by Jean Plaidy
Eustace liked to show his authority. He swaggered and reminded everyone that he was the son of the King. So there again was an anxiety. William, the other son, was inclined to be wild too, although, as he knew that he was not destined to be King of England, he was less eager to remind people of his rank. Little Mary took after her mother; she was a quiet, obedient child and had already declared her eagerness to go into a nunnery.
It seemed therefore that the period of peace for which the Queen craved could not be hers, for she knew that her health was deteriorating and she could not help wondering what would happen when Eustace grew a little older.
Stephen was a man who liked to believe that all was well. He could never face trouble until it was close to him. He did not wish to see the manner in which Eustace’s character was developing and when Matilda contemplated the future she grew really uneasy.
When she began to believe it would be a future which she might not be there to see, instead of shrugging her shoulders this made her the more anxious. She knew what Stephen owed to her; she was aware of her own mental strength. Stephen was the weaker of the two and he needed her beside him. One of her great worries was what would happen when she was no longer there.
It was for this reason that she decided to talk to him about their eldest son and point out the alarming signs she detected.
‘Eustace is the heir to the throne,’ said the King, ‘yet because of Henry of Anjou he fears the people may attempt to set him aside. That is the source of his trouble.’
The Queen agreed with him. ‘Oh, God,’ she cried, ‘I hope he does not have to fight for the throne as you have had to do.’
‘Nay,’ said the ebullient Stephen. ‘We have done with that. Henry will take Anjou and that will be an end to it.’
‘I wish I could believe it.’
‘Why, my dear, that is a very worried frown you are wearing. I tell you all will be well.’
‘We must not forget, Stephen, who Henry is.’
Stephen could not meet her eyes. Could it be indeed true that the Empress’s son, of whom everyone spoke so highly, was his also? He believed it. He wanted to believe it. He could not help it if he felt a twinge of pride every time he heard of his exploits.
The Queen went on: ‘He is in the direct line of succession, Stephen.’
‘He would have been so had the Empress gained the crown. But she did not. And Eustace is my direct heir.’
‘I greatly fear . . .’
‘That when I am dead young Henry will make an attempt. Nay, my dear wife, your son shall be my heir and none other. I tell you what I will do and I know this will please you. I will call together the barons and knights and they shall swear an oath of fealty to Eustace. They must swear to accept him as King when I die.’
‘Do you think they would do that, Stephen?’
‘You forget I am their King. They shall be commanded to do so, Matilda. We will go to Lincoln and there I will call them together. Let us make preparations to leave without delay.’
They travelled to Lincoln and there the King called together the leading noblemen. When they heard for what purpose there was a certain reluctance among them to do as the King asked.
William de Albini pointed out to the King that they were remembering the oaths they had taken in the reign of the last King and of all the trouble these had caused. No knight had been sure whether he should remain true to the oath he had taken to support the Empress when it was said that Henry had changed his mind on his deathbed. Civil war had been the result of that oath.
Stephen agreed. ‘There is one answer to that,’ he said. ‘We will crown him as heir apparent. There shall be a ceremony and the crown shall be placed on his head. Then there will be no doubt of my wishes.’
‘My lord,’ replied William, ‘I doubt the nobles will agree to that and it is unwise to place a crown on the head of a new king when the existing, one still lives. The Prince is but thirteen years old and you are in your prime. It is a matter which should be put aside for the time.’
Stephen declared he believed this was true.
He explained to his Queen.
‘You see, Matilda, they are right and it would seem that instead of becoming more restrained, more modest in his bearing Eustace would be more inclined to arrogance.’
Matilda did not protest but she thought that the late King Henry would have insisted on obedience to his wishes: and she was certain that Henry of Anjou would come to claim the throne when Stephen died.
He did not wait for that. While Matilda and Stephen were at Faversham, news was brought to them that Henry of Anjou had arrived in England and that David of Scotland, who had always favoured the Empress, was preparing to march across the border in support of Henry.
Stephen immediately gathered together an army and, because the people had no intention of allowing the Scots to invade the country and they were heartily tired of war and they had heard that Henry of Anjou had brought but a small force with him, they decided to rally to Stephen and end the conflict with all speed.
Good luck was with Stephen. The King of Scotland retired behind his border and young Henry went with him. The threatened war did not take place. The people of England rejoiced and Stephen was complimented on the quick firm action he had taken.
‘We must be watchful,’ he said. ‘We know our enemies are above the border. They must not be allowed to think that we shall let them stay there.’
He was astonished to receive a communication from Henry.
Henry was in a quandary, he stated, and he believed his uncle might help him out of it.
This was an extraordinary notion, since a short while before Henry had boldly marched on England.
He had too small a force to attack, explained Henry. He was now in Scotland but wished to return with his troops to Anjou. His predicament was that he had no money with which to pay his men and to get them back. He knew well the King’s generosity. He was therefore asking Stephen for the means to ship his men back to Anjou.
This request from an enemy was considered not only audacious but absurd. This irrepressible young man who had come to take Stephen’s crown was now asking for money to get his men back to Anjou.
Stephen was amused.
‘He cannot be serious,’ said the Queen.
‘He is.’
‘He is an impudent young man. To ask you for help.’
‘How will he pay those men and get them away without my help?’
‘That is surely his affair. Let them see what a Prince they have. They may not be so eager to follow him in future.’
‘He is headstrong,’ said Stephen. He could not help it but he felt a tenderness for this young man. Eustace was his own son, he reminded himself, but was Henry also?
He felt almost certain that he was. And who should a boy appeal to but his own father?
No one could deter him. Money was sent to Henry of Anjou, a note of thanks came from Henry: and he and his troops departed for Anjou.
Was the King mad? This was a question people were asking themselves. They all knew of his generosity, his desire to live in amity with everyone. But this impudent boy was the enemy.
They remembered how he had let the Empress slip through his hands. He certainly behaved in a very strange manner now and then.
With Henry back in Anjou there was peace again.
The recent events, however, had worried the Queen a great deal. The refusal of the barons to acclaim Eustace king, the arrival of Henry of Anjou and Stephen’s strange behaviour towards that young man . . . all this had been a great strain on her health.
The news of Adelicia’s death was very upsetting. She felt she understood her need to retire from the world and shut herself up in a nunnery. Poor Adelicia, she had not lived long to enjoy that peace.
They were of an age and she, Matilda, was very, very tired.
She fell ill and on this occasion was too weary to pretend otherwise.
Stephen was horrified. It was characteristic of him that
he had preferred to believe that there was nothing seriously wrong with her and when the truth could no longer be avoided he was bewildered.
She could not rise from her bed and asked that her confessor be sent for.
‘I do not think I shall leave my bed again, Stephen,’ she said.
‘Nay, nay,’ he cried, in panic. ‘I beg you, do not talk so.’
‘It’s the truth, Stephen.’
‘How can you be ill . . . so suddenly?’
‘It is not sudden, Stephen. It has been coming for some time . . . more than a year ago I knew.’
‘I did not. Why did I not? No, Matilda, it is not so. What shall I do without you?’
She smiled gently. ‘You have given me great happiness, Stephen. I have lived but to be of use to you.’
He kissed her hands fervently. It was as though he were pleading with her not to leave him.
‘It is no longer in our hands, Stephen,’ she said.
Her children came to her, Eustace, William and Mary.
‘Oh, Stephen,’ she whispered, ‘I would I could stay with you to care for you all . . .’
Stephen wept openly. How could he live without her? He had not known, in spite of everything that had happened, how much she meant to him. Why had he not been a better husband to her?
‘If I could have another chance,’ he whispered.
She could only smile at him.
For several days she lay between life and death and on a beautiful May day of the year 1152 she died.
They buried her at Faversham Abbey which she and Stephen had so recently founded. Stephen knew that he would mourn her all his life for he loved her more in death than he had believed possible while she lived.
The Last Meeting
THE KING WAS melancholy. He was overcome by remorse. She was dead, his good and faithful wife, and he could never tell her now what she had meant to him. He brooded often on the past; he thought of the women with whom he had betrayed her; he had forgotten half of them now. There was one, though, whom he would never forget and he often wondered how much the Queen had known of that affair.
She was a saint; there would never again be anyone to care for him as she had done. His loss was irreparable. Sometimes he thought he was going to have another bout of that mysterious illness which had brought him close to death and had plunged him into such lethargy that he could do nothing but lie on his bed so limp and indifferent to the world that if his enemy were storming the castle he would continue to lie there. And if he did? Who would nurse him then? Who would keep the secret of his illness? His guardian angel was gone for ever and only now did he know how much she had cared for him.
He longed for a chance to explain to her, to tell her that he was aware of all she had done. He wanted to explain how that other Matilda had put a spell upon him and that it was nothing but witchcraft which had seduced him from his true and loving wife.
News came of the death of Geoffrey of Anjou. Stephen wondered then how Matilda was taking the death of the husband she despised. She cared little for Geoffrey, that had always been obvious, but his death was found to affect the future.
She was constantly creeping into his thoughts though he did his best to banish her from them. Yet he remembered her in her various moods; and he hated himself and assured himself that this was not so, but in his heart he knew that more than anything he longed to see her again. He wanted to see Henry – why, he would be twenty years old, a young warrior, as ambitious as his mother. Let us hope he has not inherited her temper, thought Stephen. Ever since she had hinted that Henry might be his son he had been overwhelmed by an interest in him. He would glow inwardly with pride when he heard of his exploits. Eustace was his and his Queen’s legitimate son but he could not help it if he tingled with pleasure every time he thought of Henry.
Sometimes when a spell of lethargy came over him he would let himself dream that he had married the fierce Matilda instead of the meek one and that Henry was their son, the future King of England. Such a grand boy, bold, puckish, lusty, everything that a young man should be.
Then he would return to reality and understand that this Henry was the enemy as the Empress had been.
Geoffrey’s death was hardly likely not to have its effect. The reason the Plantagenet had refused his wife’s plea for his presence in England when Robert of Gloucester had gone to fetch him was that he was far more concerned in taking Normandy, for Stephen, so deeply involved with holding England, had been unable to defend the Duchy. Now that Geoffrey was dead, Normandy had passed to young Henry who had placed himself in a strong position by making an advantageous marriage.
That this marriage shocked many, would of course, mean nothing to the gay adventurer. Eleanor of Aquitaine, twelve years older than Henry, had been married to the King of France. Eleanor, wild, adventurous and completely immoral, had become so enamoured of the dashing young Plantagenet that Louis VII had divorced her. It was this woman whom young Henry had now married and he was proudly calling himself Duke of Aquitaine and Normandy.
Stephen could imagine his dead Queen’s concern at this turn of events. Normandy today, she would say. England tomorrow. Eustace is the Duke of Normandy, not this son of the Empress.
Eustace was furious; he strutted about the Court telling the King what he would do if he could come face to face with Henry Plantagenet.
His best plan was through negotiations, said Stephen. Eustace should go to the Court of France with his young wife Constance. Louis was powerful enough to give him his support and to declare Eustace Duke of Normandy. This meant that Eustace must swear fealty to the King of France and then it seemed certain that Louis would agree. His sister was the wife of Eustace and his wife had deceived him with young Henry. Certainly Henry should not inherit Normandy. That should be for his brother-in-law, young Eustace.
So Normandy was won back. His Queen would have been pleased with that. That was a clever piece of diplomacy to have sent Eustace to France at the time when the King of France had divorced his wife and she had married Henry of Anjou.
Stephen had sent a message to the King of France to the effect that this young man who seemed to have such an opinion of himself had attempted to rob him of Normandy as churlishly as he had robbed Louis of his wife.
The King of France was very serious and replied that he was well rid of his wife and glad to pass her over; he was sure that she would cause as much trouble to her new husband as the Duchy of Normandy did to its dukes.
Stephen wondered what the Empress was thinking and guessed she was in one of her violent rages over the manner in which Normandy had been returned to its rightful owner.
Stephen was eager now to assure the succession as his dear dead Queen would have wished it. He made up his mind that he would insist on the crowning of Eustace, for, once a king was crowned, he was accepted as such and it was a very different matter displacing a man who was the recognized King from ousting him from his place when he was merely the heir apparent.
He had failed once but he was going to succeed this time. It was what Matilda would wish.
He called together the leading men of the Church and told them his will.
They would not agree, he was told.
‘You shall agree,’ he told them. ‘I am the King and I will be obeyed.’
The churchmen conferred together. It was true he was the King but many of them still looked upon him as a usurper. They had seen the way Eustace was growing up and they had also had a glimpse of the young Plantagenet. The latter was the true heir to the throne; he was the grandson of Henry I whereas Stephen was only his nephew. They had accepted Stephen as King because there had been a bloody civil war fought on the issue and the Empress Matilda would have been an even less attractive sovereign. Stephen had certain qualities; he was not a strong king, but he was not harsh and cruel. They would accept Stephen but not his son.
This was their verdict and although they would not have dared give such a decision to Henry I, they did not hesitate to give it to
Stephen.
For once Stephen was wrathful. He would imprison them all, he declared. They should all be shut up until they bowed to his will. He was determined that Eustace should be crowned King.
This he did but it was no rigorous confinement. It merely meant that he shut them up in one house, which was characteristic of him.
No one was very much surprised when the Archbishop of Canterbury escaped from confinement. This made nonsense of the whole affair because a king could not be crowned without him.
Stephen was only faintly disturbed when news reached him that the Archbishop had escaped across the Channel and was with Henry Plantagenet, urging him to make an attempt to secure the crown of England.
Henry lost no time in setting out for England. His marriage to a forceful wife, his certainty that he was the true heir of England and the haranguing of his mother made him determined to secure what he believed was his inheritance.
Stephen rode out to meet the invading army with a feeling he did not himself understand. He was coming face to face with this young man who was often in his thoughts. Matilda’s son! Naturally her son would be no ordinary young man. Stephen laughed inwardly to think of Henry’s seducing the wife of the King of France, marrying her, and their son being born about two months after the wedding. It was clear that this young man was not going to follow an orthodox pattern.
They were now going to face each other in combat and Stephen could feel that lethargy creeping over him. No, it was perhaps not the old illness. It was a strong conviction that it was wrong for him and this young man to stand on opposite sides in a field of battle.
The weather was cold and the roads icy, and as Stephen rode with his army his horse slipped and he was thrown.
There was a hush throughout the ranks for this sort of incident was regarded with great superstition as an evil omen and more particularly when it happened on the verge of going into battle.
