by Jean Plaidy
‘The people of Kent are loyal to Stephen,’ she went on, ‘and the citizens of London always loved him. We had many friends there when we lived at Tower Royal and Stephen would go and mingle with the traders. They knew him and he always had a smile and word for both men and women, however humble they were.’
So certain was she that she would succeed that she had been able to inspire Adelicia and William with her optimism. Of one thing they were certain, and that was Stephen’s hopes had brightened with the return to England of his Queen.
The Empress was now installed at Westminster. She had been proclaimed Lady of England and Normandy at Winchester in April, two months after the defeat of Stephen; she had made her progress through Wiliton, Reading. Oxford and St Albans and at all of these places she had been received with honour. It was midsummer when she entered London.
So certain was she of her welcome that it did not occur to her for one moment that the people of London might not readily accept her. In any case, she was not concerned with her subjects’ feelings towards her. They were of no account, she would have thought. She was the Queen and all must realize it.
Indeed, imperious as she had always been, since her arrival at Winchester her arrogance had become intolerable. She could not forget for one moment that she was the Queen and the fact that she had not yet been crowned made her determined that everyone must proclaim her as such in every degree, however trivial. She was brusque with her friends, and even her brother Robert and Henry of Winchester were irritated by her manner of addressing them.
Stephen’s wife, Queen Matilda, had taken up her abode at Tower Royal and her servants there and the people in the streets of London expressed their sympathy for her. They knew that they dared not openly support Stephen, but at the same time they wished to show their sympathy for the Queen.
As for Queen Matilda herself, she was convinced that William of Ypres would be successful in raising an army and she was not going to rest until she had brought about her husband’s release. At the same time she believed that if she pleaded with the Empress she might prevail upon her to free Stephen.
She called at the Palace of Westminster and asked for an audience with the Lady of England.
The Empress laughed when she heard that the woman calling herself Queen Matilda was without. At first she declared she would not see her.
‘I have no time to see all the supplicants who call at the palace,’ she said.
Then it occurred to her that it might amuse her to see this woman who was Stephen’s wife, so she ordered that Queen Matilda be brought to her.
She kept her waiting and even when she was brought in she was forced to stand until the Empress deigned to notice her.
The Queen could not believe that a kinswoman who had been a playmate in the royal nursery could behave in this manner. She could understand a certain ceremony on public occasions, but not when they were alone together.
‘Matilda,’ she began. ‘I have come to ask you . . .’
The Empress raised her eyebrows. ‘Do not forget,’ she warned, ‘that you are addressing the Queen.’
‘I did not know the coronation had taken place, and I, Matilda, have been crowned Queen of England.’
‘You would be wise not to remind me of that. You and your husband took the crown to which you had no right. He is suffering for his sins. You are bold. I should have you punished in like manner.’
‘I have come to ask you to release Stephen.’
‘Release the man who usurped my crown! Why should I?’
‘Because he is your cousin. Because your father named him as his successor.’
‘That is a lie. Those who speak treason shall suffer the traitor’s death.’
The Queen had one thought. To bring about her husband’s release. If she must submit to the arrogance of Matilda in order to bring this about, then so must it be. She therefore decided to ignore the rights and wrongs of the matter and to appeal to the Empress’s tender feelings if such existed.
‘Stephen lies in a dungeon,’ said the Queen. ‘He is treated there like the meanest felon. He is your cousin. I beg of you move him to a comfortable prison, if in prison he must be.’
‘In prison he must be and there shall remain and prisons are not meant to be comfortable, cousin.’
‘We were all children together. You were friends once, you and Stephen . . .’
A smile curled the Empress’s lips. Friends! Oh, more than friends, you good and faithful wife to Stephen. He was my lover. He could not resist me. He desired me as he never did you, you silly feeble creature. Some would say you are comely enough, but you lack my fire. Only I could kindle Stephen to deep passion. He was ready to risk everything for me . . . as he has shown. But what I cannot forgive is that he took the crown and did not come to me when my father died. For that he shall lie in his dungeon. I have not finished with him yet. He shall wish that he had never been born because he betrayed me.
‘This has nothing to do with the nursery,’ said the Empress. ‘And I have no time to talk to you. Pray leave me now.’
The Queen knelt before her and raised her eyes to the Empress’s cruel face. They were bright with tears and her hair had escaped from its coif. She was a beautiful woman. The Empress thought of her with Stephen, their embrace . . . the children they had.
‘Go from me,’ she cried angrily, ‘or I will call the guards to take you away. Go quickly before I throw you into a dungeon. But it would not be that in which your husband now spends his time. Do not think that.’
It was no use pleading with the Empress and to remain was dangerous. Of what use would she be to Stephen if she became Matilda’s prisoner?
The Queen left the palace where once she had held state with Stephen. She came out into the street and wrapped her cloak over her head. Even so some people recognized her.
‘It is the Queen!’ she heard the whisper.
‘Come from the Lady where she had been pleading for her husband.’
‘Poor lady. She was always good to us.’
‘Different from . . .’
One man came forward and taking the Queen’s hand kissed it.
Deeply moved, she passed on. The Empress’s indifference to her sufferings and that of Stephen had shocked her; but she was comforted to remember that she and he had always had the affection of the people of London.
The Queen could not forget the balful light in the Empress’s eyes when she had talked of Stephen and she decided that she would leave London for Kent, and there join with William of Ypres.
She had received disquieting news from Normandy. Since Stephen was a prisoner and Matilda had been accepted as the Lady of England in Winchester and Bishop Henry had sworn allegiance to her, the Empress’s husband, Geoffrey of Anjou, had had little difficulty in persuading the Norman barons that Stephen’s cause was lost and all those who had so recently sworn allegiance to Eustace and accepted him as the heir of Normandy, should now transfer their allegiance to the Empress Matilda and her son, Henry.
This was yet another blow, but the Queen realized that the important thing was to bring about Stephen’s release without delay and set him back on the throne. Once that was achieved Normandy would naturally return to him.
But in the meantime the Empress was installed in London about to be crowned Queen of England while Stephen remained in chains in Bristol.
Only a supreme optimist could hope in such circumstances, but the Queen’s grew out of desperation.
When she reached Kent she had a pleasant surprise. Far more men than she had dared to hope had rallied round William of Ypres who delightedly told her that the overbearing conduct of the Empress was turning many of her one-time friends against her.
This was a small comfort but the Queen was pleased to clutch at any hope.
The Queen’s visit had upset the Empress more than she would admit. There was no doubt that Stephen’s wife was a beautiful woman. She was far more feminine than the Empress could ever be and she was proving herself t
o be more than ornamental. She had proved herself something of a stateswoman in France when she had married young Eustace off to the King’s daughter; and her devotion to Stephen was constantly mentioned.
It was said: Stephen could hardly be called a lucky man except in one respect. He could not have a better wife.
Such remarks angered the Empress who was far from happy, though about to be crowned Queen of England; she had had her revenge on Stephen, but she was bitterly dissatisfied. Her temper could be aroused by the slightest matter and it was often out of control.
Robert of Gloucester warned her to curb it. ‘You will lose friends unless you treat them with more respect,’ he warned her.
‘Lose them!’ she cried. ‘It is not for men and women to decide whether they shall take their friendship from me. They will be grateful that I choose to honour them.’
‘They may feign to be honoured, but resentment will smoulder in their hearts,’ said Robert.
‘You presume too much,’ she retorted. ‘Forget not that although you are my half-brother you are my father’s bastard.’
To speak thus to the man to whom she owed almost everything she had gained was such ingratitude that he was speechless with dismay. He could only withdraw from her presence and ask himself whether he had been wise to support her. Stephen was a weak king but he was courteous and kindly. Matilda was becoming more and more of a virago every day.
The Bishop of Winchester who was at Westminster and whose task it was to win the citizens of London to her side was also resentful of her treatment of him. She seemed to have forgotten that these men held great power in the land and that without them she could do little. She was so obsessed with her own royalty that she could see nothing else.
Her servants disliked her and tried to keep out of her way. In the streets of London they were saying that the Lady of England was ‘a niggish old wife’. She was a shrew, a virago, and completely different from Stephen’s sweet-faced Queen who had always a smile when she walked through the streets and never passed a poor beggar without giving him something to ease him.
‘Why,’ demanded the Empress of Robert, ‘does my coronation not take place immediately? Why should there be this delay?’
Robert explained as patiently as he could that it was necessary to win the favour of the people of London.
‘Win it! The Queen must win the favour of London! Winchester hailed me. Other cities have accepted me.’
‘This is the capital city,’ said Henry. ‘If London were against you and refused to accept you it would not be easy to hold the rest of the country.’
‘Call together an assembly of the leading citizens,’ commanded Matilda, ‘and I will address them.’
‘It would be advisable to let them know how gratified you are to be received in their city.’
‘Their city. This is my city. I am the Queen.’
‘They will not call you that until after the coronation,’ said Henry.
‘Then for the love of God let us have this coronation.’
‘We shall need money that it may be celebrated with the pomp that is due to your rank,’ explained Robert.
‘Then we must have money. Why do you delay? I declare I must insist on your obedience. Call an assembly without delay.’
Robert and Henry exchanged glances and Henry said: ‘I will let your wishes be known.’
When she had left them the Bishop said: ‘If she continues in this way I fear the people will revolt.’
Robert bowed his head in consternation. Neither of them knew then how soon the Bishop’s fears were to be realized.
Henry spoke to the assembled citizens. He presented to them the Lady Matilda, the daughter of the late King whom they all revered. He had been a king who had made good laws and had been strong enough to see them carried out. They would find in his daughter such another ruler. She was the true heiress of England.
This was somewhat reluctantly acceded. She was in truth the direct heir, but she was a woman. They remembered the reign of the Conqueror and that seemed like a golden age. Rufus had followed and those had not been good years, but Henry had followed – Henry, Lion of Justice and the Conqueror’s youngest son; he had restored his father’s stern, just laws and England had been a better place for that.
The citizens conferred together and their spokesman said that they would be ready to accept her but first they wished to know if the charters which had been granted by Matilda’s father would stand.
Matilda’s eyes flashed with anger. Were they making conditions to her? These people who had given their support to Stephen! Had she not always heard that London had been the first to accept him? London had favoured Stephen and his Queen. And now that she was here they were offering her conditions.
‘You are impudent to mention privileges to me,’ she declared, ‘when you have so recently been helping my enemies.’
There was a hushed silence. The Bishop was exasperated: Robert was clearly alarmed. But Matilda was so certain of her power that she went on to tell the assembly that she needed money and that she was about to impose taxes on the people of London to provide this. When they had given her the money she needed they should have a grand spectacle of a coronation and she wished there to be no delay.
The spokesman asked leave for the assembly to be dismissed as he and his friends wished to confer together to discover the best way of meeting her demands.
Matilda inclined her head. ‘But let there be no delay,’ she cautioned. ‘I am an impatient woman.’
Robert tried to reason with her.
‘I fear they are offended,’ he said.
‘Offended. Let them be. As long as they find the money what care I if they are offended or not?’
‘Sister, it is always necessary for a ruler to please the people.’
‘Are you telling me how to be royal, you . . . bastard?’
She is drunk with power, thought Robert. I must caution her.
‘You will see,’ he said, ‘that it is necessary to please the people.’
‘You are as weak as Stephen. That was his way, was it not? Please everybody. Smile here, smile there, forgive your enemies. Let them get away to fight another day. You are a fool, Robert.’
‘Can you say that? Have I not provided you with an army?’
‘Oh, you are a good brother to me, but you do not know what it means to be royal.’
‘Our father kept me at his side. I was with him often when he was concerned in matters of State. He taught me much.’
She said almost gently, ‘I know, Robert, and you have served me well, but I am royal. Understand that. I am the daughter of a king. I was the wife of an emperor. I know that a ruler must be strong. Do not anger me, Robert, for I do not wish to lose my temper with you. I forget not that you are my good brother and you shall be rewarded.’
‘Reward me by taking a little care, Matilda. That is what would please me.’
‘You are like Stephen . . . all of you. And look where his softness brought him. To a dungeon . . . in chains.’
‘It does not please the people that he should be there.’
‘Nay, brother, but it pleases me and that is all that matters. I am hungry. I trust they have some good meat on the spit. If not . . .’
‘Oh, come, Matilda, they are too frightened of you not to cook your venison to a turn.’
‘Then we will eat and I will confer with you and the Bishop, and we will plan the coronation, for my frightened subjects will give me what I ask. Doubt it not. You will see I am right when they come tomorrow with their bags of gold. Now let us to the hall.’
She felt pleased with the day’s work. She would laugh at Robert and the Bishop when those burghers came cringing. She would say to them: ‘You see I know how to rule.’
She smiled when she saw the board laden with good meat and she took her place at the head of the table but as she was about to be served there was a violent clangour from without and it seemed as though every bell in the city started to peal.
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Robert started up in dismay. ‘What is happening?’ he asked.
One of the servants came running to the table, trembling so much that he could scarcely speak.
‘The people are gathering in the streets. Some have swords, some other weapons. They are marching on the Palace.’
‘We have no time to lose,’ said Robert.
He seized Matilda by the arm before she could protest and indeed she had no mind to. She knew suddenly that the whole of London was rising against her. Those men in the hall had hated her. They had decided that they would turn her out.
As she hastily followed Robert out to the stables and obediently mounted the horse he was holding, she knew she was in great danger.
Robert leaped into the saddle and by that time others had joined them.
Matilda knew that if these people caught up with her they would tear her to pieces. She could expect no mercy from them. They hated her, these people of London. Reluctantly they had received her but they wanted Stephen and his wife Matilda.
No sooner had she and the little band left the precincts of the palace than the mob broke in.
As they could not find Matilda, they plundered the rooms and carried off all the treasure they could find. One thing was certain, London had rejected Matilda.
The Funeral Cortège
THE NEWS OF the Empress’s flight from London soon reached the ears of Queen Matilda and she lost no time in riding into the city with her son Eustace beside her.
How the people cheered her! They kissed her hand and they told her they were delighted that she had come. They would not have that niggish old wife back on any conditions.
‘Good people,’ cried the Queen, ‘I thank you on behalf of my husband the King. He is a prisoner now. The prisoner of that woman whom you have rejected, but it shall not be for long.’
‘Not for long,’ echoed the people.
