by Jean Plaidy
‘Of course I know we must have Robert, but I will not give up Stephen.’
‘It is the price the Queen is asking.’
‘Leave me alone. I tell you I will not give him up.’
They left her; she clenched her fists and hit them against the wall until she bruised them. She pictured their return, the loving embraces.
‘No,’ she cried. ‘He shall not go. I’ll not let him return to that woman. Let him stay in his dungeon. He shall be chained to the wall. He shall be kept there in filth and squalor until he no longer looks like her handsome Stephen . . . or mine.’
She sent for her advisers.
‘Offer the Queen a large sum of money and twelve of Stephen’s captains. And in exchange we want Robert.’
‘She will not listen.’
‘Convey my wishes to her. Tell her she had better listen.’
‘We are in no position . . .’
‘Do not tell me what position I am in. Go and do what I say or you will find yourself a prisoner.’
There was no reasoning with her, but as they had known it would be, the answer they received was No. The exchange must be Robert for Stephen.
The Empress stormed and raged but even in her most violent moments she knew that she could not do without Robert.
At length she gave way.
What a joyous moment it was for the Queen when she beheld her husband, even though his appearance shocked her. He was so thin, emaciated and sick.
‘I will soon nurse you back to health,’ she assured him.
‘What you have done is miraculous,’ he told her. ‘I could not believe that any could bring about such victory. Why, Matilda, I knew you to be gentle and loving, but you have proved yourself to be a great general.’
He told her of the treatment he had received in his dungeon. At first he had suffered great hardship and privation but when his jailer, the lord of the castle, had gone to the wars his lady had been less severe. Although she could not release him she had had the chains taken from his ankles and seen that comforts were brought to him. Women had always been affected by Stephen; the Queen knew this and in this instance was glad of it.
‘We must now make plans,’ he said, ‘to bring an end to this war.’
‘We must succeed in driving the Empress back to Anjou,’ replied the Queen; and she watched him somewhat furtively, for she wondered what his feelings were now regarding her rival, who ironically enough was, his, too. She would continue to fear an encounter between them; and she wondered whether he would be strong enough to resist her.
Many would have reproached him for allowing the Empress’s escape from Arundel – which had brought him to this pass. But not the Queen.
He had suffered enough and if he had discovered that the Empress was his enemy, however desirable she was, then the Queen must be content.
For some days she nursed the King, who showed signs of a return to that illness which had attacked him so alarmingly on a previous occasion. For a few days he became lethargic and could not remember where he was. The Queen kept him confined to his chamber and his condition as secret as possible, and herself nursed him, but the news leaked out that he was dangerously ill and many were predicting his death.
But as before, the malady passed and the King was ready to take to the battlefield.
The Empress was delighted to see Robert, but she greatly deplored the need to free Stephen. She rebuked Robert for allowing himself to be captured and Robert was stung to reply: ‘My dear sister, do you think I wished for it! You know how we were placed. You had escaped in the coffin. Could I have remained in the castle? I should either have been killed or captured. At least it was better to make a bid to escape.’
She knew that he was right but it eased her to give vent to her temper. Aware as she was that she had lost many of her adherents through her outbursts, still she could not control them.
‘We must attack them,’ she cried. ‘Why do we hesitate?’
‘Because we are not in a position to attack,’ replied Robert with a hint of weariness. ‘They have the advantage now.’
‘Because we have freed Stephen.’
‘It always raises the spirits of an army when their leader is restored.’
‘A curse on those who took you and a curse on that woman who would not take an alternative.’
‘You can scarcely blame her.’
Matilda laughed. ‘Doubtless she is cooing over him now. She is besotted about him.’
‘She has been a good wife to him. What he would have done without her it is hard to say.’
‘He would have been in his dungeon, I’ll dare swear. Oh, he must be very grateful to her. And I have my useless spouse. There he stays in Anjou while I am fighting for my kingdom. He should be here at my side as the Queen is at her husband’s. Robert, he must be sent for.’
Robert considered the suggestion. He could bring troops with him, and the fact that the Empress’s husband had come to her aid would have a good effect on the morale of their army.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘He should be here. The Queen has made use of her son Eustace and there is nothing like a young boy for arousing the people’s enthusiasms. She has been clever – let us not deny that, but the fact that she has often ridden at the head of her army with her son beside her has brought her sympathy.’
‘My Henry should be here, then. He is a finer boy than her Eustace and older too. Yes, Geoffrey should be here and Henry with him. I will send a messenger without delay to Geoffrey bidding him come to England and my aid.’
Geoffrey snapped his fingers when he heard that Matilda wanted him in England. Join that old shrew? Not if he could help it! He was enjoying life too much in his province. He liked to live at ease. Fighting could be uncomfortable.
No, he had no wish to come to England. If he did come he would want Robert of Gloucester to come and fetch him.
When Matilda received this message she raged against her husband. So he was afraid to come without an escort. ‘The lily-livered boy,’ cried Matilda. ‘Go and get him, Robert, and tell him that I despise him. I want him only to fight for me and for no other reason. He should not think it is affection that inspires me.’
‘It would be better not to say so,’ warned Robert; but he had become so certain that it would be a help to have Geoffrey at the side of the Empress that he decided he would leave at once for Anjou.
‘First,’ he said, ‘I must assure myself of your safety. The castle of Oxford is well nigh impregnable. There is not a stronger fortress in the country. I believe you would be safer there than in any other place.’
‘Then to Oxford I will go and await your coming.’
‘Rest assured,’ said Robert, ‘that I shall return with all speed and when I bring the Count of Anjou and your son Henry, we will plan such a campaign that will bring down Stephen and his army and place the crown where it belongs, on your head.’
Matilda took an affectionate farewell of her half-brother and settled in an Oxford Castle, there to await his return.
She hated the life of inactivity. Often she brooded on the last meeting with Stephen. She wished that they would bring him back to her . . . in chains preferably. She longed to see him, to have him humble before her, and perhaps she would kindle that passion which was ever ready to flare up between them.
She continued to think of him, to need him, to desire him, to love him and to hate him. How fiercely she hated him! If only he had come to her when her father died and offered her his affection instead of taking the crown. They could have been together now. There would have been no war. She would have been crowned Queen and he would have been her best loved, her favourite. His wife and her husband would have been as nothing. She and Stephen would have been together. That was what she wanted.
Oh, it was ironical that they should be fighting each other.
Below her window flowed that river which wound its way through meadows and vales to London, the scene of her humiliation. She cursed now to remember that undig
nified and hasty exit from Westminster. Whenever she smelt roasting meat she thought of it.
She often sat on the window-seat looking out at the countryside which grew more and more bleak as the days passed. Winter was coming.
And not only winter. Robert had been gone but a few weeks when news was brought to her one day that Stephen’s army was approaching. Their object could only be to lay siege to the castle.
Once more she was besieged and this time by Stephen. The winter had come and fierce blizzards swept the castle walls; the Empress wrapped herself in her fur-lined cloak and still she shivered.
For three months Stephen’s army had been encamped about the castle and there was scarcely any food left. She would sit at her window looking out on the frozen river and wonder how long they could hold out.
Stephen would never let her go again. He would remember what she had done to him. He would never again run the risk of allowing her to capture him. He was soft; he had always been soft with everyone and more especially would he be so with her; he would never behave to her as she had to him. Yet her pride would not stand the humiliation of becoming his prisoner. And yet . . . how long could they hold out?
She raged against Robert. He should not have left them. Where was he now? Enjoying life in Anjou with that feckless Geoffrey! What did they care that she was cold and hungry and the enemy was at her gates? She forgot that she had commanded Robert to go to Anjou. She could only upbraid him for – as she called it – deserting her. It did not occur to her that her attitude was unreasonable and unjust. Matilda saw herself as the Queen, the supreme ruler; she could only see others in relation to herself and as, in her estimation, she towered above them – for she saw the sovereign as divine – she gave way to her passions of the moment without considering the effects they would have on others. She had not learnt the lesson the Londoners had attempted to teach her, although it was clear for everyone to see. That she was in her present state was due entirely to her own actions, but she was too obsessed by her importance to see it and would have been too arrogant to admit it if she had.
So she raged against her evil fate, her slothful brother, her careless husband; and chiefly against Stephen who had dared take what was hers and had forced her to put him into a dungeon, so that now she feared he might be prevailed on to treat her in a similar manner.
She talked to Brian about their position which grew daily worse.
Gloomily he listened and tried to soothe her. He was very patient, more so than Robert; he understood her better because they had been in the nursery together and in spite of her vindictive nature and her fierce unreasoning temper he was always gentle with her, always eager to placate, always making excuses for her outbursts to those who complained.
He was not such a fool as not to know that she was a mistress whom it was impossible to please and that her own unfortunate nature was at the source of her troubles; he loved her and had admired her from the days when she had made herself queen of the nursery.
One day he came to her to tell her that several of the household were sick and some were dying. They were suffering from starvation. Food was so low that there was not enough to go round and he did not believe they could hold out much longer.
‘Then what do you wish to do?’ she asked.
‘If we do not get help soon we must perforce surrender.’
‘Surrender to Stephen, never!’
‘In a few weeks’ time we shall be dead. They may well storm the castle before that. They will know what state we are in and that we cannot hold out against them.’
She clenched her fist and beat it against her breast – a habit of hers when she railed against fate.
‘I will not be taken by him, Brian.’
‘There is no other alternative. The weather is growing worse. The snow is falling thick and piling up everywhere. The river is thick with ice. It is one of the worst winters men remember.’
‘It is hard for them as well for us.’
‘They have food and wood for fires. The winter is their ally and our foe.’
‘Why doesn’t Robert come?’
‘He would if it were possible. We know that.’
‘He should be here with Geoffrey. If they came with an army and surprised Stephen from the rear . . .’
‘In this weather! It would not be possible.’
‘I will not be taken, Brian. I said I would not before and I will not now.’
‘We had luck on our side when you escaped in the coffin.’
‘I will escape again.’
‘How? Not in a coffin this time! They are not letting anyone out. And how could you in this weather?’
‘You have no spirit. You are all the same. No, no, no, you say. You would stay here I suppose and let Stephen take you.’
‘I do not see what else we can do.’
‘We must do something. I tell you I will not be his prisoner . . . I swear I will not.’
Brian shook his head. He asked leave to depart.
‘Go.’ she cried, ‘since you bring me no comfort.’
She was shivering with the cold. Was there no way of feeling warm? She was fully clad as she lay on the straw pallet but an icy wind whistled through the castle.
It could not be long. There was little food now, even for her. I’d rather starve, she told herself, than be his prisoner.
She could see herself being brought before him.
‘It is my turn now, Matilda,’ he would say.
Perhaps that woman would be there . . . for safety. To protect him against her because Matilda the Queen would fear what he might do if Matilda the Empress beguiled him. Matilda the Queen was no fool. She had brought about the defeat of the Empress and the release of Stephen; she would never allow him to fall under her spell again.
And Stephen, weak, handsome, desirable Stephen, who was loved by his wife and desired by the Empress, what would he do? He would obey his wife because she would be there beside him and he was weak . . . a clever woman could do what she would with him. And his Queen was clever.
She, the Empress, would have no chance unless she saw him alone, and the Queen who had proved herself shrewd was statesman enough not to allow that.
She rose from her bed and wrapped the fur-lined cape more closely about her. A crescent moon shone a little light on the icy scene. Everything was quiet and softly white.
The ice on the river would take weeks to melt unless the weather changed to summer heat, for it was thick enough to carry men and horses.
Then the idea came to her, as that other had when she watched the dead man being carried out of the town.
If she were clad all in white, if there were clouds across the face of the moon, if the snow fell, then no one would be able to distinguish her.
She could do it. She must do it. It was the only escape from a position which would be so humiliating that it was intolerable to her proud nature.
She did not wait for morning. She called one of her servants and told her to bring Brian Fitzcount to her without delay.
He came sleepily from his bed.
‘Come to the window,’ she commanded.
He did so.
‘Look at that river. The ice is so thick it would hold a troop of soldiers. Look! The snow clouds are passing across the face of the crescent moon. See, it is dark. If I were clad in white – the colour of the ice and the snow banks – no one would see me.’
Brian was alert now. She laughed triumphantly. ‘It is a way. We will try it. You, I and a few picked men. We will wear white garments. You will lower me by means of ropes and all follow me. They will not see us because we shall be in white from head to foot. Do not dare say it is impossible.’
‘It is . . . just possible,’ said Brian.
‘We must be ready . . . as soon as the time is ripe we must do this. Tomorrow night mayhap, for who knows when Stephen will storm the castle.’
She was excited now. She had chosen those whom she would take with her, all trusted men. They must work in
stealth. How did they know what spies were in the castle? She herself would find the garments she would wear – warm enough to withstand the bitter night air and over them a white cloak. That was imperative.
Brian was eager now. He realized that escape might well be effected. It was as ingenious as Matilda’s escape in the coffin.
It was going to be a stormy night. ‘This must be it,’ said Matilda. Ropes had been secreted in her chamber. She dismissed her women early so impatient was she, and immediately Brian and the eight knights who were to accompany them came into her room. They were all wearing white cloaks with hoods which covered their heads. Matilda donned hers and they were ready.
Impatiently she waited while the first two knights slid down the rope. Then it was her turn. The ropes were secured about her and she was lowered down the walls. To her joy she was soon standing with the others and in a short time the rest of the party was beside her.
It was an anxious moment when they scrambled down the river bank and tested the ice. It seemed firm and with the Empress in their midst they began the crossing of the river.
The bitter wind cut her face and made her eyes smart but Matilda felt nothing but triumph.
Stephen would storm the castle and find that she had flown.
It was dangerous going, but she felt strong and sure of success. It was more risky than the coffin adventure but she would succeed now as she had then.
Brian seized her arm as they came to the edge of the river, for now they were very close to Stephen’s camp.
As swiftly as the treacherous ground allowed, they passed along. Brian held her arm to steady her lest she slip. Everything about them was still and their footsteps made no sound in the deep snow. It was exhausting but the need to get as far as possible from the camp was imperative, and spurred on by the urgency of the situation, they did not stop until they were two miles from the camp.
Then Matilda paused to look back. She could see nothing in that white world; but she knew that for the second time she had made a miraculous escape and she applauded not God nor her followers but herself for her cleverness.
Through the night they walked and the six miles to Abingdon seemed like twenty. It was dawn when they reached the little town.
