Escapes! (13 page)

Stephen bitterly remembered the day when at last, like a man shaken from sleep, he had been roused to anger. But was he too late? By then nearly all of southwestern England had fallen into Matilda's hands, her knights controlling a strong belt of castles that stretched from the port of Bristol to her headquarters at Oxford.

After raising an army of loyal subjects in the north, Stephen had begun a grim march — laying siege to Matilda's castles along the way. Some garrisons he had terrified into surrender. Others he had found empty, the soldiers having fled when they heard he was coming. These Stephen burned. Castle by castle, the royal army closed in on Matilda's stronghold at Oxford, cutting her off from her helpers.

Near the end of September, as the feast of Michaelmas approached, Stephen's army had paused before the Thames River. At the head of his troops, Stephen gazed across the water at the city of Oxford. It was well protected by the deep river. To one side a timber palisade guarded the city; on the other rose its castle and soaring tower.

Stephen hadn't waited for long before the enemy showed itself. They came running out of the city gates, toward the Thames. Some shouted insults across the river, others shot arrows over the water. With the river lying between them and the invaders, Matilda's troops felt invincible.

Stephen had seethed with rage. He turned to his advisers. Was there no way across?

One showed him the shallowest point of the river, but warned that even it was very deep.

Stephen wasted no time. He boldly plunged in, leading his men into the deep water. The army waded across, then swam when the water rose over their heads. Their heavy chain mail dragged them down as they struggled to hold their flags above the water.

Streaming up the opposite bank, they charged. Matilda's men were quickly overwhelmed, and ran back through the city gates.

Stephen's troops followed in hot pursuit, pouring through the gates in a fierce column. Once inside, they spread through the streets, throwing firebrands among the houses, capturing as many of Matilda's followers as they could find. Their new prisoners were put in chains — they could be traded for a ransom later.

The rest of Matilda's force fled with their lady in a desperate retreat to the castle, where they shut themselves inside. And left Stephen with no choice but to do this the hard way.

Once the heavy doors closed behind her, Matilda had felt safe in her stronghold. Inside the high stone keep, she was confident she could withstand anything Stephen brought against her. She knew the three enemies of people under siege — hunger, thirst, and fire. Her castle had ample supplies and a deep well, and its towering stone walls would not burn.

Let him come, she thought. And her knights braced themselves for the assault.

They did not have to wait long. First a rain of stones slung against the walls, then showers of arrows from a host of cross-bows. Stephen's methods were simple: surround the castle and bombard it nonstop.

Matilda's knights fought back. They rained down stones and quicklime on the attackers from the top of the castle, and aimed their bows through the arrow-loops that slit the stone walls. They kept a strict watch for any scouts or assault teams who might try to crawl up the mound at the castle's base. And they waited anxiously for the siege engines they knew the King could bring to batter the castle defenses. Monstrous catapults that hurled rocks into or over the walls. Battering rams to break down the doors.

While her men held the king's army at bay, Matilda plotted her next move. She could take her time. She knew sieges moved slowly — weeks, months could pass with both sides in a standoff. There was plenty of time for reinforcements to arrive. Time for her half-brother, Earl Robert, or her husband to come to her aid. Months ago, Robert had sailed to France to convince Matilda's husband, Geoffrey of Anjou, to join her cause. But she had heard nothing since. Where were they?

Robert was always one to play for time, Matilda reasoned. He'd wait for the right moment. But deep down she knew that any help from her husband was doubtful. They were not close. Still, he might act for their son's sake, if not hers — to protect young Henry's birthright in England!

Just hold out, she told herself. Help is on the way.

Stephen knew that laying siege to Matilda and her knights would be a long, ugly struggle. Matilda was no fool and had surely stocked the castle well with food and supplies. But Stephen had already learned that as long as she was on the loose he would have no peace. It seemed he had spent most of his reign dashing from castle to castle, laying siege to rebel after rebel. No sooner was one rebel army defeated than another reared its head, defying him to attack. This time he would not budge.

Messengers arrived, breathless with news. Matilda's allies had joined their forces about 15 miles down the Thames at Wallingford. Then word came that Earl Robert had returned from France and attacked Stephen's garrison at Wareham. The royal troops inside the castle were “shaken and terrified by the Earl's siege engines,” they said. The castellan had asked Robert for a truce so he could summon help from the king.

But Stephen refused to be lured away from the Oxford siege. “No hope of gain, no fear of loss will make me go away,” he declared, “unless the castle is surrendered and the empress brought into my power.”

Nothing would drag him from his goal — to capture Matilda and end the war.

Staring at the dying embers of her small fire, Matilda could no longer ignore the doubts that plagued her mind. The siege had entered its third grueling month. Winter deepened.

She and her knights were famished. Scarcely eating, they tried to make their meager supplies last as long as possible. When the well dried up, they drank wine. Now that was nearly gone.

Day by day, Matilda's fears had mounted. Now she was certain. No help was coming. And outside, an army of more than a thousand enemy knights surrounded the castle, battering it with stones. It was only a matter of time now before her garrison would be forced to surrender.

Unconditional surrender. It was an outcome Matilda had never dreamed of. Now she imagined the long line of defeated knights streaming from the castle, Stephen's trumpets sounding in victory. And she pictured the part that tradition held for her — to walk out barefoot and in tears, her hair loose around her shoulders, begging Stephen for her very life.

No, she thought, rising and crossing the room. She was too proud to play that role. She must escape, before the walls crumbled and the starved garrison fell to the King. But how?

Stephen had posted guards all around the castle walls, with orders to keep a strict watch day and night. No one must be allowed to sneak out. How could she get past his watchmen? And even if she could, the whole of Stephen's army lay around the castle, his soldiers blocking every route.

Matilda gazed at the frozen landscape outside. Icy winds swept over deep snow as far as the eye could see. And where would she go in that wasteland? Why, it was so cold this year the Thames was frozen solid!

She drew in sharp breath as a sudden idea came to her. Perhaps the harsh winter could be a friend as well as a foe. But she would need help. In her mind she cast over the knights in her service. She would need to choose carefully — she wanted men who were wary, sensible, and absolutely loyal. No hotheads! Yes, three knights came to mind. She would speak to them at once. Alone.

In the stillness of a pitch-dark night, just before Christmas, Stephen's sentries paced at the foot of the castle walls, blowing on their frozen hands, stamping their feet to keep warm. High above their heads, a rope snaked its way out of a tower window, down the steep wall toward the ground.

Unseen by the guards below, Matilda clung to the rope as it was lowered down the sheer wall. The wind lashed at her face and made her white garments flap. Suddenly her descent halted and for a nerve-wracking instant she just hung there, swaying. She squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her grip.

Then she felt herself drop again. Willing her eyes open, she forced herself to look down. Below, one of her trusted knights was waiting for her. In his white clothes, she could hardly make him out against the snow. Good, she thought, their camouflage was working.

The wind picked up, and sharp, wet snow stung her cheeks. But she didn't mind. She knew a snowstorm would make it hard to see your hand in front of your face. It could be the stroke of luck they needed!

Below, one of her accomplices held up his arms to guide her to the ground. When Matilda had first proposed this scheme, the knights had wondered if the hunger had gone to her head! Walking out through Stephen's troops, dressed in white so they would disappear against the snow? It was madness! But Matilda was determined. Her subjects were familiar with her fierce will. Once her mind was made up there was no changing it.

Above Matilda, the last of her escape party was inching his way down. As soon as he touched the ground, the four of them set out cautiously across the snow, toward the royal troops whose camps lay in every direction.

Silently they tiptoed forward, threading their way through the sleeping army. No one stirred. Moving slowly through the blowing snow, Matilda and her knights circled around the tents of sleeping soldiers and little pockets of watchmen.