Maud was overjoyed at the news when we were reunited in Caen. Count Geoffrey provided a small contingent of knights and seemed delighted that, unhindered by his wife’s presence in the Dukedom, he would soon have free rein as Lord of Normandy. Our children – Henry, Geoffrey and William – together with Eadmer and Greta’s daughter Gretchen and her newly arrived sister, Ursula, were left in the unstinting care of Fulk of Falaise, at Argentan.
We all set sail for England. These were happy days during which our quartet of brothers-in-arms revived the spirit of our clandestine encounters in the Forest of Loudon and resumed our adventure.
Empress Matilda, Lady of the English, made landfall on the banks of the River Arun on 30 September 1139, eight years after she had last set foot on English soil. Adeliza was there to meet us and had called out her entire garrison to create a processional route fit for the Queen. Cheering wildly and shouting ‘God Bless you, Queen Matilda, Lady of the English!’ the people of the burgh lined our route as we made our way up to the castle.
Maud looked radiant and wore the small ducal coronet she had used in Normandy. She was in her thirty-eighth year, the mother of three children, but she still looked like a girl in her twenties – exactly as I remembered her when we first fell in love at St Cirq Lapopie. Indeed, our subsequent nights together – in a very private chamber that Adeliza made available to Maud in Arundel’s colossal gateway – were also wonderfully reminiscent of our time together in the Lot.
I chose a particular moment carefully. It was early one morning, and the cold air of autumn was already bringing a chill to the ground. I awoke to find Maud, covered only by her cloak, standing by the arched window of our chamber. The sun had just brought its golden glow to the morning mists over the burgh and the meadows beyond. She was staring at her realm, her England.
I took the Talisman and, once again feeling honoured to be its guardian, placed it around her neck.
‘There you are, my Lady of the English, the Talisman of Truth for our new Queen. It looks right on you. Come back to bed. I would like to pay homage to my liege as her loyal servant.’
She smiled her incomparable smile and turned to kiss me.
‘I will rule well here, I promise. I will bring the best of my Norman blood and the best of my English heritage. But you have to promise to keep feeding me with that powerful seed in your loins – I have my appetite back again!’
At first, we assumed that it was Robert’s army that approached Arundel in early October, but it was Stephen’s force. He had received news of our landing at Arundel while he was besieging Corfe Castle in Dorset, refuge to one of the growing number of his enemies. England’s usurper King did not lack resolve, nor did he lack the ability to act decisively. Within ten days, Stephen’s formidable army had moved far more quickly than Robert’s, had isolated Arundel, and had begun preparations for a siege. We were trapped with only our own small force and Arundel’s modest garrison for protection.
The next morning, Stephen asked for a parlay to be convened within the hour. We had no choice but to agree, and so Maud and I rode out to meet her cousin – the man she had not met since he swore his oath of loyalty to her in Rouen eleven years earlier. Adeliza insisted on accompanying us, as did her husband and several members of Arundel’s retinue. Eadmer was by my side, while Otto and Berenger flanked Maud. Stephen was accompanied by several senior supporters, notably his brother, Bishop Henry, who now seemed to be reconciled with a man whose position as King he had seriously undermined just three months ago.
Inevitably, the atmosphere was icy; Stephen spoke first, smiling broadly at his stepmother.
‘Queen Adeliza, thank you for playing host to my cousin; and my thanks to your husband.’
When he turned to Maud, his smile became more forced.
‘Welcome to my realm, Cousin Matilda. You know my brother – Henry, Bishop of Winchester.’
Maud remained calm, despite the provocative greeting.
‘This is Harold – the Earl of Huntingdon and Commander of my personal retinue.’
‘Ah, yes, the Earl of Huntingdon. Or are you using your commoner’s name today?’
‘I am using my real name – unlike you, who is passing himself off as the King of England!’
The forced smile on Stephen’s face became a sneer.
‘Well, well, cousin. He’s got a vicious tongue, has he not? No wonder he spends his time brawling in taverns.’
Maud, none too pleased with my outburst, decided to intervene.
‘Cousin Stephen, let us come to the point; your illegal reign here is no longer tenable.’
‘How so? I think it is my army – England’s army – that surrounds you, an uninvited guest in my domain.’
‘Stephen, let me be clear. You know that you no longer command the respect of your lords and that the bishops have gone so far as to admonish you in public. I will grant you safe passage to Blois and will honour a treaty bringing peace to Blois and Normandy.’
Stephen grinned.
‘So, even though I have you surrounded here at Arundel, you expect me to relinquish my throne to you and sail away to Blois? I think you have taken leave of your senses.’
‘My army, with Earl Robert of Gloucester at its head, is massing in the west at this moment.’
‘Then they’re in the wrong place, aren’t they? We’re in the south, and this is Sussex.’
He laughed loudly, a hearty guffaw, and those around him did the same.
‘Cousin Matilda, I will give you two choices: submit to me now, and I will escort you to your ships for a safe return to Normandy; or stay here and feel my wrath. I am the King here in England, and you challenge my authority; that I cannot tolerate.’
Adeliza was growing increasingly irritated by the exchange.
‘Don’t be foolish, Stephen. I am the Dowager Queen of England; Matilda is Dowager Empress of the Holy Roman Empire. You cannot do us harm here. If you do, your already tenuous grip on power will be loosened completely.’
Adeliza had brought Stephen up sharply. He looked across at his brother, Henry, whose expression suggested that he thought Adeliza’s argument could not be gainsaid. Stephen, clearly disconcerted, adjusted his position in his saddle.
‘Very well, I will grant you and your retinue safe passage to Earl Robert. But understand this: thereafter, whenever our forces meet, battle will follow, with no allowance for your feminine status, or Adeliza’s eminence as dowager of the realm. Matilda, if you want to rule like a king, you will be treated like a king. But take my advice, be content as Dowager Empress and Countess of Anjou. England is mine.’
Stephen rode off, leaving Maud crestfallen; her dream, although not yet destroyed, had been dealt a severe blow.
I tried to console her, but it was a bitter disappointment for all of us. We chose to eschew any pretence of a regal progress to Bristol. Leaving her elegant clothes and regal accoutrements behind, to follow by carriage, Maud joined Greta in wearing the thick leggings of a knight as we rode at a canter westwards across the Downs. Had events turned out differently, it would have been an exhilarating ride, but in our present circumstances it became a necessary chore.
On the high ground of the Downs and across Salisbury Plain, England seemed serenely beautiful and at peace, but in the burghs and villages there was turmoil everywhere. Lord fought lord, and arguments were settled by the sword; instead of nurturing the souls of men, the clergy seized land and chattels at will. Many poor people hid in the forests. Villains roamed freely, pillaging as they pleased. The many fortifications built to bring Norman law to the realm closed their gates and provisioned themselves for the coming winter – not just to protect themselves against the seasonal winter, but also against the winter of lawlessness that wa
s engulfing the land. Farms were robbed of their beasts and crops, barns were emptied, granaries raided. Those left outside the walls of the fortresses were abandoned to starvation and destitution. England was in a state of anarchy.
Earl Robert’s castle at Bristol was a welcoming sight. Camped all around was a significant body of men – perhaps as many as 6,000 – and we all began to feel much more optimistic. Earl Robert had been able to gather the majority of Maud’s supporters in one place, but that task had made it impossible to get to Arundel in time to thwart Stephen’s advance. He and his fellow supporters were shamefaced about it when we arrived, but were nevertheless relieved to see that Maud had made it to Bristol without their aid.
Maud called a council of war within an hour of our arrival. Gratifyingly, her supporters were a formidable gathering. Apart from Earl Robert, the most respected soldier in the land, there was Miles, High Sheriff of Gloucester – a man of honour who had loyally served Maud’s father all his life – and Brien FitzCount, the illegitimate son of the Count of Brittany, a brilliant military tactician and commander of cavalry. Although there were many other lords present, those three were our High Command.
Maud’s address to her supporters began solemnly, but ended with a rousing call to arms.
‘My Lords, at long last I am with you! England is in chaos and our army is ready to strike to put an end to Stephen’s misrule. But do not underestimate him; he is brave and moves his army at lightning speed. We must be strong and decisive. No more lady’s finery for me until I’m Queen; I ride with my army in cavalry breeches like the rest of you. Together we will free England from its reign of terror and put King Henry’s chosen successor where she belongs.’
Raucous cheering echoed around Bristol’s walls as Maud finished her rallying call. She asked me for my sword and raised it high above her head, creating even more enthusiastic support.
We spent the rest of 1139 campaigning in the west until, one by one, all the major fortifications west of Salisbury were loyal to Maud: Worcester, Trowbridge, Dunster, Gloucester, Devizes and Malmesbury, all were persuaded to become part of our growing domain.
In November, Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, died – as a direct result, it was said, of his treatment at the hands of Stephen. This further reinforced the clergy’s distaste for his rule.
The year 1140 saw a war of attrition unfold as Stephen struck back at every gain we had made in the previous year. Prompted by thuggery, bribery and blackmail, loyalties among the nobles wavered. Few battles were fought; Stephen’s tactics relied on a show of force, followed by threats or promises, then capitulation.
Vital resources of men and money started to become diminished for both protagonists. Treasuries were emptied on both sides of the Channel; heavy debts and obligations were incurred.
The gravediggers were exhausted and the moneylenders became rich. Everyone else suffered – especially the poor and the peasants, who died in their droves. In many parts of the land, the suffering populace endured a return to the death and destruction of the Great Conquest by William and his marauding army. Even those who were relatively secure in their walled fortresses, able to live off the resources they had plundered, had to live in a climate of terror.
It became a stalemate – not a temporary hiatus, but one that lasted for months – during which the suffering and anguish of the people continued unabated. Whole burghs were burned to the ground and homeless families littered the roadsides as they evacuated their meagre shelters to find refuge in the wildwood. Whole communities, some numbered in their thousands, scratched a living from the forest. Torture and mutilation were commonplace. Knotted ropes were used to slowly squeeze people’s heads until their skulls shattered. Others were crushed in what became known as ‘torture chambers’. Small iron boxes were made, into which victims would be placed before heavy stones were piled on top of the box to suffocate them. Iron collars, clamped around a victim’s throat and chained high up on a wall, were used to bring a lingering death as, bound at the wrists, the prisoner could neither sit nor lie down, being denied sleep or rest. Eventually the poor unfortunate choked to death, unable to hold their weight any longer.
Priests prayed, and masses were said to bring an end to the misery. But to no avail; the torment continued.
Stephen’s brother, Bishop Henry, tried to negotiate a treaty of peace at the end of the year and even crossed the Channel to discuss it with Maud’s husband – who was now in complete control in Normandy – and with the French King, Louis VII. Maud was prepared to accept a negotiated settlement to put an end to the suffering, but Stephen refused.
By the autumn of 1140, Robert had agreed that Maud should have her own court at his castle at Gloucester, and we had been living there for several months. Eadmer and Greta, our loyal companions, were with us, as always; she had started to accompany him in his ballads, bringing a sweet female pitch to his lyrics. Eadmer’s singing became well known among the army and many men could, in moments of happiness or melancholy, be heard singing them – especially the best-known one, ‘The Ballad of Robyn of Hode’.
But winter was beckoning, with no prospect of a respite from the agony.
Maud had had enough.
‘Hal, I can’t bear it any more. The two armies are exhausted, our coffers are almost empty, and the people are dying like flies.’
I felt the same, but knew I had to encourage her to keep going.
‘We’ve come too far, my darling. If we capitulate now, Stephen’s vengeance will know no limit. The suffering will be even worse.’
‘But don’t you think the price being paid by the people of England is too high already?’
‘You’re right, it is a terrible price. But our cause is just, and we have to see it through.’
‘Is that what your father and grandfather would have done?’
‘Of course! And your father and grandfather too. Remember, our grandfathers fought over this land more than seventy years ago. The fight still goes on.’
‘But I am a woman. I’m not sure I have the stomach any more.’
‘Yes, you do. You’re every bit as strong as Stephen. And don’t forget that my mother and grandmother, as well as the brave Adela, were also part of the fight. Adela became a Knight of Islam and fought alongside my father.’
‘I know in my heart that you’re right, Hal. I can accept the campaigning and the days in the saddle, the terrible food and the makeshift latrines. But it’s the people’s faces I can’t cope with: sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, the vacant look of hunger. I can barely look them in the eye, because they know I’m to blame.’
‘You’re not to blame, your cousin is the guilty party. And one day, when the suffering is over, the people of England will thank you for delivering them from his disastrous rule.’
‘Oh, Hal, I pray you’re right.’
29. Battle of Lincoln
Several councils of war were called at the end of 1140, where it was agreed that the fight against King Stephen must go on. Count Geoffrey sent vital resources of money, food and weapons from Normandy to fuel his wife’s cause.
As there was little chance of breaking the deadlock of strike and counter-strike in the west of England, we turned our attentions to the east, where we already had the support of the two nephews of Roger of Salisbury. There had been several risings against Stephen in the east, each of which he suppressed.
But at the end of 1140, at our instigation, Ranulf, Earl of Chester – the most powerful lord in the north, and more inclined to Maud than to Stephen – attacked and captured the castle at Lincoln.
It was a ruse designed to bring Stephen to the burgh, where we would ambush him.
Stephen responded to our provocation as we knew he would and, with typical speed, de
scended on Lincoln on Twelfth Night, 1141. We were well prepared and left Gloucester for Lincoln as soon as the trap was set. Maud had developed a fever, accompanied by a hacking cough, and I insisted that she stay behind to be nursed by Greta, guarded by Otto and Berenger. She was reluctant to stay, but a forced march on horseback across 120 miles of open country in the middle of winter was out of the question.
Her parting words to me were a reflection of the two things that she meant to me, as my lover and my sworn liege.
‘Bring me my crown, if you can. But come back safely, if you can’t. If I may not have an empire in England, then we’ve always got our empire at St Cirq Lapopie.’
In the west, the winter had been wet, with significant snow; in Lincoln the ground was dry, but hard from weeks of frost. It reminded me of Norwich – pleasant enough on most days, but when the wind blew from the east, it was a cold and miserable place.
Stephen had not brought a large force to Lincoln. Its garrison was not formidable, and it was a long way away from the heartland where most of England’s conflict was occurring. The burgh’s castle was of significant proportions, reworked on an original Roman fortress. In order to join our ambush, Ranulf had ensured that Lincoln was well supplied and secure before he slipped out of its ancient Newport Arch – from where, in another age, Rome’s legions had marched to conquer the distant north.
He left his wife, Maud of Gloucester – the daughter of our loyal friend, Robert of Gloucester – to reject Stephen’s demands to relinquish the castle, which she did resolutely. By the time our force arrived, Stephen was in the midst of constructing his siege engines and organizing his assault teams. We caught him completely unawares and outnumbered. But to his credit, he chose to stand his ground – as a man of courage, retreat was anathema to him.
He had lived all his life with the slur of cowardice. During the Great Crusade, forty years earlier, his father, Count Stephen II, had fled in panic to his home in Blois during the appalling Siege of Antioch. Such was the disgrace that his mother, the formidable Adela – the daughter of William, Conqueror of the English – forced him to return to the Holy Land two years later to try to redeem himself. Sadly, he was killed at the Second Battle of Ramla.
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