Next came the household officers, Robert de Beaumont bearing the crown, his brother the sceptre; Gilbert of Clare carried the King’s staff, Earl Simon his sword, and after them came the next degrees of men such as Richard of Redvers, rejoicing in his friend’s triumph; Ralph de Toeni and his son; old Robert de Marmion with Roger; Eudo Dapifer; Roger of Clare; Arnulf and Roger of Montgomery, Bellême’s brothers – a long procession stretching the length of the abbey. Earl Hugh had not been able to reach England in time, and the canopy over the King’s head was borne by the Earls of Surrey and Shrewsbury, the Counts of Breteuil and Mortain, an irony considering they were perhaps Henry’s main enemies, but they hid their animosity today, knowing themselves outnumbered.
Beneath the canopy, when all were in their places, walked the King-elect, and on either side of him the Bishops of Lincoln and Rochester, and his train was borne by four boys, young Simon, Maud’s son; Richard of Chester; Eadgyth’s brother, David of Scotland, and young Baldwin of Redvers, a token of the new King’s long friendship for his father.
Henry’s own son had wept stormily when told he might not bear the train and he stood now with the Countess Maud looking enviously at the four lads, trying to accept the fact that he was not one of them.
‘I will advance you when you are older,’ his father had told him, ‘but you are not my heir. No bastard can inherit England.’
‘Then I do not want to be a bastard,’ Robert wept and his father had laughed.
‘I’m afraid, my son, that was decided for you a long time ago. You must understand that you cannot act as if you were a royal prince.’ But the words were accompanied by a kiss and a caress that softened them.
Now, as he stood with the Countess, Robert was only aware of pride in this man who was his father and he wished he had a few more inches that he might see better. As his father passed where he stood he turned and smiled and Robert thought he had never seen him look so magnificent.
The King’s coronation robes were of purple sendal that shimmered as he moved, edged and embroidered in gold thread in an intricate pattern that had kept the tailors working each day and night since Friday. Shafts of sunlight coming through the windows caught the work and it shimmered as he moved, his mantle and train stretching behind him also covered with gold embroidery. Bracelets of thick gold were set upon his wrists and his dark head was bare, ready for the crown of his father to be set upon it. He had been carefully shaved and his skin was smooth and browned by the sun so that at this moment proud, smiling, walking to fulfil the highest peak of ambition, Maud thought she had never seen him look more comely. Tears came to her eyes for joy in this moment and she wished that Eadgyth had been there to see him – but that would soon be righted now and Maud, generous in her joy, looked forward to leading Eadgyth to her marriage bed.
Henry himself, passing Maud and his son, was also thinking of Eadgyth, though in the last two hectic days there had been time for nothing but the business of being crowned. From the moment when he had seized the Treasury at Winchester events had moved fast. On the following morning Rufus was hastily buried in the cathedral church, unmourned and unwept, no priest would sing a Mass for one who had so consistently mocked at God and His Church and it was unshriven, without the last rites, without candles or singing that he was laid beneath the floor and as quickly forgotten.
Henry stood briefly by the stone slabs. How could he genuinely mourn the brother at whose hands he had suffered so much and whose death had set him free? Nor, even had he wished it, was there time to mourn – only a moment to remember all that Rufus had been, the camaraderie, the petulance, the odd humour, the arrogance that had refused his brother so often, all at an end now under a slab of stone.
A council was called of all the men available and with hardly a dissenting voice Henry was elected King. That there were dissenters he knew, men who would prefer Robert’s easy rule, but for the moment they were outvoted and outshouted. As King-elect he rode for London and was in the capital the same evening, but a King-elect was no King at all, as Edgar Atheling had discovered back in 1066, and Henry hurried on the arrangements for his crowning.
Yesterday had been spent thus, but he had also had time to look into some of the irregularities of Rufus and his ministers, and with Roger the Priest, soon to be the chief of his clerks, he had worked far into the night on a charter to redress the blatant wrongs under which the nation had groaned – the laws of King Edward were to be restored, fresh laws made for rich and poor alike, the Church to be free of simony, marriage rights to be safeguarded, the coinage reformed, knights’ privileges to be laid down, widows and orphans protected. A good document, he thought, and one that set out the rights of all men for all time, to be handed down through succeeding generations as a guide to good government and to put a stop to the evil practices of his brother’s rule. The only concession to his own pleasure was his keeping of the royal forests in his own hands. He had already ordered the immediate arrest of Ranulf Flambard, to the general delight, and commanded Roger privately to set about amassing evidence against the Earl of Shrewsbury that might rid his kingdom once and for all of the Devil of Bellême.
And now at last, with power in his hands, he could take what he desired and above all he desired Eadgyth. He would send for her and there would be another ceremony, another crowning, and a night of joy which he had anticipated for nine long years.
Last night Bishop Maurice had heard his confession and shriven him and stood now ready and waiting to admit him to the highest office in the land, a grave smile on his lined face. He laid his hand on Henry’s shoulder, turned him to face the people, asking if they would have him for their King. The responsive shout was deafening, echoing through the building, flung high into the roof, a vivid explosive acclamation that sent the colour to Henry’s face – he had expected it, but the effect was overwhelming.
His first act was the swearing of the oath, his hand upon the holy Book where it lay on the altar, swearing to uphold the law, to bring back justice, to lay aside the unright of his brother’s time to be a servant of God and a father to his people. The long elaborate ceremony progressed and he tried to take it all in, to absorb every impression, but it assumed an almost dreamlike quality as the holy chrism was laid on his brow, the sceptre and staff placed in his hands, and at last the great crown of Arabian gold with its metal stars and its jewels, set upon his head. In that moment all that he had ever done or endured in the years since his father’s death became worthwhile. He stood crowned, anointed, while he was hailed from every part of the building. ‘Vivat rex! Vivat rex in aeternum!’ and the joy was greater than it had been since the crowning of Harold, the last of the Saxon Kings, for England now had an English King again, born on her own soil.
Hamo stood stiffly with the standard, looking at his lord’s back and thinking of the day when they had stood together on the high rock of Domfront and Henry had said that it was a beginning. Their way had led them here to this golden glittering moment and Hamo felt intoxicated with pride in this man he served, his only regret – that Fulcher had not returned to share in it. At the side of the church Gulfer whispered to Raoul that it was a pity Herluin of La Barre was not here to see this day while Raoul, bearing his secret knowledge, whispered back that Herluin would no doubt be happy enough knowing their master was in his rightful place.
Roger the Priest, among the ranks of the clergy, thought of Henry’s promise to advance him; he was an ambitious man and already saw himself mitred, but in this moment he too thought of Herluin and prayed for his friend that wherever he was gone he might meet with kindness.
The solemn mass proceeded. Henry was divested of royalty and knelt at the altar steps while the eternal sacrifice was offered. Devoutly he received the Host upon his tongue and thanked God for His goodness. For him it was the supreme moment for he, now a King with a kingdom, abased himself before the King of Heaven in real humility, putting aside his own high achievement as he worshipped God. He knew then an exultation of soul such
as he had not known before for surely now God was blessing him, consecrating him to the work he was to do.
The mass ended, he was again dressed in royalty to receive the homage of the barons. One by one they approached the throne and knelt, placing their hands between his and swearing fealty to him, and as they came he assessed them with that cool clear-sightedness that was to stand him in good stead over the years. In that moment he remembered the humiliation of his defeat on the rock of the Archangel and how many of the men here had lined the way then to see him go; he had sworn that one day they should kneel to him and now by God that day had come and it was they who were submitting to him!
The bishops came first, his to a man for he had already given his word on reform of the royal dealings with the Church, and Robert Bloet in particular set his hands between the new King’s with tears of joy in his eyes. The Earls followed. Robert and Henry of Beaumont foremost and to be admitted to his inner council; Earl Simon, good man and firm friend; Earl Gilbert of Tonbridge who gave Henry a swift glance of triumph. Somehow, Henry thought, Gilbert had been too prepared for this, and he suspected Gilbert if not of plotting Rufus’ death, at best engineering it in some fashion; yet Gilbert, if he had done it, had done it from motives that could scarcely be condemned as evil for no man today could say that England would not benefit from the ending of the rule of Rufus and Flambard.
It was odd that men seemed to have accepted unquestioningly that the King’s death was an accident, that Tirel had shot at a stag and missed and killed Red William instead, that he had fled in fear of the consequences. Well, let that story suffice. If he suspected more he would keep it to himself and see that neither Tirel nor his family should suffer for it.
Of Herluin’s part in it he had no knowledge, only conjecture. Raoul had told him a strange tale of omens and prophesies and weird words, and Roger too had thought that Herluin’s disappearance was connected with the accident, with death and an old fear, but no one knew what had happened in that glade three evenings ago. Had Herluin sent that fatal arrow to its destination? His cryptic message, ‘tell the King . . .’ could not have been directed to Rufus that much was clear. It could only indicate either some foreknowledge or instinct but it did not clarify the truth of what had happened, could never do so now. All that was certain was that Herluin, no longer sane, had gone and that he, Henry, was King, and the one followed from the other. He grieved for the loss of the friend who had shared so much with him, but there was no time to look back, nor was he the man to do so. If he owed Herluin anything for the latter’s charity to his father’s corpse, for the years of friendship, he must repay it now by his consequent deeds. However he had come to this present moment he must accept it and he set his hands firmly on either side of Gilbert’s large strong fingers.
Earl William of Warenne came next, kneeling at his feet, hands uplifted. Here was one he would not trust for de Warenne had wanted Eadgyth, had been one of Rufus’ cronies. The Earl spoke the oath but he did not meet Henry’s stare; nor did William of Breteuil who came next, both assenting with their lips but neither with their hearts. William of Mortain looked boldly at his cousin and Henry met that gaze with one equally cool.
In a low voice he said, ‘A fair warning, William – you had best live at peace with me. I will be a good friend, but a ruthless enemy.’
The corners of Mortain’s mouth were drawn down. ‘As you will, my cousin and King. Will you give me our uncle’s earldom of Kent to win my loyalty?’
His effrontery astonished Henry and he felt he would as soon trust a poisonous snake. ‘No man will get aught of me but what he earns,’ he said and turned to the Earl of Shrewsbury who now approached the dais. Here perhaps was the greatest enemy of all, the one man he loathed as he had never hated in all his life, the man responsible for more suffering and evil than any other, guilty of many deaths including that of Simon La Barre, and because of that of the loss of Herluin. As Bellême knelt, richly dressed, his dark handsome face blandly smiling, thin brows smooth, dark eyes betraying nothing, Henry felt a disgust that he must even for this moment set his hands on those of the Devil of Bellême.
He leaned forward and spoke so that no one else might hear. ‘My lord Earl, you may as well know from the start – I will not tolerate deeds in my kingdom such as you have wrought in Normandy. If you disturb my law you will find my hand even heavier than my father’s.’
Bellême did not flinch but stared boldly back at Henry. ‘Beau sire, I rule vast lands on both sides of the channel. You will have no defiance from them.’
‘That is not what I meant and you know it. It is your own conduct I censure and I am neither as gentle as Robert nor as careless as Rufus.’ He set his hands briefly on either side of the Earl’s. ‘You have sworn your fealty – break it and I will break you, my lord.’
Bellême rose and backed away from the dais and Henry thought, it is in the open now, a contest between the Devil and myself and it is I that shall win.
Richard of Redvers came to kneel before him, broad face smiling, and Henry turned with pleasure to one who was his friend beyond doubt. When every man of rank, every knight had sworn he rose and attended by his household and all the Earls he walked slowly from the church to show himself to the people. The capital had gone wild with joy and he realised as he stood on the steps in all his panoply how his brother had been hated.
They were shouting for him – ‘Henry the Atheling! Henry of England!’ and from his own followers, ‘Henry of the high rock!’ These his people wanted to be his people and he felt again as he had felt once before on a night at Winchester, and later at the conquest of Domfront, that inebriating sense of power, the triumph, the fulfilling of his destiny that ran in his veins like rich wine.
He handed the sceptre and staff to the Beaumonts and stood with his arms uplifted and wide in an embracing gesture, smiling in the sunlight, the crown of England firmly on his head.
A week later he sent Richard of Redvers with a large escort to Romsey to bring the Princess Eadgyth and her sister to London. He could not leave the capital himself, much as he wished to go, but Richard would do his joyous mission for him and he waited for four impatient days for his friend’s return.
And then one morning shortly before the dinner hour he was in his solar dictating a letter to Philip of France – fat Philip who was so old and gross that he left most affairs in the capable hands of his son Louis and who could no longer patronise him – when Walter, now proudly in charge of four pages, came in to say that the lord of Redvers was outside.
Henry sent the clerk away and rose eagerly, but Richard came in alone, his face unusually grave.
He checked his eager move forward. ‘Well?’ his voice sounded harsh with suppressed anxiety. ‘Where is she? Have you not brought her?’
Richard shook his head. ‘No, sire. The Abbess Christina…’
‘Wine of Christ!’ Henry swore, ‘not that bitch again! What happened?’ He indicated a stool but did not sit himself.
‘I took your message, but the Abbess said, oh very politely, that she could not send to earthly marriage one who was a bride of Christ.’
‘She lies. She has always lied.’
‘So I think’, Richard agreed, ‘but she insisted. She asked whether after so many years I imagined the Princess still refused the vows. She said the Princess had become desirous of serving God only and no man.’
Henry’s mouth was drawn in a grim line.
‘You saw her?’
‘At first the Abbess refused, but I insisted.’ Richard gave Henry an apologetic glance. ‘I was not sure what you would wish me to do, but I did not think so soon after your crowning you would want me to violate the precincts of a holy house. However, I did know you would not be satisfied with anything other than a reply from the Princess herself, so I told the Abbess that I and my escort would remain in the guest house eating heartily until she complied with my request.’
Henry laughed briefly. ‘Richard, you are a born statesman – I mus
t find use for your talents. What then?’
‘She had to let the Princess come.’
‘And Eadgyth?’
‘She was not wearing the habit.’
‘Ah!’ He let out his breath. ‘What did she say?’
‘What I expected – that she had not taken any vow.’
‘And Christina?’
‘She turned on the girl and reminded her of words she had spoken one day. The Princess admitted she had once said that if in time there came to be no hope whatever of a union with you then she might consider it. If she could not wed you then she would know no man but give herself wholly to God.’
Henry felt his face burn. ‘Go on.’
‘She admitted also that she had worn the habit, but this her aunt forced on her for the most part, though she herself had worn it when certain Normans came to the house, notably the Earl of Surrey who desired her hand of King William.’
‘And what answer did Christina make to this?’
Henry of the High Rock Page 36