Authors: Ellen Jones
Theobald rewarded her with a saintly smile.
Next morning the Archbishop of Canterbury started on his journey to Bristol escorted by Robert of Gloucester and a troop of his knights. At the last moment they were joined by a group of bishops who suddenly decided it might behoove them to also be released from their oath to Stephen. Maud graciously granted permission to any who wished to go. When the procession left Winchester, she called her council of advisers to help find a solution to the pressing problem of the empty treasury.
Two and one half days later, Robert of Gloucester came within sight of his castle at Bristol. As he approached the curtain walls, he was amazed to hear the faint echo of cheers and laughter coming from the outer bailey. What in the name of heaven was going on? he wondered.
“Is a tournament being held this afternoon, my lord?” asked the Archbishop.
“Certainly not,” Robert said. He looked up and was stunned to find the walls and towers empty of guards and no watch at the gatehouse.
He had left explicit instructions that the castle was to be on full alert at all times while the King was housed there. He had not bothered to notify anyone of his arrival, but that was hardly an excuse for slack discipline and blatant disregard of his orders. Robert blew sharply upon the ivory horn that swung round his neck. Within a few moments he was relieved to see some of the guards peering over the walls, and the watch appear in the gatehouse. When he recognized Robert he quickly lowered the drawbridge.
Someone better have an explanation for this unprecedented behavior, Robert thought grimly, as he and his party rode across the causeway. He trotted into the outer bailey, then suddenly drew rein at the spectacle that met his eyes. A host of squires, knights, and men-at-arms, among them his youngest son, Phillip, had formed two lines opposite each other. Between them raced two horses: Stephen sat astride Robert’s favorite bay stallion and Robert’s son and heir, William, rode a chestnut horse. The guards who should have been keeping watch were leaning carelessly over the walls and towers, waving their spears and shouting encouragement.
Mabel of Gloucester and her ladies, decked out in gaily colored gowns and headdresses, were among the lustily cheering spectators. Robert was astonished to see his wife tear a bright silken gauge from her long yellow sleeve and toss it to Stephen as he galloped past. He caught it in a deft hand. The former king looked almost like a youth again, Robert thought, his honey-colored hair tousled by the wind, his face flushed with color. A far cry from the downcast gray-faced prisoner who had left Gloucester a month ago.
When Mabel saw Robert and the group of prelates, she turned crimson and her mouth dropped open. As the others caught sight of the Earl, the cheering died and the guards scrambled to resume their positions on the walls; Stephen and William slowed their mounts to a walk.
“My lord, no one had any idea you were expected,” Mabel said breathlessly as she ran up to her husband. “Stephen challenged any of our men to ride against him, and William agreed—” Her voice faltered at the look on Robert’s face. It was probably the only time in all the years of their marriage that he had ever seen his formidable wife at a loss for words.
“That I wasn’t expected is obvious. There is no need to ask how you have all fared here,” Robert said with an edge to his voice. “As you can see, we have important guests,” he continued in a reproving tone, “who have come upon a matter of some urgency. Inform the steward at once, Wife.”
“At once, my lord,” Mabel said, scurrying away.
With an apprehensive look on their faces, the knights and squires greeted Robert, then quickly dispersed. William and Stephen hastily dismounted; William approached his father.
“We were practicing our horsemanship, my lord,” he said, clearly uneasy. “Stephen has been teaching us some of the skills he learned in tournaments. I didn’t think any harm would come of it. He’s been most helpful.”
“Indeed, but he is our captive, may I remind you.”
“My lord, Stephen is also my godfather,” William said in a low voice. “It’s difficult to think of him as a prisoner.”
“And you allowed this bond to influence you? Where is your sense of duty? How can I trust you in the future? Whilst you made merry the castle was left virtually unguarded. Because you disobeyed my orders Stephen would have been easily accessible to an attempt to rescue him.”
Robert knew that despite the evidence, neither his wife nor son was totally responsible for the lack of security he had found. He recognized the real culprit. It was so typical of Stephen to charm all and sundry into doing what he wanted.
William looked crestfallen. “I … I didn’t think of the risk. Forgive me, Father.”
Stephen sauntered up to them; behind him tagged Phillip, a youth of fifteen, who gazed up at the former king with worshipful eyes.
“Captivity agrees with you, Cousin,” Robert said to Stephen, forcing himself to be civil. “Here are some guests to visit you. After they have rested and eaten I’ll bring them to see you upon a matter of some importance.”
Stephen smiled at the group of prelates. “An unexpected pleasure, Your Grace, my lord bishops.” He knelt and kissed Theobald’s episcopal ring. “What is this important matter? I’m greatly curious.”
“William, Phillip, take the Archbishop and the others to the keep,” Robert ordered before the clergymen could answer. He wanted Theobald’s request to catch Stephen by surprise, before he had time to ponder the full consequences of his answer.
William did as he was told. Phillip made no move to leave.
“Run along, my boy,” Robert said.
Phillip gave him a defiant look. “I’d prefer to stay with Stephen, Father.”
Before Robert could reply Stephen turned to Phillip. “Do as your father says. We’ll see each other later.”
With a scowl for Robert, Phillip threw Stephen an adoring glance and left.
“I hope you’re not offended by our race,” Stephen said. “It was only a bit of sport. Certainly the Countess and your sons have made my life far more agreeable than I had any right to expect. I am unused to being sedentary and time hangs heavily on my hands.” He gave Robert a smile designed to dazzle and charm.
Robert refused to succumb. It was unworthy of him, but the exchange between Phillip and himself rankled, as had his son’s look for Stephen. “That is a prisoner’s fate,” he said. “You could be fettered and confined to a dungeon, remember. Be warned that I don’t intend to let this unseemly behavior continue. You saw for yourself the effect it has already created.”
“Don’t take Phillip’s attitude too seriously, Cousin. The boy misses you, and he is at the age where he needs someone to look up to,” Stephen said, with that uncanny ability he often had to see into another’s heart. “I worry about my own son, Eustace, with no father to guide him.” A shadow flitted across his face, then he smiled. “Well, what is the news? I’m totally isolated in my golden cage. Your sister thrives?”
It was virtually impossible to remain antagonistic toward him, Robert thought in resignation, as he felt his innate love for Stephen returning. He willed himself not to be suborned.
“Indeed she does. Your brother has agreed to be Maud’s chief adviser; many barons who swore homage to you have already changed sides. Even London is sending a deputation of citizens to meet with my sister.”
“So she is gaining support,” Stephen said slowly. The happy flush that had illuminated his face was now replaced by a troubled look. “I confess to being surprised.”
“Why? Your reign was hardly a successful one,” Robert said, suddenly unable to resist a vengeful thrust. “In fact, what with the state of the treasury and the condition of the land, I can’t imagine how you survived as long as you did. It will take years to replace the damage you have done.”
Stephen flinched and his eyes darkened, but he made no reply. Robert watched him, filled with a curious mixture of regret and satisfaction. Stephen’s confidence was shaken, which was all to the good. The more remorseful he felt the more likely he was to accede to the Archbishop’s request. The Vespers bell rang and they walked in silence to the chapel.
After the evening meal, Robert took the Archbishop and the other prelates to see the former king in the chamber Stephen had been given near the solar. A single guard stood watch at the door.
Theobald approached Stephen, who was sitting in one of the very few wooden armchairs in the castle. It had not been in this room before Stephen’s arrival, Robert noted. Nor had the red-and-blue coverlet on the bed, nor the silver basin and ewer that rested on the oak table along with a bowl of sweetmeats, a silver-gilt goblet, and a flagon of wine. A golden cage indeed!
“Sire,” said the Archbishop, bending his knee, “I have been asked to recognize the Countess of Anjou as Queen of England. I may not do this without your leave. Do you grant me permission to change my loyalties as the times constrain us?”
Stephen blanched; his face worked as he stared at Theobald. Clearly the request had caught him by surprise, Robert thought, not displeased.
Stephen stroked his chin, then tapped one finger against his teeth, weighing the question. Robert held his breath, willing Stephen’s generous nature to assert itself and make the chivalrous gesture—albeit not the wise one.
At last Stephen gave a wan smile. “My lord bishops, Your Grace, you must all do as you see fit. I cannot tell you what course to take in this matter. These are trying times and I judge no man for … for attempting to survive as he deems best.”
It was an equivocal answer but sufficient.
The next day, having issued a stricter set of instructions for the care of the prisoner, Robert and the prelates left for Winchester. The sooner Theobald swore homage to Maud the easier he would feel, Robert thought. Although Stephen had been removed from the throne, he suspected it would be less easy to remove him from the hearts of his subjects.
T
HE WEEK FOLLOWING THEOBALD’S
submission, Maud sat on the ivory-inlaid chair in the great hall of Winchester Castle awaiting the deputation of London citizens, who had arrived the night before. Directly in front of the dais, Robert, Miles, Bishop Henry, and Brian stood in a semicircle around her. David of Scotland, flanked by two Highlanders armed with claymores, sat on the dais with her, as befitting one of his age and rank.
“I have seen the treasurer’s report,” announced Robert, holding up a parchment for everyone to see. “It makes grim reading, even worse than we feared. As the land is in such disorder, it may take months to collect the revenues due us. Funds are so low we cannot even hold a proper coronation. If it were not for the generosity of Miles of Gloucester we would have neither meat nor drink on the table.”
The flaxen-haired giant grinned broadly. “I only wish I had more to offer.”
Maud’s eyes rested fondly on Miles, whom she had just created Earl of Hereford. It was rumored that his great wealth had been accumulated by years of plunder, but Maud turned a deaf ear to such tales. All that mattered was his willingness to help her cause.
“Something must be done at once,” Robert continued.
“We are all aware of the problem,” said the Bishop impatiently. “What remedies do you offer?”
“Ye could borrow from the Semite moneylenders against that which is owed the crown,” David of Scotland offered.
Maud sat forward in her chair. “I think that is an excellent idea, Uncle,” she said, “but why need we go to moneylenders?”
Robert, Miles, and Henry turned toward her in surprise, as if suddenly reminded of her presence.
“Do not trouble yourself over such matters, Madam,” the Bishop said with a dismissive gesture. “Leave us to deal with this coil.”
“I’m not merely a figurehead, my lords. I mean to be of use to you. Will you not hear what I have to say?”
They looked at her with polite disinterest, and Maud realized that despite everything said to the contrary, they did view her only as a figurehead, a living symbol of the crown, and if she allowed it, would divest her of all authority. Even Robert and Brian and Uncle David, those who cared for her the most, wanted her to be like wax in their hands, molded to fit a pattern they intended to set for her. She would sit on the throne but they would rule the country. Well, the sooner she disabused them of that idea the better.
“Have the London burghers arrived at the castle for their audience?” she asked.
“Yes,” the Bishop replied.
“Send them in.”
“Now?” Henry raised his brows. “We’re in the midst of a discussion about finances. They can wait.”
Without responding, Maud clapped her hands and a servitor came running. “Bring in the deputation of London citizens.” She turned to Henry. “I have a plan in mind. Bear with me.”
She saw the men look at each other in consternation. Her uncle drew his grizzled sandy brows together in a frown.
“What are ye up to then, Niece?” he asked. “I hope ye won’t be headstrong now and take matters into ye own hands.”
Henry gave the Scottish king an indulgent smile. “She is wiser than that, Sire. Tell us your plan, Madam.”
He made her sound like a child showing off a new trick. Maud’s lips tightened.
The servitor entered leading a group of middle-aged men covered in long fur-lined cloaks. Bearded and somber-faced, they reminded Maud of Old Testament patriarchs come to life. She welcomed them pleasantly, offered refreshment, and waited while her advisers greeted them.
Their spokesman came directly up to the dais and bent his knee. “We have a request to make, Lady, and pray you are willing to grant it.”
“I will most certainly try. Then I have a request of my own.”
Out of the corner of her eye Maud saw the Bishop of Winchester stiffen, his nostrils quivering in alarm. Startled, the spokesman glanced at Henry, then looked quickly away. But not before Maud had seen the brief exchange. She sucked in her breath. Had the Bishop met with the London deputation last night or even earlier? Did he know what they wanted of her? He had told her he did not.
The head of the London citizens was speaking: “We have come to plead for the release of our most beloved King. We beg you to free him from captivity and let him accompany his wife and children to Boulogne.”