When Christ and his Saints Slept eoa-1

by Sharon Kay Penman

  “What are you both blathering about?” Rainald was scowling. “We all have to obey our betters. You think I have always done just as I please? My father kept me on a tight lead, I assure you! But I did not go helling about like a lunatic after he died, did I?”

  “No,” Brien said coolly, “but then no one ever told you that one of your ‘betters’ was to be a lad of fourteen.”

  Rainald showed signs of pursuing the argument, but David headed him off. “I think the true problem is that Maude was not schooled in kingship. She seems to believe that royal power is absolute, and her father ought to have taught her better than that. It was not enough merely to name her as his heir. She needed guidance as much as she did a husband, and she did not get it. In a sense, we are paying now for Henry’s shortsightedness.”

  There was a moment of circumspect silence, none of them wanting to say what they were all thinking-that David’s heavy-handed clash with the monks of Durham had not helped any, either. “We seem to be in agreement,” Robert said, “that something must be done. But what? It occurred to me that we ought to summon Miles back from the Marches. Maude respects his opinion.”

  “She respects you, too, Robert,” Ranulf insisted, and Robert shrugged.

  “Mayhap so, but she is not listening to me much these days.”

  Rainald reached across the table for the wine flagon. “Well, I think Brien ought to be the one to talk to Maude. Come now, Brien, you need not look so surprised. It makes sense, after all. Anyone with eyes to see knows you fancy her, so Maude must know it, too. If you-”

  He stopped abruptly, for Brien had just jerked the wine flagon out of his reach. “Let it be,” he said, in a voice low-pitched and dangerous, “or you’ll have reason to regret it.”

  It was suddenly very tense. Ranulf was fascinated, for although it was almost universally agreed that Brien was a man of uncommon honour, he’d heard others say, too, that he made a bad enemy. But he’d not seen that side of Brien. Not until now.

  “Rainald, not another word! Do you ever think ere you talk? At times I’d swear your tongue and brain cannot possibly be connected!”

  “The man just threatened me, Robert! I’m supposed to ignore that?”

  Robert leaned over and grasped the younger man’s wrist. “You heed me and heed me well. Nothing is easier to start and harder to stop than rumors of scandal. I do not ever want to hear you slander our sister’s good name again. Is that understood?”

  Rainald was accustomed to giving his temper free rein. But the hostility was repressive, walling him in on all sides. “I can see I am not wanted here,” he said, and shoved his chair back. No one tried to stop him as he stalked toward the door and pulled it open. Almost at once, he recoiled. “Maude!”

  “However did you know I was outside, Rainald? I’d not even knocked yet…” But Maude’s smile wavered as she stepped into the room. For the men, it was like watching a shield crack after taking an unexpected blow, for in the instant that her defenses were down, they saw with unsparing clarity her surprise, her suspicion, and her hurt.

  “You are getting forgetful, Robert. You neglected to let me know we’d convened a council for this afternoon. Is it not lucky,” she said tonelessly, “that I happened by?”

  Robert got slowly to his feet. “I asked them here, Maude. I am troubled by your recent actions and I thought it best to tell them of my qualms ere I sought you out.”

  “That is true,” David agreed, “as far as it goes. But I cannot let him take all the responsibility upon himself. I share his qualms, too, lass. I suspect we all do.”

  “I see. So…now that you’ve had a chance to tally up my shortcomings, have you reached any conclusions? Is there any hope for me at all, or should I just abdicate at the first available opportunity?”

  “You cannot abdicate until after your coronation,” Rainald muttered, “and if you stay true to form, you’re likely to offend the Archbishop of Canterbury so mortally that you’ll end up having to crown yourself!”

  “I am sorry that you find my behavior so shameful, Rainald. But you’ve not always been so critical, have you? As I recall, you said nary a word of protest when I bestowed the earldom of Cornwall upon you!”

  Rainald flushed, but before he could retaliate, Robert said swiftly, “Maude, we need to talk about this. I’ve tried to tell you of my concern, but you seem to have defective hearing these days. I labored long and hard to win the Londoners over, and in one angry audience, you undid all my efforts. They are now convinced that having you as queen will be putting a cat amongst the pigeons, and it need not have come to that. You are making enemies faster than I can count them, and I do not understand why!”

  “No, you do not understand…none of you do!”

  But when she would have turned away, Ranulf stopped her. “Tell us, then,” he entreated. “Make us understand. Maude, we are not the enemy. Surely you know that?”

  She looked at him, and then nodded. “Yes,” she admitted, “I know…” The anger had drained out of her voice, but so had the animation. As they watched, she walked to the window, stood staring out at the regal silhouette of Westminster Abbey. “If Stephen had taken me prisoner at Arundel, all resistance would have ended within hours of the word’s getting out. You’d have been loath to do it, but you’d have made your peace with him. What else could reasonable men do?”

  She swung back to face them, and was reassured by what she saw, for they were listening intently. “But what happened after Lincoln? Stephen and I had submitted our claims to trial by combat, and I prevailed. That should have been enough…but it was not. Still men balked, still they refused to recognize my right. How many of Stephen’s barons have come to my court? Where are these craven souls who abandoned Stephen at Lincoln? Robert Beaumont hastened to make a truce in Normandy-with Geoffrey. But neither he nor Waleran has made any peace overtures to me. Neither have the Earls of Northampton or Surrey or Pembroke. Even Chester’s brother has kept his distance, and that after you saved his skin at Lincoln!”

  “Maude, I know they have been slow to submit to you, but they will in time. You must have patience-”

  “Robert, I have been patient for more than five years. And where has it gotten me? When my Norman barons learned of Stephen’s defeat at Lincoln, did they rush to acclaim my victory? You know better-they offered my crown to Stephen’s brother Theobald! And what did he do? He tried to strike a deal with Geoffrey. If Geoffrey’d accept Theobald’s claim to Tours and agree to set Stephen free, Theobald would then recognize him as Duke of Normandy and King of England-Geoffrey, not me!”

  “But Maude, Geoffrey did turn Theobald down!”

  “For the love of God, Rainald! Are you so blind that you cannot see? How do you think that makes me feel? How many times do they get to spit in my face? Stephen was crowned within three weeks of my father’s death. More than four months have passed since our victory at Lincoln, and I am still waiting for my coronation. That is four more months away from my sons…or did you never think of that? Henry is old enough to make the journey, even if the younger lads are not. I wanted him to be here for my coronation, to watch the archbishop set upon my head the crown that will one day be his. But the Londoners have denied me that. And yet you wonder, Robert, why I love them not? Just put that question to my eight-year-old son if you truly need an answer!”

  “Maude, I do understand,” Robert said. “I do not begrudge you a moment of your anger. I am simply saying that you cannot always act upon that anger. You’ve proven that you have the courage and perseverance and will to rule England. Now you must show the English that you have the discipline, too.”

  Maude said nothing, but her silence was a concession of sorts, and they took heart from it. She’d made mistakes-too many, in truth-but she’d learn from them. Encouraged, Robert crossed the chamber and kissed his sister’s hand with deliberate formality, subject to sovereign. Ranulf came over, too, only his was a brotherly kiss upon her cheek. “You’ll see,” he said. “It will get ea
sier once you are crowned.”

  Maude gave him a weary smile. “I hope so, Ranulf,” she said, “for there has been precious little joy in this queenship so far.”

  Emerging from his tent, the Earl of Northampton stood motionless for a few moments, gazing upon Matilda’s encampment. Newly hired mercenaries mingled with Matilda’s vassals, William de Ypres’s Flemings, and the earl’s own men. Not quite a month had passed since he’d offered his services to Stephen’s queen. He’d have come much sooner had he not dreaded facing her. Cynics might assume that he was motivated by the arrival at Maude’s court of his stepfather and hated rival, the Scots king. But it was more complex than that, for he’d been deeply shamed by his flight at Lincoln. He was a proud man, one who’d been held up to public ridicule, and his disgrace was a gnawing cancer in his vitals. He owed Stephen a debt of honour, and he was here in the lush Kent countryside in an attempt-however ill advised-to repay it.

  Matilda had made it easy for him; her need was too great to indulge in the luxury of reproaches or recriminations. But if his welcome was warmer than he deserved, the position he was expecting to fill-Matilda’s mainstay-was already occupied.

  The earl found it baffling that William de Ypres had not offered his sword to the highest bidder. He was equally astonished to see how high the Fleming had risen in Matilda’s estimation. They made the oddest pair imaginable. There was no question, though, of her trust, and he had to admit that Ypres seemed to accord Matilda what he’d rarely shown other women-respect. But if Matilda had faith in the Fleming, Northampton did not, and he was determined to watch over Stephen’s queen, whether she wanted such protection or not.

  Stopping a soldier, he asked about Matilda’s whereabouts, and it was no surprise to be told that “She is conferring with the Fleming, my lord.”

  Matilda and Ypres were walking together not far from her tent, heads down, so intent upon their discussion that they did not at once notice the earl’s approach. When they did, Matilda greeted him gravely, looking so pale and tired that he felt a prickle of unease. “Have you heard anything, madame? No word about the king?” For that was his secret fear; he marveled sometimes that there had been no regretful announcement from Bristol Castle, breaking the sorrowful news that Stephen had been stricken by a mysterious mortal ailment.

  “No…no word. I’ve had just the one letter from Stephen, nothing since then.” Matilda looked toward the Fleming, back to Northampton. “Willem thinks the time has come.”

  The intimacy of the Flemish “Willem” vexed him, but the earl did not hesitate. “I think that he is right, my lady. You’ve sought to reason with the woman. You promised her that Stephen would abdicate, and pledged castles and hostages as surety. What more could you offer?”

  “She did not believe me,” Matilda said sadly. “And mayhap she was right, for I could not be sure Stephen would have agreed.”

  “Nonetheless, you did try to avoid bloodshed, my lady. Not only did she spurn your plea, she would deny your son his just inheritance. Ypres is right, and surely you know that. So why do you hesitate?”

  Soldiers had begun to move closer, straining to hear. Some of them glanced away shyly as their eyes met Matilda’s; others grinned and doffed their hats. Neither Ypres nor Northampton would understand her reluctance. Even if she’d tried to tell them, they’d not comprehend, for they knew war and accepted its consequences and its casualties. It was not that easy for her. It was a sobering realization, that men would die because of her decision, and her husband might well be one of them. She fumbled at her throat for the reassuring feel of her crucifix. Thy Will be done. But how did she know if it was God’s Will…or her own?

  “So be it,” she said. “I agree, Willem. Tomorrow…at first light.”

  Gervase de Cornhill was one of London’s wealthiest merchants, as his Bishopsgate Street house unblushingly proclaimed. It was newly built and of stone, which made it a rarity in a city of wood and timber, constructed after the fashion of a lord’s manor, with a spacious great hall, a private solar, even a privy chamber instead of the usual outdoor latrine. When the men began to arrive, they were welcomed by a young maidservant and offered not ale but wine, the beverage of the gentry. If some of them thought that Gervase was getting above himself, others were impressed by his affluence, and all hoped that good might come out of this urgent evening conclave.

  Rohese was not supposed to be in the hall, but she was too curious to keep above-stairs. She was afraid that she might be sent home if London’s troubles were as bad as her cousin Gervase feared, and she did not want to go; life was infinitely more interesting since she’d been chosen to attend Gervase’s wife, Agnes. She’d not been sure at first just what “attending” meant, but it turned out to be easy enough: assisting with Agnes’s grooming, taking care of her clothes, accompanying her in public, and keeping her company in private, just as young women of good birth did for the queen and ladies of rank. No, Rohese definitely did not want to lose so agreeable a sinecure, and so she lingered in the shadows, intent upon eavesdropping, for her future and London’s had become one and the same.

  “If Gervase sees you, he’ll send you above-stairs straightaway,” Agnes warned, but she was an indulgent mistress, and instead of banishing Rohese to the bedchamber, she soon found herself answering the girl’s eager queries about their influential guests. It was indeed a gathering of distinction, she said proudly. There were several former sheriffs, some past and present aldermen, a magistrate, John Fitz Ranulf, and three members of the powerful Buccuinte family.

  “Oh!” Rohese was staring at two newcomers to the hall. “By the saints,” she hissed, “who is he?”

  “That is Osborn Huitdeniers, no friend to Gervase, but too important not to include. He is a justiciar like Gervase and-”

  “No, not the balding, stout one! The other, the young one!”

  Agnes laughed. “Oh, you mean Thomas! He is a kinsman of Osborn’s, and his new clerk. He was studying in Paris, but came home last year when his mother died, and his father then got him this position with Osborn. That is his father over there, Gilbert Becket, one of the former sheriffs I mentioned. He was quite prosperous once, but lost most of his property in the great fire a few years back and never recovered…”

  But Rohese was no longer listening, for she had no interest whatsoever in the sire, only in the son. Snatching a platter from the maidservant, she swayed gracefuly across the hall. Up close, she found Thomas Becket even more attractive, tall and elegant, with fair skin and gleaming dark hair. Favoring him with her most seductive smile, she offered him wine, but to her disappointment, he politely declined. She was not so easily discouraged, though, was mustering her forces for a counterattack when Gervase happened to glance her way, and that was that for her flirtation with Master Thomas Becket.

  “I thank you all for coming,” Gervase said, striding to the center of the hall, “and I’ll waste no time getting to the heart of the matter. I fear for our city under that spiteful woman’s reign. London will be no more than a royal milch cow, milked dry for the Queen’s Exchequer, and that will be the least of our troubles. Geoffrey de Mandeville is looking for any excuse to avenge the slaying of his wife’s father, and when we complain to our new queen, I can assure you that it will be Mandeville she heeds, not us. Let me speak bluntly. London will suffer untold hardships if the empress ever sits upon Stephen’s throne, for she-”

  “Have you God’s Ear, Gervase? You know something the rest of us do not? Why do you use words like if and ever when you speak of her queenship? I’d say that is no longer in doubt. The Bishop of Winchester has already proclaimed her as ‘Lady of the English.’ Her coronation is but a formality, and an inevitable one at that.”

  “Inevitable? I think not, Osborn. That is why I have summoned you here tonight, to remind you that she has not been crowned yet. It is not too late to save our city…if we have the courage to act and act now.”

  There were murmurings at that, and Osborn Huitdeniers said forceful
ly, “I did not come to hear talk of treason!”

  “How can it be treason to support our lawful king? Stephen is God’s anointed, not Maude. I say we keep it that way. She cannot be crowned if the city rises up against her. So there is still time-”

  “You think we want that alien woman as our queen? I do not, for certes. But still less do I want to see bloodshed.”

  “Sometimes, John, there is no other choice. Maude reminded me that her father was called the Lion of Justice. Well, let me tell you about the justice he meted out to Luke de Barre. Most of you may not know of this, for it happened in Normandy. Some of the old king’s barons had rebelled against him, and it took months ere he was able to put the rising down. Waleran Beaumont was amongst the rebel prisoners. He was young, though, not yet twenty, and the king was persuaded to take pity upon him; he was eventually set free and even restored to favor. But Luke de Barre was not so lucky, for the king commanded that his eyes be put out with red-hot awls. Men thought this was unjust, as Luke de Barre was not one of the king’s vassals and thus was not forsworn, not guilty of treason. But he was a poet, and he had offended Henry by his mocking, scornful verses. Even the Count of Flanders pleaded on his behalf, to no avail. The king would not yield; Barre had made men laugh at him, he said, and there could be no forgiveness for that. As it happened, the sentence was never carried out…because the poor wretch preferred death to blindness and beat his head against the wall of his dungeon until he died. But the king did not relent. And this I can tell you for true, that Maude is his daughter. We’ll get no more mercy from her than Luke de Barre did from Henry.”

  His story seemed to have the desired effect. Men shifted uneasily in their seats; a few blessed themselves as inconspicuously as possible. Osborn felt a chill; the sheep, did they not see that Gervase was leading them right to the cliff’s edge?

  “What does the fate of a Norman lord have to do with us?” he demanded. “I do not deny that the empress is a vexing and overweening woman. But she is not going to destroy our city. That is for us to do-if we heed reckless men like Gervase de Cornhill! What will happen to us if we do rise up, as he urges? She will retreat, only to come back with an army and lay siege to London. How long could we hold out? Who is going to come to our aid? I do not suppose that Stephen commands too many men from his prison chamber at Bristol!”