Henry of the High Rock

by Juliet Dymoke

  But the future was bleak before him and he knew now how deep was his love for Normandy – it was rooted in the very marrow of his bones, passed down by the seed of men from the days of Rolf the Ganger. And he could see nothing before him but exile, loneliness, and the charity of foreigners.

  Abruptly he began to undress and in equal silence Alide follow him to bed. For a while he lay still, not attempting to touch her, staring at the flickering light of the dying fire. She watched his face, an ache within her for the struggle she saw there, the struggle between despair and courage – but because he was the man he was she knew that courage would win. At barely twenty-three he had learned to stand alone and to depend on none but himself. Her eyes filled with tears but she controlled the desire to cry, turning her head aside to let them trickle unobtrusively into the pillow.

  At last he spoke. ‘I will give you half a dozen men to see you safe home to Caen.’

  She said, ‘I will stay with you.’

  He sensed, though he had not touched her, the rigidity in her body. ‘No. I do not know where I will go or what I will do, or even how long my exile will be. I cannot take you or the children into further danger.’

  ‘My serving woman can take them home. I will come wherever you choose to go.’

  ‘No,’ he said again. ‘God knows how hard my life may be.’

  ‘I do not care.’ She caught her breath on a sob, ‘Only take me with you.’

  ‘I cannot,’ he said. ‘Go back to Caen with young Robert and the babe and wait for me there.’

  ‘Wait!’ she whispered, ‘but for how long?’ She sat up, hugging her knees, her long hair falling to her waist, her eyes shadowed in the firelight. ‘I always knew that I could not hold you. Is it now that I must let you go? Oh,’ as he began to deny it, ‘I know that circumstances force us apart, but I think you will be swept from me by other circumstances, that you will go forward to other things I cannot share with you. Only – take the boy, my lord, when he is old enough. Let him be your son if he can be nothing else.’

  ‘Why, what is this?’ he asked. ‘Robert shall always be my son, and I will come back to Caen.’ He looked up at her, at the curve of her bare shoulder, the line of neck and cheek that he knew so well. She had been a part of his life, though he sensed now how small that part was in truth. But because he did not want to hurt her, he said lightly, ‘How could I keep from you?’

  ‘There will be others,’ she answered in a low voice as if she did not want him to hear, ‘and where you are going I cannot come.’

  Quite suddenly all her calm deserted her and she cast herself down beside him, her arms about him, shaken with crying. ‘I know that I must go, but if only it were not tomorrow.’

  He held her close to him, soothing her with gentle words, until these turned into more passionate loving that for a while at least shut out the thought of the inevitable parting. She clung to him as if she would make this night’s joy so intense that it would suffice for all the lonely nights that must come. Three years ago at Caen it had been she who had been strong and comforting, who had taken a bewildered nineteen-year-old boy to her bed, but now it was she who was broken and grieving and he a man to comfort her. But there was no comfort, only aching loneliness and the certain knowledge that they would be divided tomorrow by more than divergent roads.

  In the morning the company rode out as Henry wished – every man armed, every blade bright, the gonfanons high on their shafts. The Abbot blessed them as they went, out on to the wet windswept sands and back to the inhospitable mainland.

  There the royal and ducal troops lined the way. Henry rode straight between their ranks, his eyes fixed on his horse’s head. His brothers sat their mounts, surrounded by barons and knights, triumphant and satisfied, but he did not look at them, he did not want to see their faces. He would have liked to ask them why – why they had done this to him, but he knew the answer, knew their jealousy and greed and he did not think he could have borne to have spoken with them just now.

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the emblems of Bellême and Breteuil, de Toeni and Grandmesnil, Beaumont and Aumale, all there to see his humbling and he rode past them all, his gaze straight, his face unsmiling for once. By God, one day they should all bend their proud knees to him and blot out the memory of this dark morning. The only crumb of comfort lay in the fact that Rufus would not tolerate Odo’s presence and therefore his uncle was not there to witness his humiliation.

  Out on the highway at last he watched Alide, her face pale and taut, ride away with their children and a small escort of men-at-arms, and he set his own face to the south. At the border he left Gerard of St. Lo and the rest of his men, except for the few who were to accompany him.

  Then he crossed over into Brittany, for the first time in his life an exile on foreign soil.

  ‘Where shall we go, lord?’ Hamo queried. He sat his horse well, never indolent in the saddle, the Prince’s standard firm in his grasp.

  ‘Where shall we go?’ Henry echoed. ‘Jesu! Does it matter?’

  He saw their anxious faces, their concern for him, and quite suddenly he threw back his head and laughed. 'Why, we will go where the wind takes us until it changes, as change it must, to blow us back to Normandy again.’

  SCOTTISH INTERLUDE

  AUTUMN 1091

  The Countess Maud of Northampton considered herself a fortunate woman. She was singularly happy in her marriage, with a good husband, a healthy son on her knee and another child already within her strong young body. She had inherited a naturally happy nature from her father and on this bright September morning sat by the window of her chamber watching for her lord’s return from the town whither he had been to transact some business.

  Her mother Judith had returned after a two month stay to her foundation of nuns at Elstow and Maud was not sorry to see her go – even with young Simon to unite them they never seemed to agree – and now she was looking forward to the visit of her sister Alice, soon to wed to Ralph de Toeni. Alice was inclined to be nervous and a little prickly in her conversation, taking after their mother, but Maud was fond of her and anticipated some happy hours discussing bridals.

  It was peaceful sitting in her bower, watching Simon playing on the floor with a little wooden horse, the sun making patterns on the wall beside her. There had been peace in England for some time and still was here in the south, but in May King Malcolm of Scotland had broken the border and marched into Northumberland, burning and plundering. No one quite knew why he had chosen this particular moment to invade. He had, it was true, refused to do homage to the King of England but he had taken no part in the barons’ rebellion against the Red King three years ago, and his grievance was one to be fought out with words than with deeds. Earl Simon thought, and his wife with him, that Edgar Atheling’s banishment from Normandy was more likely to have stirred up the trouble, for Edgar was with the Scots King and might conceivably be making one more bid for the Crown.

  Maud had always liked Edgar who had been friend and companion-in-arms to her father, but she was sure he had long given up all hope of his inheritance and was content enough to be on the edge of affairs rather than in the heart of them. It seemed probable that King Malcolm’s raid was designed to persuade the English King and the Norman Duke to restore Edgar to the lands he had lost through the treaty of Caen. Whatever the reason Malcolm had chosen his moment well, for the Red King was across the sea in Normandy, and he ravaged and plundered to his heart’s content until met and held by the forces of the Earl of Northumberland, nephew to Bishop Geoffrey of Coutances.

  But sitting here in the sunshine, watching her son at play and dreaming of the new babe in her womb, danger seemed very far away. Presently the sound of hooves broke into her quiet thoughts and she looked up in happy anticipation to see her husband riding in through the open gate.

  Earl Simon had gained in strength of character since his marriage and though he was nearing forty and his hair was greying, he carried himself like a m
an ten years younger and with a self-confidence that came from his new contentment. With him rode his marshal, Hakon Osbertson, who had once been the most devoted of Earl Waltheof’s men and now served with equal loyalty the daughter of his old master and her lord. Hakon’s two sons, lads in their teens, were eager to prove themselves in Simon’s service and rode with the men-at-arms; there was a bustling air in the courtyard as they dismounted, passing what was obviously some momentous news among the household gathered there.

  Maud went down into the hall to greet her husband. He came with his limping walk and embraced her. Then he said, ‘The King is returned. We found messengers in the town on their way to summon me to join him with all the men of the shire. We are to send the Scots tumbling back over their border.’

  She held his arm tightly. ‘My dear lord. This will be the first time you have left me to fight.’

  He set a hand under her chin, smiling. ‘I doubt if it will be much of a fight. We shall outnumber the Scots three to one. Don’t fear, dear heart, I shall come home safe again. In the meantime, prepare for guests – the King will spend a night here on his march north.’

  ‘Here?’ She exclaimed. ‘How soon? I doubt if we’ve enough wine and ale for all the King’s household. I must send to our other manors for supplies – there’s plenty of mutton at Ryhall and fruit at Connington, and of course the ale must come from Huntingdon. We need fresh rushes too.’

  He laughed and left her to her plans, sending for Hakon to prepare a list of men who owed service. Haken went about his work remembering when Waltheof, last of the Saxon earls, had sent out the summons to fight the Norman invaders and he himself had been a green youth. Yet he would ride with Earl Simon cheerfully enough for a man must live in the world as it was, and the old days were gone.

  The royal armies arrived, the men camping where they might in the town and the surrounding villages while the King and his company rode into the courtyard of Earl Simon’s demesne. They streamed in, barons and knights with their attendants, servants bearing the King’s baggage, men-at-arms bringing hauberks and helms, arms and shields, until the bailey was filled with a mass of men all endeavouring to find a place for themselves and their goods.

  Maud and Simon were in the hall together to greet their royal guest and she saw to her astonishment not only the Red King but also the plump figure of the Duke of Normandy and beside him her cousin Henry whom she had thought far away in exile. She bent the knee to Rufus, received a boisterous embrace from Robert and then turned to Henry, both hands held out.

  ‘I did not think to see you. We had heard . . .’

  ‘Later,’ he said in a low voice, ‘we will talk later,’ and aloud, ‘dear cousin, greeting. It is noble of you to receive this great gathering under your roof.’

  There was no chance to ask how he came to be here, for she must attend to her guests and it seemed that all the great names of Normandy and England were here. She sent a servant for the greeting cup and bore it to the King herself.

  At supper she sat on his left while her husband occupied his right hand with the Duke of Normandy next to him, and she was glad to have Henry on her other side.

  He kept up a light conversation with her, making witticisms at the expense of many noble barons, and keeping her laughing throughout the meal.

  Nevertheless she thought him changed, older and more reserved for all he appeared his familiar smiling self. She sensed a wariness that must come, she thought, from the change in his fortunes, a change that had grieved her deeply and she could not imagine how he came to be here with his brothers. But she did not ask, merely laughing at his sallies and biding her time.

  ‘What a company,’ he said lazily, ‘even our grey-bearded uncle of Mortain has bestirred himself to ride with us and I’ve not seen him for many months. I could wish he had left my cousin William at home – how he sired so ill-tempered a youth, I cannot imagine. Our dislike is mutual.’

  ‘And did I hear someone say the Bishop of Durham is with you?’

  ‘Aye, but he sleeps tonight at Peterborough with the holy monks. He is to be restored when we reach his city. At least Red William is acting rightly by the Church for once – and he made Flambard leave his familiar at home.’

  ‘His familiar?’

  ‘That mother of his, the one-eyed bitch, or witch, or both! I’ve heard her moaning incantations that would send a chill down your spine, little cousin. It’s a wonder the devil hasn’t carried her off to his dark regions.’

  ‘I’m glad she is not under my roof,’ Maud said with a shiver. ‘Who is that handsome youth who waits on the King?’

  Henry frowned. ‘That is Simon of La Barre, brother to Herluin, the tall knight who serves me. The less said about Simon the better. By St. Peter, look at Walter Tirel, I swear he’s had enough of your wine to fill a barrel.’

  ‘You have hardly touched yours,’ she pointed out and saw that wary look again behind the smile.

  ‘I prefer to keep a clear head,’ he said lightly, ‘which is more than you can say for your future brother-in-law. He’s joined Tirel on the rushes.’ He pointed to where Ralph had slithered from his bench and lay with his head on Tirel’s chest, happily asleep. ‘Simon’s men will spend half the night getting Rufus’ courtiers to bed.’

  She laughed and touched his hand fleetingly. ‘It is so good to have you here again.’

  The King’s voice broke in on their talk. ‘You seem in good spirits tonight, cousin Maud. I can see you do not fear the Scots will march this far south.’

  ‘Not I,’ she retorted, smiling, ‘when you have such an army to beat them back. King Malcolm must be a fool if he thinks himself a match for England and Normandy.’

  ‘Well said,’ Robert leaned across and raised his horn to her. He was past his youth now and losing his hair at the same time as gaining a stomach, but his affability remained unchanged and she wondered why he had come to England.

  The house was crowded and the only guest room was naturally occupied by the King and the Duke, the barons and knights making what shift they could with pallets laid out in the hall. Even the most senior, the Count de Meulan, was forced to lie by his brother, Henry of Warwick, on a pallet behind the high seat. Henry however, found his set at the foot of Maud and Simon’s curtained bed in their chamber, and there the three of them sat talking far into the night.

  He told them of his months of exile, of days spent riding about France and Brittany, seeking what hospitality he might. He had gone first to his widowed brother-in-law, Count Alain of Brittany, and then spent some time with Helias at Le Mans but he knew that his presence there heightened the tension between Maine and her overlord of Normandy and he did not wish to involve Helias, who had enough to do consolidating his position as count. He moved to the Vexin and then on into France.

  He had been at Chartres with his sister Adela, the Countess of Blois, enjoying playing the uncle to his little nephew, Theobald, when a messenger found him and told him that the King was returning to England to deal with the invading Scots and required his presence. He thought the matter over carefully. Clearly Robert and Rufus wanted him with them if they were both to be away, and Rufus equally clearly did not want to leave Robert behind in the newly partitioned duchy. Or was it that having taken his possessions they wanted him back where they could see him? Could he be their brother as long as he took nothing from them, nor held a place of his own? He did not know but because he was curious and because he wanted to see England again, he went.

  They had greeted him affably, calling him their brother Beauclerc, clapping him on the shoulder and giving him gifts of clothes and hawks and hunting dogs, but no word was said of any return of his lands, nothing of reinstatement. He was no longer deceived. The fall of the rock of the Archangel and his resulting exile had taught him to dissemble so that he smiled and talked cheerfully, but kept his own counsel and let neither know what he thought.

  Of the boredom of exile, the sense of loss he felt, the indignity of being a prince without as m
uch as a hall to call his own, he spoke little, but Maud, knowing him well, had no need of telling.

  Simon said, ‘Please God exile is behind you.’ He glanced curiously at his guest. ‘You do not fear any evil intent towards you?’

  Henry shrugged. ‘It is a possibility – as I knew before I came, but somehow I doubt it. Anyway I was getting tired of exile.’

  ‘Better be bored in freedom than shut within four walls.’

  ‘Maybe, but they will learn I am not as easily cozened now, nor am I prepared to be a lap dog either at court here or in Normandy.’

  Maud was sitting on her great bed, wrapped in Simon’s thick mantle, listening to the men talking. Her long hair was unbound, her blue eyes resting on them both with affection, and Henry thought Simon was a fortunate man. That the Earl too knew this was apparent in his face whenever he turned to look at his wife.