by Hilary Green
‘And we can be sure of support from the Welsh princes,’ Brian added. ‘My holding of Abergavenny has brought most of them onto our side.’
‘As far as numbers of men goes, we have my troops plus a contingent of mercenaries under Robert fitz Hubert, and the Angevins who came with Lady Matilda. There is no question of challenging Stephen to a pitched battle. All we can do for now is to keep hold of those towns and castles we have and hope that others will come over to our side.’ Robert turned to Brian. ‘Your castle of Wallingford is one of the most important. It gives us a foothold further east and control over the crossing of the Thames. It must be held at all costs.’
‘Indeed.’ Brian got up. ‘And to that end I must be on my way. I must be on hand in case Stephen decides to attack us there instead of coming to Bristol.’
As they watched the two men ride away with their escorting knights she said, ‘It was good to see Brian fitz Count again.’
‘I know he was eager to see you,’ her brother replied. ‘I believe he has been half in love with you all his life.’
‘Oh, surely not!’ she exclaimed. ‘What could he hope from that?’
‘Nothing at all. I don’t believe he would have wished for anything more.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I have never really understood Brian. I think he has enjoyed his romantic attachment to you, partly because it could never have any physical outcome. He has been married to Matilda of Wallingford for years, as you know, but she is old enough to be his mother and there has been no issue. I think he has little love for women in the flesh.’
‘Is he a lover of men, then?’ she asked in surprise.
‘No, there has never been any suggestion of that. Whatever Brian’s desires may be, he seems to prefer chastity. If he were not such a doughty fighter I would say he should have been a monk.’
It was spoken lightly, but she sensed that her brother wished to crush any notion she might have of a romantic dalliance with the count. She responded with a hint of acidity, ‘You need have no anxiety for the state of my heart, brother. Two husbands, one dead and the other alive but absent, are quite enough.’
‘What do you think of Miles?’ he asked.
‘I like him. He seems honest and steadfast.’
‘I hope you are right. I confess until today I had my doubts. He seemed loyal to Stephen from the start and Stephen responded by making him one of his constables and giving him Gloucester Castle. But he assures me that he was only biding his time until you and I were back in England.’
‘Perhaps he is wiser than some of our other supporters, who rose up prematurely and have suffered in consequence. But is it not difficult for you, that he holds Gloucester Castle when it is part of your fief?’
He shook his head. ‘It isn’t. The castle is property of the crown, not mine. It was one of our father’s favourite residences. So in point of fact, it is yours.’
‘Of course. I had forgotten.’ She considered. ‘I believe we can trust Miles. There was something in his look that gave me confidence.’
‘Well, let us pray that you are right. We need every man we can get if we are to put you on the throne.’
The pleasant sensation of security she enjoyed the previous evening evaporated quickly. It was clear that victory over Stephen was not going to be as quick or as easy as she had been promised before she left Normandy. They were not left in doubt about Stephen’s next move for long. A rider clattered into the courtyard with a message from Brian. Stephen had appeared in front of his castle at Wallingford and was preparing a siege.
‘God damn him!’ Robert muttered. ‘We must hold Wallingford at all costs.’
Fear dragged at her heart. It was not the castle she feared for, it was Brian. ‘We must send him aid, at once.’
‘No. Do not worry yourself. Wallingford is a strong fortress and Brian will have made all the necessary preparations. He will hold out without our help.’
That night she prayed with greater vehemence than usual. For the first time she was acutely aware that men were preparing to lay down their lives for her. Next morning she confessed herself to Robert’s chaplain.
‘If it comes to open war, I shall have a great burden of guilt for the lives that will be lost. Am I wrong to press my claim?’
‘It is the usurper Stephen who must carry the guilt if that happens,’ she was reassured. ‘It was your father’s wish that you should succeed. To that end he made all his vassals swear to uphold your right. It is those men who have broken their oath who will suffer God’s anger.’
Days passed without news. Then Robert’s spies reported that Stephen had grown tired of being encamped outside Wallingford. He had built two counter castles to contain the defenders and left a contingent of men to hold them, but he himself was coming west with his main army. It seemed his sights were set on Trowbridge, but in a surprise diversion he attacked and took Miles’s castle at South Cerney. He then headed for Malmesbury, held for Robert by the mercenary captain, Robert fitz Hubert. When word reached Robert from that city he exploded with rage.
‘God’s blood, is there no faith in men? That traitor fitz Hubert has handed the castle over to Stephen without a blow struck.’
‘I never trust mercenaries,’ she commented. ‘Most of them would sell their services to the devil if the pay was better. But now there is nothing to stop Stephen advancing on Trowbridge.’
‘Miles will deal with him,’ Robert assured her. ‘He will not allow his daughter and son-in-law to suffer.’
In the event, Miles took a more daring gamble. He gathered his forces and cut across Stephen’s rear to reach Wallingford. While Stephen was encamped in front of Trowbridge a messenger brought word to Bristol that the counter castles had been overrun, the men left to defend them either killed or taken prisoner, and the siege had been lifted. She breathed a sigh of relief in the knowledge that Brian was no longer in danger. Miles, meanwhile, took the opportunity to capture Hereford.
Her supporters were growing in numbers. John fitz Gilbert, once her father’s marshal and the castellan of Marlborough, came to offer his homage, as did a number of local lords and several Welsh princes. But as the days passed she grew more and more restless. She had always been used to command. From the age of twelve she was a queen, and then an empress, and even after her second marriage she was Countess of Anjou with her own household and her own responsibilities. She had lands and the rents and taxes they produced. Now she might be hailed as a queen but she was a guest in another man’s house and dependent on him for her every need. Robert was always kind but she found it hard to accept that she had no authority. Robert’s household was renowned as a centre of learning and culture and there was no shortage of men with whom she could discuss works of theology or secular poetry, and every evening minstrels played and sang in the great hall. But this only served to remind her of her lessons with Henry back in Normandy. She missed her son acutely and worried that he would not receive the education or the discipline that he needed.
As always, when unable to find any occupation to fill her days, she became irritable and quick tempered. The main source of friction was her relationship with the Countess Mabel. She had been so used to giving orders that she forgot sometimes it was Mabel’s role to organize her household and she gave instructions only to find them countermanded.
Matters came to a head over the small question of spices in cooking. As before in England, she found the food served in the castle bland and uninteresting, so one day she made a foray into the kitchen and lectured the cooks on the virtue of the exotic spices she learned to like in Germany and introduced into Anjou. The head cook listened mutinously and when the meat arrived at the table that evening it was exactly the same as before. Frustrated, she threw down her knife and exclaimed, ‘Can no one in this country cook food that has some flavour to it?’
Mabel turned her head and gave her a long look. Then she said coldly, ‘I regret, madam, that the meal does not please you, but I would remind
you that we are in a state of war. It is winter and much of the countryside has been laid waste by rival armies. The peasants are on the verge of starvation. Thanks be to God, we are in a better case here, but we should be grateful that there is still meat on the table.’
She felt the colour rise in her face. How dared this woman speak to her like this? She rose to her feet. ‘I would remind you who it is to whom you are speaking. I am aware of the privations of war. It has been my constant experience through much of my life. I have never found that it prevents a clever cook from adding a few herbs to a dish. But since you are satisfied, madam, I will say no more.’
She left the rest of her food uneaten and walked out of the hall, aware of the buzz of consternation as some of the men and women eating at the long tables rose to their feet and were commanded back to their places by Robert. She knew she had committed an act of great discourtesy in leaving before the meal was over, but to have remained would have been intolerable.
Robert came to find her in her private chamber. ‘Sister, it does not become you to quarrel with the hospitality you are offered here.’
She looked at him and was furious to feel sudden tears well up in her eyes. She swallowed them back and answered, ‘Forgive me. I was lacking in courtesy just now. It is not the food … though I am still convinced it could be more palatable if only the cooks would listen to me … but that is not important. I am just … just so tired of this endless waiting, with nothing to do. I am not one of those women who can sit all day and sew and gossip. I have not been bred to it. I must have occupation. Do you not understand that?’
He sighed. ‘That is all very well, but you must understand that we can do nothing until we have drawn more supporters to our side. I am tired of waiting, too, but we must be patient. Meanwhile, will you try to make your peace with Mabel? You are alike in so many, many ways, both noble ladies, born to authority. You must not quarrel.’
‘I will try,’ she promised. ‘I will apologize to her and ask her forgiveness.’
She did as she had promised, though she found it very hard; Mabel accepted the apology stiffly but they still were far from at ease with each other.
Miles, paying one of his periodic visits to Bristol, found her standing at the battlements on top of one of the towers.
He bowed and said, ‘I was told I should find you here. But the wind is cold. Would you not rather be inside, by the fire?’
She gave him a brief, wistful smile. ‘The caged bird is warm and well fed, but do you not think it would rather have the freedom of the open air, however cold?’
‘You feel yourself caged? I am sorry to hear that. For myself, I should rather be here than out there.’
He gestured to the view spread out below them. It was true that there was little to attract the eye. It had been a wet November and the low-lying ground on either side of the two rivers reflected the grey sky in myriad puddles; while further away the fields were brown and the trees bare of leaves.
She shrugged. ‘I spoke metaphorically. You must bear with me. I lack occupation, that is all.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘If I can pursue the image further, perhaps you need to spread your wings.’
‘If only it were possible!’
‘May I suggest a solution? I know that your brother has brought you here to be under his protection, but it seems to me you might prefer to live in your own castle.’
‘My castles are all far away across the sea.’
‘Not all of them. Gloucester is but a short ride from here.’
‘Gloucester?’
‘It was your father’s. Stephen gave it to me to hold for him, but it belongs to you. It is ready and waiting for its rightful lady to claim it.’
‘But it is yours, your home, as Bristol is Robert’s. Your wife is the chatelaine.’
‘No. She knows as I do that we are only holding it till you require it.’ He took her hand and bowed his head over it. ‘I beg you, my lady, gladden us with your presence. You will be as safe there as you are here and you will be able to direct the affairs of your domain as you would in Anjou or Normandy.’
The suggestion was put to Robert, who agreed to it with, she sensed, some relief. Two days later Miles returned to escort her and she rode out through the gatehouse followed by her retinue of knights. At Gloucester she found the great hall decorated to receive her and a warm welcome from Miles’s wife Sibyl and their two youngest children Mahel and Lucy. Sibyl was a small, plump woman with dark hair and blue eyes and a gentle manner quite unlike the authoritarian Mabel. Matilda knew at once that she would be happier here.
She was now able to establish her own household. She had brought Hawise with her. She had found her efficient and amenable, and when offered a permanent position as her waiting woman the girl accepted with alacrity. Also with her was a young monk, Thurstan, whom she had taken on as her secretary. Sibyl had recruited three young women, daughters of local lords, to be her ladies-in-waiting. Miles’s son-in-law, Humphrey de Bohun, came to pledge allegiance. He had been her father’s steward and originally served Stephen in the same capacity but now he renounced his duty to the usurper and offered his services to her instead. Together with the knights she brought with her from Normandy, they formed the nucleus of a new court.
Once she was safely installed Miles proceeded with his next plan, an attack on the town of Worcester, taking the knights she had brought with her to augment his own troops. While she and Sibyl were still waiting for news of the outcome, the prior of the monastery of Llanthony Secunda came to visit. Some years earlier Miles had transferred the canons of the Augustinian Priory at Llanthony in Monmouthshire, which came under his jurisdiction, to a site near Gloucester and set up the new house. The prior was a man of ascetic appearance and gentle manner, but that day his expression was severe.
‘Madam, I am deeply troubled by the effects on the ordinary people of this fighting. Is it not possible to find some solution to this conflict?’
‘Certainly,’ she replied. ‘Let Stephen renounce his spurious claim to the throne and acknowledge me as his liege lady and the fighting will stop at once.’
The prior sighed deeply. ‘I fear there is little likelihood of that. Can we not find a compromise?’
‘What compromise is possible?’ she demanded. ‘Hark ye, sir. Do you accept me as the rightful Queen of England?’
‘You know I do, madam. If it were not so I should not be here now.’
‘And do you believe that God fights on the side of right and justice?’
‘Assuredly.’
‘Then perhaps He will teach Stephen the error of his ways. Until that time, we must fight on.’
Sibyl asked, ‘Is there some particular incident that is worrying you, Father?’
The prior was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘There is, but I hope I shall not offend you in telling it. Yesterday two young men, canons of Worcester Cathedral, came to me to ask for refuge at the priory. They told a story that distresses me greatly. It seems that when the citizens heard of the approach of your army they were in such fear that many of them sought refuge in the cathedral, bringing all their furniture and other belongings with them. The numbers were such that the priests could hardly make themselves heard during the services above the weeping of the women and the crying of infants. The clergy, anxious about the safety of the cathedral treasures in the event of an attack, decided to remove them. They took down and hid the gold cross on the altar and the statue of Our Lady. The attack began while they were singing the service of prime. The monks clothed themselves in all the most precious vestments, rang the cathedral bells and walked in procession through the town, carrying the relics of St Oswald, but the attackers were unmoved by the sight. The castle garrison fought back and for a time it seemed the attack might be beaten off, but then it was resumed with new vigour. Your Angevins broke down the gates and rampaged through the town, burning and looting as they went. The castle held out, but the town has been destroyed.’
‘A
nd Sir Miles, my husband?’ Sibyl asked.
‘I have no knowledge of his welfare, madam.’
Matilda turned a cold gaze on the prior. ‘As I said, Father, we are at war. If the citizens and the garrison of Worcester had submitted to me as their rightful queen they could have avoided all this destruction. And as a point of fact, it was not only “my Angevins” who were involved. Miles had his own troops with him as well.’
He looked apologetic. ‘I can only relate the story as it was told to me, my lady.’
‘With a great deal of exaggeration, I have no doubt,’ she said. ‘When Miles returns we shall hear the true story.’
‘I have no reason to disbelieve the two men who have fled to my priory.’ The prior drew himself up. ‘Now, if you will permit me, I shall leave you. I shall pray that this terrible destruction may be brought to an end soon.’
She responded proudly to his tale, but later that night she lay in bed with a heavy heart. Her confessor had told her that all blame rested on Stephen, but she could not get the image of the terrified women and children huddled in the cathedral out of her mind. Miles returned next day, uninjured, and her knights were triumphant. They had captured much booty and brought prisoners, whose ransom would swell the small payment they had been getting from her depleted coffers. She told herself that this was war, and war had always been like this.
Winter closed in but the fighting went on. Stephen tired of besieging Trowbridge and withdrew. Rumour had it that the barons fighting at his side were not prepared to sustain a long siege. But he did not leave the area unmolested. He reinforced the garrison at nearby Devizes and laid waste the countryside for miles around.
Miles’s holdings around Gloucester were larger than she at first realized, extending well into the borders of Wales, and all these were now in her possession. These areas had not suffered the depredations of war and she found herself once again in the position of managing her own estates, with rents and tithes coming in. As she had always done, she set about visiting outlying farms and forests, assessing the condition of the land and the animals and the competence of the minor lords who held the land in fee. Miles had husbanded his resources well, and she found little to criticise. Her admiration and affection for him grew daily. Though formidable in battle, he was gentle and even tempered at home and treated her with respect tempered with an almost fatherly concern. It was something she had never experienced before. She had never known her father when she was growing up, and after they were reunited his moods were far too volatile to promote the sort of trust she felt for Miles. In gratitude, she enfeoffed him with the castle of St Briavel and the whole of the Forest of Dean.
