by Tracey Warr
‘He is ill?’
‘In his head, in his mind.’
Benedicta frowned. She could not imagine the King, who was usually so certain, so omniscient, in any state of mental feebleness.
‘Some terrible things have happened and he is unhinged, unnerved by it all. There have been attempts against his life. He has nightmares. Talks to himself. I’m really hoping you can help me to bring him round, because if not, I do not know how to act next.’
‘Perhaps you should have contacted the King’s adminstrators, Bishop Roger of Salisbury and Bishop John de Lisieux?’
‘I was hoping he would recover. To contact the Bishops seems a drastic step. I don’t want to alarm everyone or undermine him unless there is no other option.’
‘Why did you ask me to bring Mahaut?’
‘He did command that himself, but then he was too distracted to dictate to a scribe. I thought the sight of her might cheer him.’
‘That child would cheer anyone!’ Benedicta said enthusiastically. She knew Haith was not given to exaggeration. If he was so anxious for Henry’s sanity then he had good cause, and, if so, the stability of England and Normandy were under grave threat. So much depended on the King.
‘We could apply to Countess Adela for assistance,’ she said.
‘Yes, that might be necessary. I would certainly trust the lady with such a delicate matter, but with her sons, I am not so sure … they are in line for the succession ….’
‘Then it is Prince William Adelin who should be first to know if it continues so serious.’
Haith nodded, but the silent glance that passed between them expressed their mutual concern at the thought of the kingdom in the hands of that spoilt, unthinking boy.
‘Perhaps, so,’ Haith said. ‘All I know is that the business of the court piles up around our ears because Henry is incapacitated and soon it will be apparent to all. Come into the hall and I will explain a little more, and then I will take you to Henry so that you can see for yourself. Help me make a decision what to do.’
Benedicta gripped his hand. ‘Of course, Haith. I am glad you felt I could aid you. I will if I can.’
She moved to the door with him but he halted her, reached for her veil and wimple. ‘Best cover that shimmering wheat stubble,’ he said.
The hall seemed hung with misery, although Haith had said only he, and now she, knew of the King’s parlous state. The few men and servants in the hall moved listlessly about and did not look up curiously at their arrival.
‘Tell me quickly, Haith, what has happened here? Is there more?’
‘Perhaps you heard that at the end of last year Etienne de Blois was ejected from Alençon by the people.’
‘I had not heard it, but it does not surprise me.’
‘Fulk d’Anjou responded to the invitation of the citizens of Alençon and took the stronghold, cast Etienne out. This was a bad turn for Henry. He must be able to trust his lords to hold what he wins with so much hardship. Then worse occurred when Henry’s army attempted to take the fortress back and were defeated by Arnulf de Montgommery and Fulk.’
‘Arnulf de Montgommery,’ Benedicta said. ‘He is Robert de Bellême’s brother.’
‘Yes.’
‘And it looks bad for Mahaut’s betrothal to William Adelin if her father has returned to contention against the King once again,’ Benedicta said, frowning.
Haith sighed. ‘We suffered heavy losses at Alençon, and Thibaut de Blois was badly injured. It was the first time Henry has ever been defeated. He worried that the tide had turned against him, that the Wheel of Fortune might drive him downwards. He has been trying to make peace with Amaury de Montfort, and failing. It is reported that Amaury is galloping all over the country exhorting all to revolt. He is working as an agent of King Louis against Henry and has a silver tongue. Even when Henry has made peace with these lords, Henry of Eu, Hugh of Gournay, Fulk d’Anjou himself, Amaury succeeds in charming them all back to sedition.’
Benedicta thought of Amaury’s saddlebag and cloak slung in haste to the corner of the room at Fontevraud. She thought of her veil and wimple slung to the same corner, also in haste, and all that followed. She tried not to think of Amaury’s tongue. Pressing her lips together in case a moan escaped her, she listened and nodded to Haith as if her mind were here in the room instead of galloping with Amaury, his arms around her waist.
‘And now de Montfort has repudiated his first wife and married Agnes de Garlande.’
‘Another wife!’ Benedicta gaped. ‘He only just married Richildis, surely.’
‘Yes, the marriage did not last long, although Richildis bore him a daughter. Seems Richildis didn’t suit or the Garlandes dangled the new wife and high office before his eyes, at any rate. But now neither the French King nor the English King are content with de Montfort.’
Well, Benedicta thought, I do not suppose that my worrying about him will do him any good. He is, for certain, a man able to take care of himself, and brazen enough, yes, to antagonise two kings, just as his sister, Bertrade, had set every priest across Christendom on their ears. There was something admirable about such a lack of obsequiousness.
News of the wars in Normandy had flown back and forth across the English Sea, and Benedicta was aware of most of what Haith told her. As he spoke, she watched two small girls, finely dressed, enter the hall, led by two nurses. The girls both wore bandages about their eyes and Benedicta was startled to see that their small noses had been sliced and crusted blood showed there like tiny jewelled berries. She stared. Were they victims from Etienne de Blois’ injustices? She turned back to Haith and his eyes were also on the two girls who chattered and laughed despite their injuries. His eyes were full of sadness, but he did not speak of the girls. Instead he continued with his tale.
‘At the urgings of de Montfort, the King’s daughter, Juliana, joined the rebellion against him with her husband, Eustace de Breteuil. The loss of Breteuil would have been crippling for Henry.’
Benedicta tried to scrub the query from her mind concerning Amaury’s urgings to Juliana. What form might they have taken?
‘Juliana tried to kill Henry,’ Haith said.
‘Her father?’ Benedicta said, aghast. What could have happened to cause that? ‘The King is a loving father.’
‘She had reason.’ Haith hung his head.
‘Reason? Be more quick and full with your news now, Haith, that I might get about any help I can bring.’
He looked up smiling again. ‘You are always a help. And impatient!’
‘What reason could Juliana possibly have to attempt murder against her father?’ Benedicta said.
Haith looked over to the two bandaged girls. ‘Her daughters.’
‘What?’
‘Those girls are the daughters of Juliana and Eustace; Henry’s granddaughters. They were given as hostages during the dispute between Henry and Eustace, in exchange for the young son of the steward, Ralph de Harnec. A terrible thing occurred, Benedicta. Eustace blinded the steward’s son.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Speak low. I don’t want them to hear us. Frankly, Eustace is a stupid man. Since he had blinded the boy, Henry had no option but to give up his granddaughters to the steward.’
Benedicta stared open-mouthed at him. ‘No option?’
‘The steward blinded the two girls and sliced their noses, maimed them as the law allowed,’ Haith said in a whisper.
‘The law! And Henry allowed that?’
Haith frowned, bit his lip.
‘He has gone mad.’
‘He had no option. He must adhere to his own laws.’
‘He is the king.’ Benedicta said. ‘He always has options. His own granddaughters!’
‘He is horrified at it. Out of his mind with grief and distress for the children, even for Juliana. He says he wants you to do what you can to help the children, but I believe you could do more to help him.’
‘I don’t want to help him.’
�
��Juliana tried to kill him with a crossbow but missed.’
‘I don’t blame her. What has happened to her?’
‘Don’t speak treason, Benedicta, please. That is not helpful. Juliana escaped. She jumped from the castle walls into the moat and got away.’
Benedicta said nothing, only gazing with compassion at the two girls who fumbled for their toys, sightless. She was horrified and disillusioned with the King. ‘Haith, you should leave his service. You cannot serve such a man.’
‘Please, Benedicta. Try to find compassion for him. He hates himself. Then there was the assassination plot against him from his chamberlain, Herbert, who has been a trusted servant for years. He was found standing over Henry as the King slept. Herbert carried a serrated hunting knife in his hands and was about to strike. It was just by chance that I wandered into the chamber at that very moment, to find a wine jug.’
Benedicta swallowed, remembering how she had seen Herbert with Amaury’s servant in Saint Albans, and told nobody of it. Perhaps she was to blame. If the assassination attempt had succeeded. …
‘Is it known why Herbert wished to harm the King? Has he confessed?’
‘His son is married to Sybil Corbet, Henry’s mistress, and I suppose this is the cause of his murderous anger. We suspect Amaury de Montfort had a hand in suborning him but have found no evidence of it.’
Benedicta compressed her lips. ‘What father would wish to see his son married off to the King’s leavings?’
‘Hush!’
‘You stayed the knife?’
‘I wrestled it from Herbert’s grip but you can imagine the horror of Henry awaking to such a scene taking place above his bed.’
Haith went to see if the King was able to receive her, and Benedicta sat, looking everywhere in the hall except at the two girls, contemplating this news. It cast her own actions into a different light. Henry and Adela, with their network of spies, including her, had corrupted so many people to deceit. She knew that it was her choice and she could not pass the blame to others, yet whilst Henry had seemed a good king she had been able to defend herself to herself, but now? Had she lied to friends, broken her vows to God, for the sake of a wicked man, a wicked king?
Despite her loathing and shock for what had happened to the King’s granddaughters, a wave of pity swept over Benedicta when Haith led her into Henry’s chamber. The King looked diminished. He was dishevelled and barefoot. She had never seen him anything but splendidly attired. There was a musty smell about him. ‘He needs a bath,’ Benedicta muttered to Haith’s bent ear.
‘I know but I can’t persuade him to it.’
The King mumbled to himself, shivering and shuddering as if he had a fever. He sat on his bed surrounded by what looked like large jewels which he was prodding and pushing, rearranging on the quilt between his legs. An array of weapons was propped up against the sides of the bed – a sword, two short axes and a dagger sat on the pillow beside him.
‘What’s he doing?’
‘Touching all his reliquaries. He has been collecting them for years. He hopes they can fend off the bad luck, the threat of death and damnation hanging over him.’
Benedicta sat down gently on a stool next to the bed. ‘What have you there, Sire?’
‘Fingerbone of Saint Barbara,’ Henry said, holding up one golden container to her. She took it and examined the fine work. It was a diamond shape with four coloured jewels at each tip and a central white stone. Benedicta ran her finger reverently across the lumpen jewels and along the golden engraving. ‘Saint Barbara, bless and cleanse Henry de Normandy of his sins,’ she said, and kissed the central jewel.
‘Kneecap of Saint Matthew,’ he said, exchanging it for the return of Saint Barbara’s finger.
‘Perhaps a rather worn kneecap from a great deal of praying,’ Benedicta remarked. Henry looked at her, his face clearing a little. ‘You amuse me, Sister Benedicta. You are funny. And your brother.’
‘Saint Matthew, bless and cleanse Henry de Normandy, I beseech you with the ceaseless prayers and hymns of a pious nun,’ Benedicta said, kissing the relic, trying not to laugh with black humour at the King’s plight and the notion that she was a pious nun.
Henry looked at her warmly and she returned his glance with a kindly gaze. ‘Will you let me order a bath for you, Sire? Find you something to eat? And then some sleep would be a fine thing, no?’ She had remarked the black circles beneath the King’s anxious eyes. At the periphery of her vision, she saw Haith nod to her.
‘I fear I have lost myself, Sister,’ the King said, casting a haunted stare upon Benedicta. ‘I tried to be a good king but I am an ogre. Everyone wants to kill me. Perhaps I should let them.’
27
Marriage
Our boat docked at Queenhithe. I steadied Angharad as the vessel lurched back a little from its collision with the jetty before settling again. ‘We’re here! Mama!’ We had travelled with a small escort from Pembroke and one of the men handed first my excited daughter and then me to the shore. My nose and ears were assaulted by the cacaphony and stenches of London. It was some fourteen years since I had been in London. On my last visit here, I had been King Henry’s most favoured mistress (but not his only one). Elizabeth de Vermandois and I had been young women together at court when she first began her affair with Warenne. Although affection had perhaps cooled a little between us over the years and experiences that we had spent apart, I had been fond of her and must see her wed, at last, to her love. I had left baby Robert and little David in Amelina’s care at Carew.
Gerald had kept a townhouse in London for some years for his attendances at court or business with merchants and masons, and I made my way there. I had not set foot in the house before and was pleasantly surprised to find it full of brightly coloured tapestries and hangings, and with an elegant black and white diamondtiled floor in the main room. Before the servants threw open the shutters, the sun pierced the regular slits in the carved wood, embroidering the room with slivers of golden light.
As soon as we had unpacked and seen that the house was habitable and provisioned, Angharad and I went in search of Elizabeth. We found her in her own townhouse embroiled in the preparations for the wedding. Her house was a great deal more splendid than Gerald’s. Elizabeth was a Countess and Warenne was one of the wealthiest nobles at Henry’s court. Angharad gaped and stroked at brilliantly vivacious silks, finely glazed pottery, cushions in yellow, purple and green. ‘The glass is from Venice,’ Elizabeth told her. Warenne and Elizabeth had been lovers for years and all had known it, including her first husband, de Meulan, and the King. I had once asked Henry why he had never made Elizabeth his mistress, since they were such good friends. ‘She is beautiful and you like each other a great deal,’ I said.
‘Because I had you in my eyes, Nest,’ Henry said. ‘Elizabeth was a child. Still is. Whereas you arrived at court a wise woman, despite your youth. I admit to having many mistresses but my heart holds true to one woman at a time.’
Elizabeth’s children surrounded her. Her sixteen-year-old twins, Waleran and Robert, greeted me. I had known them well at court as small boys and marvelled at how they had grown into young men. After the death of their father, de Meulan, Waleran was now Count of Meulan and Robert had become Earl of Leicester. They were identical twins, their faces impossible to tell apart, but their bodies were grotesquely divergent. Whilst Waleran was straight and tall, Robert had a hunched back. Yet it was Robert who had a sunny nature and Waleran who was dark-visaged and scowling. Her other children came to greet us: Hugh who was fourteen, and her daughters: thirteen-year-old Adeline, Aubree who was eleven, and nine-year-old Maud. Angharad, who was the same age as Aubree, was soon in avid consultation with the other girls concerning the role that the four of them would play as flower-maidens at the wedding.
At dinner, we discussed the rebellion in Normandy. ‘Amaury de Montfort inherited the county of Évreux but King Henry refused his accession,’ Warenne said. ‘Amaury is a fixed supporter of the
French king and of William Clito and Henry does not want Amaury sitting comfortably in one of the richest counties, slap in the heart of Normandy. De Montfort suborns many of the younger, disgruntled Norman lords.’ Warenne told us of the young lords joining de Montfort in rebellion. Hugh de Gournay, Robert Giroie and Robert de Neubourg were amongst those named. I knew that Henry would take these betrayals hard since he had raised many of these young men at his court, hoping to keep their love by giving them his own.
We had all heard the reports that Henry had almost died not long ago in fighting at Laigle and we expressed our concerns about the events in Normandy. I lived in constant fear that I would hear of the death of one or the other of them: Henry or Haith, but of course I could not share the latter concern with Elizabeth and Warenne.
‘If Henry should die,’ Elizabeth said, ‘Prince William Adelin is hardly able yet to fill the King’s shoes.’
‘He would be supported,’ Warenne said.
‘Did you know, Nest, that Etienne de Blois was ejected from Alençon for raping respectable women and showing no moderation or mercy?’ Elizabeth asked me with a touch of saliciousness.
‘Etienne of Blois has always worn the signs of being an immoderate lord. I hope this will give Henry pause in the rewards he heaps upon him. The mightier Etienne becomes, the less of a noble lord he is.’
Warenne nodded his head. ‘Despite your absence from London for more than a decade, Lady Nest, you have been following the affairs of the court with your usual acuity.’
I smiled modestly and ignored the flattery. It did not take a genius to discern that Etienne de Blois was an unpleasant and ambitious young lord.
The following morning, I was in Elizabeth’s chamber where her maid had laid out her wedding clothes for me to look and marvel at. ‘But where is Isabel?’ I asked Elizabeth. Isabel was her eldest daughter and I had spent a great deal of time with her as a baby and small child. Of all Elizabeth’s children, she was my favourite. ‘She is seventeen now?’