Anarchy

by Stewart Binns

  I spent the greater part of the journey to St Cirq Lapopie listening to Eadmer’s exhaustive account of his dramatic escape from the clutches of the King’s executioners. I also heard many times the several new ballads he had written while idling away his time in the forest. He said he was going to compose a new one called ‘The Ballad of Robyn of Hode’, which began:

  To Hereward, a grandson, Harold by name,

  To the Empress, a lover, one Robyn of Hode.

  And to England an earl, Lord of Huntingdon’s shire,

  A knight for all men and all maids to desire.

  He also had news of Lothar, Maud’s faithful bodyguard. Apparently, he had been captured trying to get her message to Count Geoffrey. Despite many days of torture, he had refused to reveal her whereabouts. Death was his only saviour. Thankfully, that finally came to him and ended his suffering. Maud found it difficult to bear the news – especially as the detail of it was told to her with cruel relish by Count Geoffrey.

  During Eadmer’s time in the forest, Greta had brought him food and regular news about my captivity. She had also been given Maud’s permission to disclose the full story of her pregnancy and subsequent ordeal. He was full of praise for Maud’s fortitude and told me that she had been vital to his escape by distracting his guards.

  As usual, he was both forthright and sardonic in his reflections.

  ‘I always encouraged you to get on with it and get her into your bed. As a reward, you’ve now ended up as an earl. You see, you should listen to me more often!’

  It was good to have Eadmer at my side again. After a few days, I decided to give him a dose of his own medicine.

  ‘So, what about young Greta? She’s a handsome Teutonic lass, broad in the beam, strong in the shoulders, flat-bellied … She’d make you a happy man!’

  He was unusually coy in his response, which made me probe further.

  ‘I see … so after emptying the bread basket she’d brought you, you rewarded her by filling hers!’

  He avoided a direct answer – which I took as an admission that my inference was accurate – before he changed the subject.

  ‘You must be feeling better, Hal. Let’s get you home to the Lot before you start getting frisky again.’

  At least for the rest of the journey, I had found Eadmer’s Achilles’ heel. I smiled at the thought that I could return to it whenever I needed entertainment.

  St Cirq Lapopie was a fine sight when it first came into view. Although Maud was not there to share it with me, I could still relish the fond memories it brought me. After my recent incarceration, thankfully, it was once again a haven of refuge and a symbol of hope for the future.

  I tried not to think about Maud trying to conceive with her feckless husband, but only of the past, our joyous time together, and of the future when, God willing, we would be together again.

  By the winter of 1131, I was fully recovered from my ordeal in King Henry’s dungeon. Growing impatience now began to become the dominant feature of my mood.

  During the spring of 1132, by which time there was still no word of a pregnancy for Maud, my impatience turned into exasperation. The only saving grace was that I found myself preoccupied with the many tasks demanded by the estate. But eventually, even these were no longer a respite for my frustrations.

  I had bedded several of the local girls, in search of some distraction, but the shallowness of these encounters only added to the problem. Eadmer was doing the same despite, for the first time, admitting his love for Greta – like me, all he wanted was to be with his beloved again. We were like chivalrous young knights, revelling in our love for our ladies, and did not mind admitting it to one another, often over too many flagons of Cahors’ best vintages.

  We hoped that Maud and Greta were in Rouen, where at least their Norman kin could keep an eye on them. But we feared that they may be in Le Mans or Angers, among Geoffrey’s kin – a thought that only added to our woes.

  Then, in May, a rider arrived at St Cirq Lapopie. He wore the clothes of a merchant, but was heavily armed. He said almost nothing, other than to ask for me by name, before handing me a folded vellum note closed with a distinctive seal: ‘Matilda, Emperatrix Romanum’.

  It contained only a simple message: ‘Venire mox, pons Yssoir, Le Mans’. So, fortified by optimism, we headed north-west to respond to Maud’s summons: ‘Come soon, Yssoir Bridge at Le Mans’.

  At the end of May, we tethered our horses and waited on the west bank of the River Sarthe in the lee of the ancient walls of the Presbytery of Our Lady of Le Mans. We could see the ancient Roman walls of Le Mans on the opposite back, with the ornate roof of the Cathedral of St Julien towering above them. Later that day, a plainly dressed rider crossed the old bridge and waited for some time before returning to the city. He did the same thing the next morning, leading us to conclude that he was a messenger from Maud.

  When he came back in the afternoon, I greeted him.

  ‘Who do you seek, friend? I am Harold, Earl of Huntingdon.’

  He responded curtly.

  ‘Wait here for further messages, my Lord.’

  The following afternoon, the messenger reappeared with another short instruction.

  ‘My Lord, the Empress sends her greetings. Go to a small lake in the middle of the Forest of Loudon. Travel for ten miles eastwards from the city, on the old road to Orléans, and you will come to a crossroads. Go south for two miles towards a village called La Raterie, where you will see the lake through the trees on your right. Be there tomorrow night.’

  I could not wait to see Maud, to hear her news. But more importantly, after what had seemed like an eternity, I longed just to cast eyes on her beautiful face once again.

  23. Loudon Mere

  It was almost June, and a warm sunny evening in the Forest of Loudon. The lake was just like a fenland mere – a series of shallow ponds amidst marshland, thick with undergrowth and populated by waterfowl of all kinds. As the sun went down, the reeds and tall marsh grasses became silhouetted against the glistening gold of the water. The vivid reds and yellows of the marsh orchids and water irises faded in the encroaching darkness. It reminded me of some of the mysterious and romantic places in the Fens and Broads of my home.

  With darkness fully settled, we could see the light of a couple of lanterns to the west, on the far side of the mere. It was the dark of the moon, and not easy to make our way over wet ground that would have been impossible to cross in winter. But then one of the lanterns moved towards us – it was held by Maud’s messenger, who guided us to a makeshift camp.

  There were two royal carriages, drawn up around a large camp fire. Hidden in the trees was an escort of just two guards, with a picket-line of horses. With Greta behind her in the shadows, Maud stood close to the fire, the flames of which danced provocatively on the smooth silk of her midnight-blue kirtle, highlighting the delights of her womanly form. The cord at her waist rested on the ample hips I had come to know so well, its tassels hanging down to the heart of her femininity. She looked as enchanting as ever.

  She ran towards me, with tears of joy in her eyes, and rushed into my arms.

  ‘Hal, I can’t believe you’re here. It’s been so long! You are looking wonderful, my handsome Earl of Huntingdon!’

  ‘So are you, my delectable Empress of Rome!’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Greta and Eadmer embrace.

  ‘I assume you know about those two lovebirds?’

  ‘I do, indeed! Isn’t it wonderful? Greta tells me he’s a beast in the bedchamber. What is it with you English – are you all stallions?’

  ‘Just the men! The women make the best brood mares, though. Especially one I know well – England’s finest mount.’

  ‘We
ll, good sir, we must be the perfect breeding pair then?’

  ‘Indeed we are, Ma’am.’

  I couldn’t help laughing at Maud’s earthy humour, but our banter was short-lived. I needed to ask her some questions.

  ‘Your messenger and your other escort – are they Count Geoffrey’s men?’

  ‘No, they’re Lotharingians – my men. They know what happened to Lothar. They’re his brothers, totally loyal to me. When Geoffrey insisted that we live in Le Mans, I asked my father if I could have my own people. He readily agreed, not wanting to leave his daughter defenceless in her husband’s domain. I don’t think he likes him any more than I do.’

  Then I came to the vital question – the one to which I dreaded hearing the answer.

  ‘So does your message mean you’re pregnant?’

  She pulled away from me, suddenly tense.

  ‘Walk with me, darling Hal … It has been a nightmare. Do you mind if I give you the unsavoury details? They are tiresome and unpleasant, but important.’

  She suddenly adopted the guise of an empress who had been regent of a sovereign domain: authoritative and precise.

  ‘Geoffrey is a man now, but he still acts like a child. He is passionate about his hunting, about his feasting and drinking, and about the many whores I’m sure he keeps. That is where he is now – hunting to the north, with a coterie of young girls in his entourage. He comes to me from time to time and fumbles around. Sometimes he manages a proper union, but it’s like copulating with a cold fish – there is no excitement for me. If he is planting his seed, nothing is sprouting in my belly. He has no problem tupping other women, but I think he only likes young girls – I fear he sees me as his mother!’

  I held her as tightly as I could. I knew that what she was telling me was hard enough for me to hear, but even more humiliating for her.

  ‘In fact, his mother died young – she and I would be about the same age. I’m convinced that, for Geoffrey, getting into bed with me is like getting into bed with her … I’m sorry to have to share these sordid facts with you.’

  I now understood that Maud’s message had been sent, not because she was pregnant, but because she was not.

  She continued her formal explanation.

  ‘I keep telling Geoffrey about his responsibilities. I have reminded him that I went to him with a dowry that would buy a kingdom and that his part of the bargain was to do what most men cannot stop themselves doing – to sire a child. But he’s oblivious to reason and has got neither the will nor the wherewithal to fulfil the arrangement. More importantly, he’s threatening to destroy our dream.’

  Realizing the truth behind our encounter, I looked her in the eye.

  ‘So I’m here as a stud bull?’

  She looked vulnerable again, losing the imperious tone, and pleaded with me.

  ‘Is that such a bad thing?’

  An image came into my head of Maud snuggling up to me and pressing herself into my loins. I suddenly began to question the diabolical covenant we had struck with her father.

  ‘It’s not the most romantic of circumstances –’

  ‘I know, my darling, but the pact with the Devil has been made. We have no option, if we are to have a life together. And wouldn’t you prefer your seed in my belly than his?’

  ‘But what kind of life would it bring us and the child – furtive and illicit? He would be a bastard, like me!’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that! But there are only two other options. We could abandon one another and live separate lives, or we could retreat to St Cirq Lapopie and give up the throne. Do you want either of those?’

  It was hard to accept, but she was right. I was desperate to share my life with Maud, even on a compromised basis. And if she were to give up the throne in exchange for a life of humble pleasures in the Lot, what would become of England’s destiny? What would become of the hopes and dreams that my family had fought for so relentlessly, for over sixty years?

  My mind began to accept the strength of Maud’s logic, just as my body began to warm to her presence. My scruples about the wholesomeness of the pact with the King were waning, just as my lascivious feelings for his daughter were waxing.

  She led me to her carriage, which had been arranged like a bed, and pulled me down on to the straw mattress covering its floor. She pressed herself against me, whispering in my ear.

  ‘I need you so much; I hunger for you. Let’s give life to the next King of England …’

  The hours that followed became a blur of wild passion. Dawn came and went, and the heat of the day made the confined space of the carriage as hot as a furnace. The sweat poured from us, but the heat only heightened our hunger, our bodies slithering in their own sap. Our hair was matted to our heads, and our juices mingled as nature intended. If ever a mating was intended to produce robust offspring, this was it.

  We stopped only for food and wine at midday, which Greta had dutifully left at the door of the carriage, and continued our feast of love well into the evening. By the time we had satisfied one another, my loins ached and Maud’s naked limbs were curled around me in blissful exhaustion.

  Sleep was the next delight, with sweet dreams that lasted until dawn, when the gentle sounds of the mere heralded the next day. Maud was still sleeping soundly, but outside Eadmer and Greta had got the fire going and were heating yesterday’s bread and stirring fresh oatmeal. The loyal Lotharingians, taking it in turns to watch over us, were still standing sentinel, and the rising sun was making the dew glisten like a gossamer blanket.

  The amorous assignation continued for three days – just as intense, and just as exhausting – until Maud called a halt, declaring that she feared her husband would shortly return to Le Mans. It was a bitter parting for all of us – made worse by the knowledge that in order for Maud’s ploy to work, she must soon take her husband to her bed to make sense of the pretence we were trying to create.

  I understood, but I felt sad and not a little sordid. I rested my head on her shoulder as we said our goodbyes. She knew it was hard for me to bear.

  ‘I know, my darling. Believe me, it will take all my resolve to do what I have to do, but you know it’s what I must do. There can be no suspicions of anything amiss. Let’s only think about the next time we can be together. Be at the bridge in three weeks’ time. I’ll send word.’

  We had one more similarly passionate rendezvous at Loudon Mere. But at our third meeting, on a beautiful day in August, her mood was less ardent, though no less animated.

  Maud did not run into my arms; she walked at a gentle pace, and looked reserved.

  ‘Darling Hal, it’s wonderful to see you, but I’m afraid something has happened. I cannot stay for our tryst …’

  I stretched out my arms, sensing her discomfort.

  ‘That’s fine, my darling. The important thing is to be able to see you, however briefly –’

  Then I saw Greta trying to hold back a giggle, which made Maud scream with delight.

  ‘I’m pregnant! It must have been that first time we were together. I can’t believe it’s finally happened.’

  Greta cried and Eadmer slapped me on the back. I felt tears running down my face. I could not find the right words, but just kept saying how happy I was.

  Maud adopted her imperious guise again to describe the next stage of our devious plan.

  ‘Darling, I must return to Rouen now. Apart from wanting to give my father the news in person, it takes me away from Geoffrey, who is mightily relieved that he has delivered his side of the bargain. I am going to take to my bed and live in a shaded room. Nothing must happen to this child! I’m going to eat like a horse and grow as fat as a pig.’

  Eventually, I took on the role of the authoritative new f
ather.

  ‘Eadmer and I will return to St Cirq Lapopie. We cannot be near Rouen until the child is born. As soon as the time is right, and your father sanctions my return, I will be with you as fast as is humanly possible.’

  This time, it was a bitter-sweet parting. We were both excited that the first part of our pact with the King had been accomplished, and in a far more satisfying way than we had dreamed of. But we were also anxious that the future was fraught with so many dangers.

  Nevertheless, the deed had been done. And there was no turning back.

  Another phase of my life was about to begin. Eadmer’s question summed it up, in his typically succinct way, on our long journey back to St Cirq Lapopie.

  ‘What does it feel like to have sired a future King of England?’

  I did not answer. I just smiled, but inside I had mixed feelings. There was joy at the thought of what it meant in terms of my family’s journey, disappointment that the truth of our place in the royal lineage must never be known, and anxiety that Maud and I had woven a web of deceit which, no matter how worthy our intentions, may have serious consequences for all of us.

  I touched the Talisman around my neck and wondered what all those who had worn it would think about its present guardian. Indeed, in the light of Maud’s momentous announcement, I was momentarily arrogant enough to contemplate the thought that I might be the rightful recipient of the Talisman, rather than its guardian.

  Maud gave birth to a son on 5 March 1133, in Le Mans. Although Maud resisted it, Geoffrey had insisted that she return to Maine for the birth, rather than have the child delivered in Rouen. Maud had agreed, in the end – simply to keep Geoffrey happy.

  A hefty and vigorous baby, with a shock of red hair, he was named Henry, after his grandfather. He was heir to a vast domain that encompassed not only England and Normandy, but also vast stretches of western France including Maine and Anjou. The King was particularly delighted about the red hair, which was so reminiscent of his own father’s famous mane, the great patriarch of the Norman dynasty, William, Conqueror of the English. He ordered that, at his expense, celebrations be held throughout his realms.