Authors: Ellen Jones
In the end Stephen ignored Robin’s warning, and the outcome was that David of Scotland reluctantly agreed to keep the peace in return for certain rights in the earldom of Northumbria. In addition, Stephen agreed to give the King a large part of Cumberland and Westmoreland. He could not explain, even to himself, why the Scottish king’s goodwill was so important to him.
When he returned to London his brother Henry was waiting for him at Westminster. By the look of exasperation on his face, Stephen realized that the news of what had occurred in Durham had preceded him. Did Henry have spies everywhere, he wondered, even at his brother’s court?
“How could you do it?” the Bishop asked in disbelief, following Stephen into Matilda’s solar. “How could you show yourself to be so weak a king?”
“Weak? Weak?” Stephen repeated defensively. “Is avoiding a war with Scotland weakness or sense? Why shed blood needlessly?”
“But you had David at your mercy! I cannot understand your reasoning here. A show of strength is what avoids war, not pandering to that old fool’s conscience. I never heard the like. The Scottish king should have been forced at sword’s point to swear homage; hostages should have been taken, as well as severe reprisals. Instead you have pacified him at your peril.”
“At my peril?” Stephen laughed. “Now that I have given him what he wants, what have I to fear?”
Henry threw up his hands in despair. “By the Mass, there are none so blind as those who will not see! You have pacified David at the expense of Ranulf, Earl of Chester. Carlisle is Chester’s patrimony and you have given it away to David as part of the agreement concerning Westmoreland.”
“What does it matter? Chester is one of my supporters; he will understand.”
“Will he? You have made a potential enemy of a powerful earl and shown yourself to be a weak sovereign. Our late uncle would never have behaved thus. In future make no decisions without consulting me first.” Bishop Henry flounced out of the room before Stephen could respond.
For a moment Stephen was filled with a murderous rage. How dare Henry treat him as if he were an idiot? While it was true enough that his dealings with the Scottish king had been impulsive, and equally true that he had forgotten that Carlisle was part of Chester’s holdings, still, it was inexcusable for Henry to treat him so shabbily. He wanted to follow his brother and smash that supercilious face, then saw Matilda staring at him in consternation, and tried to compose himself.
“One day Henry will go too far,” he said to her. “We all make mistakes from time to time, if indeed this was a mistake.”
“Calm yourself,” Matilda said, laying aside her needlework. “Remember, you are the king, not Henry. It’s for you to say what is right and what is wrong in lay matters. The Bishop forgets his place. You must remind him who rules.”
Soothed by her words, Stephen sat down beside his wife and accepted a goblet of wine from a hovering servitor. “He seems to think he governs the realm, not I,” Stephen reflected aloud. It occurred to him that when his brother became Archbishop of Canterbury he would grow even more powerful and influential. It was certainly something to think about.
ACROSS THE CHANNEL IN NORMANDY,
Maud was having her own difficulties. In the town of Argent on the Norman border, Maud listened to Geoffrey’s groans in an upper chamber of a drafty, foursquare fortress. The chill room, containing only a narrow bed, rickety table, and three-legged stool, was bleak and cheerless in the dim light of an autumn morning. No hangings covered the damp walls, while a brazier of green logs produced more smoke than heat. Glancing out of a narrow slit in the crumbling gray stone, Maud glimpsed a curve of silvery sky under which a squat church nestled among the thatched roofs of a village surrounded by muddy fields.
Geoffrey groaned again. Maud turned from the window slit and walked over to the bed.
“My throat is parched,” he croaked.
Silently, Maud poured wine from an earthen pitcher into a wooden cup. Geoffrey hauled himself up on one arm, took the cup, drank thirstily, then made a face. “I would not give my sow this piss.”
“That’s all there is,” Maud replied evenly.
“I must return to Anjou,” Geoffrey groaned. “If I’m to die it must be in Anjou.”
“You’re not dying,” Maud said in a weary voice. “You have only a minor wound in the foot.”
“It might gather poison at any moment.” Geoffrey gave another piteous groan and turned his face to the wall. “Men often die from such wounds.”
Stony-faced, Maud watched him. She was not moved to pity for his plight since it had been Geoffrey’s behavior that had very nearly brought them to ruin. It had started several months ago when Stephen sent over to Normandy an accomplished lieutenant, the Earl of Mellent, to take command of the duchy. Geoffrey, who had been successful in a few minor skirmishes in Normandy, had boasted that he would do away with Stephen’s minion in short order. But he had found the Earl more than a match for him.
The Normans, whom Maud had expected to remain loyal to her, might indeed have done so had Geoffrey not run riot with his Angevin troops. Burning, pillaging, raping, looting, and desecrating churches, the Angevins had turned the Normans against them. Such was the hatred of the Normans that they had chosen to burn the city of Lisieux rather than allow the Angevins to enter it.
Hearing that Geoffrey had been severely wounded while besieging the fortress of Le Sap outside Lisieux, Maud, barely recovered from the birth of her third son, William, had herself raised an army from Anjou and Maine and ridden at their head to her husband’s aid. If they were to be successful in regaining the duchy, Maud knew the Angevins and the Normans must make common cause against Stephen’s forces. When she arrived two days ago, half fainting from fatigue, her body aching from hours in the saddle, Geoffrey’s camp had been in an uproar. To her horror she found that he had ordered an immediate retreat; nothing she said had been able to convince him that he was not dying.
“But I’ve raised a goodly number of men,” she told him in vain. “You must not desert the duchy now. We can defeat this earl if you will only stand firm.”
“I wish to die in Angers,” Geoffrey had moaned. “Send the troops back to Anjou and Maine.”
Now Maud did not know where to turn. Perhaps she should just give up. Nothing had gone well for her since Stephen’s betrayal, she thought in despair, tears of self-pity and frustration welling up in her eyes. It seemed as if God’s hand were raised against her cause while championing her cousin’s. There was a soft knock on the door of the chamber, and Geoffrey’s squire entered.
“A courier has arrived from my Lord of Gloucester,” he announced. “I left him in the hall with a cup of wine.”
“Oh! I will come at once.”
“You’re not leaving me alone?” Geoffrey whined, raising his head.
“No, my lord,” Maud replied. “I am sure Roland will be glad to sit with you until I return.”
The squire nodded. “Of course, Madam.”
Maud hurried down the twisting staircase, relieved to be out of Geoffrey’s presence.
The courier was standing in the hall before a glowing brazier drinking his cup of wine; a brown cloak covered his head and body.
“You’ve brought me word from my brother?” Maud asked.
The man tilted his head, and the hood of the cloak fell back revealing his features. He put a finger to his lips as Maud stifled a gasp: the man was Robert himself. Fortunately, the hall was empty at this morning hour.
“Robert,” Maud whispered. “Why aren’t you in England? Is it known you’re here?”
“Stephen knows me to be in Normandy, but he believes I’m at Caen. There were rumors that Geoffrey was wounded and lay at death’s door. I came to see for myself.”
Maud made a face. “He received a wound in his foot. It isn’t serious but he’s behaving as if he will die at any moment, insisting he be taken back to Angers at once. Nothing will move him. Brother, I am beside myself. Must I lose Normandy too?”
Robert put his hand on Maud’s arm. “The duchy cannot be won in a day. Patience.”
Maud bit her lip. Patience, as Robert knew, was not her strong point. “How do matters fare in England? Does—does the usurper suspect you?” She could not bring herself to utter her cousin’s name aloud.
“I doubt it. As far as Stephen is concerned, both Brian and I are now his supporters. As we arranged, Brian attended his Easter court. I pretended to be reluctant but finally allowed myself to be won over. Stephen also believes the King of Scotland is now on good terms with him, and no doubt envisions only calm seas ahead. Which is what we want him to believe.”
Maud nodded. Thus far the first part of the plan formed by herself, Geoffrey, Robert, and Brian—to convince Stephen that Maud’s main supporters had gone over to his side—was working well. The second part of the plan—Geoffrey’s invasion of Normandy—had suffered a setback.
As if reading her thoughts, Robert gave her a sympathetic glance. “Wait for Geoffrey to recover. He will try for Normandy again and next time be more successful.”
“You heard how his troops behaved? Like savages. Against the Normans, their own allies! Sweet Marie, I’m so ashamed.”
“Let me talk to him,” Robert said gently. “He has more to learn than I had previously thought, but then this is his first large-scale battle. Do not judge your husband too harshly.”
“How can I not judge him? We desperately need Geoffrey to win Normandy so we can be free to take England.”
Robert gave her a troubled look. “You’re still determined to invade England? Knowing that there will be a full-scale civil war if you do?”
“If there is war, whose fault will that be? It is
my
throne that has been stolen. Do you suggest I sit quietly by and let my inheritance, and Henry’s, be usurped by the House of Blois?” Maud’s body trembled with suppressed rage. “We have all agreed to invade. You can’t back out now.”
“Peace, peace. No one has suggested otherwise.” He took her hands in his. “Brian says the time is not yet ripe for an invasion but if Stephen continues on his present course it shouldn’t be too far away. I won’t ever desert you, surely you know that by now.”
Impulsively, Maud kissed Robert’s cheek. “Forgive me for doubting you. What would I do without your support? You’re my mainstay, my right arm.”
“I have some news for you,” Robert continued. “Your stepmother, Queen Adelicia, is to be married again to William de Albini, Lord of Arundel. He’s a staunch supporter of Stephen, but Alix still harbors tender feelings for you, I’m sure.”
Maud looked surprised. “I would have expected her to enter a convent after my father died, but I wish her well in this new marriage.” She paused. “Do you think we may count on Alix’s support when we make our bid for England?”
“I think it highly possible she will help you personally,” Robert said. “Now, I have very little time left, so take me to Geoffrey.”
As they mounted the winding staircase, Maud turned to her half-brother. “Tell me the truth—do you really believe the time will come when I will be welcome in England? The usurper is popular. Everyone loves him.”
“At the moment. As I’ve said, it won’t take the people of England long to discover the true nature of the man they have chosen to rule them,” Robert said with confidence. “Their love for the present king will die as his weaknesses become more and more apparent—which is already happening. Stephen is a warrior, not a commander.”
Maud said nothing. Does love ever die, she wondered, even when one knows the weaknesses ?
I
N THE YEAR 1137,
Stephen held his second Easter court in London. On Easter day, after Mass in the abbey, the great hall at Westminster was packed with richly dressed Norman lords and their ladies, distinguished prelates, and visiting dignitaries from Europe.
Stephen, seated on the royal throne, caught a glimpse among the guests of his old comrades, Robert of Gloucester and Brian FitzCount, accompanied by Miles FitzWalter, Sheriff of Gloucester. Despite the fact that their personal affection for him had markedly cooled, he was relieved to be on good terms with Brian and Robert, both of whom had paid him a grudging homage.
He was also relieved that so many attended his court. A show of good faith was sorely needed now, Stephen thought with a sigh, reflecting on the series of troublesome incidents afflicting his reign. Beginning with the rebellion of the Scottish king, the difficulties had continued with sporadic bursts of unrest: One high-ranking noble had taken unlawful possession of a castle belonging to the crown while another laid waste the land in his area. In addition, the church kept demanding more and more rights, and the Bishop of Winchester backed them, causing an ever-widening rift between himself and his brother. He had dealt with each incident as it arose, but Stephen could not understand why the moment he handled one problem, another popped up to replace it, each becoming more serious than the last.
Just yesterday, in fact, a most disquieting rumor had reached his ears: Lord Baldwin of Redvers, a crony of the late king and a magnate of high rank and much influence, who had initially sworn homage to him, was now openly declaring himself to be an avowed enemy of the crown. Stephen prayed that the rumor was false, even as his eyes anxiously scanned the hall hoping to catch sight of Baldwin among the crowd. His attention was distracted by his brother Henry, resplendent in gold-encrusted episcopal robes and miter, pushing his way through the crowd to approach the throne.
“I’ve looked everywhere but I cannot see Lord Baldwin of Redvers,” Henry said, frowning. “Didn’t you tell me that he was expected?”
“I was given to understand he would be here, but I cannot force him to attend my court.”
“No one would have dared ignore King Henry’s order to attend his court,” the Bishop said. “A loyal vassal must comply with his king’s wishes or show good cause why not. Baldwin is a man of high rank and powerful connections; he should be here. You’re far too reasonable.”
Stephen felt his chest tighten. Henry was constantly criticizing him, always exhorting him to do something other than what he was doing. Unwilling to listen to his brother’s nagging, he abruptly rose to his feet and began to mingle with his guests.