by Jean Plaidy
William told her that the ceremony of coronation was to be at Winchester and it was to be a much grander occasion than his own which had taken place at Westminster on that Christmas Day.
‘Your coming here will be a sign,’ he told her. ‘So will your coronation. It will show the people that we regard England as our home and that we have come to stay.’
So to Winchester they travelled and the ceremony on which William had lavished his love of planning and organization was a great success. Matilda was still young enough to look beautiful in her coronation robes and the presence of the children delighted the people.
William ordered that the bells should be rung all over the country and that there should be bonfires. There should be free wine in the streets and a tournament in which William and his knights would take part.
The people had never seen anything like it and expressed their delight in such pageantry. Moreover it was pleasant to see another side to William’s character. The man whom they had considered to be a tyrant, was after all a good husband and father, proud of his family and happy to be in the midst of it.
Queen of England.
She was delighted with her title. And William had missed her. He was so happy to have her with him; to show her his new possession. And how proud he was. How full of plans. He seemed as young as he had when they had first married. In fact coming to England was for Matilda like those first days of their marriage. The separation had made them fonder.
William made it clear to everyone how dear she was to him by insisting that she be treated with the same respect that was accorded to him.
Often Matilda would see a Saxon face which reminded her of Brihtric. It was so long since she had seen him that perhaps she had imagined the beauty of those blue eyes and that fair skin.
Where was he now? What did he think when he realized that the woman he had spurned was now his Queen?
Her humiliation had not diminished. Even now she could remember everything they had said on that occasion.
She sent for one of her servants.
‘There was a man I met once in my father’s court of Flanders,’ she said. ‘He was the Ambassador from England. I have been wondering whether he is still alive and where he is. Go and discover whether a certain Brihtric Meaw, known as Snow, still lives. His father was the lord of honour of Gloucester so you should have little difficulty in discovering him.’
The servant went off to do her bidding and in a few weeks returned with the information that Brihtric still lived on his estates which he had inherited from his father and which were considerable.
Matilda thought of him a great deal. Was he as handsome as ever? Had he married? Had he ever boasted to his wife that Matilda of Flanders had so urgently desired to marry him that she had cast aside all convention and asked him to become her husband?
Was it possible that such a thing could be said of the Queen of England?
She had discovered that she was pregnant, a fact which delighted her.
‘It must be a son,’ she said. ‘I want a son who is born on English soil. He will differ from the others because his parents will have been a King and Queen at the time of his conception.’
William smiled at her. Her fruitfulness delighted him. ‘I too want a son,’ he said.
‘You are demanding,’ she told him affectionately. ‘Have I not already given you three?’
‘A King needs sons,’ was his reply. ‘As many as he can get.’
‘I should like to build a castle to celebrate my arrival here and the birth of our child and I should like to choose my spot.’
‘Then you must do this.’
‘I shall choose my land and take it.’
‘No matter where and whose, it is yours.’
She was contented.
A few days later she wrote an order. She had chosen lands in Gloucester. They were now in the possession of a certain Brihtric Meaw. As this man had committed a grave misdemeanour and was in the Queen’s opinion known to be false, his lands were to be confiscated and given to the Queen and Brihtric was to be conveyed to prison in Winchester where he should remain until his innocence should be proved.
She sat in her chamber smiling secretly.
Would this be the moment when the guards arrived? Would he be seated in his dining hall, his wife beside him – that wife of his choice who was so much more desirable than a Queen? Would he be startled when the messenger said, ‘I arrest you Brihtric Meaw in the name of your Sovereign’?
He would be startled; he would stammer; he would demand to know on what charge he was being arrested.
My dear Brihtric, one does not ask kings and queens on what charge one is arrested. Suffice it that one has displeased.
And you displeased me, Brihtric. You refused me and never was I able to forget it. Ever since there have been moments when I have seen you as clearly as I did on that day and I remember the look in your eyes when I told you I loved you and would marry you.
Horror it was. You can never be forgiven for that. It is my turn now, Brihtric the Saxon. Who are you now? You will go to prison because I have the power to send you there. I will take your lands. What of your wife now? What will become of her? Do I care for that, Brihtric? Let her starve. Let her go to some other man. I shall forget because I have settled the score and that is the only way I can.
Her servant came back to her.
‘How went it?’ she asked.
‘He is in prison.’
‘And was he surprised?’
‘Bewildered, my lady. He kept saying, “I have done nothing. How dare you.”’
‘But you dared in the name of the Queen and he has done something. He has been no friend to the Queen.’
She sat smiling for a long time, thinking of his beautiful blue eyes and his fair fair skin.
His eyes, even if they were still as beautiful, would grow dim in prison; his fair skin would doubtless ere long be blotched with disease.
At last Brihtric would learn how foolish he had been to humiliate Matilda of Flanders.
She had not realized his estate was so large. It included such places as Tewkesbury, Fairford, Whitenhurst and Thornbury. He had been a rich man, poor Brihtric!
She continued to think of him. She could not get him out of her mind.
Nor would she ever, she feared. She wished that she could go and see him and taunt him with what he had done. Had he guessed why he was there? Did he ever remember that scene in the Palace at Lille?
Foolish Brihtric! What had he missed!
And what she might have missed! William and Robert – those were the two who meant most. Not for the world would she have missed them; and deep in her heart she was glad that Brihtric had refused her. But he had humiliated her and she had greatly desired him; and that she could not forget.
He had been punished; he had lost his possessions; he was languishing in prison. But it was not enough.
There were many eager to do her bidding. She remembered how William had once disposed of those whom he wished removed. It was easier to make such an arrangement about a prisoner than the guests at one’s table.
What a glorious possession was Power! It was for this that men went to war; it was for this that women worked in secret. Power to say ‘This shall be done’, and to know that it would be done.
All she had to do was send someone she could trust to find a means of bribing a jailer in the prison. It should not be difficult.
Nor was it.
A month after he was imprisoned in Winchester, Brihtric Meaw was found dead in his cell.
When she heard the news Matilda felt a little sad. ‘He was such a handsome man,’ she said. ‘One of the most handsome I ever knew.’
Then she smiled her secret smile.
The matter of Brihtric Meaw which had overshadowed her thoughts for a long time, was closed.
The Jealous Couple
GREAT WAS THE joy of William and Matilda when their child was born for, as they had hoped, it was a boy.
/> Their popularity increased. A son born on English soil was regarded as English and the people joined wholeheartedly in the celebration. They called the boy Henry.
William realized that the coming of the family had changed to some extent the people’s feelings for him. They seemed to regard him as more human, which was all for the good – his and theirs. He wanted to impress on them that he was harsh only when necessity demanded it. He was not a man who wanted to practise cruelty for cruelty’s sake.
He was a ruler; he had lived through a hard life. He had seen death so often that he did not regard it with any great respect; and he knew that the only way to subdue rebellious subjects was with fear. He intended to be feared; his subjects must know that he was a man of his word and if they disobeyed him there would be no mercy. If they would submit, then he would turn his immense talents into giving them wealth and prosperity. He could see great prospects in this country, and he was determined to develop them. If any stood in his way they must expect to be denuded of their property, mutilated or killed, whatever the offence in his opinion merited.
He knew that those two troublesome earls, Edwin and Morcar, had been responsible for a great deal of discord in England. Had they been faithful to Harold, he, William, might not have succeeded in his conquest. He had known from the beginning that he must be watchful of these earls and had, when he arrived, promised Edwin one of his daughters.
The death of Adelisa had made him change his mind. He had lost one bargaining counter and did not wish to be reckless with what was left. So he now felt lukewarm about the alliance. He had other thoughts with which to occupy his mind.
His passion for building had always been strong and already there was evidence of it in England. He had met and admired Gundulph, the Bishop of Rochester, who in addition to his religious calling was an architect of great ability. He and William had much in common and William told Gundulph that he had the mind to build a tower which should stand on the Thames in London and he would like to start the planning without delay.
Gundulph was excited and together they discussed plans, after which Gundulph produced some drawings which delighted William and for some days he was absorbed as he could be by his architectural adventures, to the exclusion of all else.
Then suddenly there was trouble.
William was first aware that Edwin and Morcar had left the Court without asking his permission to do so.
He was disturbed. These two could be said to be the most popular men in the country and William was well aware of the rumblings of revolt against him beneath the show of outward obedience. He knew that many of his new subjects avoided meeting his eyes as he passed them; he knew that when he went by many turned and shook their fists at him and muttered curses under their breath.
His precarious safety in his own dukedom had warned him of how much more likely was revolt in a conquered land.
Edwin was one of those beautiful Saxons like Harold who had the power to win people to their sides because of great personal charm. William had none of this. He exuded power and strength; he excited fear in all, even his own family, but this was very different from the affection men like Harold and Edwin inspired – and all because of their pretty fair locks and their gentle voices, and their beautiful Saxon blue eyes.
So the two earls had removed themselves – then he must be wary.
How right he was! Edwin and Morcar were in the north where they were conspiring with the King of Scotland to attack William and drive him back to Normandy; William determined to act without delay and with such severity that these people would think twice before rebelling again.
The first thing was to send his family back to Normandy.
‘You must go,’ he told Matilda. ‘There are the children to think of.’
Matilda understood this, so she sailed back to Normandy, taking her sons and daughters with her.
William acted promptly. He instituted an order which was called the couvre feu and which the Saxons soon called the curfew. A bell was sounded at eight o’clock at night and at that hour all fires must be doused. This was because it was after dark that people assembled to discuss rebellion. If fires were extinguished people went to bed. It was a small precaution but one which William believed was necessary.
He then gathered an army and marched north.
There he gave the rebels an example of how terrible his vengeance could be. He, who was a parsimonious man, found it against his nature to destroy crops and grazing land; but this he did ruthlessly. Of what use a prosperous countryside if it did not belong to William? These people must be made to understand that in rebelling against him they courted terrible disaster.
The people of Yorkshire looking on their devastated countryside were filled with dismay; and when Earl Edwin was slain there was universal mourning throughout the nation.
But the people had learned a lesson.
They began to call the King, William the Conqueror. They hated him but they feared him, and they knew then that he had come to stay.
On his way south, he passed through Gloucester. These were the lands which Matilda had been so eager to possess. He wondered why, without seeing them, she should have chosen them.
To whom had they belonged? A certain Brihtric who had been imprisoned, he discovered, for some misdemeanour of which no one seemed very certain.
So when Matilda had acquired the land Brihtric had gone to prison. Perhaps he had opposed the gift. Small wonder he resisted when such fine estates were to pass from his hands.
His passion for detail would not allow him to dismiss the matter. He wanted to hear more of this man Brihtric. It was a pity he had died in prison or he would have questioned him himself.
He was surprised – dismayed – to learn that Brihtric had been an ambassador at the Court of Flanders. He would have been there at the time he was courting Matilda.
Then Matilda would have known him. It was clear now that she was settling an old score.
He was amused. She could be secretive, his Matilda. He wondered in what way Brihtric had offended her.
It was no use. He must know. It was not difficult. He discovered that Brihtric had died rather mysteriously in his prison. A little questioning of his jailers, who were terrified to do anything but tell the truth, and he had the whole story.
Before Brihtric had died he had talked. There were two to whom he had spoken.
‘She wanted to marry me,’ he had said. ‘She asked me. She, a Princess of Flanders. But I did not love her. I was betrothed. So . . . she hated me. But I would not have believed she would have so taken her revenge.’
‘By God’s Splendour,’ muttered William.
So she had taken her revenge. All these years she had remembered. One did not take such revenge unless one felt strongly.
What was the fatal attraction of these Saxons? He remembered the face of the swan-necked Edith who had begged for her lover’s body. Adelisa had drifted into death because she had not wished to live without Harold. And Matilda . . . his own Matilda . . . had desired a Saxon and for years when she was William’s wife she had not forgotten him.
It was no passing fancy. That much was clear. One did not remember passing fancies for years. She had brooded on her loss. She had taken William because her Saxon would not have her.
Whom could one know? Whom could one trust? She had been a faithful wife. He would swear to that. But had she been faithful in her thoughts? How often when they were together had she in her mind substituted him for Brihtric?
He was not a great lover, he knew that. He was a soldier. He had never philandered with women.
He remembered Osbern’s telling him, ‘Many rulers have frittered away their realms through their love of women. Beware. Marry, and find what you need in your wife. That is the way to make good strong sons, legitimate sons whose succession none can dispute.’
And so much had this Saxon been in her thoughts that one of her first acts on coming to England had been to take her revenge.
Fres
h from devastating the North he rode through his dominions. He wanted the people to see him, to talk of the trail of devastation he had left in his wake. He wanted them to understand: This is the reward of all who defy me.
And as he rode he thought of Matilda, who all those years when they were together had thought of her Saxon. If this Saxon would have married her, she would have taken him. Why had she turned so quickly to William? From pique? To show the Saxon that there were some who wanted her?
So he, William the Conqueror, had taken second place to an insignificant Saxon.
He thought of the years of fidelity. It was not that he had any great inclination for other women; perhaps mildly now and then, but never had he indulged his whims. Nay, he had said, the bond between us two is sacred.
And all the time she had been thinking of the Saxon!
It was while he rested at Canterbury that he noticed the beautiful daughter of one of the canons of the Cathedral.
She was young; she attracted him. This would be a kind of revenge. After this he would not say: I have been faithful to Matilda all these years.
The girl was not unwilling. Or perhaps she dared not be. He had a reputation for being a tyrant. It was quite a pleasant experience and yet it taught him that he was not by nature a philanderer.
He was first ruler, then a family man. He wanted no distractions from his armies and his state affairs. They gave him all the excitement he needed.
But naturally this lapse, because it was so unusual, had been remarked on.
William was human after all.
The Governor of Winchester, Hugh Grantmesnil, was married to a woman who regarded herself as a great beauty, irresistible to men. When William had visited Winchester she had determined to attract him, for she thought how interesting it would be to become the King’s mistress.
The fact that he had at that time shown no interest in women made him all the more desirable in her eyes.