The Passionate Enemies (42 page)

‘The next time,' she would say, ‘there shall be no escape for him.'

Robert doubted that there would ever be a next time.

That autumn he caught a chill which developed into a fever, and it soon became clear that he was very ill indeed. His widow and their six children were at his bedside when he died. They mourned him sincerely for he had been a good father and husband.

It was not only his family who grieved for him, for he had been a good man and had never ill-treated those whom he conquered. In fact their conditions had often improved when they fell under his rule – except of course that he imposed taxes on them that he might build castles for his defence and provide means to carry on the war.

To the Empress his death was disastrous, and she now realized that she had not fully appreciated his genius. Her
mainstay had been removed and she and her cause immediately began to totter. She had lost not only a faithful brother but her general, her adviser and the man whose skill and wisdom upheld her cause.

Very soon after Robert was laid in his green jasper tomb in the Benedictine Priory he himself had founded outside the walls of Bristol, Matilda saw that she had no recourse but to leave England to Stephen.

With great reluctance she left the country to join her husband in Anjou.

There was great rejoicing in the household of Stephen and his Queen. Bells rang throughout the country. It was peace at last. The enemy was vanquished.

At Lincoln that Christmas they celebrated Christmas with great pomp and splendour.

‘At last,' cried Stephen, ‘the enemy has flown. Now I can begin to govern my realm.'

In Arundel, Adelicia had followed the civil war with great concern. Her husband was constantly away fighting in the cause of Stephen and the strain of constant anxiety had sent her more and more to religious meditation.

During the years she had given birth to seven children. William and Reyner were followed by Henry, Godfrey, Alice, Olivia and Agatha. She was devoted to them but even her affection for them made her wonder how long it would be before her elder sons joined the fighting.

William her husband was a faithful adherent to Stephen's cause and when Matilda went back to Anjou he looked forward to spending his days in peace with his family.

For some years Adelicia's favourite brother, Henry of Louvaine, had had a desire to go into a monastery. He had visited his sister at Arundel and they had talked often of the meaninglessness of the pomps of the world and how the only life worth living was that spent in seclusion.

Henry was determined to become a monk and Adelicia listening to him felt a great desire for such a life.

‘I am very weary,' she told her brother, ‘of the stresses of the world. When I was the King's wife I was tormented by
inability to bear children. I believed that I would find peace with William. He has been a good husband to me. I have a great love for him and for my children, but I am beset by fears. When he goes away I never know when I am going to hear that he has been killed or is suffering torture in captivity. I fear that my sons will spend their lives in fighting, for that would seem the lot of the noblemen of this country. Then I long to shut myself away from the world and devote myself to prayer and to God.'

It was only with her brother that she could talk of these things.

William returned when Matilda went back to Anjou, but he sensed the change in his wife. She was loving and kind but remote and he often wondered what had happened to change her.

In the year 1149, two years after Matilda's departure – years of peace from the civil war but during which the terrible outrages imposed by the barons on any who fell into their hands continued – Henry of Louvaine wrote to his sister that he had become a monk and was in the Monastery of Affigham at Alost in Flanders.

Adelicia knew the monastery well for it was one which her father had founded.

Her husband was with her when she received the news and he saw how her face lit up.

‘Henry has become a monk,' she cried. ‘How happy he must be!'

‘Why,' William had replied, ‘you speak as though you envy him.'

‘Think!' she answered. ‘He will know perfect peace. All the troubles of the world will pass over him; he will come closer to God and the saints. Would you not envy a man who had that blessed experience?'

‘Adelicia,' replied William, ‘I believe the sequestered life would make you happier than you are here with your family.'

‘I love you all dearly,' she answered, ‘but I have longed for peace. It has never been mine. Always there are anxieties. This country is in a troublous state. The King is too weak to rule. Each day I expect trouble. You will be called from me to
defend this castle or that piece of land. I am fearful that William will soon be old enough to join you. In the courtyards they practise with swords and their lances. I can hear them at their archery. War will come again.'

‘So you would be happier in a convent?'

‘It is not possible for me to leave you all.'

‘I want you to be happy,' said William.

He knew that her health was impaired. It was for this reason perhaps that she found the stresses of life harder to bear.

It was William who made the decision for her.

Why did she not go into a nunnery for a while, to rest, to see if she could find that peace she sought?

So not long after her brother entered the monastery of Affigham, Adelicia herself entered a nunnery of a similar foundation.

She died there nearly two years after her entry.

With the Empress returned to Anjou, Queen Matilda looked forward to a life in which she could enjoy domestic peace.

Stephen could not express his gratitude to her enough; he insisted that she accompany him on all State occasions and that as much honour was done to her as to himself. He wanted to make up to her for his obsession with the Empress which now that imperious lady was far away seemed to him incredible. He believed he had been under some spell. Matilda was an enchantress; she had summoned up powers of darkness. How else could he have been so foolish as to have allowed her to escape him and for his folly paid the bitter price of humiliation and discomfort in a prison dungeon?

Now he was happy with his beloved wife and their three children.

‘We must make up for all the years of separation.' said Matilda. ‘We have come through a great ordeal and God has been good to us. He would wish us to show our appreciation of His goodness by enjoying that which He has given us.'

The manner in which thanks to God were shown was invariably in the building of some monument to His glory; and what better monument could there be but a religious house in which He could be eternally praised?

Faversham was the site chosen and Matilda herself decided to preside over the building of an Abbey. For this purpose the Court moved to Canterbury where she would be close at hand to supervise the work in person for, as she pointed out to Stephen, it was not enough to provide the means of building such a place; they must take a great interest in it and be in actual fact concerned with its construction.

The work was put in progress and she and Stephen were happy discussing the plans and going to the site to see how the building progressed.

In spite of her new won contentment Matilda was feeling easily tired and was forced to admit to herself what a heavy strain the last years had put on her. So assiduously had she worked in her husband's cause that she had been unaware of the tensions. It was now that there was a respite from them that their effect began to be felt. She was conscious of a breathlessness, a tendency to catch colds from which she could not easily recover; she felt limp and was attacked by giddiness.

Her nature was such that she tried to hide these disabilities from Stephen and it was only her intimate attendants who were aware of them and watched her with increasing concern.

She was a little anxious about Eustace who was growing into a headstrong boy. He had inherited none of his father's attractive qualities; he completely lacked the ability to make friends for he was inclined to be arrogant. Matilda often thought of how Stephen, in the days when he was merely the son of the Count of Blois, had endeared himself to the servants by his affability.

Eustace had heard stories of the young Henry of Anjou when he was in the country. There was a boy who was wild perhaps but had a way of attracting people to him. Even those who were fighting against his faction would tell stories of his exploits and there would be a grin of amusement on their faces.

Henry of Anjou had made a good impression – young as he was. He was reckless but a boy should be reckless; he was quite a fighter too; moreover people could not forget that he was in the direct line of succession being the son of Matilda, the Conqueror's only legitimate child.

Eustace liked to show his authority. He swaggered and reminded everyone that he was the son of the King. So there again was an anxiety. William, the other son, was inclined to be wild too, although, as he knew that he was not destined to be King of England, he was less eager to remind people of his rank. Little Mary took after her mother; she was a quiet, obedient child and had already declared her eagerness to go into a nunnery.

It seemed therefore that the period of peace for which the Queen craved could not be hers, for she knew that her health was deteriorating and she could not help wondering what would happen when Eustace grew a little older.

Stephen was a man who liked to believe that all was well. He could never face trouble until it was close to him. He did not wish to see the manner in which Eustace's character was developing and when Matilda contemplated the future she grew really uneasy.

When she began to believe it would be a future which she might not be there to see, instead of shrugging her shoulders this made her the more anxious. She knew what Stephen owed to her; she was aware of her own mental strength. Stephen was the weaker of the two and he needed her beside him. One of her great worries was what would happen when she was no longer there.

It was for this reason that she decided to talk to him about their eldest son and point out the alarming signs she detected.

‘Eustace is the heir to the throne,' said the King, ‘yet because of Henry of Anjou he fears the people may attempt to set him aside. That is the source of his trouble.'

The Queen agreed with him. ‘Oh, God,' she cried, ‘I hope he does not have to fight for the throne as you have had to do.'

‘Nay,' said the ebullient Stephen. ‘We have done with that. Henry will take Anjou and that will be an end to it.'

‘I wish I could believe it.'

‘Why, my dear, that is a very worried frown you are wearing. I tell you all will be well.'

‘We must not forget, Stephen, who Henry is.'

Stephen could not meet her eyes. Could it be indeed true that the Empress's son, of whom everyone spoke so highly, was his also? He believed it. He wanted to believe it. He could
not help it if he felt a twinge of pride every time he heard of his exploits.

The Queen went on: ‘He is in the direct line of succession, Stephen.'

‘He would have been so had the Empress gained the crown. But she did not. And Eustace is my direct heir.'

‘I greatly fear . . .'

‘That when I am dead young Henry will make an attempt. Nay, my dear wife, your son shall be my heir and none other. I tell you what I will do and I know this will please you. I will call together the barons and knights and they shall swear an oath of fealty to Eustace. They must swear to accept him as King when I die.'

‘Do you think they would do that, Stephen?'

‘You forget I am their King. They shall be commanded to do so, Matilda. We will go to Lincoln and there I will call them together. Let us make preparations to leave without delay.'

They travelled to Lincoln and there the King called together the leading noblemen. When they heard for what purpose there was a certain reluctance among them to do as the King asked.

William de Albini pointed out to the King that they were remembering the oaths they had taken in the reign of the last King and of all the trouble these had caused. No knight had been sure whether he should remain true to the oath he had taken to support the Empress when it was said that Henry had changed his mind on his deathbed. Civil war had been the result of that oath.

Stephen agreed. ‘There is one answer to that,' he said. ‘We will crown him as heir apparent. There shall be a ceremony and the crown shall be placed on his head. Then there will be no doubt of my wishes.'

‘My lord,' replied William, ‘I doubt the nobles will agree to that and it is unwise to place a crown on the head of a new king when the existing, one still lives. The Prince is but thirteen years old and you are in your prime. It is a matter which should be put aside for the time.'

Stephen declared he believed this was true.

He explained to his Queen.

‘You see, Matilda, they are right and it would seem that instead of becoming more restrained, more modest in his
bearing Eustace would be more inclined to arrogance.'

Matilda did not protest but she thought that the late King Henry would have insisted on obedience to his wishes: and she was certain that Henry of Anjou would come to claim the throne when Stephen died.

He did not wait for that. While Matilda and Stephen were at Faversham, news was brought to them that Henry of Anjou had arrived in England and that David of Scotland, who had always favoured the Empress, was preparing to march across the border in support of Henry.

Stephen immediately gathered together an army and, because the people had no intention of allowing the Scots to invade the country and they were heartily tired of war and they had heard that Henry of Anjou had brought but a small force with him, they decided to rally to Stephen and end the conflict with all speed.

Good luck was with Stephen. The King of Scotland retired behind his border and young Henry went with him. The threatened war did not take place. The people of England rejoiced and Stephen was complimented on the quick firm action he had taken.