The Lion of Justice (29 page)

‘We will pray for it,' he told her.

When she heard that both he and Henry had decided that celibacy must be enforced throughout the clergy, she immediately thought of those who had already entered into the married state.

She questioned Anselm on this matter and he told her that this was a rule that all clergy would have to obey, and it had been a source of great disquiet to him that in the past the lower members of the Church had been able to obtain licences to marry.

She argued, ‘I understand of course that this rule is made and therefore those who enter the Church must comply with it, but I think of those already married. What can you do. Unmarry them?'

‘In marrying they have already offended the laws of Holy Church. There is only one course open now. Exommunication.'

‘But what will they do? They depend for their livelihood upon the Church. They are trained for the Church. If they are driven out they will have nothing.'

‘It will be a lesson to others. They sought to satisfy the lusts of the flesh. Now they must pay the price.'

‘But to enter into Holy Matrimony . . .'

‘A priest is a priest,' said Anselm. ‘Matrimony is no concern of his. He knows this and in the past asked for a licence to marry. It was given him though it never should have been, and he took it. Now he must pay the price.'

The Queen sighed. How hard were men! Henry, who did not even need matrimony to satisfy his desires, was ready to forbid priests to marry at all! Anselm, of course, had never wished to, being wedded to the Church: but did neither of them ever think of the hardship these priests would endure when cast out of office and mayhap forced, with their families, to beg for bread?

She decided that Anselm looked too frail to make the journey to London, so she herself would travel on ahead of him to ease his journey by making sure that there should be good lodging for him on the road.

When Henry returned she would plead with him not to be harsh on the poor clergy who now found that they had erred unwittingly against the new law of the Church.

The King returned to England pleased with the first stages of his campaign. A less able general might have been misguided enough to continue the fight. Not so Henry. He had made valuable headway; he had ascertained that several barons in strategic positions were ready to betray Robert if satisfactorily bribed. Bayeux and Caen had surrendered to him. He had garrisoned them and they would hold firm until his return which would not be long delayed. He needed just enough time to raise more money and a bigger army. Then he would go into the attack once more.

Matilda met him at Dover. He looked in fine spirits and was glad to be back with her. She had proved a good Regent in his absence, and once more he congratulated himself on his marriage.

The homecoming was marred for Matilda by the sight of members of the clergy who had come in a sad procession to waylay the royal party as it passed through the streets of London.

Such a sorry sight brought the tears to Matilda's eyes. Rarely had she seen such desperation in any face as she saw in those of this displaced clergy. Their feet were bare but they wore their clerical robes, and they chanted as they went, ‘Have pity on us.'

These were the members of the clergy who had married, and were now excommunicated and deprived of their livelihood because of it.

‘Oh, Henry,' said Matilda, ‘could you not take them back? Make this rule for the future, if you must, but those who have already married when it was not illegal to do so should not be blamed.'

‘You don't understand,' said Henry. ‘Too much is at stake.'

‘Surely a little pity.'

‘Be silent, Matilda. This cannot be. It is one of the conditions the Church has made. If I waive it the trouble will start again. I can't afford trouble with the Church while I'm engaged with Normandy.'

One of the priests was trying to kneel beside the King's horse.

‘Out of the way!' shouted Henry, and the man fell backwards on to the cobbles.

But some of those who pressed near had seen the compassion in Matilda's face, and one man came close to her horse and said, ‘Lady, you could plead for us with the King. You could save us.'

‘If I could,' she said, ‘I would do so. But I dare not.'

They fell back in despair and for Matilda this could only be a sad occasion, because she could not get out of her mind the faces of those miserable priests.

There was another matter which gave her great cause for sorrow. Her Uncle Edgar, of whom she had always been very fond, and who had accompanied Robert of Normandy on his crusade to the Holy Land, was now ranged on his side against Henry.

Edgar was the kindest of men, extremely cultivated, but he was no fighter; and she trembled to think what his fate might be if he, during the coming battles, fell into her husband's hands.

Henry's stay in England was brief. He did not wish to delay too long. There must be just time to augment his army and prepare it for the campaign in which he was determined to capture Normandy.

Matilda once more accompanied him to the coast and waved him farewell.

She returned then to her children and the management of the country's affairs. One of the most pleasant of these tasks was the building of Windsor Castle, and she spent many a happy hour with Gundulph the architect, who was also a bishop, discussing the plans for this magnificent edifice.

She was also concerned with adding to the Tower of London. Rufus had built the imposing White Tower which had been an impressive addition; she and Henry were putting in the royal apartments. Henry had said that his father would be delighted if he could see what a superb building they were making of his original fortress.

She prayed for Henry's success, never entirely forgetting
that this would mean the defeat of Robert. He had charmed her, this feckless brother-in-law, and she would always feel guilty because of the part she had played in robbing him of his pension, but she must remember that the people of Normandy were suffering under the tyranny of men such as Robert of Bellême and it was from this that Henry was rescuing them. Everyone must admire what he had done for England, as all admitted the just rule of his father, be they Norman or Saxon.

Henry had talked to her about the poverty of the clergy and expressed his sorrow at their state.

‘But you will understand,' he told her, ‘that in ruling a country one faces many important issues; and it is sometimes necessary to shut one's eyes to the injustice done to a few, in order to protect the interests of many.'

He had convinced her. She would add to her charities; she would see that a great deal of the money she gave should go to indigent clergy. She must not blame Henry. But this was a little difficult to remember after a conversation with her women, Emma and Gunilda.

Matilda had just received a visit from Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, who was that priest who had first appealed to Henry because he said the mass in record time and so released Henry from the irksome business of spending too much time on it. Roger had risen high in the King's favour and the bishopric was a result of this. He was clever, astute and fast becoming a very rich man.

Matilda said, ‘The King is far-seeing. It is amazing that not long ago the bishop was but a humble priest of Caen and the King, after a short acquaintance with him, realized his powers and now he is of great assistance in the governing of the country during my husband's absence.'

‘He is very clever indeed,' said Gunilda.

‘And loves his comforts,' added Emma.

‘He is able to enjoy them in spite of the rules which affect humbler men,' went on Gunilda.

‘What mean you?' asked Matilda.

The women exchanged glances and Matilda, with a little rush of indignation, asked herself: Why is it that I am always the last to hear what is going on in this kingdom? Why do
people constantly protect me from the truth!

‘Oh, he is clever,' said Gunilda evasively, but Matilda insisted that she tell what was in her mind.

‘It is well known, my lady, that the Bishop of Salisbury lives openly with his mistress, Matilda of Ramsbury.'

‘But how could this be so, and he a bishop?'

‘He is a very powerful bishop, my lady.'

‘But the King has expressly laid down the law . . .'

The women were silent.

‘Does the King know of this?' asked Matilda.

There was silence, and Matilda said sternly, ‘I wish to know.'

‘My lady, the King often visits the Bishop and is very gracious to the Lady of Ramsbury.'

A wave of anger swept over Matilda. She could not shut out of her mind the faces of those poor clergy who had implored her to help them. And Henry would do nothing; he had been stern and adamant. The few had to suffer for the good of the many, he had said, when all the time he was visiting the Bishop of Salisbury who was flaunting his mistress to the world. And the King looked on and was gracious!

Now that Emma and Gunilda had started to talk they could not stop.

‘The Bishop's nephew who is also a bishop, Nigel of Ely, is married and makes no secret of it.'

‘I cannot believe it.'

‘It is true. But it may be that the King feels these are special cases.'

Special cases! Favourites of the King! Was this the Lion of Justice?

She said sternly, ‘I would have to have proof of this.'

The women were silent. They feared they had said too much.

Matilda wrestled with herself. She must find out if this were true. Women listen to tattle, she told herself, and there would always be scandal about those in high places.

Of course Henry would not countenance such behaviour. She would not dishonour the King by believing such gossip.

Then she laughed at herself, because she knew that she did
believe it and she was avoiding trying to discover because she feared what the result would be.

Then she knew she had to discover.

The truth was even worse than she expected. The Bishop of Salisbury was living openly with the voluptuous Matilda of Ramsbury. The Bishop of Ely was in truth a married man. This cruel edict had affected only those clergy in the lower ranks, because they either did not enjoy the favour of the King or could not pay the fines he imposed on those who wished to keep their wives.

She learned that many of the rich clergy had been allowed to defy the law by contributing to the war in Normandy.

She was deeply disappointed. It seemed that she must continually be so. She imagined herself explaining her feeling on this point to Henry and what his reply would be. He would say, ‘Yes, I fined these men. They have provided money for the conquest of Normandy. Normandy will be saved from the anarchy which will always follow feeble rule. For the greater issue I have waived the lesser.'

She could never reason with Henry. His lawyer's brain was too clever for her.

But, once again, she must regard her husband with bewildered dismay. She had accepted the sensualist, the libertine, but she had believed in his sense of justice.

He had always said there was much she had to learn of life. How right he had been.

There was news from her sister Mary.

She often thought of her sister, wrote Mary, and wanted to come and see her.

‘It is not meet,' she went on, ‘that sisters should be apart. We were closer than most, my dear Edith. (I shall never think of you as Matilda.) I want you to meet my daughter, my little Matilda, for I have a desire to place her in an abbey that she may receive an education similar to that which you and I had. She is our only child and I doubt we shall have another, so, as you can imagine, she is very precious to us. I long, too, to meet your own Matilda and little William. These children must be friends. So, very soon I shall be coming to see you, and would you in the meantime look about and tell me
which abbey you think would be most suitable? I shall certainly not send her to Wilton. I could not allow our Aunt Christina to lay hands on my Matilda. I want marriage for her, not the veil, and I think Aunt Christina might be tempted to make a nun of her. This will be an anxious time for you, sister, with the King in Normandy. I shall hope to hear from you ere long. Your sister, Mary, Countess of Boulogne.'

Matilda was delighted at the prospect of seeing Mary and immediately began the search for a likely abbey where Mary's daughter could be educated.

She agreed that the education so acquired was good and that she owed a great deal of her ability to keep pace with Henry to her grounding in the classics and history.

She finally decided on the Abbey of Bermondsey, the Abbess of which, realizing that she would receive munificent gifts from the Countess of Boulogne if she promised to educate and care for her daughter, declared that she would be delighted to take the young Matilda, with the object of giving her the best possible education that would prepare her for a good marriage.

Mary was pleased with all she had heard of Bermondsey, immediately sent a gift to the Abbey and made her preparations to leave Boulogne with her daughter.

The battle of Tinchebrai took place exactly to the day on the fortieth anniversary of the Norman Conquest. This was seen to be significant.

It was the year 1106 and the 28th September; and it had been on September 28th of the year 1066 that William the Conqueror had landed at Pevensey.

And now here stood his son Henry before Tinchebrai in conflict with his brother Robert. So, on the date when their father had begun his conquest of England, the two brothers wrestled with each other for the conquest of Normandy.

Many said that the spirit of the Conqueror brooded over Tinchebrai on that fatal day and that he gave the victory to the son who could best preserve that for which he had spent his life in conquering and holding.

The castle of Tinchebrai belonged to Robert of Mortain, the Conqueror's half-brother; and the battle was lost from
the beginning because so many Normans had been bribed to fight under Henry's banner and his forces as well as his generalship were immensely superior.