by Jean Plaidy
‘My one concern,’ he said, ‘is that the ceremony be performed with expedition.’
But by this time, the news that Roger of Salisbury was to perform the marriage ceremony had spread throughout the country and Ralph and his adherents began to raise their protests.
The Archbishop’s envoy arrived and demanded an audience with the King. Henry was exasperated but realized the need to placate Ralph. ‘You must explain to the Archbishop,’ he said, ‘that I have made these arrangements because he partially lost his speech when he was overtaken by a fit which paralysed his lips to some extent and I believe that he would willingly forgo the irksome task of marrying us and that Roger, in his health and strength, would willingly perform the duty for him.’
Ralph laughed this explanation to scorn. All knew of the ambitions of Roger of Salisbury. All knew that he was living openly with his mistress. It was not fitting that such a man who was living an immoral life should perform the marriage ceremony for the King and Queen, and moreover it was improper because to conduct such a ceremony was the prerogative of the Archbishop of Canterbury and no other.
The King’s ill temper flared up. He was heartily tired of Archbishops who thought because they were head of the Church of England – under the Pope of course – that they ruled the land. He had come through one quarrel with his Archbishop of Canterbury, Anselm, and he was not going through another.
Ralph immediately called an ecclesiastical council, the object of which was to decide whether the ceremony should be performed by the Bishop in whose diocese the royal pair were residing, or by the Archbishop of Canterbury who declared he had jurisdiction over all dioceses.
Meanwhile the King chafed. He had devoted himself to Adelicia, taking no mistresses, and he daily expected to hear that she was with child. Delay irritated him.
Adelicia was getting to know the Court. There was Stephen, the King’s nephew, a handsome and very charming man who was gracious to her; she liked his wife Matilda very much for she was gentle and pleasant and told Adelicia how well she understood the strangeness she must be feeling now.
‘Stephen is a courteous gentleman and has never shown aught but kindness to me,’ Matilda told her, ‘but I well remember the first weeks of Court life after my marriage and how strange it all was after the Abbey where I was educated.’
Adelicia replied that she too found it very strange, but the King was kind to her and she would in time grow as contented with her lot as Matilda was with hers.
Matilda did not tell Adelicia how she was tormented by the infidelities of her husband as it seemed very likely the Queen would be in due course by those of hers, for once Adelicia was with child, Matilda knew that the King, having done his duty, would seek his pleasure in other quarters.
The commission finally decided that the honour of marrying the royal pair belonged to the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Ralph was triumphant and immediately set out for Windsor. Roger was angry. This meant more to him than performing a ceremony. It was a set-back to power. His goal was to see his family in all the important positions in the country and with a doddering old Archbishop as the Primate, he had believed he was already at the head of the Church.
Henry placated him. ‘Never mind, Roger. The old man has right on his side. And the council is behind him. He’ll have to perform the ceremony. There’s no doubt of that and I cannot put it off any longer. We shall have to have the Queen crowned though. That will be at Westminster and I promise you you shall officiate at that ceremony.’
Roger was appeased.
Ralph d’Escures made his painful journey from Canterbury to Windsor.
He had not been the same since his seizure and found travelling a great burden to him. Nevertheless he was not going to allow that upstart Roger of Salisbury to usurp his place, which was what he was trying to do on every occasion.
It was scandalous that Roger should live openly with his mistress. The King should order him to dismiss the woman. Perhaps it was not easy for a man who had had more mistresses than any in England to ask a subject to dismiss one. But kings were kings and allowed such a licence, though it was to be deplored; while churchmen who defied the law of Holy Church deserved excommunication.
Roger with his Matilda of Ramsbury and their sons and his nephew, who had a wife, made their own laws of which poorer members of the clergy were not allowed to avail themselves. Ralph wondered that the King, who was so meticulous in many ways, should allow this. It must be because he valued Roger and was eager to give him special privileges; moreover being nothing more or less than a lecher himself, he looked leniently on that sin in others.
Ralph regarded himself as a virtuous man because he had not been tormented for many years by any desires for women. Now that he was paralysed and his speech was impaired, a poor old man on the edge of the grave, naturally he gave no thought to such matters – except to condemn others who made them a too important part of their lives.
The King must get an heir. All agreed on that since God had seen fit to punish him by taking his only legitimate son – and small wonder. How could God have driven home the lesson better than by taking the one legitimate son of a man who had indiscriminately scattered illegitimate ones throughout the kingdom?
The Archbishop approved of the marriage and hoped God would forgive the King his past sins and favour him with a child, but he was not allowing anyone but himself to perform the ceremony.
Arriving at Windsor he was exhausted and must take to his bed. The King visited him there and reproved him for making such a journey when his health was in such poor state.
‘My lord,’ gasped the Archbishop, speaking so that the King had to come close to hear, for his speech was at the best of times slightly slurred and when he was tired, very much so, ‘I know my duty.’
‘I had thought to spare you,’ said the King. ‘The Bishop of Salisbury in whose diocese we are was very ready and willing to perform the ceremony.’
‘I doubt it not,’ said Ralph grimly.
‘Now you are here, if you should not be well enough to rise from your bed on the morrow . . .’
‘I shall be well enough,’ replied the Archbishop firmly. ‘I have spent many hours on my knees asking God to bless your union with a child.’
‘I thank you,’ said the King, for he supposed that a man of Ralph’s piety would be more likely to soften God’s heart and so ensure a favourable answer to the petition than one such as himself. ‘I am confident I shall be so blessed. The Queen is young and I believe will bear many children.’
‘She is a good and pious lady,’ replied Ralph, ‘and there seems no reason why she should not be favoured.’ Ralph sighed. He was thinking of the scandals about the King. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘you should pray earnestly and long . . . and humbly. You have fathered so many in a manner which would not find favour in God’s eyes.’
‘Yes. He has given me many children whom I love dearly. You know my son Robert of Gloucester . . .’ The King’s voice softened when he spoke of his favourite son, Nesta’s boy, the fruit of early passion such as he could never hope to reach again. ‘What a fine son he is! God smiled on me on the day he was born.’
‘He frowned on the night when the White Ship went down taking with it your only legitimate son.’
‘Ay, and two of the others whom I loved dearly.’
‘God is not mocked,’ replied Ralph. ‘Forget not that the sins we commit must be paid for.’
‘I paid for mine when I lost my William.’
‘It is for God to say whether you have paid in full.’
A plague on this pious old churchman! thought the King. Why must they always prophesy evil? It was the same with Anselm. They thought themselves so good that they could see nothing but the sins of others. Men like Ralph and Anselm had nothing to be proud of. In the King’s eyes, men who did not desire women – ay, and satisfy their desires – were in some measure less than men. They had no desires and preached piety over those who had. Small wonder that he
wanted to see merry men like Roger the Bishop of Salisbury in the Church, men who knew what it was to desire a woman. And what a woman Matilda of Ramsbury was! She reminded him in some ways of Nesta.
He was in no mood to listen to more of Ralph’s preaching. He rose.
‘So,’ he said, ‘tomorrow you will conduct the ceremony.’
The ceremony was performed in the chapel at Windsor and all wondered whether the aged Archbishop of Canterbury would survive it. So distorted was his speech that it was difficult to hear what he said; and during one or two moments it seemed that his tottering footsteps would falter.
The King fumed inwardly and thought what a nuisance the old man was; but he had learned, as his brother Rufus had before him, that trouble could be incurred through quarrels with the Church. He had anxieties enough. Normandy hung like a millstone about his neck. His brother Robert was incarcerated in Cardiff Castle, which was no less than he deserved. for if ever a man invited disaster that man was Robert. But Robert’s son, William the Clito, still roamed Normandy and at any moment an insurrection could spring up in support of him. The governing of England, the holding of Normandy – these were troubles enough. Henry wanted no bickering with the Church. So this old man must perforce do what he considered his duty while Roger chafed because of what had been denied him.
But there was Adelicia beside him, and she was beautiful. He wished that he could feel more enthusiasm for her. She was too young, too meek and acquiescing. Often it seemed that she was doing her painful duty. Perhaps she was. Poor girl, a stranger to the passionate ecstasy in which he had revelled with so many – but chiefly with Nesta, the incomparable mistress, now married to Gerald de Windsor, a husband he had found for her twenty years ago when he had married his first wife Matilda. Theirs had been an enduring relationship. They had made no demands on each other. How many mistresses had he taken over the years? How many lovers had shared her bed? It mattered not. She was for him, and he was for her, the best they had ever known in all their wide experience.
It was not meet that while he said his marriage vows to this young girl he should be thinking of a woman as old as himself. If God were watching he might decide that for such impiety he should have a barren marriage.
Have done with thoughts of other women. Pray that soon his Adelicia should tell him that the signs were evident.
There was feasting to celebrate the marriage; the King sat at the head of the table, his bride beside him. Roger was on his other side.
Roger was a little silent and seeking to placate him the King said: ‘I thought we should not get through the ceremony. I swear he nearly fell more than once.’
‘Doddering old idiot,’ grumbled Roger.
‘Still my Archbishop,’ replied the King. He turned to the Queen. ‘Tomorrow, my love, to Westminster and there you shall be crowned, Queen of England in very truth.’
‘I thank you, my lord, said Adelicia warmly.
The King took her hand and placed it on his thigh.
‘This,’ he said to Roger, ‘is my beloved wife. God has been good to me.’
‘And may he continue to bless you.’
‘He will, I doubt not,’ said the King. ‘Soon you will see the fruit of our nights. My Queen longs for this no less than I. And we pray continually for this fulfilment.’
‘As all your good subjects do. And with such love between you and God’s blessing, ere long you will surely have a healthy boy.’
‘Amen,’ said the King. He added: ‘You shall crown us both at Westminster, Roger. I dearly wish to see the crown on that fair head.’
Roger smiled his triumph, spirits restored. He had failed to officiate at the King’s marriage but that would be forgotten when at the important ceremony of crowning, he was the one to place the crown on the Queen’s head.
Ralph lay on his straw exhausted by the day’s activities. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had stopped that upstart from usurping his place.
He was thinking of the days of his youth – a preoccupation which increased as he grew more aged – and how peaceful those days seemed in comparison with the present day. But then he had been first a humble monk and after that a prior and abbot of the Abbey at Séez. Then he had come to England and finally, because he was a man of cheerful disposition, he had become popular. There had been some who thought he was too ready to laugh, a quality which somehow detracted from a man’s piety, but since he had proved himself a man of high moral character, what might have been termed a certain frivolity was forgiven.
It was only since his seizure when he had found it so difficult to perform his duties and suffered acutely from many handicaps that he began to be irritable. And now as he lay on his bed he thought that he, being so old and infirm, could not have much time left to him and he doubted he would live long enough to see the King’s heir, which was what this marriage was for.
One of his servants came to him in some haste.
‘My lord Archbishop,’ he said, ‘the royal party have left for Westminster.’
‘So soon,’ cried Ralph.
‘My lord, the Queen is to be crowned without delay and it is said that Roger of Salisbury will perform the ceremony.’
‘Never,’ cried the Archbishop, rising from his bed. ‘There is only one who must do that.’
‘You are unfit, my lord.’
‘Do not advise me on whether or not I shall do my duty. Send my servants with all speed.’
The blood was pounding in his head, his limbs were shaking, and the room circled round him as it did when he rose too hastily.
He cared not. He said to his servants: ‘Help me to dress without delay. Have everything ready for our departure. We leave for Westminster at once.’
Breathlessly the Archbishop entered the Abbey. There was a gasp throughout the spectators as he walked, swaying a little yet clearly resolute, towards the altar.
Roger had reached that stage in the ceremony when the crowns had been placed on the heads of the King and Queen and Ralph was so angry that many thought he would die on the spot.
He approached the King. He cried out and his anger gave him some extra power because his words were distinctly heard by all those close to the King.
‘Who has placed this crown on your head?’
Henry was abashed. Who would have believed that this sick man could so quickly have followed him? He had deliberately arranged that the ceremony should begin very early so that it would be over before there was time for repercussions. Evidently they had not been quick enough for Ralph. Crowning was an even more important occasion than the marriage, and Henry should have known that if the Archbishop had been so determined to perform one he certainly would not willingly allow any but himself to officiate at the other.
Henry was aware of the trouble that could ensue. It had been rash of him to attempt to placate Roger in this manner.
He murmured: ‘If the ceremony has not been performed in a proper manner, it must then be done again.’
The Archbishop retorted, his eyes flashing: ‘Indeed, my lord, it must be done again.’
And with that he lifted the strap which was fixed under the King’s chin and by which the crown was held in place so that the crown fell sideways on to the King’s shoulder.
There was a gasp of dismay from the spectators.
The Archbishop then took the crown and placing it firmly on the King’s head proceeded with the Coronation.
Consternation followed. There were also people who saw omens – good or bad – in every event; and the fact that the King had had his crown taken off his head seemed like a bad one.
‘Nonsense,’ said the King, who like his father preferred to see good in omens. ‘This is a good sign. I lost my son, and though momentarily I lost the crown from my head, it was replaced. So shall my fair young Queen refill our royal cradle. Ere long our marriage will be fruitful I promise you, for I am a young man again, through my Queen, and I know that ere long she will give me the son I crave.’
&n
bsp; So there was rejoicing throughout the land and celebrations at Court; but, although the King and Queen prayed each day that there might be a sign, there was none.
Why, oh, why, do my mistresses conceive and not my wife? the King wondered.
Henry’s temper, which had improved since his marriage and the hopes of getting an heir, now became easily frayed once more. He was restless. It was a month since the official marriage and there was still no sign that Adelicia was pregnant. It was not as though they had not attempted to get a child before that. Ever since that marriage at Ely he had spent each night in her bed. And still no sign! It was ironical that he had feared they might not have the official ceremony in time.
Roger had returned to Salisbury and taken his Matilda with him. He missed their company. Stephen was amusing and his wife, another Matilda, was pleasant enough; his troubadours and minstrels did their best to entertain him but he was restless. He wanted to be young again. He was still a healthy man, but he was beginning to suffer from the irritating little ailments which came with encroaching age, and his digestion was not of the best. It was not that he was a man who overate or drank excessively. Indeed he was moderate enough – except where his favourite foods were concerned. He admitted to a certain greed over lampreys which his cooks knew how to stew and serve deliciously; and he sometimes took more of this dish than was advisable – but he was abstemious in most things. It had always been women and the chase – never food and drink – which had pleased him.
He enjoyed the company of Stephen, but Stephen had changed slightly. He knew his nephew must have had hopes of succeeding him. He did not blame him. Such thoughts would have entered his own mind had he been in Stephen’s position. And now, for all his affection, Stephen could not help being secretly pleased that the Queen did not astonish them all by the speed with which she had conceived. This must needs put a barrier between them. Well, he could scarcely blame Stephen for being ambitious.
The sooner a son was on the way the sooner everything would be settled. Stephen would then know that he could no longer hope. But in the meantime the situation was a difficult one and there had begun to come into the King’s mind a fear that the Queen might be barren.
