by Jean Plaidy
It was not long before she received news that he was besieged by those who supported Stephen’s claim and that he needed help that he might break out from the town of Le Sap.
Where was Stephen now? she wondered. Was his Queen with him in Normandy, or had he left her behind as Regent? She would be useless. That silly sentimental creature! What would she know about governing a country? She had always despised the woman; it was the only way in which she could console herself for not being in her place.
She gathered together a troop of men and rode to Le Sap. She would show them that although she was a woman she was capable of taking decisive action. When she arrived with her rescuing force she would have the pleasure of putting Stephen’s adherents to flight. It would give her great pleasure to picture his receiving the news of her action.
But it did not work out as she had hoped.
When she arrived at Le Sap, Geoffrey had been wounded and it seemed great good fortune that a retreat was possible. There was nothing for her to do but take him back to safety where he could be nursed back to health.
She was as frustrated as ever.
In the castle of Arundel Adelicia felt remote from the troubles of the country.
She had heard of Stephen’s illness and had been very sympathetic towards his wife for she knew how Matilda adored her husband. She had often in the past been sorry for the Queen. Matilda was a good woman, calm and clever in her way. She would have been an excellent helpmeet to any man if she were given the chance to be. She was clever enough to be able to understand statecraft for she had been very well educated in the Abbey of Bermondsey; and at the same time she had acquired a meekness which was becoming. Adelicia had once said to the King her husband: ‘I hope Stephen realizes what a good wife he has.’
It had seemed of late that he did. For she heard that he was often in her company and was eager that all should do honour to her as their Queen. Her coronation had been even grander than his own and he had seemed to rejoice in that.
Adelicia enjoyed tending the flowers in her gardens; she liked to grow her herbs and make them into scents and ointments. She liked to sit at her tapestry. In truth she liked the quiet life of a noblewoman who does not have to be at Court.
If she were truthful she would say that she had come to the happiest part of her life. She had been young when she married Henry the King and the years with him had not been easy ones. He had been kind to her in his way, it was true, but she had always had the terrible feeling of guilt because she had not been able to supply that much-wanted son. She knew that he did not regard her physically with any great excitement. There had been many to tell her what kind of life he had led. This had been conveyed to her in several ways, with suppressed giggles, with shocked allusions, with solemn pronouncements. And she had understood. He had numerous illegitimate children, and his first wife had given him only two legitimate ones. She had learned how he had wooed that first wife and what a love match it had been. It was all long ago and she had always said to herself, ‘I must be grateful for his kindness and tolerance at least.’
Yet, in the quiet of her apartments she could admit to herself that his passing was a relief. No more the labour of trying once more for what seemed to be impossible: no more of those fearful nightmares when his misdeeds had haunted him and he had leaped from his bed to grasp his sword and slash at the hangings. No more irascible bouts of temper. Here she was, not a young woman but not an old one either – for she was but in her thirties and not half way yet and he had been sixty-six when he had died. Yes, she was happy here at Arundel, shut away from the anxieties of life outside and now and then hearing the clatter of horses’ hoofs in the courtyard and looking down to see William de Albini there looking up, kissing his hand to her and later mounting the spiral stairs to her apartments when refreshments would be brought and he would talk to her of what was happening at Court – or more often of the pleasures of his estates of Norfolk, and they would enjoy the gardens of Arundel together.
And as she thought of him she heard sounds of his arrival, and there he was just as she had seen him so many times.
A groom took his horse; he dismounted; he came up the stone staircase and he was taking her hands and kissing them.
‘I am happy to see you,’ she told him.
‘I have come to say farewell,’ he answered.
Her expression was suddenly woebegone and she could not hide it.
‘Then my absence will sadden you?’ he asked.
‘Tell me how long you will be away,’ she said.
‘I trust not long. I am to go to France to celebrate the marriage of the young son of the King of France.’
‘You will joust, I doubt not.’
‘I doubt it not either.’
‘And you will astonish them all with your skill. I know well that is so. I would I could see you.’
‘I would ride the better if you did. There is something I would say to you before I go. You will know that I have long been devoted to you. I was aware of you even before the death of the late King. I envied him then.’
‘Many envy a king his crown.’
‘’Twas not his crown I envied. And now you are free. I have long thought of what I would say to you and now I find it difficult. You are a queen . . .’
‘A queen without a husband, of no importance in truth.’
‘I am but a knight . . .’
‘Pray say what is in your mind for it may make me very happy.’
He took her hands and kissed them. ‘Adelicia,’ he said, ‘could you forget you were a queen and be the wife of a humble knight?’
‘I could only be happy thus,’ she said.
‘Then,’ he answered, ‘let us plight our troth for we have both learned the pleasures of the simple life. I know in my heart that you will be ready to exchange the glories of the Court for them.’
They smiled at each other. Adelicia thought she had never been so happy in her life; so did William; but they did not mention this. It would have sounded like treason to the late King.
There seemed no reason why Stephen or the Queen should object to their marriage.
What a joy, thought Adelicia, at last to be of no great importance.
They planned to marry as soon as William returned from his mission to France.
Matilda, Queen of England, had changed since her husband had taken the crown. Until the death of King Henry she had seemed insignificant, so meek that she scarcely ever expressed an opinion. Since she had become a queen that meekness had dropped from her. She was by no means arrogant and in truth the change in her had nothing to do with the fact that she had become Queen of England.
From the time she had been brought to the Court of England from the Abbey of Bermondsey to be betrothed to Stephen of Blois she had been conscious of her inadequacy. There had always been that other Matilda. The fact that they bore the same name had seemed significant; and her cousin had always made her feel she had no right to it.
That Matilda, known as the Empress from an early age, for no sooner had she been betrothed to the Emperor of Germany than she began to assume the manners of an Imperial ruler, had dominated her cousin’s life. The Empress had ruled the nursery, Stephen had adored her, and of course she, Matilda, who had been brought to the Court for the purpose of marrying Stephen, had adored him.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to love Stephen: She had not been surprised that in her arrogant way the Empress loved him too or at least looked upon him as hers. The Empress could in fact love no one but herself, but Stephen’s presence had at one time been necessary to her pleasure. Then she had gone away and Stephen had in due course married Matilda, but always there had been the shadow of the Empress between them.
Stephen was a man who could win the love of others without effort. He was also kind to people and pretended to be interested in their affairs. Even the humblest scullion could be sure of a smile and a greeting from him. This ensured their loyalty. Matilda had never been sure whether Ste
phen loved popularity so much that he made an effort to gain it or whether he smiled and feigned amiability because he was too lazy to do anything else. She had never fully understood Stephen. He could be brave and energetic – as he had been when he seized the crown. At other times he could become so lethargic as to ask for peace at any price. She deplored the fact that he had allowed Baldwin of Redvers to escape him. yet at the same time she loved him for his susceptibilities which would not let him be hard on those he had conquered.
The truth was that she loved Stephen with a quiet and abiding love which was in sharp contrast to the feelings the Empress had for him.
Matilda knew that she did not excite his senses as his cousin did. She knew that he was not a faithful husband. With that easygoing way of his he slipped into love affairs and there were offspring to prove this. But she was his Queen and there had been times when he had told her that of all the people in the world she was the only one he could be completely sure of.
His light love affairs she accepted as a woman married to such a man and loving him dearly must do. It was the Empress who had cast a shadow over her life. And when Stephen had taken the crown this change had come over his wife. He did not love the Empress. Love as the Queen understood it was devotion, sacrifice, the elimination of self-interest. Yet Stephen, instead of holding the crown for his cousin, had snatched it and held it himself.
In her heart she believed this to be wrong. Stephen had sworn fealty to the Empress Matilda. He had been the first of the knights to do so, and it had been the wish and command of the last King that his daughter should come to the throne. Yet the fact that he had done this filled her with exultation for it showed clearly that he did not love the Empress.
It was for this reason that she the Queen had grown in stature and her true self had begun to emerge. She had discovered strength in herself which she had not known existed. She had wanted Stephen to know that she was beside him; that she would be with him no matter what happened. Whether it was right or wrong for Stephen, to have taken the throne was of no account to her. She loved Stephen; she was his wife; and she was going to help him hold what he had taken.
All through his recent illness she had nursed him and they had come more closely together. She had managed to convey to him her absolute loyalty; and he had realized the worth of such devotion. He had told her what it meant to him to have one person in the world who was entirely for him. She knew that beneath his tenderness on this occasion there was sincerity.
When he had left for Normandy he had said, ‘I go knowing that you will care for my affairs as no one else. These men who have sworn to serve me may well do so if it suits their ends, but only in you can I put my trust.’
These words she would treasure. She would die rather than fail to deserve them.
And so those about her saw the new Matilda emerge. The Queen who would stand beside her husband in success or failure; the woman who had no thought in her mind other than his good.
Her task was a difficult one and she knew that it would become even more so. Stephen was in Normandy where there had been continual trouble throughout the years; but since Stephen had taken the throne – and there were many who said it belonged to the Empress – numerous robber barons whose pleasure in the past had been to ravage the land, to plunder, to seize wealth and women and to terrify the countryside while they exercised their cruel lusts, saw the possibility of a return to the old days of William Rufus, which had existed before Henry, Lion of Justice, had brought order to the country with his stern laws. They knew full well that amiable Stephen was no Henry. The fact that he had shown such leniency to the followers of Baldwin of Redvers and to Baldwin himself was an indication of what could be expected. The reign of Henry was over; a new order had begun and the barons were going to make the most of it.
There were disturbances all over the country. Rochester Cathedral was burned down; there were fires throughout cities as far apart as York and Bath. The King of Scotland was preparing to invade and insurgents displaying the banner of the Empress Matilda had taken Dover Castle which they declared they would hold for her until her arrival in England.
The Queen was alarmed. She realized the importance of Dover in the event of an invasion. It was the spot which must stand for Stephen at all costs.
She called her ministers to her and told them that they must with all speed gather together an army and she would march at their head to Dover.
There were murmurs against this project but she with her fierce new-born authority silenced them. She would conduct them there; she would see that Dover was taken and held for King Stephen.
They were sceptical. What could this woman do?
‘The country is beginning to turn towards the Empress,’ they told her. ‘They are saying that Hugh Bigod committed perjury, that Henry would never have disinherited his own daughter, especially his grandson, young Henry. The King of Scotland will soon be on the march. It might be better for you to join the King in Normandy than attempt to hold Dover.’
She dismissed this with scorn.
They did not believe her capable of governing, so she would show them that she was.
Before setting out for Dover she sent orders to her subjects of Boulogne. They were to harass the castle from the sea; they were to prevent any ships arriving with provisions.
Thus began the siege of Dover Castle conducted by the Queen who such a short time ago had seemed a colourless princess.
The besieged might have held out had it not been for the people of Boulogne who, eager to show their loyalty to their Princess, responded with enthusiasm to her call. Attacked on all sides the rebels in Dover Castle were quickly vanquished.
Everyone knew that they must reverse their opinion of the Queen. She had shown herself as a woman of strength and resource, one to be respected.
When Stephen returned, Dover was his.
Like his subjects he was amazed by the actions of his Queen.
‘But why?’ she asked. ‘Surely you know that your cause – whatever it is – must be mine.’
Then did he realize how kind fate had been to him in giving him such a wife.
There was no time though to celebrate the victory of Dover. He must march north to subdue the Scots.
The Troubadour’s Song
WILLIAM DE ALBINI was impatient to return to England. He had for long been in love with Adelicia – a fact which he had been forced to hide during the lifetime of the King – and now that she had promised to marry him, his great desire was to have done with Court life and settle quietly as far from it as possible. He was delighted to discover that Adelicia was of a like mind.
He was a man of great personal charm. Tall and with very clear-cut features and fine curling hair, he was immediately noticed in any assembly. His skill at the joust had made him one of its finest exponents and at any important ceremony he was expected to perform.
It was for this reason that he had been selected to attend the wedding celebrations of the young heiress of Aquitaine to the bridegroom who had recently become the King of France.
This was a grand wedding, for the French were even fonder of brilliant ceremonies than the English and they performed them with a greater dignity.
The bride Eleanor had been declared Duchess of Aquitaine when her father had died on a pilgrimage to Compostella whither he had gone to ask the saints to intercede for him that a marriage he intended to make should be fruitful and yield a male heir.
Eleanor was a vivacious and extremely attractive girl of fifteen, ambitious and delighted with the new honours which had come to her; the dowager Queen, Adelaide, was by no means uncomely nor did she appear to be overburdened with sorrow on account of her recent widowhood.
Before this Queen and her Court, William de Albini had jousted to the admiration of all who beheld him, and it was not surprising that he won the prize which was awarded for the most outstanding performance.
The trophy was presented at the royal box set up in the field and seated here we
re the young bride and bridegroom with the Dowager Queen of France.
As William rode up to the box and bowed low he was aware of three pairs of eyes regarding him. Those of the young King were friendly but the gaze of the two females he found disconcerting.
The bride’s beauty was startling. Never before had he seen such a lively expression on such a young face. Her beautiful eyes were speculative and he had seen that expression in the faces of women before when they looked at him, but never in one so young. But it was the Queen Mother who filled him with real alarm.
Her voice was low and husky as she complimented him on his performance. Never, she said, had she been so excited by any performance at a tournament, never had she presented a prize with greater pleasure.
He bowed low, accepted the trophy and rode off.
He continued to think of the glitter in the Queen Mother’s eyes and the manner in which the young Queen had regarded him. So he was not entirely surprised when he was summoned to the presence of the Queen Mother, although it was strange that she should wish to see a knight who, although he was the outstanding performer in the tournament, could scarcely be said to be of very exalted rank.
When he arrived she immediately dismissed her attendants and came to him; she stood before him breathing deeply, her eyes – alert and glittering – surveying him from head to feet.
‘I had to tell you what great pleasure your performance gave me,’ she said.
‘You are gracious,’ said William.
‘And you are brave and handsome. I never saw a man who pleased me as you do.’
‘I am honoured . . .’
She laughed at him. ‘Come,’ she said, taking his hand, ‘be seated near me.’
She sat on an ornate chair and indicated a stool which he might use. The stool was very close to the chair.