The Passionate Enemies

by Jean Plaidy

  He allowed his wife Matilda to see his consternation; he knew that he must be wary of others. It would be fatal at this stage to offend the King.

  Matilda, however, for all that she failed to excite him, was completely reliable.

  ‘I do not understand how the King can consider it,’ he said. ‘It is an insult. I . . . to walk behind the son of one of his mistresses.’

  ‘You know, Stephen, how he loves Robert of Gloucester.’

  ‘We all know how he dotes on the fellow. But he is a bastard.’

  ‘The King’s own son,’ said Matilda gently.

  ‘Matilda, if the King allows this I have but one alternative . . . to return to Boulogne immediately after the ceremony.’

  ‘It might offend the King.’

  ‘I should be in Boulogne before he was able to express his displeasure.’

  ‘Do not risk offending him, Stephen.’

  ‘I shall care nothing for it if he allows me to be treated so, for depend upon it, Matilda, if he allows this it means that he has put me from his mind as regards . . . higher things.’

  She understood him well. She knew of the ambitions he rarely allowed others to see. She knew that he could be cruel. He had been so during his campaigns. He was not so open and frank as he appeared to be. Most men – and women particularly – found him affable but they did not know that there was a purpose behind his actions. They did not know that ever since the death of Prince William, Stephen had passionately longed to become King of England.

  They guessed that the idea would enter his head that it might be a possibility, but that was natural enough for he was in the line of succession. They believed though that in his rather carefree amiable way Stephen had no great ambition.

  Little did they know, thought Matilda. It seemed that the vision of a crown could change men. Yet was it really change?

  There were two things she had always feared. One was that the King would die and that Stephen would take the throne; the other was that the Empress Matilda would return. This last had come to pass and she often wondered what was happening between this woman and her husband.

  At least Stephen still longed for the crown; and how could it be his if it were Matilda’s?

  ‘Stephen,’ she said, laying her hand gently on his arm, ‘be careful.’

  He covered her hand with his. ‘You may be sure I shall,’ he answered her with a tender smile. ‘I can talk to you of these matters as I can to few others. I can trust you, Matilda.’

  ‘Whom should a man trust if not his wife?’

  ‘I should be grateful for you,’ he said.

  She wondered whether when he said those words he was thinking of the other Matilda.

  It was with great pleasure that he received his brother Henry at Windsor.

  To please his sister Adela, Stephen’s mother, early that year the King had invited another of her sons to England where he might have an opportunity of making his fortune. The King had always been on very special terms of friendship with his sister and Adela followed her brother’s progress with the utmost interest. She had applauded when he captured their elder brother Robert and imprisoned him; she informed him of the Clito’s movements in Normandy whenever she could, so it was small wonder that the King should wish to repay her by helping her children.

  Her third son Stephen had become more of an Englishman than a Norman and Adela had believed that he had had a good chance of taking the crown on his uncle’s death. Now the Empress Matilda had been widowed that was changed and she deplored the fact that they had not married Stephen to the King’s daughter Matilda rather than to his wife’s niece. However, that was done and could not be changed, but Henry at least had offered to do something for her fourth son Henry, named after him.

  He had written to his sister. ‘I can now offer your son Henry the Abbacy of Glastonbury. This will be but a beginning. I do not see why he should not in due course hold a high place in the Church.’

  Adela had been delighted. This was an excellent opportunity for her son, and good for her brother too. She knew that Henry planned to fill the Church with men who would serve him well, and who better than his own nephew?

  ‘If Henry should prove as good a friend to me as Stephen,’ added the King, ‘he need have no fears about his future.’

  Young Henry, who had been brought up in the monastery of Cluny, was eager to accept the invitation and Stephen had warmly welcomed his brother, not only because of the family ties but because he knew that in Henry he would have a supporter when he should need it. He took his brother to his apartment where they might talk in secret.

  Henry was astute and he was well aware of Stephen’s hopes and fears. Immediately they began to discuss the significance of the order of precedence.

  Henry knew of this for the whole Court was discussing it and he was determined with Stephen that it must not be.

  ‘Yet,’ said Stephen, ‘if the King should decree that his bastard Robert go before me, what can I do?’

  ‘I think, brother, then you should leave Court at once.’

  ‘And not swear fealty to the Empress?’

  ‘If you did not do that it might well be the end of you.’

  ‘I believe that might well be. The King has been a good friend to me since I came to his Court but if I refused this order – and it is an order – I should so incur his wrath that he might well have me in a dungeon. I can tell you, Henry, that your uncle’s rages can be terrible. He could demand my blood or my eyes in one of his rages and I assure you that would be my end.’

  ‘Nay, Stephen, you must take the oath of fealty to the Empress Matilda. But if the King should put Robert of Gloucester before you, then you should ask permission to leave Court and go to Boulogne with your wife and child.’

  ‘I see it is the only course to take.’

  ‘It is a pity that the Emperor died. Had he gone on living . . . had the King died first . . .’

  ‘Hush, Henry, now it is you who are being indiscreet. Not a word of that. The Empress is here. She is the King’s daughter. That is something we must accept.’

  He smiled, thinking of her – Matilda the haughty Empress who was so enchanted by him that in spite of her arrogant nature she could not hide it.

  How could he be sorry that she had come home, no matter in what circumstances?

  In the hall the Empress sat with her half-brother Robert, Earl of Gloucester. How respectful was the Earl. He was certainly pleased with himself, thought Stephen, as he approached them. And small wonder. The King doted on this son. It was said that of all his bastards – and there were more than twenty of them – Robert of Gloucester was the favourite. The King had bestowed great honours on him – lands and a rich wife; it was frequently whispered that one of the King’s greatest regrets was that this fine man – soldier and scholar, a combination which never failed to appeal to Henry – was not his legitimate son.

  ‘Here comes our cousin,’ said Matilda, her eyes watching Stephen with that sensuality towards which he had ever felt a ready response.

  ‘Hail, cousin!’ said Robert.

  Stephen wanted to reply: ‘Hail, bastard.’ But it was not his nature to give way to his feelings; so he smiled in his charming and affable way.

  ‘We were speaking of the ceremony,’ said Matilda. ‘How I shall enjoy having two such as you to kneel to me and swear always to serve me.’

  Stephen replied that he too longed for the opportunity.

  ‘See how he flatters, Robert,’ said Matilda. ‘You may be a scholar but Stephen has the more ready tongue.’

  ‘My utterances, coming from the heart, take longer to reach my lips,’ said Robert.

  ‘Oh, come,’ cried Stephen in the friendliest manner, ‘do you mean then that I speak falsely?’

  Matilda laid a hand on each of the men’s arms.

  ‘No harshness, please. I would not wish that over me.’ She was smiling, her eyes dancing. Stephen thought: There is nothing you like better, my Matilda. And if I flatter
you and lie a little then we are pair. We were meant for each other. This worthy bastard is different from us. ‘I know,’ went on Matilda, ‘that you will both serve me well. And that gives me great pleasure.’

  They talked of the arrangements for the ceremony and the matter of precedence was not openly discussed, though Matilda referred to it obliquely. Both of the men knew it to be too dangerous a topic for discussion and refused to be goaded.

  Matilda enjoyed this rivalry between them. She referred constantly to Robert as her good brother and Stephen as her dear cousin; and all the time Stephen knew that she was urging him to declare his passion for her. What then? Did she not realize that this was as dangerous now as it had ever been?

  But this bold adventurous woman liked danger; and had always wanted to be the centre of it.

  Stephen wished that he could have been a faithful husband to his dear, good, dull Matilda. He wished that he did not feel this irresistible attraction for his cousin which could, if he allowed it to, take possession of him, bring him to disaster.

  The two men surveyed each other cautiously. Robert of Gloucester knew full well that Stephen had believed it possible that he might follow his uncle to the throne. Now he would have to stand aside. This he was prepared to do but not so far back that Robert of Gloucester should take precedence over him.

  Stephen remembered the advice of his wife and his brother Henry. The Empress might be trying to goad him to folly, but those two had only his good at heart.

  Roger of Salisbury said to the King, ‘This matter of precedence has become one of great moment, my lord.’

  ‘It is of little importance.’

  ‘To Stephen it is of the greatest.’

  ‘Oh, come, Roger, why shouldn’t my son come before my nephew?’

  ‘Because your son is a bastard.’

  ‘What a difference a ceremony makes. I loved well his mother. Never did I love a woman as I loved her. And I love well my son. He is one to be proud of.’

  ‘But a bastard, sir, and I fear Stephen will be mortally offended if you set Robert before him.’

  ‘Stephen will be offended! By God’s death, have I not done everything for that boy? Where would he be without me? In Blois . . . the third son of a Count. All his lands, his riches, his wife . . . all these I have provided and he is going to be offended with me!’

  ‘Stephen is an amiable young man. He will take the oath and swear fealty to Matilda, but I have it on good authority, that once the ceremony is over he will ask your leave to retire to Boulogne as there will be nothing to keep him here.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Stephen has fought well for you, my lord. He has been loyal and loved you as a son would his father. Of course he has had hopes. He would be a fool if he had not. Now the Empress has returned and he will be her supporter. But if you allow your bastard to take precedence over him he will regard that in the light of an insult. It will undermine his position here at Court. He will sooner or later return to Boulogne. Do you wish that, my lord, with the Clito at large over there, looking for those who no longer feel the same loyalty towards you as they once did?’

  ‘You are suggesting that Stephen would turn traitor?’

  ‘Not at once. But if he went away . . . If he stayed in Boulogne. My lord, it is only recently that he fought the Clito on his own borders and inflicted defeat on that young man. Stephen will stay here. He will be your good servant and if ever the day should come – which God forbid – when Matilda should need that support, he will be at hand to give it. I hope, my lord, you will consider well before you inflict this indignity on your nephew.’

  The King was thoughtful for a few moments and then he said: ‘Very well. Let them kneel before the Empress in this order. The Archbishop of Canterbury first, then you, Roger, followed by the King of Scotland and then shall follow Stephen and after him Robert.’

  Roger bowed. ‘Ah, my lord, as usual you show your wisdom to us all. I see your motive. You wished Stephen to ponder. The bounty he enjoys comes from you. But for you he would be at his home in Blois . . . with few possessions, a third son. Now he comes after the King of Scotland. He will serve you with his life as he was prepared to do. He will stay in England. He will be at your right hand as in the past. He will remember this day.’

  The King nodded. Roger was right of course; and this tire-some business of precedence was settled.

  In the great hall of Windsor – the pride of Henry who had transformed a fortress which was little more than a hunting lodge into a magnificent castle – Matilda was seated on a throne-like chair, there to receive the oath of loyalty from those who were intended to be her future subjects.

  Matilda sat there, proud and regal. All was going as she had dreamed. She was home: and her stepmother was barren; and her father had named her heiress to the throne. This was the fulfilment of her ambitions.

  Windsor, beautiful Windsor, which had excited her mother so much because she hoped that by the time the King returned from the Normandy wars she would have his magnificent apartments ready. Her thoughts went back to the days before she had been sent to Germany. It had been Whitsuntide and they had celebrated the feast at Windsor – the new Windsor; and it was in this very hall that her father had sent for her and there, with her mother beside him, had told her that great honour had been done to her, because the Emperor of Germany was asking her hand in marriage.

  Beautiful Windsor, with its forests and legends of King Arthur from whom her mother must have descended. It was appropriate that she should be back in this hall where she had been told of her destiny years ago and now she could see herself at the pinnacle of her desire – or almost. Not until the crown was on her head would that be so. Yet she was almost there. One more step, she thought. She studied her father. He was ageing fast. His servants said he suffered from indigestion and they could not tell how great the pain was because they dared not approach him when he suffered from it. How many years . . . two, three. Five at the most?

  And as she watched that array of knights she thought of other ceremonies – at Utrecht when she had been betrothed to the Emperor Henry and at Mainz when the Archbishop of Trier had placed the Imperial crown on her head. She had thrilled to such honour and had tried not to see the old man at her side who had made it all possible. If it had been young Stephen who had been her husband then how differently she would have felt. But the pomp and ceremony had compensated her to a great degree. Homage, rank, power – these were the real goal, she knew. But love was important as she had realized since she grew older.

  And then she thought of a poor old man with wild eyes and trembling hands, rising from his bed and wrapping himself in an old woollen garment and padding barefoot through the castle.

  He is dead, she told herself. That is the end of him. Was he not buried with all the ceremony due to an Emperor? That phase of my life is finished. The Empress will in due course become a Queen.

  Her father sat beside her, his eyes watchful. There was her stepmother, poor Adelicia, whose barren state made this ceremony necessary. I for one shall not complain of that, thought Matilda wryly.

  One by one they came and knelt. Archbishop William of Corbeil first, followed by Roger, Bishop of Salisbury. There was a man she must watch. If ever there was trouble in the country she would want him on her side. And next David the First of Scotland, her mother’s brother, who had recently become the King after the death of his brother Alexander. The King was wise; it would be well, in the event of any trouble, to have the oath of the King of Scotland. And then the moment for which she was waiting. Stephen. A triumphant Stephen because he had won his battle with Robert of Gloucester and came before the King’s bastard.

  She thought: How handsome he is! The others are insignificant beside him. And passionately she asked herself why fate could have been so cruel as to marry her to the old Emperor when she might have had Stephen. It would have been so reasonable if her brother William had already been drowned on the White Ship before her marriage. Cruel Fat
e, that had given her to that senile old man and then taken William.

  But Fate was smiling now. Here she was, an Empress, and a Queen to be; and kneeling at her feet the handsomest man in England, his eyes glowing with passion to which she responded whole-heartedly.

  Life was offering a great deal. She must grasp it. It was offering the crown and that was what she wanted more than anything. And Stephen was here to swear undying devotion.

  What more could she ask? It was foolish to entertain for one moment these memories of a crazy old man with wild eyes, padding barefoot about his palace.

  Stephen had pressed her hand; his lips were on her skin; he lifted his eyes and they smiled at each other.

  The Reluctant Bride

  ROGER AND THE King were together in Henry’s private chamber. Startling news had come from Normandy. The King of France, perennial enemy of England, had offered his wife’s half-sister, Jeanne, to the Clito.

  ‘By God’s death,’ cried Henry, ‘here is a fine state of affairs. They were always allies, but this will bind them so close that they will be as one. He does it to plague me. It is a signal, you will see. Trouble is going to flare up in Normandy.’

  ‘When has there not been trouble in Normandy?’ asked Roger. ‘Only your brilliant generalship has kept that troublous Duchy in our hands.’

  ‘No peace,’ said the King. ‘No peace at all. Moreover Louis is making Clito a present of the Vexin – and that piece of land, lying as it does on our borders, has caused me more trouble than any other. I see that I shall soon be leaving for Normandy.’

  While they were discussing these matters a messenger arrived with more disquieting news. The Count of Flanders had been murdered and as he had left no heirs, the King of France had bestowed his lands on William Clito.

  ‘Louis is putting more and more power into that boy’s hands,’ cried Henry. ‘Soon there will be no holding him.’

  ‘There is also Fulk of Anjou,’ Roger reminded the King. ‘Ever since his daughter was returned to him minus her dowry he has been waiting to get his revenge.’