The Passionate Enemies

by Jean Plaidy

  All those watching said: ‘This is God’s sign. The King’s light will go out as surely as that of the broken candle.’

  Stephen took another candle and attempted to shrug the matter aside, but those watching were sure it was a sign.

  Meanwhile Robert’s army was determined to attack and, wading their way over the marshy land, they forded the swollen river.

  Chilled to the skin, the soldiers stood in formation while Robert of Gloucester addressed them. He was a man of great eloquence and was able to communicate his fervour and determination to them all. He hinted at what they could gain and made it clear to them that their lives would assuredly be worth very little if they lost.

  So those men who had joined the banner of Matilda, the Empress, in spite of their long march and their exposure to the damps of the marsh and river stood determined to fight.

  Stephen heard that Robert was addressing his men and had by so doing brought out great heart in them. He sent for one of his followers, Baldwin Fitz-Gilbert, a man with a voice of thunder, and commanded to him to cheer the army and abuse the enemy.

  This Baldwin Fitz-Gilbert did, and reminded the soldiers that Robert of Gloucester was a bastard and that Kings’ bastards were dangerous men. ‘Will you fight under Robert the Base-born General?’ he yelled at the opposing armies. The answer came back echoing over the marshes: ‘We will.’

  Stephen was in a position of advantage for he was on a slight incline whereas his enemies were on the flat ground. There was only one aspect of his position which might be dangerous and that was that if the enemy drove him back he could become penned up within the city walls.

  He considered the position. He was now coming face to face with his greatest enemy, for Robert of Gloucester was undoubtedly that. If Robert had not given his support to his sister she could not have established herself as firmly as she had. She owed a great deal to him.

  Yet Stephen could not forget that this man was his own cousin, Matilda’s half-brother and the beloved son of the late Henry I.

  How close they all were! Kinsman fighting kinsman. When Stephen thought of that he had little heart for the fight. He wished that they could live in peace. And so they could if he would hand over the crown to Matilda.

  Oh, God, he thought, what an evil fate it was that gave me the wrong Matilda for a wife.

  Again he let himself think of what the future would have been if they had married him to the Empress. Stormy, without doubt, stimulating, exciting in the extreme. Every moment lived to the full. And she would never have lost an opportunity of letting him know that she had the greater right to the crown.

  He pulled himself up. This was no time for dreaming impossible dreams. She was his enemy. His life and future were at stake and that of his good faithful wife and his beloved son.

  So he would go out and meet Robert of Gloucester in combat.

  He gave orders. They would move forward. Yes, he knew he had the advantageous position; but he did not want Robert of Gloucester to be able to say when the fight was over that fortune had favoured Stephen.

  He would throw away that advantage. The armies would descend to the plains. They would fight fairly.

  His men marvelled at him. The King must indeed be suffering from madness. One could not be so magnanimous in war. He had thrown away the greatest opportunity he had when the Empress Matilda was in his hands. Now they were fighting to regain what he had thrown away. And because he had the advantage he was giving that away too.

  What could an army think of such a man? Had not the candle broken in his hands? Fate would not go on giving him advantages if he showed his lack of appreciation of them by throwing them away.

  The battle was brief. Robert had been right when he said so many of those who followed him had little more to lose than their life; they fought for those lives with all the skill and fury of which they were capable.

  Stephen’s followers had already begun to doubt him; they had lost their belief in his ability to rule before the battle started. It seemed impossible that those men, cold and wet from their journey through the marshes, should have fought with such spirit, but they did.

  Moreover they were led by one of the most skilful generals of the day, Robert of Gloucester, and for him there were two great reasons why he was determined to win the battle of Lincoln. He believed his cause to be just; he had sworn to Henry I that he would support the accession of his daughter Matilda. Stephen had sworn that too, and broken his word. The other reason was that Robert’s daughter was in the castle of Lincoln.

  Spurred on by these reasons Robert was the greater general on that day.

  At the first indication that the battle was going against Stephen one by one those who had supported him for what they hoped to gain began to slip away.

  Stephen realized what was happening. He was losing the battle. He could hear all about him the sudden cries of men as they fell from their horses or were run through by the enemy’s lances. The tumult was great and he knew the shouts of triumph came from the enemy.

  Matilda, he thought, you are winning. You said you would always subdue me. But not if I can help it . . .

  Then he thought of that other Matilda. She would not hear of the battle for some time because she was in France. He was filled with remorse. He must fight for her and their son Eustace. He must never surrender.

  About him his supporters were dwindling. Could they really be so false? Why should men desert him for Matilda? Had he not always been kindly, affable? He never wanted trouble and had tried hard to please all men. Matilda was arrogant; she would be cruel. Why should they support her against him? Because her cause was just, because she was the King’s daughter and Stephen merely his nephew. Because they had sworn fealty to Matilda . . . as he had.

  Now he could see the enemy clearly. He was surrounded.

  ‘I will never give in,’ he cried. ‘Never, never, never.’

  There were only men on foot now to fight with him. Closer and closer came the enemy. He slashed right and left with his sword. He saw blood everywhere as he struck down man after man.

  He was fighting with all the strength and skill he possessed. All those who beheld him were astonished at his courage and skill.

  One after another men fell before him but he was not so blind that he could not see the terrible toll the enemy was taking of his supporters. They were thick on the ground now. Slaughter all about him and only he erect on his horse fighting on with a courage born of desperation.

  He saw a man’s face close to his. Murder was in his eyes. Stephen ran him through. But his sword had broken.

  His horse was down. This was the end. It must be. The enemy were everywhere and there were so few of his supporters now to surround him and fight with him.

  Someone had thrust a battle axe into his hands. He grunted his thanks and began striking to the right and left of him.

  He was fighting like a madman. But it was useless.

  Rannulf the Earl of Chester was bearing down upon him. No doubt seeking the honour of capturing or killing the King. He struck at him with the axe. Rannulf avoided the blow but was thrown to his knees.

  ‘Die, traitor,’ cried Stephen, but before he could deliver the fatal blow a stone struck him and he himself fell to the ground.

  His enemies were upon him.

  Someone had snatched off his helmet.

  ‘The King!’ The cry went on. ‘We have the King.’

  And so was Stephen brought a captive to the Castle of Gloucester where the Empress Matilda waited to hear news of the battle.

  She saw the messenger approaching and went down to the courtyard to wait for him. He leaped from his foaming horse and threw himself at her feet.

  ‘My lady, the battle is over. The King has fallen. He is your captive.’

  She stood erect, smiling. Stephen a captive! On the way to Gloucester!

  She took the rider into the castle and herself offered him the goblet which would refresh him.

  ‘Tell me what you kn
ow.’

  The messenger gasped out that the battle had been fought at Lincoln and that the King’s forces had deserted him when they saw the battle going against them.

  ‘Ere long,’ she said, ‘my brother will be here and with him will come the King. King no longer though, merely Stephen of Blois, my prisoner.’

  She saw them riding towards the castle. Robert was at the head of the cavalcade and among that band of riders was Stephen the defeated King.

  Into the courtyard they came. Robert her good and faithful brother and Stephen . . .

  She wanted to laugh aloud. How different he was! No longer the proud King.

  She waited for her brother to come to her and when he did she embraced him warmly.

  ‘Robert, good brother, you have done well this day.’

  ‘I have brought the traitor to you.’

  ‘He is below,’ she said, a smile playing about her lips.

  ‘Ay, he is below.’

  ‘I am glad you brought him alive.’ Her expression was fierce suddenly. She thought: I would never have forgiven you if you had brought him to me dead.

  ‘He fought like a lion,’ said Robert. ‘He amazed all who beheld him: Never did I see a man fight as Stephen fought this day at Lincoln.’

  ‘It availed him little,’ she cried scornfully.

  ‘Nay, but it was none the less brave for that. It was as though a devil possessed him. There he stood in the midst of his followers and one by one they fell. Yet he remained and none could bring him down.’

  ‘But he was brought down.’

  ‘Ay, at last. But he fought with such valour as I have rarely seen on any battlefield. Men looked at him and said that a god had come down to earth.’

  ‘And then our god was taken captive. I must decide what. I shall do with him.’

  ‘You will put him under honourable restraint, no doubt.’

  ‘He is my captive. He shall have his chains and his dungeon.’

  Robert looked at her with astonishment. ‘Doubtless,’ he said, ‘you will remember his leniency towards you.’

  ‘I remember his foolishness,’ she said. ‘This man has usurped my crown. He has set himself up against me. He deserves death.’

  Robert said: ‘I had thought there was an affection between you.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Have the captive sent to me,’ she said.

  ‘Matilda, I ask you . . .’

  She looked at him in surprise. He did not seem to understand the implication of this victory. He was her good brother, it was true – half-brother and base-born she would have him remember – but she was the Queen and she would give orders.

  ‘You ask me!’ she cried. ‘I would have you remember, brother, that I shall say what shall and shall not be done. Although you are my good brother and have done your duty in a becoming manner, I am your Queen and this victory means that all in the country will acknowledge me as such. Bring the prisoner to me.’

  There was colour in her cheeks. She loosened her beautiful hair and shook it out so that it fell about her shoulders. Rarely had she been so excited in her life.

  They brought him in – a guard on either side. It made her want to shout with triumph to see him thus, the stains of battle on him still, dejected, the prisoner.

  ‘Leave us,’ she commanded the guards.

  They hesitated. They feared to leave her with a man who might well be desperate.

  ‘Leave us,’ she repeated her voice sharp with anger. They dared not disobey, so she was alone with Stephen.

  He would have come towards her. ‘Matilda . . .’

  ‘Stay where you are, prisoner,’ she commanded.

  He stopped short. ‘Why, Stephen,’ she said, ‘you are weary. You fought well, I hear. You may be seated. Take that stool.’

  He sat down, his head lowered. He dared not meet her eyes. She was like some avenging goddess.

  ‘I was afraid,’ she said, ‘that my friends might have killed you.’

  He lifted his head, for there was a tremor in her voice as she spoke, one which he had never heard before. It sent a wild hope surging through his heart. There was some softness in her then, some compassion, and if this was so who would be more like to benefit from it than himself.

  ‘I am glad they did not,’ she said. ‘I wanted to see you here like this. Your corpse, my dear Stephen, would have been no use to me.’

  He smiled at her but she did not return his smile. Then he stood up and once more came towards her. He wanted to take her into his arms, to tell her that he cared nothing for the battle when he was with her. As ever when they were alone thus, little else could be of importance.

  ‘I did not give you permission to approach me,’ she said.

  ‘Nay,’ he answered, ‘so I will do so without.’

  ‘You will obey me,’ she said. ‘Forget not that I am the Queen.’

  ‘When you and I are together it is Stephen and Matilda, man and woman. King or Queen, what matters that?’

  ‘It mattered to you when you took my crown.’

  ‘They should have married us.’

  ‘But they did not, so you took what did not belong to you, you thief. Do you think I will ever forgive you for taking my crown?’

  ‘Matilda, you were far away. The English would not accept a woman.’

  ‘They are going to accept their Queen. They are going to be ruled by a woman who will be as strong as ever her father or grandfather was.’

  ‘You will not rule by harshness.’

  ‘Will I not? Shall I rule as you did and make myself a laughing stock to both my friends and enemies? You are a fool, Stephen.’

  ‘You loved me.’

  ‘I liked your body. I despise your mind. You fool, Stephen. You let me go. I could have been standing before you as you are standing now and you let me go.’

  ‘I let you go because of what there was between us.’

  She burst out laughing. ‘A crown was between us, Stephen. and we both stretched out our hands for it. You were slow and foolish, Stephen. You had it within your grasp and you let it go . . . you let me go. You had lost from that moment. And I shall never allow you to lay your thieving hands on it again. You are my prisoner now and you will see that the Queen of England is not the fool the self-styled King was.’

  ‘What will you do with me, Matilda, now that I am in your hands?’

  ‘You will see, and you will not like it. I shall not allow the people to laugh at me for a foolish woman.’

  ‘You will keep me near you?’

  ‘I will keep you where I know you are well guarded so that you will never escape. You shall have your dungeon, Stephen. It is what you deserve. My father kept his brother prisoner for more than twenty years. It was necessary. For while he was free there were misguided men who would rally to his banner and try to wrest Normandy from my father’s rule. There might be foolish men who would rally to you, Stephen. Though I doubt it for now all men know your weakness, your lack of kingly qualities. But I shall take no chances. When I lie in my warm bed at nights, Stephen, I may think of you . . . in your cold dungeon . . . lying there on the straw with perhaps a rat to keep you company. And I shall say: That was Stephen who desired me as he never desired another woman. If he had loved me and had kept the vows he made to my father and had served me as his Queen, which was what he promised to do, then he should have had a place of honour beside me. I would have given him lands and power and now and then a place in my bed for he is a handsome man and his body pleases me. But he deceived me. He worked against me. He stole my crown and for that he shall pay. Prepare yourself, Stephen.’

  She clapped her hands and a page appeared.

  ‘Call the guards,’ she said.

  They came to her bidding.

  ‘This man is to be put in chains,’ she said. ‘He is to be taken to Bristol Castle and there he shall be put into a dungeon of my choosing. He shall stay there until it is my will and pleasure to release him.’

  She watched the horror on his fa
ce; she saw the appeal in his eyes.

  ‘Matilda . . .’ he began.

  But she waved an imperious hand.

  ‘Take the prisoner away,’ she said.

  Robert came to Matilda, his expression subdued.

  ‘He has gone, our captive?’ asked Matilda.

  ‘He is on his way to Bristol with an armed guard.’

  ‘I am glad of it.’

  ‘Was it necessary to put him in chains?’

  ‘Necessary! Our enemy! The usurper! I should have had his legs strapped under the belly of an ass and let the people come out to jeer at him as he passed.’

  ‘He is our cousin, Matilda.’

  ‘He is the man who swore on oath to support me and who took the crown instead.’

  ‘’Twas so, but there were men to swear that your father named him as heir on his deathbed.’

  ‘Lies,’ snapped Matilda. ‘All lies. And I bid you be silent on that subject, brother, or I shall suspect you of traitorous thoughts.’

  ‘Could you do that in view of the manner in which I have served you?’

  ‘Nay, Robert, you are a good brother, but I am determined to have my way. I shall let all know how I deal with traitors.’

  ‘Perhaps a little generosity would not come amiss.’

  ‘You have seen where a little generosity brought Stephen.’

  ‘He was indeed over-generous to you.’

  ‘The fool was indeed and look where it has brought him. Do not fret for him, brother, or I might well dislike your feelings of generosity towards our enemy.’

  Robert was uneasy. She was not Queen yet and her arrogance was becoming unbearable.

  He said: ‘Your first step now will be to go to Winchester and there take possession of the royal crown and treasury. When you have them we should then make our way to London for the crowning at Westminster.’