At the beginning of October, our refuge in the Lot became even more appealing. To our astonishment, an envoy appeared at Gloucester with a message from Mathilde of Boulogne. It was short and to the point.
The forces of King Stephen of England have in their custody Robert, Earl of Gloucester, captured at Stockbridge during a rebellion against his lawful King.
We propose an exchange of prisoners.
Queen Mathilde will offer herself at Bristol as hostage in exchange for the release of her husband, Stephen, our sovereign King. After the release of Stephen, and when he reaches Winchester, Earl Robert will be released, subject to his son, William, being taken as hostage.
When Earl Robert reaches Bristol, Queen Mathilde will be released, as will Earl Robert’s son in Winchester.
It was an elaborate but clever exchange. It spelled disaster for our cause, but it was a dark cloud with a silver lining: we had assumed Robert had been killed, but this meant he was alive. Maud and I discussed Mathilde’s offer and brought Miles into our confidence.
Miles, ever loyal, gave a response typical of a faithful supporter.
‘Do not accept, ma’am. Stephen’s incarceration means you are within touching distance of the throne. If you let him go, the throne recedes into the far distance, and will remain beyond your grasp. Robert knows that; he would not want you to give up the throne on his behalf.’
Maud turned to me.
‘Hal?’
‘I agree with Miles. Mathilde can’t execute Robert for two reasons. Firstly, he is universally admired. But secondly, and more importantly, she would be giving you the ideal premise for ordering the execution of her husband. Robert will bear imprisonment on your behalf.’
‘But they will torture him.’
‘No, and for the same reasons.’
Miles then introduced an argument that had been made before.
‘You could of course grasp the initiative, and do away with Stephen first. Robert has made the point already. The throne would be yours. You would be the only possible successor.’
‘But Stephen has a son –’
‘Not old enough. And his blood is not close enough.’
‘It would be a death sentence for Robert.’
‘It would be of course. But winning a civil war is not without pain and sacrifice; Robert knows that.’
‘I need time to think. Let us discuss this tomorrow.’
It was a difficult night for both of us. On the one hand, we both knew that relinquishing Stephen would make it unlikely that Maud would ever be Queen. On the other hand, Robert was not only Maud’s kin, but also a loyal supporter and a close friend.
We lay in bed together, wide awake until late into the night. I was as desperate as Maud was for her to be crowned, but there had to be a limit to ambition.
Maud placed her hand around the Talisman.
‘You brought this amulet to me. Isn’t it supposed to tell me what to do?’
‘No, you know that’s not its purpose. It doesn’t bestow wisdom; it merely reminds us of the value of wisdom.’
‘Well, I understand the value of wisdom, but I’m lacking it at the moment. What do you think, Hal? What would your grandfather, the mighty Hereward, have done?’
‘I wish I knew. He was certainly prepared to lay down his life in support of Edgar the Atheling, to thwart your grandfather. But this is different: you would be making a sacrifice of someone else’s life for your own benefit.’
‘So it would be noble of someone to lay down his life for me; but it would be ignoble of me to ask it of another.’
‘Well put, my darling. I thought you said you lacked wisdom?’
‘It’s your Talisman; it’s very clever. I will send the courier back to Mathilde in the morning, agreeing to the exchange.’
I loved Maud so much; she was brave and strong, but she was also a woman of great integrity. England would have been a better place with her as Queen – but not at any price.
We travelled to Bristol for the exchange. Stephen and Maud spoke few words before he was released. Some mutual respect had been established – much more than had existed before – but both knew that their conflicting ambitions could never be reconciled.
The complicated exchange of prisoners was completed by the end of October 1141, and the civil war returned to a stalemate.
Stephen was anointed as King of England once more in an elaborate ceremony at Canterbury on Christmas Day – amidst, it was said, great rejoicing – but by then, we had developed a new strategy.
When Earl Robert had returned to us, he roundly condemned us for a serious error of judgement. Of course we should have sacrificed him! He would not have executed Stephen; he would have let him escape, and then arranged for him to meet a grisly end somewhere in the wildwood. Either way, we were wrong to have given him up. Nevertheless, Robert was happy to see his home and family again and to resume our cause – as we were to see him.
We immediately began to plan Maud’s new strategy. She was the main instigator of it, and it was both simple and clever. She acknowledged that Westminster and the earldoms of the south-east would be beyond her control for as long as Stephen lived. Therefore, regardless of the legitimacy of his claim, she conceded – at least, in private to us – that he was, de facto, King of England. However, Geoffrey held Blois in his own name and also held Normandy – de facto, like Stephen’s hold on Westminster. Moreover, Ranulf held sway over most of the north-west, and King David controlled the northern borders as well as his own Scottish domain. Significantly, our own base of power was extensive: from Devon and Cornwall into Wales; northwards to meet Ranulf’s lands at Chester; and west as far as Oxford and Wallingford, less than fifty miles from London.
Although Stephen held a domain of great wealth and power, our sphere of influence was at least as great, if not more so. Our plan was to hold the south-west, a domain not unlike the ancient Kingdom of Wessex, which Maud would rule as her own.
And so it came to pass. We built bigger and stronger fortresses, raised taxes, issued coinage and created a system of government like any other. The disappointments of 1141 began to recede, and by the summer of 1142 Maud began to relish the role of monarch in her own western domain.
But there was also a longer-term goal. Our son, Henry Plantagenet, would reach his majority in March 1151 – less than nine years away. Our kingdom in the west would be the foundation stone of an empire we still hoped he would inherit.
We soon established a safe route from Argentan – via Caen to Wareham in Dorset, and then on to Bristol – so that our boys could make regular trips to England. As they got older, we hoped these visits would become longer and that eventually England would become their home. Young Geoffrey was made Count of Nantes by his father, and little William was named Count of Poitou, but their elder brother’s potential inheritance was still the glittering prize and the focus of our burning ambition.
In an attempt to signal our resolve to Stephen, we moved our seat of government to Oxford in August of 1142.
It was a bold move and it tempted fate.
32. Into the Perilous Night
Maud liked Oxford. It was a compact burgh and she felt comfortable walking its streets and talking to its people. Their local English dialect was a little difficult to follow, but it had a lilting harmony to it. Most importantly, its castle was formidable and she felt safe there.
Unfortunately, in September 1142, Stephen’s spies discovered our secret route via Wareham. In a lightning attack, he overran the garrison and destroyed the town. As soon as he realized that young Henry had been visiting England, he raised a large force of mercenaries and marched on Oxford. As usual, he moved quickly and effectively and soon had the burgh surrounded. He took his men across
the Isis and stormed into the town. He showed no mercy. Within minutes, every building was ablaze. People ran for safety and many tried to swim across the river, both east and west. We could only watch from the castle’s tall tower as Stephen made the poor people of Oxford feel his wrath.
We were trapped.
Earl Robert and Miles of Gloucester were in Normandy trying to persuade Count Geoffrey to send us more money and men, and Brien FitzCount’s garrison at Wallingford was too small to relieve us. Thankfully, we were well provisioned and had supplies to see us through the winter.
Stephen seemed prepared for a long siege and began to build wooden billets for his men. He also started to create two large earthen mounds close to our walls, the purpose of which was obvious. Come the following spring, he would build powerful catapults on the top of these hillocks and batter us into submission.
Maud had escaped Stephen’s clutches before; now she needed another miracle.
Three months passed, and Christmastide was imminent. We had introduced strict rationing and firm discipline within the castle. We had managed to keep disease to a minimum, and found space to bury the dead in the castle keep, but morale was the biggest threat. With a determined opponent camped outside in vastly superior numbers, hell-bent on bringing the castle to its knees, there seemed to be no salvation – except of course for Maud to surrender herself. With this in mind, I became as watchful inside our walls as I was beyond them. It also made me realize that if, somehow, we could spirit her away – as we had done before – we could live to fight another day.
Oxford castle was surrounded by a deep moat, fed by the Isis, which made our fortress strong. But this also made escape more difficult; in the icy depths of winter, the moat became a bridge instead of a barrier. I saw the potential late one evening as I was watching a fox begin its nocturnal prowl. It appeared through the undergrowth beside the moat and paused by the water’s edge, as it had done many times before. But then it proceeded to walk across the thick ice that had recently formed there.
The next morning, I gathered up Eadmer, Otto and Berenger and took them to Maud’s chamber, where she was being attended by Greta.
‘I think we have an escape route. It is not without risk, but it is imperative that we are away from here long before Stephen begins to hurl his missiles at our walls. We have to use the winter weather to our advantage. We’ll wait for deep snow and the dark of the moon, then camouflage ourselves so as to be lost in the blanket of snow. Using the frozen moat, we can walk away.’
Eadmer was sceptical.
‘And how do we get out of the castle without being seen?’
‘Down a rope! You and Otto will go first. Berenger and I will then lower Maud and Greta down to you. We’ll follow, and then throw the ropes back over the wall. We’ll make for Eynsham – it’s only five miles away – where we are sure to find horses. We’ll be deep in the Cotswolds before anyone notices we’re gone.’
Eadmer responded with his usual sarcasm.
‘Well, that sounds straightforward enough! Tell me, how do we get past Stephen’s sentries?’
‘We’ll follow the course of the river, and go through the water meadows; the sentries won’t have their braziers above frozen water.’
‘Of course, how simple! And the camouflage?’
‘Long cloaks with hoods, soaked in limewash.’
Eadmer’s expression changed. No longer sceptical, he began to smile. He looked at Maud, who nodded her approval.
‘Good, then we wait for the next heavy snowfall. Otto, Berenger, please prepare the cloaks and three stout ropes. We will need a few purses of silver, two lanterns and a little bread and water. The next dark of the moon is the week after Christmas. Let us all pray for a blizzard.’
It duly began to snow late on 28 December, the Sabbath, and did not relent for two days. By the morning of 30 December, the snow was a foot and a half deep with drifts piled up as tall as a man against anything that thwarted the wind. The landscape looked like a frozen sea, with waves held stationary in time. There was no wind, and the sky was heavy and grey; the night would be as black as Hell.
We went about our business as normal during the day and ate together as usual. Then, just after midnight, we made our way to the north-west wall of the castle and lowered our ropes. We were careful not to alert our own sentries, and maintained a strict silence.
I had left a note for the Castellan – a good man worthy of at least an explanation – asking him for forty-eight hours in which to make good our escape, before he surrendered the garrison to Stephen. I explained the reasons for our flight, asked for his understanding and wished him well.
Maud also left Edward’s Crown and the royal seals of state in her chamber. Having decided that the throne at Westminster was a lost cause, she had no need of them and would commission her own regalia in Bristol for her new realm in the west.
The limewash made our cloaks very heavy, but that was the only hindrance to our descent down the ropes. When we reached the frozen moat, it was almost impossible to see where we were going, even in the white landscape. But the limewash rendered us almost invisible – certainly beyond twenty yards.
Noise was our biggest enemy; the night was still, and even the slightest sound carried far into the distance. Our feet crunched the deep snow and the icy conditions made twigs and even fallen leaves brittle. Animals scurried from us and waterfowl took flight. These were probably sounds that seemed normal to Stephen’s sentries and thus aided our escape. But to us, it seemed as if we were waking the dead.
We paused many times to hear if we had been discovered and to let the creatures of the night settle again. The biggest temptation – especially when we had covered a hundred yards or so – was to make a run for it. But that would have been catastrophic.
When we reached a point just short of where I guessed the sentries would be, I sent Eadmer ahead to see if he could locate them. The last thing we needed at that point was to stumble into Stephen’s men in the gloom.
I looked at Maud and Greta; they looked petrified in both senses of the word. I found a piece of solid ground a few feet away, and the four of us huddled together to keep warm while we waited for Eadmer’s return. Over thirty minutes passed and I began to be concerned; my main worry was that he had been unable to find his way back in the dark.
At last he appeared, breathing heavily. With hand signals, he told us that the sentries were only thirty yards apart.
He then had to whisper the most important information.
‘The only way past them, even with our cloaks, is to walk along the frozen Isis; the gap between the sentries is more like fifty yards there. If we are any closer to them than that, the light from their braziers will reveal us.’
We all nodded that we understood.
‘Lead the way, Eadmer. But first, we must even out our weight. Stay two yards apart, in single file, and maintain complete silence from now on.’
It was a perilous trek. We could trace the course of the river because the snow was flat and even, and there was a complete absence of vegetation. We were walking through thick snow, which gave a firm footing, but every step produced a murmur from the ice below, as it cracked and moved to adjust to the pressure of our weight. Eadmer led, and I placed myself between Maud and Greta. Otto and Berenger, both huge men, brought up the rear, creating even more disconcerting creaks and groans from the fragile ice sheet.
Several times Eadmer halted us, making us freeze like statues. But we could not stop our hearts, which thumped like blacksmiths’ hammers. In such moments, it was easy to imagine us being given away by the deafening rhythm of six heartbeats, echoing across the water meadows like a peel of cathedral bells.
When we were almost midway betwee
n the sentries to our left and right, Eadmer signalled to us to kneel and move forward on our hands and knees. We could see the braziers easily, and the flickering shadows of the sentries. I prayed that they were cold and miserable and had eyes only for the fire.
Putting our hands on the ice made its squeaks even more noticeable. It also meant that our chins were brushing the top of the snow, adding hugely to our discomfort. Every time I looked at Greta and Maud, I could see them shaking themselves like dogs, trying to remove the loose snow which had by then invaded every layer of our clothing.
Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than two hours since we had left the castle, the sentries’ fires were long gone and our position was hidden by trees on either side of the Isis.
I spoke softly, my voice sounding strange to my ears after our prolonged silence.
‘Well done, everyone. Otto, light the lantern. Eadmer, take out your lodestone; Eynsham is to the north-west.’
Maud’s almost miraculous escape from Oxford convinced her supporters and many throughout England that she had, after all, a divine right to the throne. Although Stephen continued to attack for several years, Maud’s New Wessex held firm. Henry Plantagenet made more frequent visits to our western domain and was tutored in the arts of war by Earl Robert and myself in Bristol. Geoffrey’s control of Normandy meant that young Henry’s intellect could be schooled by the most learned men in Rouen. By the time he was sprouting stubble on his chin, he had the strength of an ox and the mind of an ecclesiastical scholar.
With piercing grey eyes, a fresh freckly complexion and a russet-red mane, he was said to be a living likeness of his great-grandfather, William the Conqueror. But of course, I recognized in him his paternal great-grandfather, Hereward of Bourne. Either way, it was a prodigious pedigree. Barrel-chested, with powerful forearms, he was a born warrior. But he was also charming and considerate, and was well liked by all who knew him.
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