Anarchy

by Stewart Binns

  Matilda’s party made steady progress through Anjou and Maine. But as we crossed into Normandy, south of Sees, two of her escort – one a hefty sergeant, the other a tall sinewy knight with a broken nose and several scars – rode back to confront us.

  ‘Name yourselves!’

  ‘I am Robyn of Hode and this is William of Scaerlette. We are from Aquitaine.’

  ‘Why are you following us?’

  ‘We are not following you. We are travelling to England – we have business there.’

  ‘Well, travel another way.’

  ‘We will choose our own route –’

  ‘I said, go another way.’

  ‘And I said, we will suit ourselves.’

  The hefty sergeant drew his sword. Eadmer immediately responded in kind and made his intentions very clear to the knight.

  ‘Put your sword away, or I’ll take your arm off!’

  I told Eadmer to sheathe his sword, and spoke softly to the knight.

  ‘Tell the Empress Matilda that my father fought with her uncle, Edgar the Atheling, in the Great Crusade and that he and I are the last of a Brotherhood, the only other survivor of which is her uncle, Robert, Duke of Normandy.’

  ‘The Empress Matilda? You are mistaken … we are escorting one of the Empress’s ladies-in-waiting.’

  ‘I see. Well, tell her ladyship what I just told you.’

  The knight looked at me questioningly.

  ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘I am Robyn of Hode.’

  The knight paused for a moment, before yanking his reins and riding back to the carriage. He was not gone for long. Within minutes, he was cantering back towards us.

  ‘Come with me.’

  By the time we reached the carriage, it had been pulled over into a clearing and the Empress had stepped out, helped by her escort and a lady-in-waiting.

  We dismounted and bowed respectfully.

  ‘I hear you know my uncle, Prince Edgar?’

  ‘I do, ma’am.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘He was well when I saw him last, ma’am.’

  ‘Which was when?’

  ‘Ma’am, two years ago – at his hall in Ashgyll, in Northumbria.’

  ‘My uncle is dead. Sadly, he died over the winter. Are you sure you knew him?’

  ‘Certain, ma’am. He was well, though very old, when I saw him –’

  ‘What is this about a Brotherhood?’

  ‘Ma’am, the Prince and your uncle, Robert, Duke of Normandy, were part of a small group of brothers-in-arms, which included my father and mother. They fought in the Great Crusade together; Duke Robert and I are now the only survivors.’

  ‘But you are too young to have been part of the Crusade.’

  ‘Quite so, ma’am. I am the next generation.’

  ‘Not much of a brotherhood then! Just you and an old man incarcerated by my brother?’

  ‘I agree … but it is an elite group, and the membership rules are very strict.’

  Matilda realized I was being sarcastic. She smiled, which was a great relief – I felt I had broken the ice.

  ‘And you are Robyn of Hode?’

  ‘No, ma’am, that is a subterfuge. I am Harold of Hereford. I’m afraid I upset your father; Eadmer, my loyal friend and sergeant, and I are on the run from the King’s men.’

  ‘My father is easily upset. What did you do?’

  ‘We had just joined the King’s bodyguard at Norwich when a mischievous Bishop revealed several things about my past and accused me of being an infiltrator.’

  ‘And were you?’

  ‘No, ma’am. I have my opinions, but I mean the King no harm.’

  ‘What was it about your past that annoyed the King so greatly?’

  ‘A number of things, ma’am. But mainly that I had not revealed the fact that my father fought with Prince Edgar and Duke Robert at Tinchebrai.’

  ‘Ah, I understand. Your father’s choice of allegiance will not easily be forgotten by the King. But, to the matter in hand: why are you following me?’

  ‘Well, it is a little delicate … May we talk in private?’

  ‘No, we must press on. I want to get to Alençon before nightfall. Stay back with your man, we can talk in the morning.’

  I bowed as she got back into her carriage.

  She was charming and composed, beautiful and intriguing, and I knew then that I had made the right decision in committing my future to her cause.

  We followed her to the outskirts of Alençon, where her escort pulled over next to an inn. She must have spent the night in her carriage because we did not see her again until the next morning, when we were summoned to see her. Dressed in clothes no finer than those worn by a merchant’s wife, with neither jewellery nor regalia, she was sitting by the side of the road on a small stool eating a leg of cold chicken. It was an incongruous image for Europe’s only empress, but one that did not detract from her beauty or allure.

  ‘Good morning. What are you calling yourself this morning – Harold of Hereford or Robyn of Hode?’

  ‘Good morning, Your Majesty. I trust you slept well. Please call me Hal.’

  ‘I slept very badly – my carriage is a form of transport, not a bed. But needs must … So, to my question of last night: why are you following me?’

  ‘Ma’am, may we stretch our legs? And then I can explain.’

  She nodded at the captain of her escort who, I assumed, was an Englishman – rather than one of her husband’s men. The captain divested me of my weapons and walked a few paces behind us as the Empress and I strolled gently along the old road south from Alençon. He was tense and suspicious and watched my every move.

  ‘Your Majesty, I have been in Angers for several months, waiting for news of you.’

  ‘Why? Are you one of those sad men who follows women around?’

  I was not fooled by the Empress’s apparent levity. I knew I would have to choose my words carefully if I was to earn her trust and respect.

  ‘No … well, yes … but only you, ma’am.’

  ‘So you are a madman?’

  ‘I hope not, ma’am; let me explain. My grandfather was Hereward of Bourne, the leader of the English Revolt in 1069. There was an English Brotherhood at Ely, and that tradition was carried on by my father, Sweyn of Bourne. As a little boy, he was rescued by Hereward and brought up by his family and friends. My mother, Estrith of Melfi, Hereward’s daughter, was with him at the end of the Siege of Ely. She and my father formed a new brotherhood – the Brethren of the Blood of the Talisman – with Prince Edgar and Robert of Normandy.’

  ‘A very interesting family … and a very laudable story. But what has your secret society got to do with me?’

  ‘Well, the Brethren are committed to certain principles. They each swore an oath on the shrine to St Etheldreda at Ely: to fight for justice and freedom wherever they are denied, and to give their lives in pursuit of liberty.’

  ‘I still don’t see why all that means you have been prowling around Angers like a voyeur …’

  ‘Although your uncle was Duke of Normandy and a true and faithful Norman, he sympathized with the claim of Prince Edgar, your English uncle, to the throne at Westminster. The Brethren believed that Norman rule in England was inherently unjust and unnecessarily harsh and would not be put right until a Cerdician monarch returned to the throne at Westminster –’

  ‘And I have that Cerdician blood through my mother!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am – you are a direct descendent from Edmund Ironside and all who preceded him.’

  ‘So you are following me to protect me?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ I fell to my knees and grasped her hand, ‘and to declare my unwavering loyalty. Three generat
ions of my family have fought for liberty. If you will have me, I would like to continue their courageous tradition by serving you and making sure that your father’s wish that you become Queen is fulfilled.’

  ‘That’s quite a speech, Harold of Hereford. You may get to your feet. But you must know that I am also a Norman; my father is a Norman king.’

  ‘Indeed, ma’am. At the beginning of the English Revolt, the Brotherhood opposed Duke William, your grandfather, believing he had unfairly seized the crown by force of arms at Senlac Ridge. But Hereward persuaded them to accept the inevitable, and instead they campaigned against the harshness of Norman rule. The English do not easily accept unjust regimes, which is why we believe a Cerdician queen would rule justly. Duke Robert understood that and was able to take the oath of the Brethren. I also carry this amulet, the Talisman of Truth – an object that has been worn by Caesars, kings and emperors. I am its guardian, the third generation of my family to be chosen.’

  ‘Were you given it by your father?’

  ‘No, ma’am, by John Comnenus, the Emperor of Byzantium.’

  ‘I see, you certainly move in interesting circles for a mere knight. May I see the Talisman?’

  I handed the amulet to her, but with a warning.

  ‘Do not be alarmed, Your Majesty. It is not what it seems; it brings wisdom and insight.’

  She examined it with some trepidation.

  ‘It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before; one day you must explain it to me. You are an interesting man, Harold of Hereford. But how do you know I would rule fairly?’

  ‘Because it is in your blood, Majesty; you are a Cerdician.’

  ‘Is that not a sort of blind faith?’

  ‘Indeed, it may appear so, ma’am. But remember, if your rule turned out to be harsh and unjust, the English people would resist you, just as they did your grandfather … and so would I.’

  Matilda’s face broke into a wonderful beaming smile.

  ‘Well, you are certainly a man of conviction! I suppose you would now like to accompany me to London?’

  ‘I am at your service, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Very well, let us see how we get along. You may call me “my Lady”. England does not have an Emperor so, when I am Queen, I will be called “Queen Matilda, Lady of England and Normandy”.’

  ‘Very good, my Lady. May I ask why you are travelling with such a small escort?’

  ‘No, you may not!’

  I had taken a step too far and rebuked myself for being too bold. Matilda walked briskly back to her carriage. As she passed her captain, who continued to watch me like a hawk, she made the introductions.

  ‘Captain Margam, Harold of Hereford will accompany us to London. He and his man will report to you. At any hint of disobedience or sign of mischief, get rid of them.’

  ‘Very well, my Lady.’

  Captain Margam looked at me with contempt as he returned my weapons. Then he leaned towards me and hissed a warning.

  ‘You heard what my Lady Matilda said. But remember this, if I do have cause to get rid of you, you won’t be in one piece when you go!’

  A few years ago, a warning like that would have put the fear of God into me, but I had learned three important lessons over the previous twelve years. Firstly, most men can bark louder than they can bite. Secondly, the really dangerous men do not issue warnings. And thirdly, all men bleed – no matter how invincible they may seem – so always be the first to strike.

  Eadmer had got the measure of Margam as well.

  ‘He’s a killer; watch your back. And I’ll watch it too!’

  The remainder of the journey across Normandy and the Channel to England was uneventful. I spent most of the time observing Matilda, who managed to remain dignified despite the uncomfortable circumstances. She was the daughter of the King of England and the widow of the Holy Roman Emperor – the two most powerful men in Europe whose two domains covered almost the whole of the continent – and was not accustomed to adversity. She was travelling with little or no protection and had none of the luxuries – such as numerous servants, frequent changes of clothes, hot water and portable commodes – that would have made the journey easier to bear.

  She kept her temper and her humour, was prepared to relieve herself by the side of the road like everybody else and to remain unwashed rather than immerse herself in the filthy butts of water available at the roadside inns. She ate only what she was sure was edible, which often meant food had to be forsaken, and went without sleep for long periods.

  Eadmer and I again adopted the pseudonyms Robyn of Hode and William of Scaerlette when we reached England. Choosing the path of caution, we stayed in the shadows at Westminster when Matilda went to see the King.

  Fearing that Margam was very much the King’s man – and likely to reveal our true identity to him – we were on our guard, with our horses ready to ride, during the entire stay.

  20. Flight to Freedom

  Fortunately, we did not have to wait in readiness at Westminster for long. Matilda’s meeting with the King did not go well. As was true of most kings – especially Norman ones – he was used to being obeyed. For his daughter to depart her marriage bed, jeopardize a delicate treaty with a new ally and embarrass him in the eyes of Europe – all of this was a major misdemeanour. He was furious – shouting and bellowing along the corridors of Westminster – and, within a day, Matilda was back on the road to Dover. The King had given her a much bigger escort and entourage and a few more comforts than she had enjoyed when she left Angers.

  We rejoined the end of the Empress’s entourage south of Southwark. But within a hundred yards of doing so, Margam rode up to us with several men.

  ‘I am arresting you in the name of King Henry! These men will take you back to Westminster to face his judgement.’

  He turned to a sergeant and issued his curt instructions.

  ‘Disarm them and bind them. Take their horses. They can walk, or be dragged.’

  I looked at Eadmer.

  He knew what he had to do and had his seax deep into the throat of the sergeant before the man could blink.

  I raised my leg, knocking Margam clean out of his saddle.

  Eadmer and I both kicked our mounts into a gallop. The road to Dover at Southwark was busy and the people, horses and carts using the highway helped our escape. We created confusion in our wake as we sped away, making it difficult for the posse of pursuers to catch us. As soon as the traffic thinned, we turned off the road, rode through the woods at Chislehurst and headed over the Downs to the coast in the hope of intercepting Matilda’s escort before it left Dover.

  We arrived at the port at about the same time as Matilda and her party. Her ship was waiting for her and I contemplated how we could make contact with her without alerting Margam and his men. I had discovered in London that Margam was a Welsh knight of the Lordship of Afan, in South Wales, a formidable warrior and not a man to be crossed.

  I gambled that Matilda would stay at least one night in the comfort of Dover Castle before waiting for the tide and the right winds to make the crossing.

  Gaining access to the castle was not difficult – my knight’s pennon and the presence of both the Talisman and the Order of San Marco around my neck ensured that – but the difficulty was obtaining access to the royal chambers. Eadmer and I walked round and round the keep, but we could see no way of getting beyond the royal cordon – nor any way of approaching Matilda without being seen by Margam. There was just one, highly risky option: a message tied to an arrow shot through the window of her chamber. But even this assumed that we could ascertain in which chamber she would spend the night.

  Eadmer had grave concerns.

  ‘It’s a shot of forty yards, at an acute angle, in th
e gloom. The window is less than a foot wide – and as soon as she goes in, her maid is going to close the shutter. You could easily hit her – or even the Empress! That shot’s impossible –’

  ‘But it’s worth a try. Come on! I need to rehearse.’

  We made an educated guess at the location of Matilda’s chamber, based on the reasonable deduction that hers was the one with a double window. It was late January and cold, and we knew we had to make the shot before dusk – at which time, the shutters would be closed. There was a glow from the fireplace in the room and I could see shadows when anyone passed in front of it. I had blunted my arrow as much as I could and tied a piece of leather to its tip, but there was still a considerable risk that I would hit someone.

  I waited until the shadows stopped moving.

  I took aim; I only had one chance.

  My note was scratched in charcoal on a piece of vellum purchased in haste that had cost a small fortune. The arrow clipped the arch of the window as it passed but went into the room. I thought I heard a shriek and hoped it was caused by shock and not by injury. My note read, in Latin:

  My Lady,

  I’m sure you know, but we were intercepted by Margam at Southwark and are now in even more trouble than before.

  If you need our help, we are in the keep, in the corridor behind the stables.

  Robyn

  We waited for almost an hour, with horses saddled and a clear escape exit readily available. I began to think that our help was not required, or that the killing of Margam’s sergeant had persuaded Matilda that we were not to be trusted. There was even the possibility that Margam was again about to ambush us.

  At last, to our relief, through the darkness of the keep, three hooded figures moved stealthily towards us, one much larger than the other two. It was Matilda, a maid and a guard. I looked at the guard suspiciously.