Authors: Ellen Jones
But Stephen was unable to relax and bask in the warmth and affinity of his subjects. He was always aware of his brother’s penetrating gaze following him through the hall—weighing, judging, condemning.
A month later, to Stephen’s dismay, the rumor concerning Baldwin of Redvers proved to be true: The disaffected magnate seized the royal castle of Exeter and provisioned it as though preparing for a siege. Stephen, after an urgent meeting of his council, sent two hundred mounted men to Exeter.
A week later Stephen received word that his army had failed to seize the royal castle, although they managed to take possession of the city of Exeter. Baldwin himself had escaped from the castle, leaving his wife and children behind. A fortnight later Stephen himself arrived with reinforcements, accompanied by a group of barons.
After their campsite had been established and the pavilions erected, Robin, Waleran, and a score of other nobles accompanied Stephen on a tour of the land surrounding the castle walls. It was a warm day in early June, fragrant with lilac and roses, the meadows filled with soft green grass. Against the far horizon a line of dark blue hills melted into the pale blue arc of the sky.
“Exeter will not be easy to capture,” Robin of Leicester said to Stephen. He pointed to the high mound on which the castle stood. “The towers are well fortified and the walls difficult to scale.”
“Then we will take it by siege,” Stephen said with confidence, elated that so many of the barons who had paid him homage were also willing to do battle for him as loyal vassals should.
Waleran of Muelan suddenly cursed and pointed toward the camp. “The bastard of Gloucester has arrived. Do not trust him, Sire.”
“Robert is my oldest friend,” Stephen replied. “He has paid homage to me. Why shouldn’t I trust him?”
Waleran raised thick black brows. “Baldwin of Redvers also paid homage to you, Sire, so that is hardly a guarantee of loyalty. It’s most unlike Robert to desert his precious sister, which is why I’m suspicious. Keep a sharp eye out for treachery is my advice.”
As usual, whenever Maud was mentioned, Stephen’s heart jumped and all the muscles in his body quivered like a finely drawn bowstring.
“Robert will never betray me,” he stated confidently.
After three months the castle still had not surrendered, although the garrison no longer rained arrows on Stephen’s army, or attempted furtive sorties in the dead of night.
“The siege is proving successful,” Robin said to Stephen. “The summer drought has dried up the springs and I’ll wager the castle is out of water. They will be forced to use wine for everything, including washing and making bread.”
“Increase the firebrands thrown over the walls,” Waleran said. “They must extinguish them with wine and soon there’ll be no liquid left of any kind. Then they will surrender on our terms or perish.”
Within the week two envoys were sent from the castle to treat with Stephen and ask for concessions.
“Look at them,” said Bishop Henry of Winchester, recently arrived, uninvited, at his brother’s camp. He pointed to the envoys’ dry skin, cracked lips, and glazed eyes. “They are desperate for water. There is little need to give concessions. Don’t treat with them. They will surrender everything in a matter of days.”
“It seems needlessly cruel,” Stephen began, looking in distress at the two men. “Surely we need not prolong their misery?”
“The Bishop is right,” Waleran said, in rare agreement with Henry of Winchester. Normally the two opposed each other on almost every issue that arose. “No quarter must be given.”
Stephen reluctantly agreed, although such callous behavior went against the grain.
Two days later Baldwin’s wife left the castle and threw herself down on her knees in front of Stephen. Her feet were bare, ashes were strewn on her head, and she wept piteously. Shocked at her wasted appearance and labored breath, Stephen received her courteously.
“Don’t listen to her pleas,” Henry cautioned.
“But she is blameless,” Stephen protested. “I cannot stand by and let innocent lives be lost. Baldwin’s quarrel with me has naught to do with her.”
“Your subjects must understand that they cannot rebel with impunity,” Henry urged. “Baldwin has challenged your authority. An example must be made. The castle must totally surrender or die of thirst and hunger. Your enemies will learn from this lesson, and men will fear you.”
“Exactly so,” Waleran said. “In days to come the barons will think twice before they rebel.”
“Harshness in this instance may prevent much bloodshed in the future,” Robin of Leicester added.
“It’s what our uncle would have done,” Henry continued, determined to hammer home his point. “How do you think he kept the peace for so many years? By kindness and mercy?” He turned to Robert of Gloucester. “Is this not so, Cousin?”
Robert gave Henry an enigmatic smile. “My father kept peace in this land for thirty-five years, certainly that is so.”
Stephen found himself wavering between his instinct to save the inhabitants of the castle and the brutal advice of his brother and the de Beaumont twins. “I will think on it,” he said at last.
“Good God, man, there is naught to think on!” Henry turned impatiently away and called to the guards. “Take this woman back to the castle. It’s not enough that she make submission. Every man in the castle must do the same. The ringleaders will be hanged, the rest imprisoned for their rebellious behavior. Baldwin’s sons will be taken hostage to ensure his good behavior. Those who do not comply will be left to starve.” He stalked off in the direction of his pavilion.
Brusquely robbed of his authority in front of his magnates, Stephen felt his face burn, aware of the shocked silence around him. What Henry had done was unforgivable, treating him, the King of England, like a mere servitor! By God’s birth, something would have to be done about his brother.
The next morning a group of barons approached Stephen as he sat alone in his azure pavilion, attended only by a squire.
“Sire, we beg for clemency for those trapped in the castle,” said one of the barons. “Many of us here”—he indicated the three barons who had accompanied him—“are related by blood to Baldwin’s men. They’re now all willing to surrender. Why should they be hung or imprisoned? After all, none of them has ever sworn an oath of homage to you personally, only to Baldwin. How can loyal followers be condemned for obeying their liege-lord?”
The words made sense to Stephen. It seemed mean-spirited, needlessly cruel, to let these men die. He turned to the squire. “Alexander, do you find my Lord of Gloucester and bring him to me.”
When Robert arrived Stephen explained the situation and asked: “What think you?”
“Your own instincts in this matter will be your best guide, Sire,” Robert responded.
“That is not my brother’s advice, nor the twins either.”
“It is for the King to decide. The twins are only advisers; the Bishop is a man of God, not a military leader.” Robert paused. “My father never permitted the church to interfere in lay matters.”
Their eyes met in a long look. Stephen was the first to turn away.
At Robert’s words, the leading baron pressed his advantage. “It will reflect well on you, Sire, if you spare the lives of these men and let Baldwin’s wife and children go free.”
“Any seasoned warrior may triumph in a siege, but it takes a noble and generous heart to deal compassionately with one’s enemies,” Robert added.
“Your pleas have softened my resolve,” Stephen said at once. “I will raise the siege and permit Baldwin’s wife and children to depart.
Baldwin’s men may make submission to me and go in peace. Inform them at once. Be sure they are then given food and water.”
When Bishop Henry and the twins returned and heard what Stephen had done, they were outraged.
“You have made a fatal mistake,” Henry hissed, his eyes glittering like green ice. “Such clemency will be thought of as weakness. Those men who persuaded you to this deed are little better than traitors!”
“That is quite enough, Brother,” Stephen said, stung. “Go back to the pulpit if you would preach a sermon. Saving souls is your province; military strategy is mine.”
“But His Grace of Winchester has made a valid point,” Robin of Leicester ventured. “Now it will be said that men may flout the King’s authority with impunity, for nothing is done to stop them. It’s not a question of cruelty, Sire, but of political expediency. None of us enjoys watching others suffer, but that is the price one pays to keep the peace.”
Waleran turned angrily to Robert. “You were here. Why did you not counsel him against such foolhardiness?”
“I would never be so bold as to question the King’s judgment,” Robert of Gloucester responded.
Waleran smote his thigh with a mailed glove. “By the Mass, Gloucester, you will never convince me that you have the King’s best interests at heart. Sire, take back your agreement with Baldwin’s kin. Put them all to death.”
“May God forgive you, Waleran,” Stephen said, his voice rising in indignation. “I have given those people my word! The matter is at an end.” He stormed out of the pavilion followed by Bishop Henry.
“Brother, Brother,” Robin said under his breath. “I begin to see a pattern forming here and it disturbs me: No reprisals against the King of Scotland; Baldwin’s men freed to return to their lord and stir up trouble! Stephen is too mild. It bodes ill for this land.”
Waleran nodded. “If this is how his reign begins, how will it end?” With a scowl at Robert he took his brother’s arm and led him out of the pavilion.
Alone, Robert of Gloucester smiled, well pleased with what he had witnessed.
In November of that same year, 1137, Stephen received word of the death of the Archbishop of Canterbury. He attended the funeral in Canterbury, returning to Westminster in early December.
“You discussed the vacant See with the Bishop of Winchester?” Matilda asked Stephen the morning after his return as they sat in her solar. “I imagine he will want to take up his new appointment as soon as may be.”
“The monks must hold an election first.”
“That’s only a formality, as you well know,” Matilda said. “Your choice will be their choice.”
“As a matter of fact, I didn’t discuss the matter with Henry.”
“Whyever not?”
“I have grave doubts as to whether my brother is the right person for such a powerful position in the church.” Until the words were out of his mouth, Stephen, who had been thinking along such lines for the past several months, had not believed he would really say them aloud.
“But you have promised him the See of Canterbury!” Stephen winced at the shock and horror in Matilda’s voice.
“I haven’t made a final decision yet,” he said hastily, disturbed by her reaction. She would never accuse him of treachery but the expression on her face was accusation enough.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why do you wish to treat him in this manner?”
Stephen swallowed. Why indeed, he thought. Although Matilda was fully aware of the recent conflict between himself and his brother, she knew little of their early history. How could he tell her that ever since childhood he had alternately hated, loved, admired, obeyed, and been driven to challenge Henry. Too often consumed by envy of his brother’s superior intelligence, Stephen was convinced that if Henry were in a position of supreme power he would always remain in the Bishop’s shadow, a minion of the church, and never become his own man. In the years before Stephen had taken over the throne, he and Henry had worked well together, moving toward a common goal. But since his accession Stephen felt totally oppressed by his brother’s attempts to take command.
He had just decided to tell Matilda something of the truth, when, as if reading his thoughts, she spoke first. “I think I understand. Henry behaves as if he were king and you his servant. Like the incident at Exeter you told me about.”
“Yes. The twins and others expected me to rebuke Henry, but I felt powerless to stand against him.”
Matilda nodded. “What he did was unforgivable, I certainly agree, and, as you know, I have little love for my brother-in-law. He’s too worldly for my taste, and lacks a spiritual character, but all that aside, his advice is usually sound.” She paused. “Even at Exeter, what he predicted came to pass. Baldwin of Redvers and all his men, the same men you saved from death, instead of being grateful for your clemency, joined the Countess of Anjou’s forces.”
Stephen was silent. Why must she remind him of the numerous times that Henry had been right and he wrong? At times he did not quite know what to make of Matilda. He had difficulty reconciling the shy little mouse he had married, with hardly two words to say for herself, with this woman of increasing strength and presence, whose instinctual knowledge of current affairs never ceased to amaze him.
“His advice is often sound,” Stephen said after a time. “But Henry’s interference in the affairs of the realm will only increase when he becomes Archbishop. I cannot rule under such adverse conditions.”
Matilda sighed. “You made a bargain with Henry; the two of you are yoked in harness together. You cannot dishonor the crown by going against your given word.”
“There’s no dishonor involved.” Why must she reduce everything to morality, Stephen thought. “I need only withdraw my support. Let it be known I favor another candidate.”
“Do not think me foolish, Husband, for I’m ignorant of such matters, but would it not be dangerous to cross the Bishop?”
Stephen frowned. “In what way dangerous?”
“In his rage and disappointment over the loss of Canterbury, Henry may seek vengeance—support the Countess of Anjou’s cause, for instance.”
If it had been anyone other than Matilda he would have laughed at the absurdity of such a suggestion. She was less astute than he had thought. “Henry would never be so foolish, my dear. Not that Maud would have him, in any case. She will never forgive his betrayal.” Nor mine, he almost added, the words echoing in his head so clearly he was surprised Matilda did not hear them.
There was a strained silence. “I’m sure you’re right about Henry,” Matilda finally said. “I should not have spoken as I did.”