Anarchy

by Stewart Binns

  ‘Hal, you were impressive; that can’t have been easy for you.’

  ‘It wasn’t, but you were at your best too – Empress, Queen, Duchess, Magnus Princeps. We owe a debt of gratitude to your husband; he was more than generous.’

  ‘Indeed, he was. But he knows the reality of the situation; he wants to be Regent in Normandy, and he can only achieve that through me. He will not rock the boat.’

  There was a gleam in Maud’s eye that I had not seen for a while. We both knew that we still had a long way to go, but we had taken the first steps.

  Just as I was about to leave Maud’s chamber, Greta appeared with news that Count Geoffrey would like to see us. Even though the conversation was certain to be a difficult one, we had no choice but to agree.

  Geoffrey conducted the discussion without rancour – a reflection of his increasing maturity and the pragmatism with which he approached his wife’s campaign.

  ‘I thought it best that the three of us speak together – to avoid any misunderstanding, or bad blood.’

  He walked over to the window and stared out towards the town of Argentan below. He had grown taller and filled out since the early days of his marriage to Maud; he now looked every inch the noble warrior.

  ‘We can only win this fight together, so we must have an understanding.’

  I glanced at Maud, who was looking pensive. She started to walk over towards Geoffrey, but he put his hand up to stop her. Then he drew a deep breath.

  ‘Of course, you humiliated me as a boy when you ran home to your father …’

  He paused. These were traumatic memories for him.

  ‘But you came back. I am thankful for that –’

  He stopped abruptly and flashed a despairing look at Maud.

  ‘I was too young. Perhaps it could work now, but it’s too late – you are now with your lover, the “noble” Earl of Huntingdon.’

  He turned to me; there was no doubting the scorn in his eyes.

  ‘What a wicked web you have woven.’

  Maud interrupted before I could speak.

  ‘Don’t blame Hal, blame me! It wasn’t easy for me, either. Like you, I was a pawn in my father’s game.’

  Geoffrey’s face softened. He understood Maud’s position only too well.

  ‘We are all pawns in our fathers’ games. But I have no reason for bitterness – I have my two sons, and Henry will one day be King of England and Duke of Normandy. Through me, he will rule lands that will extend his realm far to the west and south. His will be a realm to rival the Holy Roman Empire. I will do everything I can to keep him safe until that day dawns.’

  He looked at me – but this time, if not with warmth, at least with less hostility.

  ‘I surmise that the new baby is yours; I’m glad he will be called William, it is a good name. But we must, for everybody’s sake, treat the three boys exactly the same, as if they are all mine. There must be no doubt about the integrity of our family’s heritage. Do you agree?’

  ‘I do.’

  Maud grabbed Geoffrey’s arm.

  ‘We must hold firm, all three of us – for the sake of the boys and for a future Anglo-Norman domain.’

  Maud and Geoffrey embraced warmly. I offered him my hand, which he accepted before bidding us farewell.

  ‘Until September. I entrust the boys to your care; look after them.’

  Maud and I slumped into our chairs after he left. She had tears in her eyes as she spoke.

  ‘He’s right; we have woven a wicked web. Will God ever forgive us?’

  ‘For which sin? For our adultery, and for conceiving Henry and little Geoffrey? Or for letting your husband think he is their father?’

  My stark summary was too much for Maud, who collapsed in convulsions of anguish.

  ‘I am a wicked woman, God will never forgive me.’

  I cradled her in my arms and rocked her like an infant.

  ‘God will judge you at the end of your journey, not halfway through. Wait until we reach the end of the road before judging yourself.’

  I too felt pangs of guilt for my selfish duplicity. It had been easier when Geoffrey was a callow youth. But now he was a man who had developed many admirable qualities, and he was also a crucial ally. I looked at the Talisman around Maud’s neck. Our journey still had a long way to go before we reached the end. I hoped that our actions, although sinful and selfish, may prove to be vindicated – at least, to us.

  26. Battle of the Standard

  Count Geoffrey launched his campaign in Normandy on 21 September 1136. Maud was in the vanguard of the army whenever it was safe, looking magnificent in her long flowing cape of red velvet. Underneath her cape she wore a red leather jerkin, with cavalry leggings and boots. Over a plain white silk wimple and veil she fixed a small gold ducal coronet, which we acquired from the monks at Mont St Michel. Although she had neither armour nor weapons, she carried a jewel-encrusted mace, which she held aloft through every village, town and city we entered.

  I was very proud of her. She looked like the warriors of fable: the great Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, or the legendary Boudicca, Queen of the Iceni. She inspired confidence in our men, and she commanded respect everywhere we went.

  Our army was small but mobile: 80 knights, 150 cavalry, 100 archers and crossbowmen, and 200 infantry. Geoffrey’s strategy was simple. He relied on speed of movement, swiftness of action and maximum disruption. It was not the most wholesome form of warfare; intimidation until submission was the main objective. This involved wholesale looting and burning, with harsh reprisals for anyone who resisted.

  When a fortification fell, its lord had to either declare a humiliating surrender and accept Duchess Matilda as his liege lady, or face execution, the destruction of his castle and the sequestration of his land and property. Few resisted. But when they did, Geoffrey did not hesitate to act ruthlessly.

  The campaigning continued throughout the winter of 1136 and into the spring of 1137. Eventually, the harassment achieved its objective. In March 1137, Stephen brought an army across the Channel, landing at Saint-Vaast-la-Hougue on the Cotentin Peninsular, from where he marched south. It was a large force, made up mainly of Flemish mercenaries, and it was rumoured that he had almost emptied his treasury to pay for them. His objective was simple: to intercept our army and put an end to our challenge to his throne.

  The battle never came. Stephen had some success in the Cotentin, but his Flemish mercenaries soon became difficult to control. A dispute over a butt of wine led to a mass brawl and fighting broke out wholesale between the Flemish and English contingents. Then, with morale plummeting, the bloody flux infected Stephen’s army and he had to order his entire force to retreat. As one witness put it – in explicit detail – the army left in its wake a trail of diarrhoea across the Norman countryside as wide as a tilt yard.

  Stephen turned back towards home and, with his tail between his legs, embarked for England, furious and frustrated. The first part of our plan had been successful. Geoffrey could now be left to take Normandy in hand, while Maud and I could return to Argentan to plan our campaign in England.

  The year 1138 offered renewed optimism for our cause. King David of Scotland intensified his punitive raids into the north of England, letting loose his more ferocious highland kinsmen on the wretched English burghs and monasteries. Maud was upset to hear of some of the brutality and desecration being committed in her name and sent messages to her uncle pleading for moderation. But she had asked him to release his dogs of war and, once off the leash, they were difficult to control.

  In the spring, Robert of Gloucester played his decisive opening gambit. With Stephen humiliated in Normandy and King David causing unrest in the north, he instigated challenges to Stephen among s
everal lords along the Welsh Marches and in the south-west. Stephen took the bait and headed west with a large force. Castles were besieged and surrendered as the King went round the country putting out the fires of dissent. Earl Robert’s tactic was working perfectly. Although the violence was only minor, and the dissent little more than token, the impression created throughout the realm was that King Stephen’s authority was under serious threat.

  After weeks of campaigning, Robert waited until Stephen and his supporters had reached the point of exhaustion before sending a messenger to him. The King was resting at Hereford when Robert’s message was delivered. It was stark and succinct.

  To Stephen of Blois,

  I renounce your possession of the throne of our English realm and to that of our kin in Normandy. You sit in Westminster and Rouen unlawfully and without the support of either sovereign lords or common people. All previous oaths of loyalty to you were taken under duress and are thus without substance.

  I have taken counsel on this from both ecclesiasts and judiciary and they conclude that the true heir to King Henry’s lands and possessions is Matilda, Lady of the English.

  Gloucester Dominus

  Stephen responded angrily, as it was hoped he would do, and began to harass the supporters of Earl Robert in the West Country. He committed several acts of brutality – in particular, after his capture of Shrewsbury Castle. Its lord, William FitzAlan, managed to escape with his family. But his lieutenant, a courageous knight called Arnulf de Hesdin, was hanged on a gibbet along with a hundred of the garrison. It was an act that increased opposition to Stephen’s rule, rather than reduced it.

  When we heard news of Robert’s declaration, we sent word to King David in Dunfermline, asking him to cross the border with the biggest army he could muster, which he did at the beginning of June. His part of the plan was to take possession of the north as far as the Ribble in the west and the Humber in the east, which he would hold as part of his pact with Maud. With Geoffrey holding Normandy, we would take and hold England, with both King David and Geoffrey declaring their loyalty to Maud as ‘Lady of the English, Empress of the North’.

  The next three months were an agonizing time as we waited for news from King David. Our strategy was to move to Caen. Count Geoffrey had sent a personal retinue of twenty knights and a hundred men-at-arms to act as Maud’s personal bodyguard for a Channel crossing, and to escort her to a rendezvous with Earl Robert.

  The castle at Caen had been built by King William, Maud’s grandfather, and was said to be the most formidable fortress in the realm. The Constable made the ducal apartments available to us and, for the first time, Maud began to feel like a sovereign again. The men that Geoffrey had sent were seasoned campaigners and we made preparations to be ready to sail to England as soon as we heard positive news from across the Channel.

  The messenger arrived with the much-anticipated news at the beginning of the second week of September. He was a tall and distinguished man, dressed in a russet-red Celtic leine. He spoke clearly, in excellent English.

  Maud sat back in her ducal chair, still wearing her warrior’s garb, impatient to hear what the herald had to say as he rolled out a beige vellum document.

  ‘His Majesty, David, Lord of the Isles, Prince of the Galwegians and Cumbrians and King of Alba, sends his felicitations to his niece, Matilda, Lady of the English. His Majesty’s army, twenty-six-thousand-strong, entered Northumbria in June 1138 and proceeded south. King David was acclaimed by all who saw him and where there was resistance from Norman lords and their garrisons, it was overcome with ease.

  ‘A major battle was fought in Yorkshire, outside the walls of Clitheroe Castle on the estate of Robert de Lacey, Lord of Bowland, where the forces of Stephen of Blois were comprehensively routed. A few of the English army escaped to the west along the River Ribble to Preston. But most scattered to the east to seek refuge beyond Pen Hill in the forests of Burnley and Trawden, where they were hunted down in their hundreds.’

  I smiled at the name of ‘Clitheroe Castle’, and wondered if it had been built on the spot that my grandfather once used as a base when he began The English Revolt against the Conqueror in 1069. We had called it ‘Clitheroe Mound’ in our family stories, but almost seventy years had passed – more than enough time for the Normans to have fortified the hilltop position. I began to feel a rising tide of nostalgia and optimism.

  But the euphoria was soon dispelled by the rest of the messenger’s account.

  ‘When Stephen of Blois heard the account of the Battle of Clitheroe, he despatched a large force northwards under the command of Bernard de Balliol, William Peveral and Robert de Ferrers, which was joined by the armies of the Norman lords of the north, led by Thurstan, Archbishop of York. On the 22nd of August, King David’s army gave battle to the Norman horde at Cowton Moor, near Northallerton in Yorkshire. Thurstan raised a standard at the commencement of the battle – a ship’s mast with a silver pyx on its top containing a consecrated Host.

  ‘King David regarded this as a desecration and instructed his army to fight for “The Standard” in the name of Scotland and of God. The Norman-English forces were well organized, and their archers inflicted many casualties, causing panic in the Scottish ranks. The Galwegians on King David’s right attempted a reckless charge against the centre of the English lines and were cut down by wave after wave of quarrels and arrows, creating terror in the Scottish ranks.

  ‘Witnesses said that Galwegian dead lay on the ground in piles as high as a man and that their bodies had as many arrows in them as sticklebacks have spines. Try as he might, His Majesty King David was unable to rally his men and he had to order a retreat. Our losses were great – almost ten thousand brave souls. The King instructs me to confer his regrets, but reassures you that he still has a significant force at his disposal. He intends to stay in Carlisle for the winter, where he will await your further instructions.’

  Maud stood and left the Great Hall of Caen Castle, devastated and indignant. When I caught up with her in her chamber, she was white with anger.

  ‘What was my uncle doing? It sounds like a shambles. Stephen wasn’t even there, but still David managed to suffer an ignominious defeat! What do we do now?’

  I felt devastated too, but I reassured Maud that it was merely a setback.

  ‘Let’s wait for the advice of Earl Robert. The key is still getting you on to English soil – but only when the time is right.’

  She looked me in the eye. Her expression changed from anger to despair. I could see tears forming.

  ‘It has been nearly three years. Will we ever get to England?’

  ‘Yes, my darling, of course we will.’

  ‘Don’t you sometimes wish we were at St Cirq Lapopie, away from all this? Just you, me and our boys –’

  ‘All the time. But our die is cast; we can’t hide in the Lot when Henry is heir to your throne, and Geoffrey and William next in line of succession behind him. We could never find peace.’

  ‘Hal, please help me to be strong.’

  I took her into my arms and held her as tightly as I could.

  ‘Darling Maud, you have the strength of ten men; there’s no obstacle we can’t overcome together.’

  Matters deteriorated even more at the end of 1138, when news arrived in Caen that Pope Innocent II had sent Alberic, Cardinal Bishop of Ostia, to Carlisle to negotiate a settlement between Stephen and King David. It took him three days of rancorous argument, but at its end, David agreed to withdraw north of the Tweed for the winter and to cease his raids. David’s son, Henry, was made Earl of Northumbria, with effective control of the north of England, for as long as he acknowledged Stephen as his lord.

  As Ma
ud was quick to point out when we heard the news, this effectively isolated her uncle from the coming conflict and removed one of her most important allies. It was bad news heaped upon bad news, and it prompted me to suggest a change of plan to Maud.

  ‘I think I should take Eadmer and a few good men and go to England to see Earl Robert. Lothar and Berenger, and the rest of your bodyguard, can stay with you. I’ll send word as soon as possible for you to set sail. I fear things are stalling, because we’re too far away.’

  Maud was enthusiastic about the idea – if anything, a little too enthusiastic.

  ‘You’re right of course! But I should come too –’

  ‘No, my darling, not yet; you will be too conspicuous. The ranks of your bodyguard are too big to land secretly, and too small to pose a serious threat.’

  ‘Then we’ll travel as a small group, like we used to.’

  ‘It’s an attractive idea, but when you next land on England’s shore, it should be to a fanfare announcing the arrival of the future Queen. Let us see out the winter here in Caen and watch our boys grow, and I will travel to England in the spring.’

  Maud agreed, albeit reluctantly, and we spent the long winter months in front of the colossal fireplaces of Caen Castle. We listened to Eadmer’s long repertoire of ballads and enjoyed a voice that he had perfected to match any I had heard. We all agreed that our favourite was ‘The Ballad of Robyn of Hode’, to which he had added new lines about the ‘fair lady Maud’ and ‘The arrow that rescued a fair damsel / Captive in the wicked King’s castle’.

  It was a cold winter, as they had been in recent years, and we had few visitors until spring arrived in March. Eadmer and I recruited four redoubtable men-at-arms and, in May 1139, we sailed for England’s south coast, once again adopting our pseudonyms ‘Robyn of Hode’ and ‘William of Scaerlette’, which Eadmer had shortened to ‘Will’ so that it scanned better in his ballads.

  It was a reluctant parting from Maud and the boys. Her words to me were simple, insisting that I return soon. She placed the Talisman over my neck, making me promise that I would wear it at all times while in England.