‘As you wish, I will be nearby if you need me. I am Gilbert Foliot, Abbot here at Gloucester.’
‘Forgive me, Abbot …’
I winced in pain and began to falter.
‘Perhaps we could talk a little …’
I could not finish the sentence and fell back. My head hit the hard oak of the table with a thump. Stunned and incapable of further speech, I listened to the Abbot and his infirmerer discussing the extent of my injuries.
‘Abbot, he has lost much blood, I doubt that he will survive the night.’
‘Do what you can. What’s his name?’
‘We don’t know; he would not give us his name, and neither will his men.’
I heard the Abbot ask his Prior to give me the extreme unction of Christ’s sacrament, and then his footsteps started to recede as he turned to leave the refectory. But as he reached the door, the Prior summoned him back.
‘Abbot, look at the amulet he is wearing – I’ve never seen anything like it. It must be an evil charm!’
The Prior seemed very agitated by it, but the Abbot replied with a calm authority.
‘It is certainly unusual. I have tucked it under his jerkin; give him extreme unction and we will ask him about the amulet in the morning. If he lives that long …’
The Abbot’s words were obscured by the fog of unconsciousness that threatened to claim me, when all hell suddenly broke loose in the Abbey. First it was the thunder of the hooves of a large force of cavalry, then the hurried footsteps and clanging of armour of a significant body of men, followed by orders being barked and the door of the Abbey being thumped impatiently, demanding admittance.
The Abbot swiftly issued his commands to the Prior.
‘Draw the screens around our wounded visitor. The law of sanctuary requires us to protect him, whoever he may be – and however he may have acquired his injuries. Then prepare to open the door and greet our guests.’
‘But, Abbot, there are a lot of men out there –’
‘Open the door!’
The Prior did as he was bid, and I heard the unmistakable sounds of at least a dozen fully armed and breathless men pouring through the entrance. Hidden behind the screens, feeling as weak as a baby, my safety depended on the Abbot’s ability to contain the violent intent of the intruders.
‘We seek a knight and his band of brigands! They have committed mayhem and murder at King Stephen’s court at Oxford.’
‘Sir Knight, I realize you are on important business, but is it not courteous to begin with formal introductions? I am Gilbert, Abbot of Gloucester, and this is Prior Anselm. And you are?’
‘I am Waleran, a Knight of Northumbria. I serve my Lord Alan, Earl of Richmond. He and his men have been attacked in full view of the King by a group of thugs in the service of the Bishop of Salisbury.’
I was aware that everything hinged on the Abbot’s reply. Was he a supporter of the Empress Matilda’s claim to King Stephen’s throne?
‘I know Roger of Salisbury well. I’m sure his men would not commit a heinous crime anywhere, let alone at the King’s court.’
‘Abbot, I must apologize for contradicting you, but that is the case. And the men responsible were only an hour or so ahead of us as we approached your Abbey. Are they taking shelter here? At least one of them is wounded.’
Again, I had no idea how the Abbot would respond. If he denied that I was here, and with my men’s horses still outside, he risked aiding and abetting men who seemed to be beyond the law. Andy yet, my instincts suggested that he too was a supporter of Matilda and that the identity of his nameless guest interested him – an identity made even more intriguing by the peculiar amulet I wore around my neck, and which had so alarmed the Prior.
‘We have had no visitors here tonight, wounded or otherwise.’
Waleran was clearly unconvinced by the Abbot’s denial.
‘I need to search the Abbey.’
‘Do you doubt my word?’
‘It is my duty to hunt this man down. He may have gained entry without your knowledge.’
I knew the game was up: the Abbot could only deny entry to Waleran and his men based on an obstinate sense of territoriality, or because he had something to hide. As he had already denied that the man being sought was in the Abbey, his obstinacy was likely to cost him dear.
Then I was thrown a lifeline; one of the knight’s men appeared at the door.
‘Sir, their horses have been found tethered at the quayside by the river.’
I heard Waleran’s impatience in his voice.
‘Thank you, Abbot Gilbert. I am sorry to have troubled you at this hour; it looks like the villains have made off by boat.’
He then turned, shouted new orders to his men and was gone.
After a moment of silence, I heard the Abbot reflect calmly.
‘Clever, they must have secured their horses by the river before doubling back to the Abbey. Our guests are clearly used to the need for making clandestine contingencies.’
To the amazement of the Abbot – and to my intense relief – his anonymous visitor did not die in the night.
When the Abbot came to see me after morning prayers, I was very weak and pale, but still breathing. He sat with me for a while and offered some silent prayers for my recovery, all the time unaware of the identity of his mysterious visitor.
After a while, I felt able to open my eyes. I laboured to speak in a low voice.
‘Is it morning, Abbot?’
‘It is.’
I winced in pain as I tried to adjust my position.
‘I need to piss.’
‘There is a pot here.’
‘Pissing in pots is for old men.’
I tried to get up, but fell back, this time with a heartfelt grimace. The Abbot helped me to sit up and use the piss pot.
‘Not very dignified for an abbot.’
‘I’ve done worse. But when you need a shite, I’ll summon my infirmerer; that’s part of his job.’
‘My prospects do not seem too good at the moment.’
‘You have lost a lot of blood. Rest is the only cure.’
‘I cannot rest. There are things I must do.’
‘May I know your name?’
‘You may not. I know it seems ill-mannered, but I have my reasons.’
‘Would you like to purge your soul? It may be wise.’
‘You mean a spiritual shite? I suppose that’s your job. You may well be right, Abbot, and I thank you for the thoughtful offer. But although my sins may be legion and my need for divine cleansing greater than most, I am not quite ready to die.’
‘A young knight, Waleran of Northumbria, was here last night, looking for you and accusing you of murder in the name of Roger of Salisbury.’
‘He is right in part; I killed a man at Oxford, but it was not murder. There was a fight, and men die in fights. We acted not in the cause of Roger of Salisbury, but in the name of Empress Matilda. I heard you tell the knight that I wasn’t here. I am grateful, Abbot, but why did you lie on my behalf?’
‘I don’t know, but my instincts suggested I should protect you.’
‘You have good instincts, Abbot Gilbert. I am in your debt.’
‘You can repay me.’
‘How?’
‘Tell me who you are, and tell me about your amulet.’
‘I cannot give you my name but I can give you a clue. Coincidentally, my grandfather escaped to a new life from Gloucester quay a very long time ago. You will know his name. As for the amulet, it is the Talisman of Truth. I am its guardian, as were three previous generations of my family.’
‘Your answer only begs more questions. I have a distant recollection of a “Talisman of Truth”. Tell me more – at least, your grand
father’s name.’
‘That would be unwise. I’ve said as much as I can, I’m sorry I can’t say more.’
It was time to stir myself; I shouted to my men, who were waiting outside the door, as loudly as my condition allowed.
‘Eadmer, get the men organized, and saddle the horses! We’re leaving.’
I needed help to get to my horse. Three of my sturdy men-at-arms appeared and helped me towards the door. I was still in great pain and perspiring profusely. It was hard to disguise my discomfort as my men almost dragged me to the doorway. I looked at the infirmerer and his assistant, who were both looking on anxiously.
The shook their heads in unison.
‘Good knight, stay here for a while. You are giving yourself a death sentence by attempting to move.’
I stopped momentarily and turned to face Abbot Gilbert. I set my jaw firmly, determined to take my leave with all due courtesy.
‘I will always be grateful to you for what you did last night. My men will leave you a purse of silver to help with your work on the Abbey.’
‘Thank you, all contributions to support our important work here are gratefully received.’
‘You know that I am a supporter of the Empress Matilda –’
‘Are we not all fond of the late King Henry’s beautiful daughter?’
‘That’s not an answer. A war is coming, and you know what the conflict will be about. So I ask you now: do you support the Empress in her claim for England’s crown?’
I saw the Abbot hesitate at first, before deciding to respond candidly.
‘I have always thought that Matilda has a stronger claim to England. Indeed, her father, Henry Beauclerc, declared that he wished her to succeed him.’
‘I am grateful for your honesty, Abbot. You will be gratified to know that she will soon have her chance. Say nothing of this, or of my presence here. If you give me your word on that, and if circumstances permit, I promise to return one day. You can hear my confession – not that it will do me much good.’
‘You have my word.’
‘I hear you also oppose the power of the Knights Templar?’
‘I do, their influence has gone too far and their power is much too great. Their Grand Master now stands equal to cardinals and princes.’
‘Good men in the Church are rare – especially among the Norman hierarchy.’
The events of the previous night had proved that Abbot Gilbert was one such good man.
I knew now what I must do, and summoned Eadmer to bring the casket that had been entrusted to me by William of Malmesbury. He handed me the heavy wooden casket, locked by a large bronze clasp.
‘Please keep this with your reliquary. I trust this to you as a man of God; it needs to be protected on hallowed ground and far from the grasp of the Templars. Please don’t let me down.’
‘I will guard it as you wish. It will be safe with me. But you will understand if I say I am reluctant to take on such a responsibility for an anonymous man?’
I could prevaricate no longer. I adjusted my stance, with a frown of discomfort, and gave the Abbot the best answer I could muster.
‘You have done me a great service – and to England and its future Queen. You have put your trust in me; I think now I must trust you. I am Harold of Hereford, my father was Sweyn of Bourne, loyal servant to Edgar the Atheling and Duke Robert of Normandy. My grandfather was Hereward of Bourne, who fought with King Harold at Stamford Bridge and on Senlac Ridge and then led the defenders against William the Conqueror at the Siege of Ely.’
The Abbot was stunned for a moment. Searching for words, he made a shallow bow.
‘We are honoured to have you here in Gloucester.’
With that, our conversation was at an end.
Supported on either side by my men, I shuffled away, relying on Eadmer to supervise our departure from the Abbey.
I feared the spectre of death would soon have its way with me. But whatever lay ahead, I had fulfilled my promise to William of Malmesbury to guard his casket. Thanks to the intervention of Abbot Gilbert, it would now be locked safely in the crypt with the other relics of Gloucester Abbey.
28. Landfall at Last
The days after my visit to Gloucester were difficult for me and for England. My wounds were severe and I needed rest, but England’s wounds were then only mild; there would be much worse to come.
Eadmer got me away in a small boat down the River Severn – just as my grandfather had escaped when he was an outlaw – and we made landfall at the mouth of the River Brue in Somerset. We lost ourselves deep into the hinterland, in search of a place for me to recuperate. In the middle of the wilderness of Somerset’s marshland, we met Juliano – a large and jovial Cistercian monk from Navarre. He was on his way from Glastonbury to a new Cistercian foundation called Forde Abbey, at Thorncombe.
It was a perfect destination for us. Hidden in thick woodland on the western edge of the Dorset Downs, but only a short distance from the ancient Fosse Way between Lincoln and Exeter, it offered a refuge from the turmoil engulfing England. The monks, mainly Iberians from Navarre and Castille, had only just begun to speak English and kept to themselves as much as they could. There was a foundation of nuns nearby, headed by Abbess Alicia, a very fetching Galician woman, and I always thought there was more to her friendship with Juliano than a shared love of the Church’s catechism.
It was several weeks before the earnest young Cistercians got me back on my feet. It was a frustrating time, but I had to be patient while I recovered. I tried to find contentment within the tranquillity of England’s meadows and forests, but it was difficult, knowing that events were moving rapidly and that Maud was still waiting for news in Normandy. Eadmer would help me walk around the villages nearby. I found a perfect perch for reflection, high on a hill above the village of Wynsham, from where I had fine views of forests and meadows all the way to the sea at Lyme Bay.
Juliano was a fine host; all he asked in return for his hospitality was help in learning English, a service I was delighted to render. He learned quickly and was soon fluent – especially when he learned to speak at a normal English pace, rather than in the excitable babble of his native Castiliano.
Eadmer managed to get a message to Earl Robert at Gloucester, asking him to send it on to Caen. It simply reassured Maud that I was well, and urged her to remain in a state of readiness.
By late August 1139, I had regained my strength. After thanking Juliano and his monks, and donating a pouch of silver for an altar cross to grace their new chapel, Eadmer and I rode to Robert of Gloucester’s impressive fortification at Bristol. Bounded by the River Avon on one side, moated on the other three sides, and fortified by a huge curtain wall and towering keep, it was one of England’s most secure citadels.
Earl Robert greeted us warmly when we arrived at Bristol.
‘My Lord Huntingdon, I have the pleasure of meeting you at last – another half-brother. What a prodigious father we had!’
‘Indeed, Lord Robert; and I am delighted to meet the elder statesman of our family.’
‘Yes, but our family is a matriarchy, is it not? Surely Matilda is mother to us all.’
‘Well said, sir.’
‘Let’s dispense with formalities. I hear you go by the name Hal. Please call me Robert. Come and sit, I have important news.’
I took to Robert immediately. He was a tall man, fair in complexion, but with a warrior’s build. He was welcoming to Eadmer and had a casual rapport with all around him, especially his soldiers. We sat in front of the fireplace of his Great Hall, which, even in August, roared as it consumed several logs as big as a man’s thigh. Like my mother’s great cathedral at Norwich, the Normans’ mighty stone keeps never seemed to be warm.
&n
bsp; ‘Hal, Stephen has made a grave mistake. The time for us to strike is coming soon. The brawl at Oxford, where you were wounded, was instigated by him. He has become mistrustful of everyone – especially of the bishops and, in particular, of Roger of Salisbury. He thinks everyone is plotting against him. The Earl of Richmond’s men provoked the melee at Oxford, and several were killed. But Stephen laid the blame on Bishop Roger’s men – and in particular on you, the Earl of Huntingdon, posing under a pseudonym, one Robyn of Hode. So, after me, you are the most hunted man in England!’
‘I regard it as a position of great privilege.’
‘So you should! Stephen has had Roger of Salisbury arrested, along with two of his nephews – Alexander, Bishop of Lincoln, and Nigel, Bishop of Ely. He has taken their palaces and holdings into his own Exchequer. But it was a serious mistake: there is uproar, and even Stephen’s own brother, Henry of Blois, Bishop of Winchester, has called him to account. Henry convened an ecclesiastical council at Winchester, to which he summoned Stephen to justify what Henry called “an act of barbarity against the Church”. Stephen was humiliated in public and has lost all credibility among the earls.’
‘Then Maud must come to England immediately.’
‘Agreed! You must go to her at once; but we have to be careful. The journey from Bristol is too far by sea, and Stephen still controls the ports in the south, bar one.’
‘Which is?’
‘Arundel, which is held by Adeliza, King Henry’s widow, our stepmother. She is now married to William d’Aubigny, and both are loyal to our sister. Adeliza is particularly annoyed that King Henry’s wish that Matilda should be Queen was ignored by those who were supposedly loyal to him.’
‘I will leave for Normandy immediately.’
‘Good, when you set sail, get word to me here in Bristol and I will wreak havoc in the West Country sufficient to persuade Stephen to mount a campaign down here and deflect his attention from the south coast. Again, when you arrive in Arundel, send word and I will rally our supporters and gather our army.’
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