David the Prince - Scotland 03

by Nigel Tranter

  The stone-vaulted cellar was only dimly lighted with three slit windows, but sufficiently to reveal the stacks, from floor to curved ceiling, of iron-bound chests, scores of them. Henry stepped over, loosed the hasp of one and threw up the lid. It was filled with silver pieces. He tried another. This was as full, but of gold coins. He picked up a handful of these, and let them trickle through his fingers.

  "The sinews of a kingdom!" he said. This was the Conqueror's treasure, looted from all England and half France, added to by Rufus's penal taxation and extortions from Holy Church.

  Slamming down the lids again, Henry took the middle key and opened an inner door, which led into an adjoining and smaller chamber. As well as more chests, this one was shelved, and on the shelves were piled hundreds upon hundreds of vessels and ornaments in gold and silver, cups, chalices, pattens, crucifixes, plates, candlesticks, images of saints and the like, many jewel-encrusted. Opening one of the chests here, the Prince showed that it contained unnumbered rings and brooches, necklaces and loose gem stones. Another was filled with gold chains and belts.

  But it was to a special solid-silver chest, banded in gold, placed in the deep single window-embrasure of the thick walling, that Henry made his way. With the third and smallest key he unlocked this. Inside, on the padded velvet cushions, lay the symbols they had all last seen eleven months before at the Crown-wearing - the crown itself, the orb and sceptre, the ring and the spurs, gleaming dully in the thin slantwise evening sun.

  Henry picked out the crown, looked at it for seconds on end, and then, transferring it to his left hand, shut the lid again and relocked it. "Enough!" he said.

  Neither of the other two had spoken a word throughout.

  They went out, locking the two doors behind them. Henry kept the keys. Beyond the outer door they found the crowd grown. There was a great indrawing of breaths and a swell of comment when they saw what the prince was carrying.

  He raised his voice. "De Comines - go find the Justiciar Flambard. Tell him to have everyone of any quality in this palace assemble in the Great Hall. At once. The castle guard to muster and come to me. At the dais entrance. And send wine. Now. You have it?"

  "Yes, my lord Prince," the Chief Butler said, agitated. "But . . . the King's Grace . . ."

  "Do as I say, man. Forthwith. I speak with the King's voice. Heed it!"

  Henry now led the way to the hall, speaking to none. David felt distinctly foolish with his two swords. De Breteuil walked grim-faced behind.

  So they came to that same dais platform. All but the three principals were sent curtly down into the body of the hall. Henry remained aloof. But when wine and beakers were brought, he dismissed the servitors and poured for his two companions.

  "That New Forest," he said, in a voice different from that he had been using. "It is accursed. I shall never hunt there again. This is the third of our line to die there. My brother Richard, gored by a stag. My half-brother broke his neck, thrown. Now William. That monk from Gloucester spoke truly . . ."

  Flambard appeared from the dais-entrance, looking concerned. His glance went straight to the crown, which Henry had placed on the table.

  "My lord Prince - what is this?" he exclaimed. "Where is His Grace the King?"

  The other did not answer, not in words at any rate. He pointed a finger at the Chief Justice and then jabbed it down towards the lower level of the hall-floor. Flambard hesitated, then, compressing his lips, descended the dais-steps.

  Henry poured himself another beaker of wine.

  The hall was filling up now, and agog with talk. Reginald de Lucy, the commander of the royal guard, appeared from the dais-doorway. "The guard is assembled, my lord Prince," he announced. "Is this the King's command?"

  "Yes. Have a file of them in here. Behind me. The rest round to the door of the hall. When the horn blows, none to enter or to leave. Save on my orders. See to it."

  De Lucy looked doubtful but did as he was told.

  At length Henry turned. "A blast on your horn, David."

  When the wailing notes died away, the prince raised his voice. "My friends - and, it may be, my unfriends also! I have tidings for you, important tidings. Heed well what I say. King William, my brother, is dead. Slain by an arrow, in the New Forest . . ."

  The commotion in the hall halted him, and he let the noise prevail for a little, expressionless. Then he raised hand for silence.

  "My brother was slain by a bolt shot by Walter Tirel. Whom all know. Who was alone with him in the wood. Whether of intent or accident is yet to be established. But . . . Tirel has fled!"

  Again the uproar drowned his words. Henry turned to David and pointed to the horn once more.

  The high notes of it gained approximate quiet.

  "You will remain silent!" Henry cried "The next to raise his voice unbidden will be removed by the guard. Heed you - and fail to do so at your peril! There has to be a King in England. I,. Henry, have assumed the crown." He picked up the golden circlet and held it aloft. "From this moment, I am King Henry.

  My brother Robert of Normandy is a thousand miles away, fighting the heathen. England cannot wait for him. Besides, he is not of the stuff of kings. And I am, my friends - I am" He stared round the gathering, head thrust forward a little, crown held against his chest now.

  There was not a sound in the hall. Men scarcely breathed.

  "I shall make you a good king — but a strong one," he went on. "All shall be changed. This realm shall be ruled as a kingdom, not a tyranny — and not a playground for pretty boys! Nor yet, see you, for Norman adventurers! I am an Englishman. I was born here, at Selby in York. I shall rule England as an Englishman. Normans, Saxons, Danes, each and all are assured of my goodwill - so long as they keep my peace." He paused, and glanced round at David again. "In token whereof-and that the reign of catamites and favourites is past, I announce to you that I intend to take as wife the Princess Matilda of Scotland . . ." He held up his hand as the noise swelled. "I said silence! The Princess Matilda, sister to Prince David of Scotland, here. This is my decision. She is daughter of Margaret, who was daughter of Edward, who was son of King Edmund Ironside, of the ancient line of the Kings of England. Myself, I am son of a cousin to both Edmund and Canute, who replaced that line. So I shall unite all three royal houses. So England will be ruled by England indeed." He took a sip of wine. None other raised voice - although David mac Malcolm at least had difficulty in keeping silent.

  "There will be changes, I say," Henry went on. "You all are Normans here — or most." And he smiled faintly at David. "You will suffer nothing for being so. But the persecution of the English shall cease. And their lords will again take their due place in my realm. Mark that! As will Holy Church. For long the Church has been ravaged and slighted. No longer. I shall bring back Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, exiled at Bee. Others likewise. And justice will now prevail in my courts -justice not persecution, infamy, corruption. This I swear on my royal oath! As I now give you sign and token." He turned. "Sieur de Lucy - arrest me the man Flambard, formerly Chief Justice, and miscreant! And confine him in your deepest pit. Until my further pleasure be announced."

  Now. there was tumult indeed, and this time Henry made no attempt to stop it. The guard-commander took four of his men from the back of the dais and descended upon the alarmed Ranulf Flambard, to march him out, protesting.

  "Enough for this present," Henry declared, after an interval which allowed the excitement to subside somewhat. "You shall hear my further decisions in due course. William de Giffard, until now Chancellor, you will take a troop of men and bring me back Walter Tirel de Poix - if he has not already reached the sea and taken vessel to Normandy. He was fleeing southwards. A council will be called for two days hence — no, three. Most of the hunt is not yet returned. When these do, some shall join Flambard! The late King William's body will lie at Romsey Abbey this night, and be brought here tomorrow for burial in the old minster of St. Swithin. There will be no ceremony. Tomorrow, also, the bells of a
ll churches and monasteries will ring all day. Not for my accession but because Holy Church is free again in England." Henry held the crown above his head again for a moment, and then turning to de Breteuil, he handed it to him. "My Lord Treasurer and chief minister!" he said. "Come, sir. And you, David."

  As they moved over to the dais-door, someone shouted "God save the King! God save the King!" And immediately the cry was taken up on all hands, even if doubtfully in many quarters of the hall. They strode out, to its chant.

  "That was . . . splendid!" David exclaimed enthusiastically. "Splendid. Was it not, Sir William? Are you truly King now?"

  "Scarcely, lad. It takes a little longer! But - near enough. Tomorrow I ride to London, with this crown. For Bishop Maurice to crown me. I cannot wait for the Archbishop's return. Someone else can bury William! You shall come with me, if you wish."

  "Oh, yes, yes. And, and Matilda? You meant that truly? That you would wed her? It was not just a sudden whim?"

  "Think you that I would have announced it to all, as I did? That was no whim, David. It has been my desire to marry her these many months. But William would have seen it as a danger to himself. Threatening his position, for myself to be wed to one of the old line. Now, it is best, suitable." He smiled. "Think you that she will have me, lad?"

  Gravely David inclined his head. "I believe so, yes. I know that she esteems you greatly."

  "You much relieve me!"

  "I perceive that you have thought it all out very well," de Breteuil remarked. "All this has not come into your mind since this afternoon's slaying, I think?"

  "Can you not bring yourself to call me Sire, Will? No - I have had sufficiently long to consider it all. With William unmarried and lacking heir, I saw it coming. He was well hated. One day it would happen. Slighted and replaced catamites are unchancy companions! I have but waited my time ..."

  They came back to Henry's bedchamber. "I must have a better room than this, now," he said looking round its modest dimensions. "Not that I would wish to occupy William's — which would stink in my nostrils! Besides, I shall soon need a bedchamber large enough for two - eh? How would this one serve you, David?"

  "Me? You mean . . . ?"

  "To be sure. You have long wished to be out of Romsey Abbey and the nuns' clutches, have you not? And if you are going to be the Queen's brother, you must have a certain style. The room is yours."

  "I thank you, I thank you. But, Henry . . . my lord. . . Sire-my friends, Hugo de Morville and Hervey de Warenne. They hate the Abbey . . ."

  "Yes, yes — bring them with you. We shall find a corner for them. There will be many empty chambers in Winchester Castle after this day!"

  "And Matilda? And Mary?"

  "Ah, now - that is different. Eh, Will? We shall have to go discreetly there. To consider the princesses' reputation. Much as I would wish to have Matilda here, I think that meanwhile she must remain with the good nuns. But not for long, lad — tell her, not for long. When I get back from my coronation in London, my first call shall be upon her ..."

  3

  So LIFE CHANGED entirely for David mac Malcolm. From being a sort of hostage, personally unimportant, to be ignored when he was not actually slighted, he abruptly became the King's friend, and only a little less suddenly the Queen's brother-for Henry and Matilda were wed that St. Martin's Day, only three months after the hurried coronation. All about the Court now treated him with some degree of deference. It was a very different Court, of course, with all Rufus's young men, favourites and hangers-on, sent packing, many of his principal minions imprisoned, and most of the nobles who had supported him retired to their estates and replaced by such as the men whom he had humiliated at his Crown-wearing - Warwick, Surrey, Pembroke, Lancaster, Chester and the rest. If all these great earls did not exactly genuflect before David, at least they treated him with a decent respect - admittedly not so much as the brother of the King of Scots as the brother-in-law of the King of England.

  Not that all this in any way went to that young man's head, for he was of a modest and unassuming nature, and gave himself no airs. He was, in fact, more aware of the reaction of his two friends, Hugo and Hervey, whose attitude towards him underwent a change quite as pronounced. From being the junior of the trio and something of the butt, he became, as it were overnight, if not the senior at least the most influential and prominent. There was nothing of the obsequious offered or expected; but David's wishes and preferences now tended to have priority - it would have been strange otherwise, with all at Court, from the King down, treating the other two as being more or less in the Scots prince's train. Even their tutor, the Benedictine Brother John, a pleasant if rather sober young man, less than ten years older than themselves, treated David differently, having come with them from Romsey to Winchester.

  The wedding was a notably joyful occasion, much more so than most royal matches. For although Henry was well aware of the political advantages of marrying the senior female representative of the Saxon royal line, he was much attracted to Matilda personally, and she to him - as near a love-match as any prince was likely to approach. Even though he insisted on her name being changed to Maud, the English diminutive, on account apparently of his hatred of some female relative of that name who had bullied him as a child. His new Queen did not mind, her true baptismal name being the Saxon Eadgyth, or Edith, anyway. She would have put up with much more than that to attain this wedded bliss - for obstacles were indeed put in her way. The marriage was not popular with the Norman nobility, even those who were close supporters of Henry. They conceived it to be a mistake, an unnecessary encouragement of the Saxon element in the kingdom, which might well become uppish, and a consequent danger to their own French supremacy. Some of them went beyond mere murmurings in the matter. They raised the objection that the princess was in fact a nun, already wedded to Christ and therefore unable to marry the King. Vehemently she protested that this was not so, that she had never taken the veil, had only dwelt, and unwillingly, amongst the nuns in the care of her abbess-aunt, Christina, at Romsey. But the objectors got Christina, a distinctly soured character, to testify that once, when they were younger, she herself had thrown veils publicly over the heads of her two nieces to protect them from the advances of licentious soldiery-which could be construed as an initiation of sorts. It became the gentle but firm Anselm's first task, on his return from exile in France, as Archbishop, to declare this as invalid and the princesses no nuns. He improved on this by personally marrying the happy couple a week later, in St. Swithin's, David giving away the bride. The King of Scots' agreement was taken for granted.

  After the wedding, David found himself in something of a dilemma. Hitherto he had been little better than a prisoner-at-large. Now he was the Queen of England's brother and the King's friend. Yet his heart should be back in Scotland. Presumably there was nothing now to prevent him from going home? But was it his duty? Could he better serve his country/ back in Scotland or here at the court of England? He was under no illusions that Edgar was anxious for his return. Edgar showed no real interest in his youngest brother. As for Alexander, he went his own way, never communicating with him or his sisters. What place would there be for him in Scotland? Moreover, would Henry permit him to go? Henry clearly assumed that he would remain, even seemed to want his company, finding roles for him to fill. Might he not serve best by acting as voice for his brothers here, meantime at any rate? Besides the fact that Matilda and Mary would not hear of him going. And his friends were here. Scarcely admitting it to himself, David found a reluctance to leave. Later, to be sure . . .

  Apart from the Norman disagreement with his marriage, Henry's taking of the throne was remarkably painless, virtually unchallenged. William had made so many enemies, and chosen his friends from amongst the baser sort, that most of the men of real power and influence - that is, the Norman nobility - found the change so much for the better that even those who agreed that the elder brother, Robert of Normandy, should have had the crown and that Henry was reall
y a usurper, did not press the matter. Robert, all knew, was an amiable weakling. And while such, on the throne, would almost certainly have allowed the nobility a free hand, most recognised that the kingdom was infinitely more secure with a strong hand at the helm. The Saxon majority, of course, high and low, greatly welcomed the new regime. And the churchmen supported Henry to a man. So there were no uprisings and revolts, no conspiracies — none to reach the stage of action, at any rate.

  Until nine months later, that is, with the Queen already four months pregnant, when, without warning a Normandy fleet appeared in Southampton Water, with a large army. Duke Robert was back from the Crusade and calling upon all loyal Englishmen to rally to his cause and dispossess his usurping brother.

  It was a dire situation, as dangerous as it was totally unexpected, no word of the Crusade's end having reached England. Henry had no forces mustered and Robert was only a mere fifteen miles away. It would take days to collect an army sufficiently large to defeat the sea-borne force - by which time Winchester could have fallen. Dissident Anglo-Norman barons would almost certainly take the opportunity to rise, which would inhibit Henry's supporters locally. Moreover, Robert was proclaiming that he had brought Edgar Atheling with him - he also had been on the Crusade - and he was calling upon all Saxons to support the Duke's cause likewise with the promise of great if unspecified privileges. Edgar was David's and the Queen's uncle, their mother's brother and grandson of King Edmund, so rightful claimant to the Saxon throne - although he had many times undertaken to renounce any such claim. But ineffective and now elderly as he was, the blood-link was strong and could influence many of the Saxons.