by Jean Plaidy
Henry was a devoted member of the Church; at the same time he was a very ambitious man; and he did not mind employing worldly methods to achieve his ends.
With his brother as King and himself in Winchester this could be the best possible state of affairs he believed – for both Church and State.
When they were alone together he said: ‘We need each other, Stephen.’ And with that wise comment Stephen was in complete agreement.
‘It is most important,’ said Henry, ‘that there should be an immediate coronation. Once that has taken place you are indeed King.’
‘I have my doubts of William Corbeil.’
‘He is a man of stern principles,’ replied Henry. ‘It is a pity he took the oath to Matilda . . . as you did.’
‘It was taken under duress,’ replied Stephen. ‘That leaves us free to change our minds. The people will not accept Matilda. There would be civil war if she returned.’
‘Stephen, do you think she will not return?’
‘I know not. She is now in Normandy. She has two sons. Geoffrey of Anjou will try to take Normandy from me. For that I must be prepared.’
‘If I inform William Corbeil that you have sworn to preserve the liberty of the Church he may be persuaded,’ said Henry.
‘We must have Corbeil on our side.’
‘Ay and Roger of Salisbury. It is a pity that all these men have sworn allegiance to Matilda. The King made a mistake in attempting to force her on the country. He knew it and it was for that reason that he made men swear several oaths. His family feeling got the better of his good sense. It is a pity.’
‘Nevertheless we shall succeed,’ said Stephen.
‘I doubt it not,’ replied the Bishop. ‘But that coronation must take place without delay. If Matilda were to set foot in England now, it could be disastrous.’
‘I fear that she may. She is forceful and longs for the crown. It seems certain that she will lose no time in claiming it.’
‘It must be prevented. There will be nothing but disaster under such a woman. You should bring your wife to England. She, too, should be crowned.’
‘I shall do that.’
‘And get a son. There is nothing like a young boy to please the people.’
‘Henry, you and I together . . . we cannot fail.’
They pledged each other’s good health and prosperity, but each spent a restless night. Henry was thinking of William Corbeil and the oath men had taken to serve Matilda. Stephen was thinking of Matilda too – that wild, passionate woman who had dominated his life, the woman he had loved, and still did, and whom he was betraying now. What would she say, what would she do, when she heard that Stephen had taken the crown?
He pictured her rage and fury. It would be intensified because of the passion they had shared.
He waited with trepidation for what Matilda would do.
William of Corbeil was a man who did not like trouble. It was said of him that he had come to his exalted position through good luck rather than merit. Yet he was a man of principles and when Henry of Winchester came to him with the request that he should crown Stephen King of England he drew back in dismay.
‘How could this be,’ he wanted to know, ‘when I have sworn an oath to accept the King’s daughter as my sovereign?’
‘The oath was taken under duress,’ pointed out Henry.
‘’Twas not so,’ replied William. ‘And an oath is an oath however taken. Are you asking me to imperil my soul?’
What a fool the man was! thought the Bishop of Winchester. Did he not see that Stephen was on the spot and that he had the support of the country? Could he not understand that the people would never accept Matilda?
‘Stephen has sworn to preserve the liberties of the Church,’ insisted Henry. ‘Do you think Matilda would do that?’
‘I am not concerned with the liberties of the Church, but with my oath.’
‘Then you are not doing your duty towards the Church.’
‘I am doing my duty towards God. How could I forgive myself, if having sworn an oath, I perjured my soul?’
God preserve us from fools, thought Henry of Winchester. But the unfortunate fact was that William of Corbeil was Archbishop of Canterbury and the crowning ceremony must be performed by him. Until it was, there was danger that the ceremony might never take place.
Matilda would soon be making her presence felt.
The situation was saved by the arrival in England of Hugh Bigod.
The Bigods were a rising family, who had come into prominence during the reign of the Conqueror when Robert Bigod had warned the great King of a treacherous attack which was about to be made on him. Robert was rewarded and his son Roger grew up in the service of the King and was given estates in Norfolk. King Henry had found him a useful man and had rewarded him with the castle of Framlingham. Roger’s eldest son William was drowned in the White Ship and his second son Hugh inherited the estates.
Hugh was soon looking for means of further extending the family fortune. As a boy the King took him into his service and he became Henry’s dapifer.
Like most men he had to decide now on whose side he would be. It was a fateful decision. To make the wrong choice could be to lose everything his family had built up over the last fifty years; to make the right one could double everything that had gone before.
Hugh reckoned himself to be an astute man. Matilda did not stand a chance, he was sure. The whole of the country would be against her. Stephen was his hope. Hugh was not content merely to serve Stephen in the manner in which many would. He must call attention to himself in an ostentatious way.
When Stephen arrived in England the position was that he was accepted by London and Winchester; he had his brother Henry, a most powerful man, on his side; Henry had secured the treasury for his brother; but the Archbishop of Canterbury was refusing to crown him.
Hugh presented himself to Henry of Winchester and Stephen. He could set this matter to rights.
‘I have something of the utmost importance to impart,’ he said. ‘The King disinherited his daughter Matilda. He quarrelled with her just before he died, and named his nephew Stephen as his successor.’
Henry was delighted. He said: ‘This makes all the difference. You must accompany me to the Archbishop of Canterbury and tell him exactly what you have told me.’
‘I shall do so with pleasure,’ said Hugh.
Stephen thanked him with tears in his eyes.
‘My lord King,’ replied Hugh, ‘there was nothing a man of honour could do. I knew this to be so. The King, on his deathbed, repudiated Matilda. He said that such a quarrelsome woman would bring discord to the nation. His successor was to be his nephew Stephen who, after the death of his son in the White Ship, he had first thought to name. But because he had a daughter and she was his own child he named her and men swore fealty to her. But he later saw that the English would never be ruled by a woman and he saw too that she was of a temper that would not bind men to her.’
‘We will lose no time in going to William of Corbeil. He shall hear this and it will sweep away his doubts.’
The Archbishop of Canterbury was pleased to hear what Hugh Bigod had to say. The situation was beginning to make him uneasy and he wondered what he could do if Stephen attempted to force him to crown him.
He was an old man. All he asked was to live in peace and he did not wish to be disturbed now.
But this man Hugh Bigod was ready to swear that Henry had disinherited Matilda so that was clear enough.
Hugh Bigod, calculating that this would win him an earldom from the new King, was ready to swear on the Holy Evangelists that Henry I had disinherited Matilda on his deathbed and named Stephen as his successor.
‘In this case,’ replied the Archbishop, ‘all those who took the vow of fealty to Matilda are now released from it. I believe such vows to be null and void for the English would never accept a woman as their sovereign.’
So thanks to the timely arrival of Hugh Bigod the coronation
could go forward.
Stephen was crowned at Westminster on the 26th December – St Stephen’s Day, which seemed symbolic. He promised to establish all the liberties and good laws which had existed during the reigns of King Henry and Edward the Confessor, and to preserve the happiness of all classes of men and women.
The King was of pleasant and gentle mien; he had made himself beloved in his youth; he was married to a Queen of Saxon blood who had already born him a son and daughter – the son, alas, had died, but the daughter lived and the Queen was now pregnant with, it was hoped, a boy who would follow his father.
There seemed a good promise that life would continue under King Stephen as it had under King Henry, and that peace and prosperity had come to stay in England.
The King’s Mysterious Malaise
ADELICIA WAS SURPRISED to find how deeply she mourned her husband. During his lifetime she had never felt very close to him. The disparity in their ages was great and although Henry had been kind he had never taken her into his confidence. He had married her, she was well aware, for the sole purpose of getting a legitimate son and heir to the throne. That she had not been able to provide him with one had been a constant grief to her. He had not reproached her but she knew that he often thought of his numerous illegitimate children and had believed that she was a barren woman and that it had been great ill fortune which had led him to settle on her.
She had dreaded those nights when he had been beset by nightmares and she had not known how to comfort him. She had been afraid of his bouts of temper. It had been a relief when he was called away to Normandy; and now she would never see him again.
She was astonished when Stephen came back and was proclaimed King in London. How could that be? Had he not sworn fealty to the King’s daughter Matilda and was it not the King’s wish that Matilda should follow him?
Before he had left for Normandy, the King had been so delighted because he had a grandson.
He had said to her: ‘Adelicia, I rejoice in the birth of this boy. This will make the people accept Matilda for while they will not like a woman as their sovereign, they will say: “Ere long we shall have a great King, another Henry who will be as his grandfather and his great-grandfather before him.” ’
And now Stephen was setting himself up as King.
It was bewildering.
The King’s pincerna was asking to see her. She immediately granted an interview. She had always liked William de Albini whose duties to her husband had often brought her into contact with him. As the King’s cupbearer he was naturally in constant attendance and as this was a post which his father had held before him he came of a trusted family.
William was a few years older than herself but seemed young since she compared him with her late husband; and on this occasion there was a faintly anxious expression on his face.
‘You would speak with me?’ asked the Queen.
‘My lady, you know that there is to be a new king when we had been expecting a queen.’
‘Yes, I have heard the news. What think you?’
William looked over his shoulder and she said: ‘You may speak your mind before me.’
‘I think, my lady, that the people will take Stephen rather than the Empress. But the nobles have sworn fealty to Matilda and there could be trouble.’
‘I hope this will not come to pass.’
‘It would mean a civil war.’
‘I trust not. It is the last thing that the King wanted. He often compared the greater prosperity enjoyed in England to that of Normandy and said that while England lived at peace within, Normandy was constantly trying to tear itself apart.’
‘I was thinking of your safety, my lady.’
‘I? What should I have to do with it?’
‘In such a war all those in high places could be drawn in. May I make a suggestion?’
‘Please do.’
‘That you retire from Court. It would be understandable. You are in mourning for the King. You could stay for a while in one of the abbeys you have founded, or perhaps in your castle of Arundel.’
She was silent. He was looking at her intently and she flushed under his gaze.
‘I should like to leave Court,’ she said. ‘It may be that the new King would wish me to. He has never been aught but gracious to me. But faces change when they are beneath a crown. My husband has never said to me that he would disinherit Matilda. Nor could I believe that he had – when at last she bore a son. His greatest joy in the last weeks he was here was in contemplating the good fortune which had given Matilda a son. He referred to him as Henry II. Yet if Stephen is King he will wish any son he may have to follow him, will he not?’
‘I see trouble,’ said William. ‘It is for that reason that it would please me to see you leave Court.’
‘Thank you for your concern. I will take your advice. I shall stay for a while at Arundel. It is a pleasant spot and there I shall feel at peace.’
‘May I have the privilege of visiting you there?’
‘That would be for me a pleasure,’ she told him; and bowing low William de Albini took his leave of the dowager Queen.
The King’s body was brought to England. It had previously received a form of embalming. This was done by slicing it and covering it with layers of salt and then wrapping it in the hide of a bull. Thus a certain preservation was assured, which was merciful as the cortège waited at Caen four weeks for a favourable wind.
It seemed fitting that the body should be laid to rest in the Abbey of Reading because the King himself had endowed it some fourteen years earlier.
Stephen arrived at Reading to be present at the burial and there he wept and made a great show of grief for the uncle who had done so much for him. He was not completely insincere. He had been fond of his uncle; and he had been grateful to him. His tears were genuine while at the same time he exalted in the glory which only the death of Henry could bring to him.
After the King had been laid to rest Adelicia went to Arundel where William de Albini came frequently to visit her.
When Matilda heard what was happening she gave way to great rage against Stephen.
How dared he – he of all people! He should have been the first to rally to her support and what had he done – stolen the crown!
How she hated him!
She had discovered that she was pregnant – and after her terrible ordeal with young Geoffrey, that was the last thing she wanted. Her condition was a handicap and she had to rely too much on her young husband.
Although she was reconciled to him she had no great love for him. He gave himself airs and she never failed to remind him that if he had anything of which to be proud he owed that to his marriage with her.
‘Your father was eager for alliance with my house,’ he taunted. ‘Why should he be if we were so unimportant?’
‘As he told you it was merely because of the position of your lands.’
It was the constant theme between them. There was no tenderness, no affection. The only bond was a common ambition, for his importance depended on her position and she could only rely on his help to gain and keep it.
People had begun to call him Geoffrey Plantagenet because he had adopted a habit of wearing a sprig of broom in his cap. This was the planta genista which they called Plantagenet.
When the name became attached to him he continued with this custom and was never seen without the sprig; and he caused the shrub to be planted on his lands.
Matilda, suffering from the discomforts of early pregnancy, gave vent to her fury against Stephen. She would go to England; she would have him in chains, she declared; he should have his eyes put out. She loved to remember those eyes close to her own, their expression one of ardent desire. She would teach Stephen of Blois what happened to those who flouted the Queen of England.
‘First,’ Geoffrey reminded her, ‘we must make sure of Normandy.’
‘Why did this have to happen when I am with child?’ she demanded.
‘There we see why
women are not meant to be rulers,’ said the tactless Geoffrey.
She quarrelled violently with him on the spot – and her disappointment fed her anger. It was Stephen she hated, not this foolish young boy. What cared she for Geoffrey? But Stephen had betrayed her.
‘No one will follow him,’ she cried. ‘They have sworn fealty to me. How wise my father was to make them swear on oath.’
When the news came that Stephen had been crowned she could have wept with rage. How dared they! Hugh Bigod had dared to say that her father had disinherited her. When had Henry done this?
‘Bigod said on his deathbed,’ retorted Geoffrey. ‘You shouldn’t have quarrelled with your father. You quarrel with everyone.’
‘You quarrelled with him, too. Who was it who demanded castles all over Normandy?’
‘You said they were our right.’
And so on. Quarrelling, thought Matilda, when they should be making plans to attack.
She was the Queen though; she was the Duchess of Normandy and if she could not yet go to England – for Geoffrey was right when he said that they must first secure Normandy – at least she could claim the Duchy.
The border towns surrendered to her; but the rest of Normandy made it clear that they would follow the English in taking Stephen for their ruler.
Meanwhile the child was growing within her. It would be born in July, and there was little she could do until the child was delivered. There must not be a repetition of her last confinement, the doctors warned her. Special care must be taken to avoid that.
Geoffrey must go out and fight. He was ready. At least he was ambitious and eager for her to be the acknowledged ruler because he believed that he would then rule through her. He was mistaken of course, but she let him make his own dreams, for the more grandiose they were, the better he would fight for her.
It was a frustrating time. What ill luck that she had not been in England at the time of her father’s death! What bad fortune that she had quarrelled with him just before he had eaten those lampreys. Geoffrey would say it was her own fault but she regarded it as the greatest bad luck.
