Beaming a welcome, the bishop-cum-baron escorted the empress and her party on a tour of his menagerie. He showed them the wolves and lynxes, poked about in the snake pit until a cobra emerged to bite the stick, then invited Matilda to ride a tame, Bactrian camel.
‘If you sit between the humps—’
‘Don’t be a fool.’
‘I assure you, my lady, it’s almost impossible to fall off. Now that one over there, that single-hump dromedary, he’s a different proposition.’
‘No,’ she contradicted, ‘he’s exactly the same, for he’ll also go unridden.’ She shrugged deeper inside her hooded cloak and said, ‘Well, it’s all very interesting, Bishop, but the cold is thinning my blood.’
‘One moment more,’ he hastened. ‘You must see the peacocks. I took receipt of a new pair just before Christmas, and they thrive! They’ve survived the winter, and now—’
‘Another time.’
‘We can return to the palace through the trees there, it goes past their run.’ He indicated the path, but she had already started back on the shorter route. He gazed after her, demolished by her refusal, and for an instant his eyes were bleak, his chubby face tightened with anger. With some people it was a horse, or a dog, or fish in a pond; one was expected to admire them, and volunteer some courteous remark. With Henry it was his peacocks. They were his pride and joy, and to ignore them was to insult his pets.
He followed his visitors along the path and round to the front of the palace. As he walked, he forced himself to forget his favourite birds, and to concentrate on the details of submission. By the time he had entered the small dining chamber, chosen because it was one of the few warm rooms in the building, the metamorphosis was complete. He was once again the politician, ready to balance Church and State, for the greater glory of God, and the advancement of His senior spokesman. He patted his belly, and heard the reassuring crackle of parchment.
Robert and Miles had both been impressed by the menagerie, and for a while they ignored the purpose of their mission. They stood together in a corner of the chamber, the forty-seven-year-old Earl of Gloucester and the forty-two-year-old Earl of Hereford, trading remembered scenes like boys at a country fair.
‘Damn shame he didn’t ask me to ride. He was right, two humps, you couldn’t fall off.’
‘Those lynxes, or whatever they’re called, did you notice their ears, the way they pricked?’
‘It must have cost him a pretty fortune, shipping everything over—’
‘And paying to have them caught in the first place. He said a jerboa. When we were out there, he pointed at something and said it was a jerboa. Do you know—’
‘It’s like a rat, with a long tail. It hops. You know, it holds its front paws so, tucked up against—’
‘For the third time, my lords!’
They turned towards her, gave a wan smile and took their places at the table. She waited until they were seated, then told her brother, ‘Please don’t break any more furniture. If you disagree with me, say so, or leave, but let the chairs stay upright, yes?’
Bishop Henry listened with interest, enjoying Robert’s discomfort.
They discussed the terms of Henry’s submission.
Winchester was the repository for the royal treasure, the crown, and a mass of important documents. Matilda requested that these be handed over, and that, until her coronation, she be accorded the correct title of Lady of England. She would decide later which of the bishops were to have a hand in the conduct of the service.
Henry pushed himself to his feet, pressed his belly against the table edge to hold the parchment in place, then delivered his reply.
‘My brother,’ he said, ‘Stephen, your captive, stands condemned of many ills, and God has executed His judgment upon him. Stephen failed to honour his Church, as he failed to honour his crown. We know this will not happen again. We shall prevail upon the Lord God to assist us, and under his protection we shall elect you, Empress Matilda, the Lady of England. Your claims are justified, for you are the rightful daughter of the glorious, pacific, wealthy and noble King Henry, a monarch without peer, all his life a just defender of the people. You will receive the full support of the Church and be elected by a council of bishops—’ He caught her eye, waited for her to nod acceptance, then added ‘—whom I shall appoint.’
Her head came up sharply. She brushed a strand of hair from her face. ‘You cannot have heard me, Winchester. I said I would decide—’
‘No, Empress. You have enough work to do. You must allow me to choose the council.’ He let his gaze roam along the table, and let them know by his voice that he had rehearsed his terms. ‘I shall choose the council. And all matters of chief account in this country, with special emphasis on the bestowal of bishoprics and the like, shall be subject to my decision. This being so, we will receive you into the Church, and remain ever loyal to you. It’s for the best, I assure you, Ladj of Ungland, how nice that sounds. Yes, it is for the best, for no monarch has yet ruled successfully without the support of Holy Church.’ He had recaptured his benign smile, and, when he saw the chagrin in her face, the smile widened.
A long time passed, and then she murmured, ‘As you say.’ They thought he would resume his seat, but Henry of Winchester debated as he ate, tasting everything on the table.
‘There’s a man outside,’ he said. ‘He insists on delivering a note, a letter, something of the sort to you. Excuse me a moment. I’ll fetch him in.’ He bowed, squeezed himself between the chairs, and left the room.
The man was waiting, and the conversation between them was brief. Henry scooped the parchment from beneath his tunic, handed it to the man and hissed, ‘You’re well paid to do one thing only. Read this aloud. I shall remonstrate, so will the others. Ignore us. Just read it, clear and loud, then pass it to me and get out. Is that clear?’
‘I’m to read it come what may, put it before you and leave.’
‘Just so. Now, tell me again. If she asks who you are?’
‘I’m an emissary from King Stephen’s wife, bound to make a public reading before the Empress.’
‘Exactly.’ He touched the man on the arm. ‘How long have you been in my household?’
‘Two years, Lord Bishop.’
‘Yes, well, you do this properly and I’ll bring you to the top.’ The man started to bow, but Henry guided him through the door and into the chamber.
Matilda, Robert, Miles and the others studied him, as yetrancour. Bishop Henry waved the man forward, then lowered himself into his chair. He told Matilda, ‘Here he is. He won’t identify himself, and he’ll only address you direct.’ Matilda looked at the man. He was quite a handsome lad, a change from the usual travel-weary types. His clothes were clean, and there was no blueness in his face. She guessed he had been waiting several hours.
‘Who are you?’
He gave his name and station, as Henry had instructed, and said he had been sent to read her a letter from Queen Matilda.
‘Why not read me history?’ the empress snapped. ‘My namesake ceased to be queen at Candlemas, when Stephen was taken. Read her letter, but don’t call her queen.’
The emissary nodded, unfolded the belly-warmed parchment and intoned:
‘From Matilda, Queen of England and Normandy—’
He hesitated, but the damage was done, so he went on:
‘—to the Dowager Empress of Germany and Countess of Anjou – greetings. I have heard how you, and your adherents, are treating my husband, the king, and I entreat you to release him from the damp and filth to which he has been committed. I ask this as a woman to a woman, but I do not ask it as your subject. You must know that I control and command the entire county of Kent, and the city of London and its river approach. You must also know that—’
‘That’s enough!’ Matilda shouted. ‘I do not abide by threats. I’ll hear no more.’ Robert waved the man away, and Miles told him he had done his duty, and no blame would attach to him if he left now. The messenger glanc
ed down at Henry, who slammed a chubby fist on the table, and exclaimed that such a letter was no way to make peace. After which, the man took a deep breath, raised his voice and continued:
‘You must also know that I am aided by William of Ypres and a formidable army from Flanders. I control the water between England and Normandy and will, if necessary, blockade London and the south. Remember, too, Countess, that although you have my husband, the king—’
‘Countess?’ Matilda raged. ‘This is too much! I am—’
‘Lady of England,’ Henry smoothed. ‘You are Lady of England.’
‘Sol am, and I will not be addressed by inferior titles! Least of all by Stephen’s sow!’
By which time the emissary was reading again:
‘—although you have my husband, the king, I still retain the loyalty of these various nobles; the King’s Constable, Robert de Yere; William, Earl of Surrey; Robert, Earl of Leicester; the Earls of York and Derby; Geoffrey de Mandeville, Constable of London; Simon de Senlis, Earl of Northampton, and many others. We will visit war upon you, and upon yours, until you return my husband, King Stephen of England, and make arrangement with us.’
He stopped, let the letter fall as though by accident in front of the bishop, then withdrew from the chamber. The men stared after him with grudging admiration; he’d taken quite a risk, defying Matilda. The empress stretched out her long, elegant fingers and watched Henry take the letter and tear it into shreds. Before she could speak, he said, ‘That for the vindictive Queen of Kent! I’ll not have you even look at it. It’s too upsetting. But—’ He lifted his heavy shoulders. ‘But it might make sense to dry out Stephen’s cell. Why maltreat him? He is no longer a danger to you, Lady of England, and you can only increase your popularity with mercy.’
She trembled. The temptation to smile was almost irresistible. He was perfect, this fat, self-seeking prelate. In less than an hour he had secured his position as senior churchman and influential baron. Without his cope and mitre, she would not be made Lady of England, however much he enticed her with the title. And without his silvered tongue she could not hope to win over the mass of the people. Some would have expected Henry to defend his brother, while others, who remembered how he had been denied the see of Canterbury, would have anticipated his taking revenge on Stephen. Instead, he had admitted the king’s failings, condemned the queen’s arrogant demands, reiterated the authority of the Church, and requested more humane treatment for the captive. He had turned party defeat into a personal victory, and had somehow emerged as a devout, peacock-loving moderate, whose only desire was to see Church and country bathed in a peaceful light. His submission could be more accurately termed an ultimatum.
For the first time since she had set foot on English soil, the widow of Germany and wife of Anjou acknowledged her equal. Like Stephen, he was her cousin, but in no other way was he like Stephen.
‘With your permission,’ Henry asked. ‘Shall I visit him, so that I may tell the council he is well cared for? I know it is something they would want to hear.’
‘Yes,’ she hissed. ‘And whatever your next fifty questions, the answer is yes.’
‘Now, now. I cannot take all the responsibility, else you would have to call me king! I’m anxious to play my part, that’s all.’ He stood up, smiling to reach his ears. ‘I do have one more question for you though. If your blood is warmed through, will you come and see the peacocks?’
* * *
Edgiva knew the truth, and, because he was her husband, Sergeant Morcar knew it. A physician from Wallingford knew it, and had kept it to himself. These three were the only ones, and it fell to Morcar to tell his suzerain what had happened.
The young sergeant had learned much from Constable Varan over the years, but the ugly Saxon had never taught him to nurse his words. If a man died, Varan would say so. No one was ever ‘transported to Heaven’, or ‘sleeping’, or ‘taken into the House of Angels’. Had he tried to use such phrases, they would have stuck on his tongue. It was the same with Morcar. One did not swaddle the truth.
Nevertheless, it was with considerable trepidation that he welcomed Lord Fitz Count and constable Varan back from Lincoln, and told them that the Lady Alyse had tried to kill herself.
For a moment, Morcar mistook the import of Brien’s first question. ‘Who knows of it?’
‘Only Edgiva, sire, and the physician I brought in from the town.’
He nodded once and strode through the yards. They realised now that he was keeping himself in check; he wanted to run to her, but if he did so it would excite curiosity. They kept pace with him, and Morcar said, ‘It happened last night. Since you left, Lady Alyse has been – well, withdrawn from us. She has remained in her chambers, and my wife says she has eaten nothing but the odd crust of bread.’
‘What did she do?’
‘At first we thought it was because you were gone from her. She told Edgiva she had been sleeping badly and—’ He hesitated, then flinched as Brien snatched at his shoulder.
‘For Christ’s sake, man! I’m not here to apportion blame. Tell me what occurred!’
‘She asked for a sleeping-draught. It was a concoction of hemlock and hyoscyamus, some opium and ivy, and berry juice of some kind. Edgiva found the ingredients in town and made it up for her. Next morning, Lady Alyse said it had had no effect, so she made some more. Then again the third night, and the fourth. My lord, my wife couldn’t have known what—’
‘No more do I, yet. So Lady Alyse took the draught for four nights, is that it?’
‘No, sire. She stored them up in secret, and then, last night she drank the lot, together with a stronger fifth draught. Edgiva believed her, you see, and it wasn’t until she heard a noise – she went into the chamber, and discovered Lady Alyse on the floor, senseless.’
‘How is she now?’
Morcar swallowed hard. ‘She is near death, I fear. The physician says that if he bleeds her, the poison will escape, but Edgiva won’t let him. You may not believe me, my lord, but she does know about country medicine.’
They crossed the drawbridge and entered the keep. Varan and Morcar waited in the lower hall, while Brien, freed of constraint, sprang up the steps. As he ran, he threw off his helmet and snapped the hasp of his travelling cloak. The helmet clattered down to the lower floor, while the cloak fell in a heap on the steps. His head was still bandaged, and the effort of climbing re-opened the cut on his leg. Edgiva appeared in the doorway, then stepped back to allow him into the solar. He found the breath to say, ‘I heard what happened. There is no blame,’ and saw her shudder with relief.
‘Thank God you are back safe, my lord. She is there, in bed. The physician’s name is Lemos. He wants to bleed her, but I think he’s wrong.’
Brien glanced at the man, who stepped forward, one hand pressed against his felt skull-cap. ‘It is the girl who is mistaken,’ Lemos said. ‘But I can do nothing, so long as she opposes me. I must tell you, she has made threats.’
Brien said, ‘In a while,’ and moved quietly to the bedside.
Alyse seemed diminished by the drug. Her face was hollowed, her lips dry and parted, her breasts scarcely moving. He knelt beside her and lifted her hand. It was colder than the weather. He thought, I don’t know what to do. If it was a wound, yes, or if she’d fallen in the river, but I know nothing about hemlock, or opium, or hyoscyamus. And she has taken five times the measure…
He looked at the indignant physician. ‘Tell me why you would bleed her, Lemos.’
The man studied the patient, then in a lecturing tone said, ‘Everything we eat or drink is changed into one of three things: blood, flesh, or bone. Fish and meat become flesh. Bread, certain vegetables and most fruits are transmuted directly into bone. Wine and water, indeed almost any liquid, runs through channels from the stomach and into the veins in our body. Bleeding is without exception beneficial, Lord Fitz Count. The dizziness that comes with too much wine can be relieved with bleeding.’ He gave a small, out-of-place chuckle.
‘I daresay even you must at some time have welcomed the chance to lose the poison from excessive drink.’
In a quiet voice Brien reminded him, ‘We are discussing my wife, and an over-draught, not a celebration.’ He turned to Edgiva. ‘Why do you disagree with the physician? What he says makes sense.’
‘They would bleed stones,’ she said. ‘It is their, ah—’
‘Their panacea? Their cure-all?’
‘Yes, my lord. Look at Lady Alyse. She is weak from lack of food, weakened still further by the over-draught, and Lemos wants to cut her arm, or at best suck her with leeches.’ She faced the physician, and repeated what she had already told him. ‘You scoff at my suggestion, but it’s a sight safer than yours. I have a lot to reproach myself for. I should have stayed by, to see that my lady took the draught. I should have been suspicious when the glass was returned empty, each morning, for it’s rare to swallow the entire concoction. But I mixed it, not you. And I know the remedy.’
Lemos shook his head, wise and pitying, embarrassed at being contradicted by a serving girl. ‘You have almost killed your mistress. You must leave it to those who know, to save her.’
Tears coursing her face, the girl sank down and wept her advice. ‘She must be in fresh air, my lord, but her body kept warm. She needs fennel juice, I have some ready crushed. It’s what we use. It’s what we have always used, to wake someone from a herbal sleep. I would have applied it before, but I did not immediately discover what she had done. Then the physician arrived, and he – he said he would cry murder if I tried. Please, my lord! Maybe I have almost killed her, but his way will make it certain.’ She buried her face in the sheepskin coverlet, and Brien found himself holding two women by the hand.
‘Be calm,’ he murmured, then, above her head, ‘Do you enjoy such cruelty, Lemos? Must your fraternity admit to nothing but superior knowledge? If fennel is a practised remedy, why not let her try it?’
The Villains of the Piece Page 17
