Anarchy

by Stewart Binns

  ‘You see! You’ve asked me my view, but you’ve already made your mind up.’

  ‘I have – but it’s always good to have your advice.’

  I smiled at my friend, and he responded in his imperturbable way.

  ‘So, let’s get on with it. What’s the plan?’

  All Hallows was surrounded by young men busy going about their duties. It looked as though the Templars were preparing to leave.

  I approached a senior knight, notable by his Templar’s cross on his sleeve.

  ‘Sir Knight, I am looking for the Grand Master. Would you know where I can find him?’

  ‘And who are you, sir? And what is your business?’

  ‘I am Harold of Hereford.’

  He looked startled and all within earshot stopped what they were doing.

  ‘Do you mean, Harold of Hereford? One of the nine founders of our Order?’

  ‘I do.’

  He immediately drew his sword, as did those around him.

  ‘Harold the Heretic! The Grand Master warned us we may find you in England.’

  I quickly took my cloak and wrapped it round his blade, before pulling him towards me and placing him in a firm headlock with my forearm at his throat. Eadmer held the others at arm’s length with his sword as I prodded my captive’s neck with the tip of my seax.

  ‘Templar training is obviously not what it was, my friend. Where is he?’

  The knight struggled, so I pushed harder with my blade until blood began to flow.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s in the White Tower … as a guest of King Henry.’

  ‘Thank you. Now tell your men we’re leaving. They’re to stay here, do you understand?’

  He did as I demanded, and we backed away with the knight still at my mercy. After a few yards, I pushed him to the ground and we made a dash for it down to the wharves by the Thames. We lost our pursuers amidst the crowds and found a tavern to hide in on Ludgate Hill.

  Eadmer was quick to make his point.

  ‘That went well! Now the Master knows we’re here … and he’ll send all those young fanatics to look for us.’

  ‘Yes, but we know where he is.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We’re going to have a parlay with him.’

  ‘Do you mean “we”? Or do you mean, you will have a parlay with him?’

  ‘Very well, I will have a parlay with him, but you will have to help get me in.’

  ‘Into the White Tower?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘But it’s the most impregnable fortress in Europe!’

  ‘We can get in. We’ll need a few heavy arrows, some lightweight cord, a thick rope, a grappling hook, some pieces of leather and a few handfuls of raw wool.’

  ‘Oh, is that all?’

  ‘No – we’ll also need a large amount of good fortune!’

  It was possible to buy anything along the wharves of London, so it did not take long to find what we needed.

  We approached the White Tower at dusk. It was the middle of April, but still very cold, and I prayed that the Tower’s sentries would spend more time huddled by their braziers than patrolling the walls. The sky was heavy with thick clouds and the dark of the moon was almost upon us. By midnight, almost all London’s torches and lanterns had been extinguished; only the guards’ fires gave glimmers of light at the gates and on the walls of London’s immense fortress.

  It had not taken Eadmer long to work out the plan. We first covered the teeth of the grappling hook with wool and bound leather to deaden the noise. We waited for the sentry to finish his regular walk around the battlements. Then, with the lightweight cord attached to it, Eadmer shot his heavy arrow over the corner of the battlements. We attached the grappling hook to one end of our heavy rope and tied the other end to the lighter cord. While Eadmer stayed to guide the hook, I then ran round the corner to retrieve the arrow. I pulled the ropes over the battlements until the hook caught on the top of the wall. The easy bit was done.

  It was a long climb – the White Tower was at least seventy-five feet tall. I had taken care to knot the heavy rope at one-yard intervals; even so, I was at the limit of my endurance when I reached the top of the battlements. I quickly pulled up the rope and hid it and its hook before sitting down in a stairwell to rest my arms.

  I guessed that Hugh de Payens would have been allocated one of the royal chambers on the top floor of the tower, so I made my way down the spiral stairs towards the royal apartments. The whole floor was in darkness, save for one door, from the bottom of which spilled a thin shaft of light. There was a guard at the end of the corridor, his face lit by a small candle in the sconce above his head, but he seemed to be asleep. As I listened at the door, I could hear Hugh’s distinctive voice in jovial conversation with at least one other. I counted the doors and decided to make my entrance through the chamber’s window.

  I returned to the battlements, waited for the sentry to pass, then secured the rope in a position where it could not be readily seen and lowered myself to Hugh’s window. The wooden shutter was ajar, with only a woollen curtain across the opening. As I seated myself on the sill of the window to peer inside, laughter came from within. I could see wine goblets and the residue of a fine meal on a table in the middle of the room. There were also clothes, armour and weapons strewn across the floor. From where I was, I could not see the bed, but the voices coming from that direction were now uttering the unmistakable groans and squeals of lustful passion. At first, I thought I had caught the Grand Master of the Knights Templar with a couple of young girls. But then I realized that, although they were high-pitched, the voices were male.

  I barely had time to reflect on the utter hypocrisy that allowed the Order to rail against the sin of sodomy, when its leader was himself a sodomite! As unpleasant as it might be to confront him in such circumstances, I had been presented with all I needed for my parlay with the Grand Master. I jumped down from the window as quietly as I could, kicked the weapons on the floor to one side and drew my sword.

  ‘Good evening, Grand Master; I think you may be looking for me. So I thought I would come to you –’

  Hugh jumped to his feet like a startled rabbit. The two boys on his bed, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, grabbed some clothes from the floor and ran to the corner of the room. Hugh was breathing heavily but made no attempt to cover his still erect manhood as he looked around the room for his sword.

  ‘Harold of Hereford! What a strange way to renew our acquaintance.’

  ‘All normal courtesies were suspended as soon as one of your Templars drew a sword on me.’

  ‘Don’t you mean, one of our Templars?’

  ‘No, I don’t – I have relinquished my oath. And so should you! Wine, fine food, the luxury of the royal apartments, buggering little boys – it doesn’t seem much like the frugal life of a Templar to me.’

  ‘Withdrawal from our Order is not permitted.’

  Hugh was still erect; he seemed to be enjoying the confrontation. I threw him his shirt and leggings.

  ‘Cover yourself, you charlatan!’

  ‘Let me explain, these boys have been led astray. I am punishing them; they will not sin again when I have finished with them.’

  He leered at me.

  ‘They won’t be able to walk for a month, let alone engage in buggery.’

  ‘I should kill you where you stand, you bastard!’

  I stepped forward and stuck the blade of my sword just below his Adam’s apple.

  ‘We are going to have a concordat – call it a treaty of peace, or whatever you like. You call off your dogs and publicly disown me as a Templar, and I will leave the way I came in. I will keep what I’ve seen tonight as our secret to guarantee
your side of the agreement. You will make the announcement at All Hallows tomorrow, and it is to be posted on the church door. Oh, and these boys are to leave here two minutes after I do. I will wait outside the gates to see that they do.’

  Hugh hesitated, trying to think of a way out of his dilemma. I pressed my sword harder into his neck.

  ‘Answer me, you pig!’

  He looked incandescent with anger, but eventually relented.

  ‘Agreed … but watch your back, Harold of Hereford, in more ways than one. If ever we meet again, I will take great pleasure in punishing you like I’ve punished these naughty boys.’

  He gave a nauseating thrust of his hips, like a rutting animal.

  ‘Then I will kill you.’

  I so wanted to kill him. But if I did, I would be a renegade from the Order and hunted for the rest of my life.

  ‘Mark my words, Hugh de Payens, if I ever see you again, I will be the one doing the killing.’

  I left the White Tower as I had entered it, but with a descent a lot less arduous than the ascent. We waited for the boys to scurry away from the tower gate before I turned to Eadmer.

  ‘Let’s find a tavern that is still open. I need a drink.’

  When I explained to Eadmer what had happened, he was as appalled as I was. But he was not surprised.

  ‘All fanatics have dark secrets. The more fanatical they are, the darker the secrets.’

  My friend was becoming quite the philosopher.

  Thankfully, Hugh de Payens’ threat was an empty one. Although I saw many Templars over the years, as the Order steadily grew in importance, the Grand Master returned to Palestine shortly after our encounter. I never saw him again and, as far as I know, he never returned to Europe.

  A few years later, I heard that he had died in Jerusalem; I thanked God at the time, and still do. But I remain deeply concerned that the Templars retain so much power in our world.

  19. Anjou

  Matilda’s marriage to Geoffrey of Anjou was due to take place in Le Mans, capital of Maine, on 17 June 1128, so Eadmer and I prepared to cross the Channel once more. But our departure was delayed by an extraordinary blizzard.

  It had already been a harsh winter and London’s streets still had deep mounds of grimy snow piled along them. With faces made despondent by months of cold dark days, its inhabitants still shuffled about their business in heavy cloaks and thick leggings. Easter Day fell very late, on 22 April, a time of the year that ought to have brought warmth and the vibrancy of spring. But late in the afternoon, in what had been a clear sky with a waning moon clearly visible as the sun set, a huge wave of heavy grey clouds appeared over the fields beyond Shoreditch. The first snows fell at dusk, and by midnight a blizzard raged with winds so strong they created drifts as high as a house.

  It snowed for three days under skies so murky that the daylight hardly penetrated. Easter services were postponed for a week, and it took the city at least that long to dig itself back to some semblance of normality. Some priests said it was a portentous omen about the wisdom of the proposed wedding. Many people believed them, thinking it a shame that King Henry’s beautiful daughter was again going to be married off to a foreigner.

  Our journey to Dover on roads more like cesspits than thoroughfares was tedious, with carts submerged to their axles blocking the route at regular intervals. We eventually reached Le Mans in late May. The wedding was much heralded in Maine and Anjou; their young count was not only marrying an English princess who was heir to her father’s throne, but also a woman who was already an empress.

  The nuptials were a dazzling occasion. Presided over by Bishops Guy of Ploermel and John of Sees, the cathedral of St Julien was full to the rafters with the aristocracy of northern Europe and even a few from more southerly climes. I had never seen a royal wedding before and was amazed at the endless rows of crowns and coronets and jewels sufficient to fill several wine butts. All the ladies wore fine silk, and there was enough ermine on the shoulders of the men to use up a whole season’s supply. Eadmer was required to watch with the throng outside the cathedral, but my chevalier’s garb and status as Knight Commander of Venice got me a position on the cathedral’s upper gallery, from where I could look down on the ostentatious ceremony below.

  King Henry gave every guest a present of silk or jewellery and, to a joyous reception by the citizens, money was scattered through the streets of the city. There was a repeat performance in Angers, capital of Anjou, four days later. It had been decided that the newly-weds would live in Angers for the time being, as Geoffrey’s father had renounced his title, thus allowing Geoffrey to become Count of Anjou.

  Empress Matilda looked radiant. She was a little taller than her new husband, who still had the frame of a boy. Handsome though he was, he had no stubble on his chin and the gossip among the populace was that he was unlikely to be able to consummate the marriage without the patient help of his new wife. Rumours that Matilda’s marriage to the Emperor Henry had not been a happy one, or that she was barren, were also widespread.

  The closest I got to the Empress was a distance of just a few yards as, later, she progressed through the city’s streets. She had removed her veil and I could see her gentle English complexion and fair locks, swept back from her face in a braided chignon. Her hair was long, the colour of flax, and her eyes were bright blue. For a moment, I was sure she looked straight at me and I bowed my head. She was the epitome of a Saxon queen of the past, a true Cerdician, a daughter of Wessex. I decided there and then that I would do all in my power to ensure that she would ascend the throne and renew England’s royal heritage.

  Only a month after the wedding, my hopes for her succession were strengthened significantly by news from southern Flanders. Still encouraged by Louis VI of France, William Clito had been campaigning in Flanders all summer to the great annoyance of his uncle, King Henry. In June, with his Norman knights and French allies, William defeated a major rival, Thierry of Alsace, at the Battle of Axspoele, south of Bruges. The victory brought fresh momentum to his cause, and he was joined by his father-in-law, Godfrey, Duke of Brabant. In July, their two armies besieged Aalst. But during the course of the siege, William was wounded in the arm in a scuffle with a foot soldier. The wound became gangrenous and he died, at the age of twenty-five, on 28 July 1128. He left no children and was survived only by his imprisoned father, the hapless Robert Curthose.

  Sad though it was to hear of the death of Duke Robert’s only son, his demise made Matilda’s claim to the throne seem unassailable – as long as she had her father’s support.

  Although I was confident about Matilda’s prospects, I was less so about my own ability to further her cause. The reality was that she was the heir to the throne, while I was not only a lowly knight but also a renegade. I needed a plan, but none was forthcoming. So I decided that we would find a house in Angers and bide our time.

  At the very least, an announcement of a royal pregnancy and an imminent heir to the throne was expected by the end of the year, thus completing Matilda’s credentials for succession.

  By Christmas 1128, there was still no news and stories began to circulate in the city that all was not well with the marriage. Arguments could be heard echoing around the keep of the royal palace, and the gossip among those who knew servants of the royal couple claimed that Geoffrey hardly ever went to Matilda’s chamber.

  January 1129 was a bitterly cold month, with heavy snowfall at its end. Despite the inhospitable conditions, it emerged that Count Geoffrey had gone hunting with a large entourage of drunken friends, leaving behind a morose and angry wife.

  I tried to think of a plan to bluff my way into the castle. Things were not going as I had hoped: Matilda was supposed to produce a grandson for the
King and I feared that, if she did not, he might look elsewhere for a successor. After all, he did have at least two dozen illegitimate offspring, several of whom were powerful landowners with titles and rich admirers.

  Eadmer could smell trouble brewing.

  ‘Hal, you need to be careful; we don’t want another situation like we had with Lady Livia.’

  ‘On the contrary! That would be ideal – to be given the responsibility for Matilda’s welfare. The problem is, how do we make that happen?’

  ‘You’re mad – as mad as a March hare! Stay well away. We’re renegades and have crossed her father, who happens to be the King. He’s hardly going to entrust her care to us.’

  ‘Let’s wait and see.’

  ‘Have you forgotten, she’s also got a husband? Who happens to be the Count of this realm.’

  ‘Yes, but I think he’s a husband in name only.’

  Eadmer was right, the prospect of us being able to help Matilda’s cause seemed remote.

  But two days later, a tiny crack in the door of opportunity opened. It was very early, not yet light, when I felt Eadmer shaking me by the shoulders.

  ‘She’s gone, half an hour ago. One of the kitchen girls told me. The girl shared my bed last night and was going to work when a carriage and four horsemen sped through the palace gates, heading north.’

  ‘How does she know it was Matilda?’

  ‘She saw her. Her belongings were in another carriage. The word is, she’s going home to England.’

  ‘With only four escorts? That’s not possible –’

  ‘That’s what the girl said.’

  ‘Good! We need to get a move on.’

  ‘Are you suggesting we follow her?’

  ‘Of course, someone needs to keep an eye on her.’

  ‘I knew trouble was in the air. I have a bad feeling about this –’

  ‘Come on! There’s no time to spare.’

  We paid our debts in Angers, gathered our belongings and made haste northwards. By the middle of the following day, we were close behind them. I was tempted to make direct contact with Matilda. But I decided to keep them within sight, yet maintain a respectful distance. I guessed that she would be both upset and anxious and would be further unnerved by the sudden intrusion of a stranger.