The Lion of Justice

by Jean Plaidy

  She rose in despair, supposing God to be on the side of a pious abbess rather than on that of a young girl with thoughts of worldliness.

  ‘What can I do?’ she whispered in despair.

  Then she heard footsteps, so hastily she picked up the robe and put it on.

  For a while she must accept defeat.

  A great enthusiasm had arisen throughout the Christian world to make what was called Holy War on the Infidel.

  For many years pilgrims of all Christian nations had taken the journey to Jerusalem, believing that by doing so they would expiate their sins. Jerusalem was in the hands of the Infidel and this influx of visitors, often very wealthy, had become a profitable trade to them.

  Robbery had flourished; worse than that, pilgrims had been seized and taken into captivity: many of them had been tortured and killed. For years men had been preaching against these practices; and one of these was Peter the Hermit, a man of great eloquence who had aroused indignation throughout Christendom.

  Pope Urban II had called a council at Placentia and during this the suggestion had been put forward, and unanimously agreed upon, that there should be a crusade against the Infidel.

  Those who craved for adventure seized on the idea. To make war, to fight and kill and earn a place in Heaven for so doing seemed an excellent plan; and very soon after the meeting at Placentia, the first Crusade was being made ready.

  This was an idea which appealed whole-heartedly to Robert of Normandy. This adventurer, dreamer and idealist who had recently been defeated by his own brother, saw in the venture an escape from the tiresome business of making terms with Rufus, who was more wily than he was.

  He had lived a life of great extravagance; he had squandered many fortunes; he had been guilty of self-indulgence. Now he would go and fight the Infidel for the glory of God and the Christian Faith and so earn a remission of his sins.

  So must his grandfather – Robert’s namesake – have felt. Robert the Magnificent, they had called him. He had been a second son and could not tolerate that his elder brother should inherit Normandy. So he had tried to wrest it from him and, legend had it, had poisoned him. After that, his conscience had smote him so continuously that he finally decided to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land in the hope of wiping out his sins. And he, the present Duke Robert? Well, he had chafed against his father’s delay in granting him the Duchy and when they had met in combat had come near to killing him. So he had need of expiation too.

  If he were to go to Jerusalem to join in this Holy War he would need more money, for he would have to equip an army which would be worthy of him. And how could he do this in his circumstances? He had never been able to keep money. Perhaps it was this failing which had incensed his father, for the Conqueror was avaricious in the extreme and never spent money unless it was going to bring him some good which would be more beneficial than the sum spent. But Robert could never resist giving money to his friends, to his mistresses, to any who asked for it. Money and possessions were to be enjoyed, not hoarded; and he found great pleasure in giving. Unhappily he often gave what was not his to give; consequently he was invariably in dire straits.

  Now he was as penniless as usual and he desperately needed money to prepare himself to join the Crusade.

  What could he do?

  He sent for Alan, Duke of Bretagne, his brother-in-law. Alan had married his sister Constance and was now a widower, for after a few years of marriage Constance had died. Alan was looking for a suitable wife, and having been the husband of one of the Conqueror’s daughters he was looking high.

  An idea had come to Robert.

  When Alan came to him, Robert told him that he had a mind to join the Crusade.

  ‘I need money,’ said Robert, ‘more urgently than you need a wife.’

  ‘You would need a fortune, my lord, to equip yourself for this venture.’

  ‘And where should I find it? If my father had left me England . . .’

  Alan was silent. Rufus was showing himself to be a more able ruler in England than Robert was in Normandy, and he doubted whether Robert would have been more able to equip a crusade if he had been King of England than he was as Duke of Normandy.

  ‘I have been thinking of my brother Rufus, for I believe I could get the money from him.’

  ‘Has he so much money?’

  ‘He has means of raising it. He could tax the people of England.’

  ‘Would he do this for you?’

  ‘If the bargain was attractive enough.’

  ‘How could that be so?’

  ‘If I offered him something he would like to have . . . in pawn, say. For a sum of money to be repaid on my return from the Holy Land I would offer him . . .’ Robert paused, and Alan looked at him in disbelief. Robert lowered his eyes and said, ‘Normandy.’

  Alan stared at the Duke.

  Robert squirmed uneasily. ‘It would only be for a few years. He would be a kind of Regent. It would protect the Duchy against my enemies. I have decided that for a sum of 10,000 marks I will offer him Normandy. It is to be returned to me when I come back and repay the loan.’

  Alan was too dismayed to comment and Robert went on: ‘I want you to go to my brother and lay this suggestion before him. At the same time you might well find a wife. The royal Athelings are in an abbey at Rumsey of which one of them is the head. The eldest girl is Edith and marriageable. You might well find that she is a suitable bride for you; and in view of the project you will be laying before him, I think my brother will be in a temper to approve the suit.’

  So Alan set out for England.

  When Rufus heard the proposition he was thrown into a great state of excitement.

  Normandy for 10,000 marks. He would find that money, no matter where he had to go for it.

  Oh, what a fool Robert was! What a mad dreamer! He did not deserve Normandy. That much was clear.

  Yes, yes, he declared. Alan of Bretagne might go to the Abbey of Rumsey and see the girl. He waved his hand for him to be gone. He could not wait to call together a meeting of the men he would need to carry out his plans.

  How were they going to raise 10,000 marks? There was one way of raising money known to him. Taxation. If his subjects had land and money and he needed it, they must provide it. And, if they refused, there were dungeons waiting for them.

  First he called in Ranulf Flambard, his greatest friend and favourite.

  ‘Ha, Ranulf my boy, listen to this.’

  Ranulf sprawled familiarly on the faldestol. He roared with laughter when Rufus told him of Robert’s proposition.

  ‘We’ll get the money,’ cried Ranulf. ‘We’ll get the money, and Normandy.’

  Rufus gazed affectionately at Ranulf – a man after his own heart. He had been attracted to him the first time he had seen him. His sexual tastes were similar to those of Rufus, and they were immediately close companions. Ranulf was the son of a parish priest of Bayeux who had come to London soon after the Conquest. Hearing much of the King’s manner of life, he came to Court; and his rude manners, his hearty laughter, his malicious tongue and a certain rough wit immediately appealed to Rufus.

  Ranulf had quickly discovered that the best way to stay in the good graces of Rufus was to keep him well supplied with money, and he had devised new methods of taxation. It was for this reason that he had been given the name of Flambard – the firebrand; for his methods of extortion were not very nice.

  Ranulf now threw himself whole-heartedly into the matter of raising 10,000 marks. He instituted a new form of bribery. Men could pay their way out of trouble. Criminals were set free if they could raise enough money to buy their release.

  ‘The church is rich,’ said Ranulf; and they laughed together. Ranulf knew how his sovereign enjoyed discomfiting the clergy.

  ‘Get to it, my good friend,’ cried Rufus. ‘And begin with our reluctant Archbishop of Canterbury.’

  Anselm was amazed to learn of the bargain into which Robert of Normandy had entered with his brother. He
would have refused to help raise the money but he was warned by his friends that that would be unwise. He must remember that Rufus was a violent man and that Rome was too far off to offer him protection. He could be thrown into a dungeon and blinded – a revenge often taken by the King on his victims, for the Conqueror himself had abolished the death penalty and decided that it was a more just punishment to rob rebels of their eyes than their lives.

  Anselm therefore raised five hundred pounds of silver in answer to the King’s command.

  Rufus roared with anger when he received this offer.

  ‘Of what use is that to me?’ he demanded. ‘From the rich See of Canterbury I want more and shall have more.’

  Anselm replied that he could not give what he did not possess, and he sold the silver and distributed the proceeds among the poor.

  Well, mused Rufus, five hundred pounds worth of silver was better than nothing. So he sent a messenger to Anselm to tell him that he would accept the silver after all.

  Anselm was not displeased to reply that the silver had already been sold and the money it had raised given to the poor.

  Rufus’s face grew purple when he heard this.

  He would have to show that insolent priest who was master in this land, he decided, and that soon. In the meantime his great concern was money . . . money for Normandy.

  ‘I want money,’ was the message sent to Anselm. ‘Have you not gold and silver boxes full of dead men’s bones?’

  That the King should suggest using the ornaments on coffins was repugnant to the Archbishop and he ignored the King’s request.

  Rufus forgot Anselm temporarily. He had accumulated the 10,000 marks. The agreement was drawn up. Normandy was in pawn; and if Robert could not repay the loan and if he failed to return, then Rufus, King of England, would be also Duke of Normandy.

  A Suitor at the Abbey

  HOW DREARY WAS life at Rumsey. There were lessons and prayers all through the day; and the girls were made to wear the black Benedictine robe of the order which had been founded by King Alfred.

  They were rebellious, as far as they could be. Edith had often taken off her robe when she was alone and stamped on it to relieve her feelings. One day when she was thus engaged, she perceived a pair of eyes watching her through the aperture in the door of her cell and she was suddenly more frightened than she had ever been in her life. The eyes disappeared but shortly afterwards her aunt came into her cell, but by that time she had hastily put on the robe and was kneeling before the cross on the wall. The Abbess stood quietly behind her for some seconds; then a pair of hands was placed on her shoulders and she was forced down until her head was on the stone floor.

  ‘Jezebel!’ whispered Aunt Christina. Edith’s head was pressed against the stones; she cried out in pain and Aunt Christina laughed derisively.

  ‘Get up then, spawn of the devil,’ she said.

  Edith stood before her.

  The Abbess sat on the stone seat cut out of the wall.

  ‘You like not the holy habit,’ she said.

  ‘My father said I was not to be a nun.’

  ‘It may be that God has punished him for denying his daughter her vocation.’

  ‘I do not wish to take the veil.’

  ‘It may be that you will have no choice in the matter,’ said Christina. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Take off the robe you so despise.’

  ‘I do not despise it. It is only that I feel it is not for me.’

  ‘Take it off,’ said Christina.

  Edith took off the robe and stood in the rough hairy shift.

  ‘Take that off too,’ was the command.

  ‘I have nothing beneath it,’ replied Edith.

  ‘Well let us see this body of which you are so proud.’

  ‘Nay, you mistake me. It is not pride. It is . . .’

  ‘Vanity!’ The Abbess rose and taking the shift in her firm hands pulled it off. Edith stood naked before her.

  She studied the girl. ‘Voluptuary!’ she said. ‘So you wish to flaunt this, do you?’ She pinched the firm flesh and brought her face close to that of Edith. ‘Of what do you think when you lie in your cell? Of what are you thinking when you are on your knees? Pray tell me that. Nay, I will tell you. You are thinking sinful thoughts. You are thinking of men and this body in their hands.’

  ‘No, no, Aunt Christina, it is not so.’

  ‘Then you will take the veil.’

  ‘No, I will not.’

  ‘Why not, if your thoughts are as pure as you would have me believe?’

  ‘I wish to marry, to have children.’

  ‘Did I not tell you what was in your mind? So you add lies to your many sins.’

  ‘My mother was a good woman – the best that ever lived,’ said Edith defiantly, ‘yet she married and had children.’

  The Abbess took Edith by the arm and pushed her down on her straw.

  ‘So you long for men. You want this body you so much admire to be admired by others, to be caressed. I shall caress it in my way . . . in God’s way.’ She called to one of the nuns who was waiting outside the cell. The woman came in carrying a long thin cane.

  ‘There, my daughter. This is the child from whom evil must be purged. She dreams of the caresses of men; give her the caress of the cane.’

  ‘Mother,’ began the nun.

  The Abbess turned her venomous gaze on the nun. ‘Do you disobey me, then?’

  ‘Nay, Mother.’ The nun came to the prostrate figure of Edith and lifted the cane. It came down stinging her across the thighs. ‘Again,’ said the Abbess. ‘Are you so feeble that you can do no better than that? Again and again.’

  Edith turned her back on them and covered her face with her hands. ‘Oh, Uncle Edgar,’ she prayed, ‘why did you send us here?’

  The Abbess had snatched the cane from the nun that she herself might use it. The strokes were more firm, more vicious.

  ‘Aunt Christina, I beg of you . . .’

  ‘Ah, the miscreant becomes a penitent. Yes, daughter, what have you to say?’

  ‘Do not, I beg of you.’

  ‘Then you will wear the robe and love the robe, the outward sign of that which is holy?’

  ‘Yes, I will wear the robe.’

  The Abbess laughed. ‘Your tender skin may rebel even more so than before. There are weals on your buttocks, girl. Do not strip naked and dream that they have been put there by a too eager lover. Come, get up. Put on your shift. Is it not shameful that you should stand thus naked. You will love the robe. You will remember that these are the robes of the Black Benedictines, which our famous ancestor founded. You will pray that you may be purged of your worldliness. Come, I am impatient.’

  Painfully Edith rose to her feet. Over her head went the hideous black hairy shift: she was enclosed once more in the black robes.

  ‘On your knees,’ said the Abbess, ‘ask for forgiveness, for you are in dire need of the intercession of the saints.’

  With lowered eyes Edith stood before her aunt. The Abbess was satisfied. She turned and with the attendant nun left the cell.

  So she must wear the robes. But never never shall I take the veil, Edith promised herself. This could not go on. A time would come when Uncle Edgar came to visit them. Then she would remind him of her father’s determination that she should marry. Her mother, it was true, had wished her to take the veil, but her mother had not known how vehemently she hated it.

  She shuddered as the rough stuff touched her sore body.

  She would never forget the sight of Aunt Christina, the cane raised in her hand, her eyes gleaming with a virtue so intense that it was like a fierce pleasure.

  How she longed for the old days in the schoolroom under dear old Turgot.

  But the beating had strengthened her determination to escape.

  There were visitors to Rumsey Abbey. Alan, Duke of Bretagne, wished to pay his respects not only to the Abbess but to the Atheling ladies whom he understood were being educated there.

  The Abbe
ss was gracious yet haughty.

  ‘It is not the custom of the Abbey to allow novitiates to receive visitors.’

  ‘Novitiates!’ cried Alan. ‘I understand that the Princesses were merely here to receive an education, and were destined to play that part in the world so often reserved for ladies of their blood.’

  ‘They have a great desire for the convent life,’ said the Abbess, and then, to absolve her soul, she thought: As yet they are not fully aware of this but it exists.

  ‘I do not think it is the desire of their uncle and their eldest brother that they should take the veil.’

  ‘That is a matter for the future. For this time I must respect their youth. They cannot receive visitors.’

  ‘I understood differently from the King.’

  ‘You come from the King?’

  ‘With his blessing.’

  The Abbess was taken aback. She dared not offend Rufus. She had to be grateful that he allowed her, a member of the Atheling family, to take up the post of Abbess in an English abbey. If Rufus had sent Alan of Bretagne here it could be with one purpose. He was a possible husband for one of the girls, and as Edith was the elder her turn would probably come first.

  This was disturbing, but the Abbess was not one to be disturbed for long. She could, however, not prevent Alan’s seeing Edith and Mary.

  She sent for the girls. A summons to the Abbess’s apartment was a cause for apprehension, but Mary, who had not been selected as the butt for Christina’s venom as Edith had, and for whom the Abbess had no special plans as yet, was less concerned than her sister.

  When the girls stood before her in their black garments, their hair carefully hidden, the Abbess surveyed them critically.

  Edith had a certain beauty but the habit was very effective in concealing it and if this man had thoughts of marrying her, it might be possible to hurry her into taking some sort of vow. The determination to thwart Edith’s desire for a worldly life was growing in the Abbess. A strong woman, accustomed to having her own way, never forgetting her royal birth and that the crown of England should have belonged to her family, she was anxious to rule her own empire, and that included her nieces who had become part of it.