by Jean Plaidy
That was a good enough reason for Henry; and as Robert was not ready to come to terms with him, he prepared to go to war.
The people hated the taxes, but they remembered Robert of Bellême who had briefly terrorized the countryside. Henry had made sure that they understood what this war was about. He had delivered his people from the wicked baron and banished him to Normandy, where he expected his brother to act as he had. But Robert had not done this. He had been unable to. Consequently, Robert of Bellême flourished. He had the ascendancy over Duke Robert and it could be said that he ruled Normandy. He would very soon be turning his eyes to England. Before he was in a position to do that, Henry was going to make war on Normandy. He was going to take it from his brother; he was going to set up there the just laws he had made in England, and crush the Bellêmes for ever. The people must decide that they would willingly pay their taxes (for their taxes would be taken no matter what methods must be employed), remembering the threat of Robert of Bellême.
The people paid their taxes with less trouble than had been anticipated. And in a few months the King was ready to set sail for Normandy.
He talked earnestly to Matilda. ‘Oh, what a comfort it is to me to know that I can leave the country in such worthy hands.’
She was eager to show herself worthy.
‘There is one whose services I could wish were at your disposal, my dear. Anselm. He is a stubborn man but a good one and would be of use to you. All this time we are without an Archbishop of Canterbury. It is not seemly.’
‘But you are still in disagreement with him.’
‘I shall see him, and we may come to some understanding. It would please me if he returned to England and was at your side to support you during my absence. My sister Adela is very anxious for me to see him. So I will call on her at Blois and if I can succeed in breaking down his stubbornness I will send him back.’
‘Yes,’ said Matilda, ‘he is a good man.’
At a solemn ceremony Henry invested Matilda with the Regency, and Matilda went with him to Dover to see him embark.
He embraced her warmly as he said farewell.
‘Always remember, Matilda,’ he said, ‘that I was happy in my marriage.’
She cried out in alarm, ‘You talk as though you are not coming back.’
‘Nay, do not say such things. My men would think them unlucky. Of course I shall return. You forget my father’s prophecy. I am to have more than either of my brothers. This is what he means. Normandy will be mine as well as England. Have no fear, Matilda, I shall return.’
‘I shall wait for you.’
‘I can trust you with my crown, my heart and my life.’
And at least she knew that at that time he would not have substituted her for Nesta.
In the castle at Blois Henry’s sister Adela received him joyfully.
Adela, the fourth daughter of the Conqueror, had married Stephen of Blois and Chartres. She had inherited the family ambition and believed that if Henry conquered Normandy it would be to the advantage of the family. Robert was charming in his way but he was unfit to rule, while Henry had proved himself to possess his father’s flair. She was proud of Henry and she knew their father would have been.
Adela liked to have a hand in affairs and she it was who now contrived the meeting between Anselm and Henry, for she knew that it was not advisable for the Archbishop of Canterbury to be in exile: such a state of affairs could lead to the excommunication of Henry, which would not be a good thing.
She had arranged entertainments for her brother while he was at the castle, but Henry was eager to begin the first stages of his campaign against his brother and did not intend to stay long. He did not wish Robert to have too much time to amass an army. Not that he believed he could very easily, for he would lack the money. But men such as Robert of Bellême would be determined to drive Henry back, and they were the real enemies.
Adela understood immediately and told him that she could arrange for a meeting between himself and Anselm at the Castle of l’Aigle the very next day.
‘Then let it be so,’ said Henry.
After that he could enjoy an evening in the company of his sister and her family.
She was about four years older than Henry, and because of this apt to play the big sister. Henry remembered well how angry she had been when Simon Crispin, the Earl of Amiens, had rejected her.
Simon had been a handsome young knight at the Conqueror’s Court and the match had been arranged to everyone’s satisfaction in the first place. But as the time for the wedding grew near, Simon had gone into deep melancholy, and much to the fury of the family had declared that he could not marry because he had chosen the monastic life.
Poor Adela, she had raged – for like most of the family she had inherited their father’s temper – but she was soothed when Stephen of Blois was found for her, although Henry did not believe she had ever really recovered from the slight she considered Simon Crispin had subjected her to. As a result she had grown very dominating, but Henry quickly showed her that she could not treat the King of England as her little brother.
There was no doubt that she admired his achievements in England and that she eagerly seized on all news she could get of her brother’s country.
‘Henry,’ she said, ‘I am so eager for you to meet the children. I am rather proud of them.’
Of course, Henry said, he must meet them. He was interested in his nephews and nieces.
They were brought to Henry and he found pleasure in talking to them. He was particularly interested in the third son, Stephen, who was about seven or eight years old. He was such a handsome bright little fellow.
‘Well, young sir,’ said Henry, ‘what are you going to be when you grow up?’
Stephen said he would be a soldier and a king like his Uncle Henry.
‘Why so?’ asked Henry. ‘Do you think, then, that it is such a great thing to be a king?’
‘Yes,’ said Stephen. ‘I would like to be a king like you.’
Henry was delighted. ‘That is a bright boy,’ he told Adela.
‘I have been wondering if he could be brought up in England,’ suggested Adela.
Henry considered this. ‘I would consult Matilda.’
Adela raised her eyebrows.
‘Does she dictate these matters?’
‘I look after the State; she looks after the home.’
‘This would be a matter of State,’ said Adela.
Henry smiled at his sister.
‘You need have no fear that I would not look after my nephew’s interests.’
‘There might be members of her family whom she would put before him.’
‘You do not know Matilda. Her interests are mine.’
‘I can think of some fields in which her interest – or her knowledge – may not penetrate.’
‘Now, Adela, you play the censorious sister. Desist, I pray you. I am as I am and Matilda knows this well. If she accepts this, you assuredly must.’
‘A court follows the morals of its king.’
‘Then those who follow me will be discreet and brook no interference from their families.’
‘Guard your temper, Henry. You look just like our father when you frown! Do you remember how we used to tremble when we saw that look on his face?’
‘I remember well, and as I am so like him those who perceive my frown perforce should tremble.’
‘Come, no quarrels. This is a reunion to which I have long looked forward. Will you, in due course, take my son Stephen into your Court? Will you look to his future, which could be greater in England than it is in Blois? Henry, will you do this for your sister?’
‘If she asks I may well. If she demands, most certainly I shall not.’
‘Then she asks most humbly.’
‘Her request is granted.’
‘In a few years, then, my Stephen shall join your Court, to be brought up with your Matilda and little William.’
‘That affair is settled,’ sa
id Henry.
In the Castle of l’Aigle Anselm awaited the King.
Henry went forward and took his hand in his.
By the Saints, he thought, the man has aged.
‘Anselm,’ said the King, ‘it has been a long time since we met.’
‘On your insistence, my lord.’
‘We have had our differences. Should we not try to solve them?’
‘I have always wished to solve them.’
‘So have I. But you must admit, Archbishop, that you have been somewhat intransigent.’
‘The Church would say that of you, sir’
‘Oh, the Church and the State, this perpetual quarrel.’
‘The Church must claim its dues, my lord.’
‘And so must the Crown. Let us speak seriously and frankly together. For settle our differences we should. You have excommunicated several of my bishops; you have even threatened to censure me.’
‘With just cause, sir.’
‘That I cannot admit.’
‘And therein lie our differences.’
‘Which must be settled. It is not meet that an archbishop should desert his flock. That must not be allowed to continue. You are lacking in your duty if not to me, to those who need you.’
Anselm replied that he knew this to be so, but while the Church and the State were in conflict he could not return.
‘I will agree to a settlement of our difference,’ said the King. ‘If you will concede a little to me I will so do to you. You must withdraw the penalties you have placed on churchmen because they obeyed my laws. As my subjects you and your priests must do homage to the Crown. In all temporal matters they and you must bow to my will. If you will agree to this I will not claim spiritual investiture.’
Anselm was thoughtful. He said he would lay this before the Pope and if permission was given for him to do so, he would comply with Henry’s terms.
The Pope! thought Henry. It was always the Pope. There was a big conflict beginning to grow between the temporal rulers of the world and the man who thought himself above them all – the Pope!
He narrowed his eyes and studied Anselm. He wanted him back in England; he wanted to pursue his Norman campaign. So he did not give vent to his irritation. He nodded slowly and said, ‘Do this, then, and when you have your overlord’s permission to accept my terms, inform the Queen that you will be returning to England.’
Henry then left for the first stage of his campaign against his brother. He had not planned to make immediate war. He was too clever for that. What he would first do was establish himself in his own stronghold of Domfront and reinforce his position, while he sounded some of the more important barons as to whether they would be responsive to bribes in exchange for their help.
Once he had sown the seeds he would return to England and prepare for the main attack.
Matilda was at Dover, where she was awaiting the arrival of Anselm.
She was shocked by his appearance. He was indeed an old man.
She welcomed him warmly and he returned her greeting with pleasure. They had always been friends since he had called his council and proved to the country that she had never taken the veil. He knew her for a good and pious woman; he had heard of her Lenten activities and he thought her a noble spouse and a good influence on her more worldly husband.
‘I know that you and the King have settled your differences,’ she told him, ‘and this affords me great pleasure.’
‘Ah, my lady,’ he replied, ‘it is not as simple as that. We have made a compromise and I trust that in future the King and I will have less cause for disagreement.’
‘I am sure the King is delighted by your return to office, as so many good people will be. Let us hope that you can now continue in harmony.’
‘We will pray for it,’ he told her.
When she heard that both he and Henry had decided that celibacy must be enforced throughout the clergy, she immediately thought of those who had already entered into the married state.
She questioned Anselm on this matter and he told her that this was a rule that all clergy would have to obey, and it had been a source of great disquiet to him that in the past the lower members of the Church had been able to obtain licences to marry.
She argued, ‘I understand of course that this rule is made and therefore those who enter the Church must comply with it, but I think of those already married. What can you do. Unmarry them?’
‘In marrying they have already offended the laws of Holy Church. There is only one course open now. Exommunication.’
‘But what will they do? They depend for their livelihood upon the Church. They are trained for the Church. If they are driven out they will have nothing.’
‘It will be a lesson to others. They sought to satisfy the lusts of the flesh. Now they must pay the price.’
‘But to enter into Holy Matrimony . . .’
‘A priest is a priest,’ said Anselm. ‘Matrimony is no concern of his. He knows this and in the past asked for a licence to marry. It was given him though it never should have been, and he took it. Now he must pay the price.’
The Queen sighed. How hard were men! Henry, who did not even need matrimony to satisfy his desires, was ready to forbid priests to marry at all! Anselm, of course, had never wished to, being wedded to the Church: but did neither of them ever think of the hardship these priests would endure when cast out of office and mayhap forced, with their families, to beg for bread?
She decided that Anselm looked too frail to make the journey to London, so she herself would travel on ahead of him to ease his journey by making sure that there should be good lodging for him on the road.
When Henry returned she would plead with him not to be harsh on the poor clergy who now found that they had erred unwittingly against the new law of the Church.
The King returned to England pleased with the first stages of his campaign. A less able general might have been misguided enough to continue the fight. Not so Henry. He had made valuable headway; he had ascertained that several barons in strategic positions were ready to betray Robert if satisfactorily bribed. Bayeux and Caen had surrendered to him. He had garrisoned them and they would hold firm until his return which would not be long delayed. He needed just enough time to raise more money and a bigger army. Then he would go into the attack once more.
Matilda met him at Dover. He looked in fine spirits and was glad to be back with her. She had proved a good Regent in his absence, and once more he congratulated himself on his marriage.
The homecoming was marred for Matilda by the sight of members of the clergy who had come in a sad procession to waylay the royal party as it passed through the streets of London.
Such a sorry sight brought the tears to Matilda’s eyes. Rarely had she seen such desperation in any face as she saw in those of this displaced clergy. Their feet were bare but they wore their clerical robes, and they chanted as they went, ‘Have pity on us.’
These were the members of the clergy who had married, and were now excommunicated and deprived of their livelihood because of it.
‘Oh, Henry,’ said Matilda, ‘could you not take them back? Make this rule for the future, if you must, but those who have already married when it was not illegal to do so should not be blamed.’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Henry. ‘Too much is at stake.’
‘Surely a little pity.’
‘Be silent, Matilda. This cannot be. It is one of the conditions the Church has made. If I waive it the trouble will start again. I can’t afford trouble with the Church while I’m engaged with Normandy.’
One of the priests was trying to kneel beside the King’s horse.
‘Out of the way!’ shouted Henry, and the man fell backwards on to the cobbles.
But some of those who pressed near had seen the compassion in Matilda’s face, and one man came close to her horse and said, ‘Lady, you could plead for us with the King. You could save us.’
‘If I could,’ she said, ‘I woul
d do so. But I dare not.’
They fell back in despair and for Matilda this could only be a sad occasion, because she could not get out of her mind the faces of those miserable priests.
There was another matter which gave her great cause for sorrow. Her Uncle Edgar, of whom she had always been very fond, and who had accompanied Robert of Normandy on his crusade to the Holy Land, was now ranged on his side against Henry.
Edgar was the kindest of men, extremely cultivated, but he was no fighter; and she trembled to think what his fate might be if he, during the coming battles, fell into her husband’s hands.
Henry’s stay in England was brief. He did not wish to delay too long. There must be just time to augment his army and prepare it for the campaign in which he was determined to capture Normandy.
Matilda once more accompanied him to the coast and waved him farewell.
She returned then to her children and the management of the country’s affairs. One of the most pleasant of these tasks was the building of Windsor Castle, and she spent many a happy hour with Gundulph the architect, who was also a bishop, discussing the plans for this magnificent edifice.
She was also concerned with adding to the Tower of London. Rufus had built the imposing White Tower which had been an impressive addition; she and Henry were putting in the royal apartments. Henry had said that his father would be delighted if he could see what a superb building they were making of his original fortress.
She prayed for Henry’s success, never entirely forgetting that this would mean the defeat of Robert. He had charmed her, this feckless brother-in-law, and she would always feel guilty because of the part she had played in robbing him of his pension, but she must remember that the people of Normandy were suffering under the tyranny of men such as Robert of Bellême and it was from this that Henry was rescuing them. Everyone must admire what he had done for England, as all admitted the just rule of his father, be they Norman or Saxon.
Henry had talked to her about the poverty of the clergy and expressed his sorrow at their state.
‘But you will understand,’ he told her, ‘that in ruling a country one faces many important issues; and it is sometimes necessary to shut one’s eyes to the injustice done to a few, in order to protect the interests of many.’