Conquest II
Page 29
Vengeful at his losses, King Louis marched on Chartres and on Countess Adela. Benedicta was amused to hear how the doughty Countess had ordered the Virgin’s Chemise to be taken from the cathedral and hung from the city walls like a banner before the army of the French king. Louis, confronted with the power of such a holy relic, turned his horse’s head and ordered the withdrawal of his army.
Benedicta entered the hall, humming, feeling in a happy mood. Surely, with all this good news, Haith would return soon and they would all go to England together, she accompanying Mahaut to her new life at the English court.
King Henry’s scribe, Gisulf, approached her. ‘Sister Benedicta, may I have a word with you.’
‘Of course.’
He sat down very close to her on the bench and leant even closer, speaking in an undertone. ‘Sister, it is a rather embarrassing matter.’
‘Oh?’
‘I am in receipt of a letter of complaint written by Robert de Bellême to the King, shortly before he died. You know who I mean, Sister?’
‘Of course.’
‘He complains of his treatment. That he should be convicted on the evidence of a whoring nun.’ Gisulf sat back to enjoy her reaction.
She struggled to keep control of herself, to deny him the satisfaction of seeing her shock at this announcement.
‘Why do you speak to me on this matter?’
‘De Bellême claimed he had the story from Amaury de Montfort. He names the nun, Sister, and gives quite a lot of detail about an incident at the blessed Abbey of Fontevraud. The story will not do the abbey’s reputation a great deal of good, either, you can imagine. It is widely believed already by many to be a whorehouse.’
‘I ask you again why you bring this matter to me and use such language in my presence.’ Benedicta kept her quivering hands concealed within the long sleeves of her habit, and kept the fear from her face.
‘The King has been greatly occupied and he has not had the time to give the matter his attention yet.’
Why would it be of concern to Henry, Benedicta wondered. Why would he care to what lengths she had gone to secure the evidence against de Bellême that he had needed. Benedicta decided that silence must be her best option with this odious man. She rose, pushing herself up from the table. ‘It is no concern of mine.’
He clamped his hand over hers on the table, keeping her there. ‘But it is, Sister. You know it is,’ his voice was a sibilant whisper. ‘Since the King is so busy, I thought I might show the letter to your brother first rather than worry the King with such a matter, especially since de Bellême is in any case dead now.’
‘What do you want?’ Benedicta rounded on him furiously. ‘I have nothing.’ Several of the servants looked in their direction, curious at her raised voice.
‘I don’t want silver, Sister. Amaury de Montfort thought that you had something. It is a little soiled of course now, but I am not such a particular, great noble as he.’
She stared at the man, horrified, and fled from the hall to the safety of Mahaut’s chambers.
Benedicta awoke feeling as if she had slept for minutes rather than hours. Her head pounded and her mind was fogged with dreams of red-faced demons, their tongues protruding, their hooves drumming towards her. She left the bishop’s palace at daybreak and moved across wet cobbles towards the nearby cathedral of Saint Pierre. She needed help. Would God still listen to her prayers? She looked across the courtyard to the church. The entrance was framed between two square and solid bell towers. The doorway was a great rounded portal with a series of arches, indented layer by layer, making visible the thickness of the wall into which the opening had been excised. Above the many-arched doorway was a vast rose window. Closing the creaking door behind her, she was relieved to find the cathedral empty. She looked at the three aisles, considering where best to take refuge. Alternating piers and columns marched up the nave in a sequence of arches towards the apse. Early morning sunlight was beginning to touch the exquisite stained glass. The thick massive walls, the ribbed stone vault, the twisted and decorated columns all gave her solace. She moved towards one of the side aisles flanking the nave, looking for the Lady Chapel.
The statue of the Virgin was ankle-deep in a sea of small red and white flickering candles. The air smelt of hot wax and seemed suddenly still, entirely silent. She sat on the bench close to the statue and raised her eyes to the Virgin’s face. It seemed that even the mild romantic illusion she had allowed herself must be obliterated now that she knew Amaury had spoken of their encounter to de Bellême, had allowed it to be cast in the ugly words she had been forced to hear in Gisulf’s mouth.
Benedicta had told herself at the time that she lay with Amaury that it was for the sake of King Henry, for the mission given to her by Countess Adela, but as time passed she had begun to wonder if she was being honest with herself. Had she, in fact, slept with him from lust, or even more likely from her primary sin, curiosity? Had she been motivated simply by the thought that there was something she could do and did not do her whole life? And where did this leave the state of her soul and her vocation? She prayed for guidance. The Virgin looked at her mildly. Benedicta did not feel outcast. She was relieved to find that she still felt at home here, in the church, under God’s vault and his sky.
Making her way back to the palace, she encountered the Bishop at the entrance. ‘Ah, Sister Benedicta, I have been looking for you.’ His face showed excitement. ‘You must prepare your charge for a journey. Pope Callixtus is to hold a council at Reims.’
‘We are to meet the Pope?’ Benedicta asked, her eyes wide.
‘Indeed you are, Sister.’
On the following morning, the courtyard was full of carts, horses and people preparing to depart for Reims. Benedicta saw Gisulf making for her and tried to turn her palfrey’s head but the press of people and horses was so great there was no room for manoeuvre. Gisulf laid his hand on her horse’s bridle. ‘Sister, I am waiting for your response. Don’t forget that I do send missives to the King and Sir Haith too, most days.’
She restrained the impulse to kick the man and satisfied herself instead with a light flick of her whip against his fingers so that he flinched and let go of her horse. There was movement in the crowd ahead of her and she kicked her horse forward without saying a word to the scribe.
The entourage of Archbishop John of Lisieux halted before the great double doors of the Palace of the Archbishop of Reims. They had ridden for four days beyond Évreux, crossed the border from Normandy into France and ridden on beyond Paris. The palace had a long frontage. Benedicta counted at least five turrets, all of a different design, and countless chimneys. The gateway had two moulded protrusions like eyebrows carved above it with fleshy vine leaves, bunches of grapes, fantastical beasts and angels. The horses started up again and they rode through the iron-studded doors into the interior courtyard. Looking up, Benedicta saw that the building had three stories and an exterior wooden balustraded walkway running around the top of the buildings in front of the diverse roofs, stone dormer windows and attics. Numerous doorways to the high turrets surrounded her. The vines, grapes and beasts motifs were carved in stone and wood everywhere, and joined by luxuriant cabbage leaves, cats and a naked figure riding a snail. Long gargoyles lay far above Benedicta’s head, dripping water into the courtyard from the recent shower. She and Princess Mahaut were led up a high turret and shown into a fine apartment where the October draughts were kept at bay by billowing tapestries. Their chamber was adjacent to that of Mahaut’s mother, Countess Ermengarde de Maine, who was here representing Anjou on behalf of her husband, who was in the Holy Lands. Mahaut was overjoyed to be reunited with her mother and with her younger siblings, Sybille, Geoffrey and Elias. The Countess gracefully thanked Benedicta for her care of Mahaut. After an hour of the excited chatter of four young children, Benedicta was relieved when Haith sought her out and drew her back into her apartment next door for some private conversation.
‘What’s happening?’
she asked. There seemed to be quite an air of excitement and anxiety about the place.
‘A lot! The Pope called this council primarily to come to terms with Henry, the German King and Roman Emperor.’
‘The husband of our King Henry’s daughter, Maud?’
‘Yes, although she is not here but is Regent in Germany for her absent husband.’
‘So the German King is here?’
‘After a fashion. He and the Pope were due to meet to make peace between them at Chateau du Musson and the Pope’s entourage were a few hours ago preparing to travel there, and Henry and I would have travelled with them. But we have just heard that the German Emperor has arrived with an army of 30,000 men. The Pope is not minded to go there now.’
‘Who can blame him!’
‘Indeed. Pope Callixtus is not inclined to trust his person to the tender mercies of a German army.’
‘So now what?’
‘Now His Holiness intends to continue the other business of his synod here and wait for the German King to disband his army and begin peace negotiations.’
‘The citizens of Reims must be worried that the army will attack the city.’
‘Yes, there is a good deal of anxiety about what the German King intends to do but with King Henry of the English and King Louis of the French here, it seems unlikely that he would attack. The business of the Pope’s synod will begin in a few hours in the Abbey of Saint Remy. Will you attend?’
‘Certainly, if I may.’
‘Yes. All may come.’
‘What is the business before the Pope?’
‘He wishes to reconcile our King Henry with his brother, Robert, the former Duke of Normandy.’
‘Is he here? Robert?’
‘No. Henry would not release him from prison in England but Robert will be represented by his son, William Clito, and by King Louis of France.’
Mahaut was content to stay with her family, so Benedicta went to the abbey in company with Haith and was astonished by the crush of finely dressed people there. Armed guards pressed at the crowd, keeping less finely dressed people, who wished for a sight of the Pope, outside the abbey. Haith was known to the guards and they were allowed through, finding a place to sit halfway up the nave. Benedicta turned to look behind her at the light streaming through the rose window, burnishing the stone of the church to great shafts of silver constrasting with the surrounding gloom. There was a murmur and shuffling from the crowd and Haith nudged her. Benedicta faced forward again to watch the Pope be seated in great state. The abbey was a sea of richly coloured fabrics – the reds, golds, greens of embroidered chasubles and mitres and the glint of jewelled croziers. ‘So many clerics!’ whispered Benedicta.
‘The scribes say they have counted some five hundred archbishops, bishops and abbots.’
At the front, Haith pointed to where King Henry of England was seated with King Louis of France, Charles the Good, the new Count of Flanders and many other great nobles. On invitation from Pope Callixtus, King Louis stood and began a complaint against the English King and his comportment in the wars in Normandy and France, his usurpation of William Clito’s claim to the Duchy of Normandy.
From the shadow of the corner where she sat, Benedicta swallowed as she saw Amaury de Montfort step into a shaft of sunlight. Another tall young man was at his side, and she guessed this must be William Clito, the son of Robert de Normandy. He had something of the look of Henry about him. Amaury looked, if possible, more beautiful than her memories of him. Grateful for the darkened area where she and Haith sat, she thought it should be possible to get through these days without him noticing her. Perhaps even if he saw her, he would not notice her. She was merely one of many insignificant conquests no doubt.
When the arguments had been put forward by both sides, the synod broke for the day. King Louis no doubt hoped that the Pope would rule in favour of William Clito, since Callixtus was uncle to Louis’ queen. ‘This is a very dangerous moment for Henry,’ Haith told her. While they waited for the Pope’s decision, Haith took Benedicta to see the cathedral and the reliquary containing the Holy Chrism which had been used to baptise many kings of France. Haith told Benedicta that Archbishop Thurstan of York had been consecrated by the Pope, which was an act carried out against the express wishes of King Henry. ‘If the Pope rules against Henry and in favour of William Clito, would Henry abide by it?’ Benedicta asked.
Haith shrugged. ‘A year ago, I would have told you no. Nothing would induce Henry to surrender Normandy, but now, after his recent collapse and his fears for his soul, I cannot say what he would do.’
On the following day, the news broke that King Louis’ plea had met with disappointment. The Pope required both kings to keep the Truce of God. ‘Perhaps the Pope has looked well on a tall pile of English silver,’ Haith whispered in Benedicta’s ear. Haith, no doubt, knows that for a fact, she thought. So, no one was above corruption then on this sorry Earth.
The German King had made no move towards reconciliation, so the Pope solemnly excommunicated King Henry of Germany and his antipope in Rome. Soon after, the German army moved out of the territory and the threat to the city was over. Benedicta sensed the relief amongst the people she passed on the streets as a palpable thing. After two weeks in Reims, the business of the synod was completed and the Pope and all the visitors made ready to leave.
Mahaut’s chests were packed for their journey back to Normandy in the morning and Benedicta sat looking at the full moon from the window. She felt too alert to sleep and stepped across the window sill onto the wooden parapet walkway. It was exhilarating to be so high up, to have this unencumbered view of the moon above and to able to look down onto the cobbles of the empty courtyard below.
‘Benedicta?’
She knew the voice behind her right away. Amaury’s voice. She considered simply running ahead without turning and slipping out of sight around a corner and then trying to find another open window that she might step through. But there was no knowing whose room she might be entering. There were few if any empty rooms in the palace at the moment. Speed would take him by surprise but to flee seemed a little ridiculous. She turned to face him but did not raise her eyes, looking down at his boots.
‘It is you! How are you?’
Benedicta frowned to herself. She glanced up at him and then away again. He had been smiling – a warm, open smile.
‘I am … greatly troubled.’
‘I am sorry to hear that.’ His voice was low and he moved closer to her in the confined space of the walkway.
She took a step away.
‘What troubles you? May I be of assistance?’
She looked up at him, anger rising in her. ‘Are you laughing at me?’
He frowned. ‘Not at all. Benedicta?’
‘You spoke of me to de Bellême.’
‘Ah! That! It has come to your attention. I apologise. It was discourteous of me, but he asked how King Henry came by his letter. I realised how, Benedicta.’ He paused and she lowered her eyes again. ‘You tricked me, Benedicta, but I am not angry with you. On balance, I felt it was worthwhile ….’ She heard the humour in his voice. ‘… even if it did turn the scales in King Henry’s favour when I lost my ally, Bellême, to imprisonment, I could not regret a moment with you. Those memories still warm me on cold nights. I was most impressed by you, in so many ways, my dear Benedicta!’ He held out a hand to her, palm turned up, but she made no move to take it. He sighed and let it drop back down to his side. ‘De Bellême lost his liberty. I owed him honesty in the matter, but I meant no injury to you. Has such happened?’
‘Yes. I am threatened with it.’
‘Threatened?’
She looked up again and let her eyes trace his features. ‘By King Henry’s scribe, Gisulf.’
‘Ah, him. I will run that creeping thing through and that will stop his mouth for you.’
‘No! No bloodshed on my conscience. I am already so steeped in sin I can barely lift my face to God.’
‘You should not … you should call me Sister.’
‘Really?’ he said, a smile of friendly amusement on his face.
‘Why must you persist in this opposition to King Henry, Lord de Montfort? I would not wish to see you come to harm.’
‘I am grateful for your care of me. If only I had possessed such a beautiful advisor long ago.’
‘Do not flatter me, Amaury. Tell me why. I want to know.’
‘I suppose I like to win. Conciliation and remorse are not in my nature.’
‘So you let this need to win lead you by the nose, to your destruction?’
He shrugged. ‘Or my triumph!’
‘For no particular reason?’
‘Reason? What particular reason do any of us really have for any of our actions? We alight on something, see it as our purpose, cleave to it for life, through thick and thin, and then as we lay dying we wonder why. And what if we had chosen differently? But if we have no such purpose we are lost, mazed, spinning without anchor.’
‘I suppose there is some truth in that,’ she said.
‘What are your reasons, Benedicta? Your purpose?’
‘Love,’ she blurted. ‘I act for love, I think. Love of God, of my brother, and … yes, I would say love.’