difficulty in obtaining supplies to feed the men I must keep for the necessary defence of the castle, and for that reason I have to resort to taking them from those who can better afford their loss.
I have written to Henry pointing out that there was a time when he himself ordered all the great men of the realm to give their oath of allegiance to you, and I have added a list of the names of all those who so swore at his behest. I further told him that, had he maintained his oath instead of reneging on it, the country might now be at peace under your rule and therefore the current state of unrest is largely his own responsibility. In short, I maintained that his only grounds for quarrel with me is that I have refused to change my allegiance as often and as easily as he has.
I do not expect to hear any further threats from that quarter.
She admired his courage and his scholarship in her defence but she was still anxious for him, remembering that Miles was not in a state of grace when he died. There was nothing she could do to provide Brian with the supplies he so desperately needed, but she could do something for the care of his immortal soul. She owned the manor of Blewberry, which was not far from Wallingford. She sent a charter to the monks of the abbey of Reading, gifting the manor to them, with the provision that it was for the good of the souls of her ancestors and for the love and loyal service of Brian fitz Count.
There was no end to the unrest that plagued the country. Robert tried to take the castle of Malmesbury but was driven off by a surprise attack from Stephen, who went on to besiege Robert’s castle at Tetbury. Robert called up his Welsh allies and also requested the help of Roger of Hereford, Miles’s son. In response Stephen relinquished Tetbury and attacked Roger’s castle at Winchcombe, which was forced to surrender. As the summer progressed Stephen’s incursions into the Angevin territory in the West Country grew increasingly frequent. In September there was a further blow. News came that Geoffrey de Mandeville, who had until now been holding out in the fen country, had been killed by an arrow in the head. She could not feel any regret for him, after his desertion at Winchester, but the collapse of his rebellion meant that Stephen was now free to concentrate his efforts on her own territory.
There was one small success. One of her allies, William Peverill of Dover, had established himself at Cricklade on the Thames and was carrying out a campaign of harassment along Stephen’s lines of communication. He arrived unexpectedly at Devizes, bringing with him a prisoner.
‘I have brought you Walter de Pinkney, my lady. He is the castellan of Malmesbury.’
‘Malmesbury! Has the castle fallen?’
‘Alas, no. Walter made the mistake of venturing outside with only a small retinue. I got wind of it and set an ambush. But now that we have him I feel sure that he can be persuaded to hand it over.’
She ordered de Pinkney to be chained up in her dungeon and William left. She knew what was expected of her. If he would not willingly yield the castle in order to obtain his freedom he must be tortured until he did, but her soul revolted against the idea. Once, a few years ago, she rejoiced to think of Stephen in fetters. But this man’s only fault was loyalty to his sovereign lord and she had to admire his courage. She let him starve for a day or two, then had him brought before her. He was filthy. His lips were cracked from thirst and his wrists and ankles covered in sores from the shackles, but he faced her with defiance.
Hugh, her chief gaoler, murmured, ‘Let me have him, madam. I’ll persuade him of his folly in refusing.’
She shook her head. ‘Take him away. Keep him shackled, on bread and water. We’ll see how long he can hold out.’
John the Marshall paid one of his regular calls
and she put her dilemma to him.
‘Threaten him with execution,’ was his advice. ‘It’s remarkable how quickly a man can change his mind when he feels the noose around his neck.’
But even that seemed too barbaric, and while she hesitated word came that Stephen had reinforced the garrison at Malmesbury and appointed a new castellan.
‘What do you wish me to do with the prisoner?’ Hugh asked.
She shrugged. ‘Set him free. He’s no use to us now.’
Malmesbury continued to be a thorn in the side of the Angevin forces. As the year drew to an end, their position looked increasingly insecure.
With the coming of spring Robert came to visit her, to discuss their strategy for the new fighting season.
‘Peverill wishes to relinquish Cricklade and hand it over to someone else.’
‘Why?’
‘As far as I can discover something happened over the winter to make him feel he was endangering his immortal soul. He wants to go on pilgrimage.’
She nodded wryly. ‘I can understand that. Perhaps it is something we should all consider. Meanwhile, who will you put in his place?’
‘I’ve sent Philip.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that wise?’
Philip was Robert’s third son and she had never taken to him. He was an impatient young man with a hasty temper, given to black-browed sulks when thwarted.
‘It will keep him occupied,’ Robert said. ‘It’s time he took on some responsibility. Walter has Wareham and Roger is in holy orders, so he is the obvious candidate. He has been pressing me all winter to make a push towards Oxford, to take the fight into Stephen’s territory and put him on the defensive. Cricklade is a good forward base for an advance in that direction.’
‘Very well,’ she agreed. ‘You are the best judge.’
Sometime later he wrote to tell her that Philip had identified what he regarded as the ideal site for a new castle, on the top of a hill known locally as Faringdon Clump, a place which had, in Robert’s words, ‘been fortified since ancient times but has now fallen into disrepair’. He was going there to see for himself. His next letter told her that he had approved the choice and started the building of a strong fortification.