The Passionate Enemies (41 page)

And Stephen, weak, handsome, desirable Stephen, who was loved by his wife and desired by the Empress, what would he do? He would obey his wife because she would be there beside him and he was weak . . . a clever woman could do what she would with him. And his Queen was clever.

She, the Empress, would have no chance unless she saw him alone, and the Queen who had proved herself shrewd was statesman enough not to allow that.

She rose from her bed and wrapped the fur-lined cape more closely about her. A crescent moon shone a little light on the icy scene. Everything was quiet and softly white.

The ice on the river would take weeks to melt unless the weather changed to summer heat, for it was thick enough to carry men and horses.

Then the idea came to her, as that other had when she watched the dead man being carried out of the town.

If she were clad all in white, if there were clouds across the face of the moon, if the snow fell, then no one would be able to distinguish her.

She could do it. She must do it. It was the only escape from
a position which would be so humiliating that it was intolerable to her proud nature.

She did not wait for morning. She called one of her servants and told her to bring Brian Fitzcount to her without delay.

He came sleepily from his bed.

‘Come to the window,' she commanded.

He did so.

‘Look at that river. The ice is so thick it would hold a troop of soldiers. Look! The snow clouds are passing across the face of the crescent moon. See, it is dark. If I were clad in white – the colour of the ice and the snow banks – no one would see me.'

Brian was alert now. She laughed triumphantly. ‘It is a way. We will try it. You, I and a few picked men. We will wear white garments. You will lower me by means of ropes and all follow me. They will not see us because we shall be in white from head to foot. Do not dare say it is impossible.'

‘It is . . . just possible,' said Brian.

‘We must be ready . . . as soon as the time is ripe we must do this. Tomorrow night mayhap, for who knows when Stephen will storm the castle.'

She was excited now. She had chosen those whom she would take with her, all trusted men. They must work in stealth. How did they know what spies were in the castle? She herself would find the garments she would wear – warm enough to withstand the bitter night air and over them a white cloak. That was imperative.

Brian was eager now. He realized that escape might well be effected. It was as ingenious as Matilda's escape in the coffin.

It was going to be a stormy night. ‘This must be it,' said Matilda. Ropes had been secreted in her chamber. She dismissed her women early so impatient was she, and immediately Brian and the eight knights who were to accompany them came into her room. They were all wearing white cloaks with hoods which covered their heads. Matilda donned hers and they were ready.

Impatiently she waited while the first two knights slid down the rope. Then it was her turn. The ropes were secured about
her and she was lowered down the walls. To her joy she was soon standing with the others and in a short time the rest of the party was beside her.

It was an anxious moment when they scrambled down the river bank and tested the ice. It seemed firm and with the Empress in their midst they began the crossing of the river.

The bitter wind cut her face and made her eyes smart but Matilda felt nothing but triumph.

Stephen would storm the castle and find that she had flown.

It was dangerous going, but she felt strong and sure of success. It was more risky than the coffin adventure but she would succeed now as she had then.

Brian seized her arm as they came to the edge of the river, for now they were very close to Stephen's camp.

As swiftly as the treacherous ground allowed, they passed along. Brian held her arm to steady her lest she slip. Everything about them was still and their footsteps made no sound in the deep snow. It was exhausting but the need to get as far as possible from the camp was imperative, and spurred on by the urgency of the situation, they did not stop until they were two miles from the camp.

Then Matilda paused to look back. She could see nothing in that white world; but she knew that for the second time she had made a miraculous escape and she applauded not God nor her followers but herself for her cleverness.

Through the night they walked and the six miles to Abingdon seemed like twenty. It was dawn when they reached the little town.

She felt half dead with fatigue and longed for hot food and a warm bed but Brian said it would be unsafe to stop as it might well be that their escape had been discovered so they must press on to Wallingford.

He did manage to get horses at Abingdon so that the journey to Wallingford was made in a little more comfort although the blizzard raged about them and the horses threatened to slip at any moment.

At last they reached the castle of Wallingford and there Matilda was helped from her horse. Her feet were numb, her hands so cold that she could not feel them, but hot food was
brought to her and a great fire was kindled that she might rest before it.

She ate voraciously and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep.

When she awoke it was afternoon; the fire was blazing and outside the snow was still falling.

She could hear voices in the castle. She called: ‘Who is there?' And in a few moments a boy came into the hall.

For a few seconds she looked at him; and then she stood up and cried: ‘Henry, my son.'

He came to her and a sudden and rare tenderness swept over her. Her first-born! The boy who had so delighted her father. Her nine-year-old son Henry!

‘Mother,' he said, ‘I am here to fight for you.'

She embraced him.

What triumph. She had escaped from Stephen by crossing the icy Thames; she was free and her son Henry had come to fight for her.

Robert of Gloucester came into the hall.

He knelt before her.

‘News was brought to me that you were here and we came with all speed.'

‘I escaped on the ice,' she cried.

‘I know it. Brian has told me.'

‘Stephen was encamped round the castle. He was unaware of us.'

‘It was a clever idea. You completely foiled him.'

‘You were coming to our aid?'

‘As soon as I had gathered an army.'

‘That would have been too late. Is Geoffrey here?'

‘No. He would not leave Anjou. He sent your son instead.'

‘Henry will be a greater help to me than my miserable little husband ever would be.'

She turned to her son and laid her hand on his shoulder.

‘Together, my boy, we will regain the crown of England,' she said.

MATILDA'S HOPES WERE
not realized and although the weak rule of Stephen was deplored and the evil practices which the rapacious barons had set up continued, it seemed to many the lesser of two evils. Matilda's arrogant nature, her immediate attempt to levy taxes on the people of London, had made the country feel that it would not have her at any price.

Yet under Robert of Gloucester the young Henry sought to win his mother's cause. He was a boy of great energy and it was seen that he had inherited many of the Conqueror's characteristics, so while Matilda had such a fine general as Robert of Gloucester she was a formidable force.

Civil war progressed and the years of wretchedness continued. The roads were unsafe for travellers; the robber barons could not be controlled. The country needed peace and while Matilda with her son and Robert of Gloucester attempted to gain the crown and Stephen with his Queen were determined to hold it, the strife would go on.

Stephen could not forget what his Queen had done for him and his affection for her grew. He marvelled at her statesmanlike quality and he wondered that he could have known so little of her that he could have thought of her as merely a pleasant but somewhat ineffectual woman.

Soon after their reunion another child was born to them. They called her Mary.

If only the war could be brought to a conclusion, the Queen believed that she would be completely happy. She had ceased to fret about Stephen's absorption with the Empress. She heard that she was becoming more and more ill-tempered and that even her faithful adherents like Robert of Gloucester and Brian Fitzcount were often so exasperated that those in their circle believed they would desert her. They never did; and such was her magnetism that however intolerably she behaved they still adhered to her.

But surely, thought the Queen, Stephen must realize that she could bring nothing but evil to him. That lesson must have been driven home.

The Queen was deeply involved in the war; she advised
Stephen and he was only too ready to listen to her. At the same time there were occasions when they could be with their family and these were the happy times. Eustace was ambitious; and Stephen and the Queen were ambitious for him.

Stephen said: ‘Rest assured. I shall remain King until I die and only then shall I pass on my crown and it will be to Eustace.'

They would plan together. England for Eustace, William should inherit the earldom of Boulogne through his mother. And little Mary. She was too young to be planned for.

And then in the midst of their happy domestic circle a messenger would arrive to say that the Empress's army was attacking some stronghold which for the sake of the crown it could not be allowed to take.

That would be a reminder that the war still continued.

The Empress was weary. The years passed by; she was growing old and nothing was achieved. She blamed those about her; she tried to urge them on to action; but in spite of the fact that she had one of the best generals in Robert of Gloucester, there was no success. There were those occasions when Stephen's army was defeated but then the tide would turn again. There was no decisive battle for either side and the wretched war dragged on.

There was one consolation for her and that was her son Henry; he had spent three years under the guidance of Robert and was learning to become a soldier. He would need to be if he were to defend his dominions, for there was Eustace who was as determined to hold the crown of England as Henry was to take it.

Her husband the Count of Anjou was getting restive. It was three years since he had seen his eldest son and he sent messages to his wife that he wished Henry to return to Anjou.

Matilda raged against him. What had he ever done for her? What was he but a profligate upstart? She was ashamed to own him as husband. What a bitter mistake they had made when they gave her to him. What did he ever do but swagger round with a piece of broom in his hat calling himself Geoffrey Plantagenet?

But he was her husband and he had some say over Henry's
future. He wanted him back in Anjou. What was the use of the boy frittering his years away in a hopeless cause?

Robert thought that young Henry should go back to Anjou. ‘He has learned a great deal about warfare,' he said, ‘and that will stand him in good stead in the years to come. There is little he can do here and he can return when he is older. He might bring with him then an army from Anjou. Let him go.'

So Robert accompanied the twelve-year-old Prince to Warham where a party of Angevin nobles was waiting to escort him across the Channel.

They took an affectionate farewell of each other, for Henry had become very fond of his uncle and he was grateful for all that he had taught him.

He was however glad to be going back to Anjou; his mother, although she had fierce and possessive love for him, was difficult to live with.

‘Uncle,' said Henry, ‘when I come back it will be with my army. Then we will fight together and put an end to this war.'

‘So be it,' said Robert. They embraced and Robert stood watching until the cavalcade was out of sight.

Robert of Gloucester was a disappointed man. He knew that the Empress would never be accepted by the English and he now admitted to himself that it was entirely her own fault.

If she had been benevolent as Stephen was, or just as her father had been, strong and determined mainly on the good of England, he believed she would have succeeded in taking the crown. She was the true heir. There could be no doubt of that since she was the daughter of the son of the Conqueror who had no other legitimate children. And Stephen, although the Conqueror's grandson, had descended through his mother and was not even her eldest son. Stephen was a usurper and a weak king and because of this the good laws of William I and Henry I were gradually being lost.

What we need now, he often thought, is a strong king.

His great hope was in young Henry whom he had come to know well. A lusty youth, dedicated, wise beyond his years, too fond of pleasure, but that was a fault of the young.

It was because of Henry that he, Robert, had had the heart
to continue the fight. He saw Henry following Stephen and bringing back that law and order which most men now realized was the way to prosperity.

Eustace he believed to be weak, over-ambitious; he even lacked the charm of his father, the tolerance and good sense of his mother.

Robert, who was more than a soldier for he was a statesman and scholar, believed that England's salvation would be under the Plantagenets and if Prince Henry of Anjou could become the second Henry of England all his efforts would not have been in vain.

And as he watched the dwindling figures in the distance he was thinking that there at their head rode the hope of England.

He made his way back to Bristol where the Empress was staying, there to report the departure of her son.

She talked with pride of young Henry and with distaste of her husband; but she no longer railed against the delays in putting her on the throne. She had come to realize the hopelessness of her position; but her obsession to battle with Stephen still smouldered, ready to be kindled.

What she wanted more than anything, it seemed, was to have him brought in chains before her.