‘Perhaps it is too long.’
‘You think she may have given in to her aunt’s wishes? I doubt it, and her marriage is in William’s gift now.’
‘He refused you once.’
‘I know. But why should he now? Do I threaten him?’
Herluin hesitated. ‘Yes, my lord, I think you do.’
‘How?’
They were lodging at the King’s house in Southampton, and it was late. Earl Hugh and Richard had long since retired for the night, and now Herluin and his lord were alone in the small chamber they were sharing. Herluin took a fresh dip and lit it from the candle that was flickering out. He set it in the sconce before he answered.
‘Because you are what you are. Rufus named the Duke his heir once, but God knows whether that agreement still holds. If it does not, then he must look to you. And he knows that the people in England would rather have you than either the Duke or even himself. If there were a rising of any sort whom would rebels choose in his place? I think the answer to that is obvious.’
Henry had paused in the act of pulling off his hose. ‘I suppose you are right. But I cannot see that I am any more of a threat wed as unwed. And anyway we are on good terms. He knows I do not seek to abet any rising.’
But long after Herluin had dowsed the light he lay awake, brooding over his words. Red William was unpredictable, that was certain, yet he was sure now he could hold his own with his brother. But he did not want it to come to an issue between them – he had fought too hard and too long for his present position to throw it away. How hard this was going to prove, and not only for himself, he could not yet assess.
In the morning he rode out with Hakon Osbertson to see his cousin and found her in the hall of her manor watching her children, Simon and Matilda at play. In her arms she held a new baby, named Waltheof for her father, and she was crooning softly to him for he was fretful. As soon as she saw her visitor however, she gave a cry of pleasure and handed the baby to his nurse, coming to Henry with her arms outstretched.
He kissed her heartily. ‘Well, sweeting? By God, if I ever saw a marriage suit a woman so well! Simon must be a lusty fellow to keep you so pretty and,’ he glanced at the children, ‘fruitful too.’
She laughed without the slightest embarrassment. ‘Nothing suits a woman more than being loved and desired at one and the same time. Simon is all I wanted in a husband. I am sorry he is at Winchester today, but we did not expect you.’ She stepped back to look him up and down. ‘Oh, but we are so glad you are restored to good fortune. What brings you to England just now?’
He told her. He also told her what he wanted of her.
‘I am glad,’ she said again. ‘That girl is worthy of you, Henry.’
‘It is enough to know she has not forgotten me,’ he said so soberly that Maud gave a peal of laughter.
‘Forgotten you? Dear cousin, she is head over ears in love with you.’
‘In love?’ He was genuinely surprised. All his knowledge of women came from his mistresses who had none of them been young virgins liable to romantic notions. ‘I did think she felt as I did, that we would be well matched but – Maud, I must see her.’
‘Of course, but I am afraid the Prioress would not let you past the gate, if she saw the Count of Cotentin,’ Maud said. She paused for a moment looking thoughtfully at young Simon who was leaning against Hakon’s knee at the far end of the hall watching him test a fine ash bow. ‘I think she would not look too closely at my serving men.’
He laughed. ‘And I, cousin, am a master of the art of disguise. You should have seen me when I went from Paris to Domfront!’
So it was that a few days later Eadgyth was summoned once more to see the Countess Maud. These visits had become regular occurrences and the Prioress could see no reason to refuse the request. Eadgyth left her tiresome sewing and went, hoping against hope for some news of Henry. Now that he had lands again, was rich and in favour with the King hope had indeed risen afresh, and surely, she thought, the Countess would have something to tell her, might even have come at his behest.
She found Maud, not in her chamber, but in the guest hall with some of her women, young Simon, Hakon Osbertson and one of his sons. A lay sister was clearing away the last of their supper and for a few moments Maud talked of every day matters, asking Eadgyth how she and her sister fared, telling her of the new baby, Waltheof.
Presently the sister finished her work and went.
Eadgyth said at once. ‘Is there news? My lady, have you come to . . .’
Maud smiled and laid a finger on her lips. ‘Child, you shall hear everything. But first,’ she pointed to the door opposite, ‘will you go into the guest chamber and fetch my sewing?’
A little surprised Eadgyth crossed the hall and opened the door. It was growing dark now and a small lamp burned in the room which was furnished only with a bed, a chest and two stools. She saw to her ever greater surprise that a man stood there, a man dressed in the plain tunic of a servant, a mantle wrapped about him, his hood drawn about his face.
She stopped uncertainly.
He said: ‘Close the door,’ and at once her stomach gave a great lurch so that she caught her breath. She obeyed and he threw off the cloak.
Eadgyth stood where she was by the closed door, gazing at him in incredulous disbelief. He was here – looking the same, yet different; older, stronger, but his smile had not changed, nor the soft warm look in those dark eyes.
It was she who had changed most for him. He had last seen a girl who was little more than a child; now he saw a young woman as tall as himself, and though the voluminous habit hid her shape from him he could see from the way the folds fell that she had developed into full womanhood. Her face had grown into maturity, the mark of her sorrows graven there with patience and a kindness born of adversity, though now he saw a light come into it that he did not think had been there for a long time.
It was Eadgyth who spoke first. ‘You have come – you have come, and I never dared to hope for it.’
He held wide his arms. There was neither need nor time for preliminaries and with equal frankness she came into them. He closed them about her, put his mouth to hers.
Then he raised his head and said, ‘My heart, it is three long years and neither of us has forgotten. It seems we are meant for each other.’
She was clinging to him, searching for words, and despite herself, tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
‘Why, what is this?’ he asked gently, ‘are you not happy to see me?’
The joy, the relief after the weary time of waiting was too much for her and she was sobbing quietly, her head against the comfort of his shoulder. He freed one hand and stroked her hair, soothing her until at last she was able to gasp out the words, ‘I am so glad, so happy.’
‘And you had no warning of my coming,’ he said perceptively. He led her to the bed, made her sit down, and sat himself beside her. ‘There, that is better. My poor Eadgyth, it has been a hard time for you.’
She drew a deep breath and wiped away the tears. ‘I am so sorry to be so foolish, but I did not guess . . .’ she broke off, and the look on her face made him kiss first her hands and then her mouth.
‘I need not doubt,’ he said, smiling, ‘that when I can arrange matters you will wed me.’
‘I would wed you tomorrow if I could,’ she answered, ‘but I have no dower, nothing to bring you on our wedding day.’
He shook his head, laughing, ‘Then I cannot take you, can I? Dear heart, as if that would matter one jot to me! It is not the lack of dower that separates us.’
And then they were silent, sitting with hands together, looking at each other. If he could have this girl, he thought, he would want no other women.
Presently she said: ‘Half an hour since I was at my sewing with no idea that you were riding to me. It was all so ordinary and now – how good of the Countess to arrange it so well.’
‘She is the best of women. I doubt if I could have got in wit
hout her. Your aunt is something of a dragon,’ he added laughing, and saw the joy fade at once from her face.
‘She is worse than that. She is warped, she can think of nothing but the life here and how she can force me into it. And,’ Eadgyth hesitated and then went on honestly, ‘I think she cannot bear the thought of men, perhaps because she would have had a husband and was sent here instead. If Mary or I mention marriage her lips tighten and a black look comes over her face so that I think she would lock us up rather than see us wed.’
‘She is mad,’ he said. ‘What would happen to the world if all women took the veil?’ He remembered saying something like this, jokingly, so long ago on the road from Scotland, but now it was a serious matter, a threat to them both. ‘You would not…’ he began and she stiffened, gripping his hands.
‘No, never, never. If they ever tell you I have become a nun, do not believe them, for it will not be true. Once when I told my aunt I was determined to wed one day she shut me up for a week with no food but bread and water.’
‘The bitch!’ he said angrily. ‘My poor love, if that is how she treats you . . .’
‘Oh,’ the smile came back to the wide mouth, ‘it was not so bad for Sister Aldyth, who is very kind, managed to bring me some dinner every day – otherwise I would have been very hungry indeed. I think my aunt was surprised I was not more chastened when she released me.’
He laughed and kissed her fingers, ‘You are indomitable, a true daughter of Cerdic. We shall found a new line, you and I, a house to rule, to combine the best of both Saxon and Norman.’
The colour crept up in her face. ‘I have dreamed of bearing your children.’
‘And you shall. I tell you, Eadgyth, I will have no other woman to share my marriage bed. You alone will have what is best in me.’ He said the words before he realised the import of them, and then at once saw that it was true, that this girl would foster all that was good in his nature, help him fight the evil. For a brief moment he saw himself with unusual clarity, faced his own worst side honestly – the temptation to sexual indulgence, the threatening volatile rage that lay not far below the surface. She would be his defence, his stronghold. He put her hands to his lips again. ‘I am as other men,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I have been worse, but you – you will make me better than I am now.’
‘Then I am content. You see, I have always known…’she broke off shyly.
He looked at her in some wonderment. ‘Many women would not understand what I meant. How is it that you, my love, living here, should know – for what do you know of the world of men, and their ways of loving?’
‘Nothing,’ she said, ‘but you will teach me all I need to know.’
He put both hands on her shoulders. ‘I am astounded at your wisdom. Indeed I think some women must be born with it and not need to learn. But we are talking as if we may wed tomorrow. It will not be that easy.’
‘I know, but – has the King any reason to refuse you now?’
He got up and began to walk about the little room in his usual restless manner. ‘One would not think so, but he is a man of strange moods. He may laugh and lavish wedding gifts on us or refuse to listen to me. And even if he did I think your aunt would fight us every step of the way.’
‘But my uncle Edgar would support us, and I’m sure my aunt must in the end obey the King.’
‘Perhaps. It all rests with Red William. If he refuses…’ he frowned heavily and turned to face her, his arms folded. ‘Eadgyth, I must say this – I cannot risk his anger this time. I have not seen him since our last quarrel and though we have made up our differences, it does not take a great deal to rouse him. There is too much at stake just now for me to risk losing it all. I do not want to go into exile again.’
‘Of course not,’ she agreed at once. For her, at this moment, it was enough to see him standing thus before her, his face, so long inhabiting only her dreams, looking down at her. ‘I am skilled in the art of waiting.’ If her smile was a little wry she did not mean it to be so.
‘I will speak to Rufus, sound him out, but if his decision goes against us now, perhaps I can win him round by my good service to him. Only be patient still and all will be well for us. I swear it . . .’ he looked at the folds of the habit, ‘there will be no nunnery for you, my girl.’
‘I believe you,’ she said simply. ‘I have always believed you.’
He sat down again beside her and took her hands in his. ‘Promise me, promise me whatever pressure is put on you that you will never take the vows.’
‘I promise, and if you hear otherwise never believe it. My aunt can beat me and starve me but I will not do it while you live.’
‘And while you live I will take no other wife.’ With slow deliberation he set his mouth to hers, with his lips apart on hers as she remembered, only this time his kiss was neither brief nor formal.
She surrendered to it, to his arms, to the nearness of him, yielding to a bliss she had imagined so often, but which, now, was so much greater than her girlish dreaming.
He held her close, his hands fumbling with the hated black draperies that hid her young body. He could think of nothing but the fact that she was in his arms, that she loved him and that he – he knew it now – he loved her. He pressed her back on the bed, could not take his mouth nor his hands from her and for one singing moment caution was forgotten.
Then she put her hands against his shoulders and gave a little gasp. ‘Oh no, no – not here . . .’
And at once he thrust down his passion and raising her, smoothed her habit, held her hands and kissed her wide eyes, and could have slain himself for the momentary fear he saw there. ‘Dear heart, I did not mean to frighten you, nor would I . . .’ he broke off, touching her cheek gently. ‘I am a rough, untamed fellow not worthy of you. Forgive me.’
She turned her cheek to rest it on his hand. ‘You are as I want you. I will pray – oh, I will pray every day to Our Lady that it will not be long before . . .’ but she did not finish the sentence for there was a tap on the door, and Maud entered.
‘You aunt is below in the courtyard speaking to a sister, but I think she is on her way here, and you must be with me when she comes.’ And to Henry she said, ‘Only one moment more.’
She went out and at once they turned into each other’s arms.
‘Wait,’ he said, ‘trust me,’ and added, smiling, ‘if you hear of my marriage curse me for a fickle man and find another husband, but never, never take the vows. Only you will not hear it.’
She laughed then and with the new confidence of a woman loved and in love, set her fingers in his hair and reached her mouth to his. ‘If they tell me so I will not believe it. However long we have to wait, I will be your wife or no man’s.’
They clung together for one last moment and then he pushed her through the door even as he heard Christina’s step outside.
Archbishop Anselm was not a happy man, but then he did not look for happiness. He had lost his peace, he saw no more the grey walls of Bec shutting out the wearisome world; instead he was thrust into the heart of that world and though he was an old man, nevertheless he set himself to do the best he could. He did not shrink from speaking out against evil where he found it and he stood firm against the blusterings and encroachments of the King his master despite the private anguish and the secret tears it cost him.
When Rufus was away in Normandy he took advantage of his absence to visit some of the religious foundations in the country and the advent of 1094 found him at the great abbey of Westminster. Gilbert Crispin, the Abbot, was one of his closest friends and for a few days they shut out the world and its affairs, spending their time together in quiet reading and meditation and talk of spiritual things. Consequently he had not heard of the arrival of the Count of Cotentin and was considerably surprised when a lay brother came to him to say that the Prince was in the guest house and wished to speak with him.
Anselm went at once to the Abbot’s parlour and there Henry was conducted to him and knelt for his
blessing.
The Archbishop raised him to his feet. ‘Dear son, I did not look for this pleasure. It is so long since we met, but I have rejoiced that you have your lands again. How do you come to be in England now?’ He indicated a stool and Henry sat down.
‘My brother should be here for Christmas and we must consult together.’ He gave Anselm a quick dry smile. ‘We are seemingly the best of friends again.’
‘I wish I could say the same,’ Anselm answered sadly. ‘I fear I do not please the King. There is to be a great council in Lent to discuss my affairs for he thinks I have cheated him, but that is another matter. I cannot do other than my duty as I see it, in order to safeguard the Church, nor speak other than I believe the Holy Spirit guides me.’
Henry said nothing. He respected the Archbishop more than any other man, but the best of churchmen, he thought, stood hard upon the Church’s dignity which could be irritating for those who had to work with them. ‘My brother is not the easiest of men to deal with,’ he said at last, ‘which brings me to one of the reasons why I have come to you. I need your aid.’
Henry of the High Rock Page 27