Henry of the High Rock

by Juliet Dymoke

  Hugh Lupus had been the first to acknowledge Henry’s new position – as soon as he was sure of the Red King’s sanction – but today at Domfront seated at Henry’s table was a considerable collection of his old friends, Richard de Redvers was there, his broad face smiling; Ralph de Toeni the younger, his lanky figure filling out a little now; Stephen of Aumale, Henry’s cousin; Walter Tirel who had been spending some time on his land at Poix and made no secret of the fact that he was delighted to find Henry once more in harmony with Rufus; and last of all Helias de Beaugencie, the Count of Maine, whose presence graced any table.

  ‘Will you go?’ Hugh repeated and cast a quick glance at the Red King’s messenger, still on his knees before the high table.

  Henry sent the man to get his dinner and turned to the Earl. ‘If I do, I’ll take you with me.’

  Hugh grinned, showing teeth rotten with over-indulgence in the sweetmeats and honey tarts which he loved. ‘It’s time I was on the move again. The ships will be at Cherbourg by the time we ride there. What do you say, my lord Count?’ He turned to look across at his companion seated on Henry’s other side. ‘Is it a good enterprise?’

  ‘Anything is good,’ Helias answered, ‘which will bring peace to the duchy. My borders are in a constant state of alert for all Duke Robert made an agreement with me. But,’ he lowered his gaze and looked down at the silver cup he held between his long fingers, ‘I do not know that King William would honour my borders any more than Duke Robert.’

  Henry shrugged. ‘I cannot vouch for Red William. You can trust me, Helias.’

  ‘I know that,’ the Count agreed warmly, ‘and I believe you are right to support your brother and accept his support yourself, but I think he may share your father’s feelings towards my land.’

  ‘Maine has been a bone between two dogs,’ Stephen said, ‘but you have cleared out the kennel, my lord Count.’

  Helias smiled. ‘And put a chain on the door, I hope. No, I think I will not journey to meet King William, Henry, but pray take him my greetings and tell him I wish him no ill.’

  ‘That I will do,’ Henry said, ‘and of course I shall go. William and I have linked our fortunes it seems, and if he is so eager to see me that he sends ships for me then I’d be churlish not to go. We’ll ride for Cherbourg in the morning. Do you come, Richard?’

  ‘Aye, my lord.’ Relieved to have his loyalties undivided for once, de Redvers agreed readily. He had had the King’s garrisons in his castle for so long that he had not been a free agent. He had married and fathered a son, Baldwin, and had busied himself on his own lands while Henry was in exile, however with Rufus and Henry now hand in glove he had no difficulty in rejoining his friend. Ralph de Toeni was in the same position. He had left his wife, Alice, on his English lands and sailed for the west of Normandy to join the company at Domfront – there was no riding through the central part of Normandy for this was wholly occupied by ducal troops and if Robert was slothful in seeing to their disposal the Count of Bellême certainly was not.

  Helias said, ‘I will guard your southern borders while you are gone.’ But Henry, he thought, had restored such order here that the men left behind would have no great task to keep it. The new lord of Domfront had, in nine months, stamped his personality on his new possessions; his justice came to be relied on, men dared not flout his orders and the poor seldom looked in vain to him for help. ‘I know what they suffer,’ he had said.

  To Helias it seemed a justification of the hopes he had had for the young prince who had stood beside him at the Conqueror’s funeral. Sitting now at Henry’s table, he was reminded of the old King’s orderly court. This hall was full and noisy with talk and the clatter of dishes, but it was seemly and without the brawling that constantly took place under Duke Robert’s slothful gaze, or the blasphemy and barely hidden vice that disfigured Rufus’s court. Henry’s morals, he reflected, might not conform to his own high standard, but they were no worse than those of most men and considerably better than some in that Henry treated his mistresses with kindness and his offspring with genuine affection. The Prince spoke often of the first of these, Alide’s son Robert of Caen, and talked of when he might be able to ride there and see how the boy fared. A different tale, Helias thought, from the sad story of the Count of Bellême’s wife who had recently, unable to endure any more, fled from her cruel husband and returned to her mother’s home, still bearing the marks of his viciousness.

  With Henry at Domfront, Helias’ task of containing the Devil of Bellême was somewhat easier. ‘And at least with Rufus to keep the Duke occupied . . .’ he spoke his thought aloud.

  ‘God knows what we will do with Robert if we defeat him,’ Henry said humorously. That his brothers should ever again join together against him now seemed the remotest possibility.

  From the moment when he had stood triumphant on the high rock the tide had turned in earnest for him. A few weeks later the great castle of St. James had fallen to him, his old friends flocked back, other towns sent their chief men to offer their submission to him. He spread his net wider and drove Bellême out of some strongholds that lay between Domfront and Bellême itself. He released numerous prisoners, poor wretches who had been starved and tortured by Bellême’s bullies, and he took many captives himself – but unlike Count Robert the Devil, he did not ill-treat them but allowed them to sit by his fire and eat in his hall. Word of this went round and men came streaming to Domfront to serve him.

  ‘By God,’ Herluin said, ‘there are some men of sense left in the world.’

  In England Rufus heard what had happened and sent messengers to his younger brother offering to end their quarrel and suggesting they should make a concerted attempt to bring order back to the duchy. He sailed to the north coast of Normandy and prepared to attack Robert from his castles there, at the same time returning Coutances and the rock of the Archangel to his younger brother as a token of his good faith. He also sent men and money to reinforce him.

  Among the men he sent the foremost after Earl Hugh was perhaps Stephen of Aumale, cousin to them both, and though he was still young and somewhat inexperienced, his name stood high among Normans. ‘I think,’ Stephen was saying now, ‘that the Duke would make peace if he could, but Odo urges him on, and when the Duke is in the field – if he bestirs himself that far – he is a better fighter than Red William.’

  ‘Except that after one fight he goes back to his bed,’ Ralph said cynically.

  Henry sat listening to them, one hand smoothing Lyfa’s head. The dog’s eyes rested on him, following every movement his master made, an understanding between them, as there seemed to be, Henry thought, between himself, this castle, these people who had become dear to him. Richard Harecher he counted as a friend and in this hall he felt more at home than he had done in any other place that he had owned. His chief care had become the city of Domfront and its people and while he was away he would leave Roger the Priest and Richard Harecher in charge with Gerard of St. Lo to command the garrison. Gerard had been one of the first to return to him, riding through the gates, large and dependable as ever.

  Fulcher too had rejoined him, overwhelmed by vicarious delight in his master’s change of fortune. He was eighteen now, too old to be a page, and he was learning the business of a fighting man as squire to Herluin La Barre.

  Henry had a new page, a lad named Walter, quiet and industrious, less emotional than Fulcher, but equally devoted. He also had a new mistress, a girl named Amaldis and as he came to bed this night she was sitting on a stool by the fire, a piece of embroidery in her hand. Sometimes she reminded him of Alide in the way she had of appearing always in repose, a restful woman, a refuge from the busy world of the daylight hours. But when he took her in his arms she was very different from Alide; she was intense, passionate, seeking as he sought and because he was no longer the boy who had made love to Alide, she matched his present mood. The daughter of a Canon of Séez, who had no business to be producing children, she had been living with a married cousin
at Domfront when the city fell into Henry’s hands, and meeting her at the Easter feast he had taken one look at her, told her plainly he desired her, and she had simply packed up her belongings and moved into his quarters.

  She was slender with long dark hair, rather sombre grey eyes and a face too narrow for beauty, but when he came to her there was a light in it that brought charm to the sharp features.

  She rose now as he entered and laid down her sewing. ‘Well, my lord, do you go to your brother?’

  He took off his mantle for it was warm in this chamber with the fire burning in the iron basket and the shutters closed. ‘Aye, I go, but I’ll not leave you or Domfront unprotected. Gerard of St. Lo stays and a sizeable garrison.’

  ‘I was not thinking of my safety.’ She had a low, pleasing voice. ‘The castle will be empty without you.’

  He began to undress, casting his clothes carelessly on a chest. ‘Then let us not waste a moment of tonight. But I will return. Domfront is my city.’ Lying in bed with his hands linked behind his head, he watched her lay aside her russet gown and white chemise, and when she stood naked he thought of all women he had known she had the most perfect body – breasts, waist, thighs in right relation to one another, her skin smooth and golden, her hair falling down her back like black silk.

  ‘I think my bed will seem empty too,’ he said and reached out one arm for her. When she lay within its circle, she said, ‘But now that you go to meet the King, perhaps he will give you a bride?’

  ‘Why should he? What put that into your head?’

  ‘I heard talk. There is a Saxon princess you wished for once . . .’

  He was dumbfounded. ‘How in God’s name did that piece of gossip reach you?’

  'I heard it in the pantry when I went with Walter to fetch your wine one night. The serving men were wondering if you would bring a foreign bride here or choose a girl from one of the highborn families in Normandy.’

  He shook his head, smiling, but he was disturbed. He had thought that no one but Herluin knew of his desire for Eadgyth, had thought it a carefully nurtured secret and he was certain that Herluin never divulged any confidence they shared together. Probably, he reflected the day he had quarrelled with his brothers half the castle at Winchester had heard their raised voices, and a page or two may well have listened curiously from behind one door or another, delighting to pass on such tittle-tattle. Well, it was an old story now, and he hoped forgotten. Nevertheless, Amaldis was right. When he went to Red William he would feel his way carefully and if the time seemed propitious he would ask for Eadgyth again.

  He had heard of her return to Scotland, shortened by the death of her parents, and Walter Tirel had told him that Edgar had brought her back to Romsey with her brother and sister. He was not sorry to know she was still within his reach, for if Malcolm had lived she might have been wed now. His memory of her was of a child, but a child on the verge of womanhood, and he wanted to see her again, to assure himself he had been right to want her to wife. Yet he knew, instinctively, that if William gave his consent this time, he would not need to see her, but would go to his wedding without doubts.

  But at the moment it was Amaldis who lay in his arms, and he reflected, briefly and honestly, that there must always be a woman near for his loving. He could not live chaste, as Herluin did. He had been endowed with a strong, passionate body and saw no sin in indulging it, whatever the churchmen might say.

  In the morning he left Domfront with a considerable following. At first light Herluin had heard Roger’s Mass and afterwards talked briefly with him. The months that had passed since their lord’s triumph had relieved Herluin of something of his secret melancholy.

  ‘Put that old dread from you,’ Roger advised him now. ‘I cannot think you need any longer fear that you will bring evil to our master. You have been with him seven years.’

  ‘I know. If evil threatened . . .’ Herluin hesitated, ‘but you are right. It was a foolish old woman’s tale and I will try to forget it.’

  ‘That is right,’ the priest said bracingly. ‘We will hold here until you come back. Henry will not fall on bad days again, of that I’m sure.’

  ‘Yet I will still watch.’ Herluin rose and fastened on his sword. ‘And still beg your prayers,’ he added as he walked away to the narrow stair.

  Roger watched him. ‘My poor friend,’ he said, speaking aloud, but only to himself, ‘I think you will be haunted until the day you die and I can do nothing to help you.’ Nevertheless he went back into the chapel and knelt for a while before the altar there.

  At Cherbourg the two ships Rufus had sent for his brother lay at anchor, awaiting him, but the wind was contrary. There was no hope of sailing along the coast to Eu as the King wished. On All Hallows eve, after days of waiting, the wind dropped and a sea mist rolled in, white and damp, blanketing everything. The ships lay still and lifeless and Henry sat in the castle by the fire, playing chess with de Redvers and talking of the poor state of the duchy.

  Much had changed since he had last been Count of the western area. Grandmesnil was dead and his son Robert ruled in his place while Ivo and Alberic squabbled over their rights; Geoffrey of Coutances had died shortly after Rufus’ sickness, mourned by his friend Odo – ‘It is a pity it was not Odo,’ Henry said uncharitably, ‘then we might get some sense into Robert.’

  Old Roger de Beaumont was gone too, dying as he had lived all his days at Beaumont-le-Roger; his son Robert, Count de Meulan, inherited his lands and there was no contention here for his second son, the sober Henry, was content with his earldom of Warwick. A far greater change was the death of the most powerful lord of all, Roger of Montgomery, for this meant that all his lands in Normandy had fallen into the hands of his eldest son, Robert de Bellême, and the Devil now extended his rapacity, his greed and cruelty even further afield. He built great castles, redesigned La Roche Mabille which his father had raised in honour of his wife, Bellême’s evil mother, and so brilliantly did he carry out the work that his fortresses seemed impregnable. And such was the diversity of his character, he could still by his ready tongue attract men to his service, though some lived to regret it.

  ‘I have sworn to bring him down,’ Henry said, ‘and I will.’ But the day seemed a long way off.

  Old Montgomery’s English possessions, among them the great earldom of Shrewsbury went to his second son, Hugh, the only one of his brood who was mild and dealt gently with his vassals and tenants, and the people of Shrewsbury enjoyed a brief respite from his heavier hand.

  ‘It is the day of the younger men,’ Henry said to Herluin. ‘There are few left now who fought at Senlac. Many Normans have English brides and the wounds will heal.’

  Herluin glanced questioningly at him and he smiled. ‘Yes, I would see her again if the opportunity came.’

  It came more speedily than he expected, for within a few days a southerly wind rose, a wind that would take him to England. He consulted with Richard and Earl Hugh. As Rufus planned to return to England for the season of Advent, or at any rate for the Christmas feast, it seemed a good plan to sail now for Southampton and meet the King in London.

  ‘As you will,’ Earl Hugh said, ‘I’ve affairs to see to in England.’

  They went out on the next tide and by the following afternoon had rounded the Isle of Wight and were in Southampton water. It was three years since Henry had been on English soil and despite the chill autumn day he sprang ashore with pleasurable anticipation, occupying himself in noting the changes, the new houses built, while his gear and horses were unloaded. It was while he was looking at a stall selling beautifully wrought brooches of the kind to hold a mantle on the shoulder that he saw a face he knew.

  ‘You, there – you are Earl Simon’s staller, are you not?’

  Hakon Osbertson, accompanied by one of his tall sons, stopped in the act of purchasing a leather belt and turned to see who spoke to him. ‘My lord Henry! We did not know you were in England.’

  ‘Nor was I, until today. I
s Earl Simon here, and my cousin, the lady Maud?’

  ‘Aye, my lord – at least Earl Simon is in Winchester about the King’s affairs, him being away in Normandy. My lady is at her manor near Tytheley. I came into Southampton to buy wine for her as we heard there was a vessel in fresh from Italy.’

  ‘Tell her I’ll ride out to see her tomorrow,’ Henry said. It seemed providential, an unexpected gift thrown in his lap. That Maud should be here, not many miles from Romsey where she alone might be his link with Eadgyth, seemed too good to be true.

  When he told Herluin, the latter looked troubled. ‘Be careful, my lord. You do not want to make cause for dissent with your brother now that things go well.’

  ‘I will not. I promise you,’ he added smiling, ‘I do not intend to ride in at the gate of Romsey Abbey demanding to see the Scottish princess. No, my cousin will be able to arrange something, but see the lady Eadgyth I must. It is a long time since we rode from Scotland.’