The Passionate Enemies (24 page)

Oh, what happened to a man when he dreamed of fitting a crown on to his head?

‘I shall send for you, Matilda, as soon as I am safe on the throne, he said. He embraced her. Then he took a few men with him and rode down to Wissant where he took ship for Dover.

Lightning shot across the sky, followed by deafening claps of thunder. The rain fell so heavily that it threatened to overturn the ship. Men groped about on deck in darkness horrifically illumined by the flashes of forked lightning.

‘There never was such a storm,' said one.

‘It is the end of the world,' added another.

Stephen stood staring defiantly up at the sky, looking for portents. What did this mean? A great king had passed on. He had made one great mistake and that was in leaving his kingdom to his daughter. No man wanted to serve under a woman. But Stephen was about to take the crown although he had sworn an oath of allegiance to Matilda. Was this God's answer to a man who was ready to break his oath? Was the ship going to be overturned? Was he, with all those who had supported him in his planned enterprise, to be drowned?

He muttered prayers asking forgiveness of his sins, but he did not mention the proposed usurpation of the throne. He had not yet committed that sin. God would know what he was planning to do though. Why should he have hastened back to England if not for this purpose?

But one thing he could not do; he could not promise not to take the crown if he were spared to do so. No matter what happened to him now he was taking no oaths under that threatening sky to relinquish his dreams and hopes.

He stood therefore almost defiantly while the storm raged round him. He was in terror of fearful reprisals but such was
the lure of the crown that he could not give up his hopes.

The storm abated; the ship had come safely through it and the white cliffs of Dover loomed up before him.

What a joyous moment when he stepped on English soil. He had faced the fury of the heavens and emerged safe; now he must face the verdict of the English people and in time the fury of the Empress.

He, with his men, climbed the hill to Dover Castle. Battered by the storm, drenched to the skin, they were cold and hungry.

But the castle gate was not opened to them and they were challenged from the keep.

‘Who comes here?'

‘Stephen, the King's nephew,' was the answer. ‘Come from Boulogne to claim what is his. Open up and let me in.'

‘What do you come to claim?' was the answer.

‘The crown,' answered Stephen.

‘We are loyal here to the rightful Queen Matilda. The castle will not be opened to you.'

Stephen was depressed. Was this an example of the kind of reception he would get throughout England? One of his men whispered to him. ‘The castle belongs to Robert of Gloucester. He has placed himself on the side of Matilda.'

‘A curse on him,' muttered Stephen.

‘My lord, it just happens that we landed at Dover. It would have been different elsewhere. There will be many to rally to you, for Matilda was never loved as you are.'

Stephen looked up at the castle. Impregnable! And he was in no state to make siege.

‘We will march on to Canterbury,' he said.

Alas, when he reached Canterbury there was a troop of men at the gates, those who supported Robert of Gloucester; and they refused him entry into the town.

‘A pleasant homecoming,' said Stephen; but he hastily reminded himself that he was in Robert of Gloucester's country.

They refreshed themselves at an inn and after resting they marched on to London.

Here it was a different story.

The news had reached the city that the King was dead of a surfeit of lampreys and that Stephen, his nephew, was coming to claim the throne.

Many knew Stephen – the generous, affable man who for years had lived at Tower Royal near the Chepe and Watling Street. He had endeared himself to the people and his bonhomie was for the poor as well as the rich.

Stephen had come to claim the crown. They had feared that the King's daughter would take it. They had seen her too – a haughty arrogant woman who when she had ridden through their streets had never shown the slightest interest in them.

Did they want a woman and that woman Matilda? No. They would rather see in her stead kind, benevolent, handsome Stephen.

Stephen rode acclaimed through the streets of London.

He called together the leading citizens.

‘My friends,' he said, ‘King Henry is dead. It now is for you to elect your future King. There are some who would set up the King's daughter on the throne. A woman, my friends, who has spent the greater part of her life on foreign soil, who has no great love for the people of this country.'

‘We'll not have Matilda,' cried a voice.

‘Ay, we'll not have Matilda.' The cry was taken up.

‘Then, my good citizens of London, will you take me?'

‘We will take Stephen,' they cried.

One man said: ‘There should be conditions.'

‘Indeed there must be conditions. The people who elect their Sovereign must know what he will bring to them. Tell me, good people, what you would ask for me?'

‘Peace,' said the man who had first talked of conditions. ‘Peace that we may live in quiet.'

‘That I grant. It is my great wish to live in peace.'

‘And you will swear to pacify the kingdom for the benefit of us all?'

‘I swear,' said Stephen.

‘Then while you live we will support you with all our strength.'

Stephen replied: ‘Then I thank you, good people of London
for without your support no man can hold the crown. I must now to Winchester that I may present myself to the people there; and if they are as good and wise as you then we may look forward to a peaceful reign.'

What did he care for Dover and Canterbury when he had London with him?

As he rode towards Winchester he thanked God that his brother Henry had been brought to England and after making a very favourable impression as abbot of Glastonbury had been elected to the See of Winchester.

Stephen knew that he could rely for support on Henry and he was not mistaken. As he came to the gates of the city he was met by his brother and an assembly of the leading men of the town.

They had come to proclaim Stephen King.

Amid acclamation Stephen entered the town and his brother took him to his palace which was called the Castle, that there Stephen might be refreshed and what was more important, discuss with Henry the next method of procedure.

Henry was a devoted member of the Church; at the same time he was a very ambitious man; and he did not mind employing worldly methods to achieve his ends.

With his brother as King and himself in Winchester this could be the best possible state of affairs he believed – for both Church and State.

When they were alone together he said: ‘We need each other, Stephen.' And with that wise comment Stephen was in complete agreement.

‘It is most important,' said Henry, ‘that there should be an immediate coronation. Once that has taken place you are indeed King.'

‘I have my doubts of William Corbeil.'

‘He is a man of stern principles,' replied Henry. ‘It is a pity he took the oath to Matilda . . . as you did.'

‘It was taken under duress,' replied Stephen. ‘That leaves us free to change our minds. The people will not accept Matilda. There would be civil war if she returned.'

‘Stephen, do you think she will not return?'

‘I know not. She is now in Normandy. She has two sons. Geoffrey of Anjou will try to take Normandy from me. For that I must be prepared.'

‘If I inform William Corbeil that you have sworn to preserve the liberty of the Church he may be persuaded,' said Henry.

‘We must have Corbeil on our side.'

‘Ay and Roger of Salisbury. It is a pity that all these men have sworn allegiance to Matilda. The King made a mistake in attempting to force her on the country. He knew it and it was for that reason that he made men swear several oaths. His family feeling got the better of his good sense. It is a pity.'

‘Nevertheless we shall succeed,' said Stephen.

‘I doubt it not,' replied the Bishop. ‘But that coronation must take place without delay. If Matilda were to set foot in England now, it could be disastrous.'

‘I fear that she may. She is forceful and longs for the crown. It seems certain that she will lose no time in claiming it.'

‘It must be prevented. There will be nothing but disaster under such a woman. You should bring your wife to England. She, too, should be crowned.'

‘I shall do that.'

‘And get a son. There is nothing like a young boy to please the people.'

‘Henry, you and I together . . . we cannot fail.'

They pledged each other's good health and prosperity, but each spent a restless night. Henry was thinking of William Corbeil and the oath men had taken to serve Matilda. Stephen was thinking of Matilda too – that wild, passionate woman who had dominated his life, the woman he had loved, and still did, and whom he was betraying now. What would she say, what would she
do,
when she heard that Stephen had taken the crown?

He pictured her rage and fury. It would be intensified because of the passion they had shared.

He waited with trepidation for what Matilda would do.

William of Corbeil was a man who did not like trouble. It was said of him that he had come to his exalted position through good luck rather than merit. Yet he was a man of principles
and when Henry of Winchester came to him with the request that he should crown Stephen King of England he drew back in dismay.

‘How could this be,' he wanted to know, ‘when I have sworn an oath to accept the King's daughter as my sovereign?'

‘The oath was taken under duress,' pointed out Henry.

‘'Twas not so,' replied William. ‘And an oath is an oath however taken. Are you asking me to imperil my soul?'

What a fool the man was! thought the Bishop of Winchester. Did he not see that Stephen was on the spot and that he had the support of the country? Could he not understand that the people would never accept Matilda?

‘Stephen has sworn to preserve the liberties of the Church,' insisted Henry. ‘Do you think Matilda would do that?'

‘I am not concerned with the liberties of the Church, but with my oath.'

‘Then you are not doing your duty towards the Church.'

‘I am doing my duty towards God. How could I forgive myself, if having sworn an oath, I perjured my soul?'

God preserve us from fools, thought Henry of Winchester. But the unfortunate fact was that William of Corbeil was Archbishop of Canterbury and the crowning ceremony must be performed by him. Until it was, there was danger that the ceremony might never take place.

Matilda would soon be making her presence felt.

The situation was saved by the arrival in England of Hugh Bigod.

The Bigods were a rising family, who had come into prominence during the reign of the Conqueror when Robert Bigod had warned the great King of a treacherous attack which was about to be made on him. Robert was rewarded and his son Roger grew up in the service of the King and was given estates in Norfolk. King Henry had found him a useful man and had rewarded him with the castle of Framlingham. Roger's eldest son William was drowned in the White Ship and his second son Hugh inherited the estates.

Hugh was soon looking for means of further extending the family fortune. As a boy the King took him into his service and he became Henry's
dapifer
.

Like most men he had to decide now on whose side he would be. It was a fateful decision. To make the wrong choice could be to lose everything his family had built up over the last fifty years; to make the right one could double everything that had gone before.

Hugh reckoned himself to be an astute man. Matilda did not stand a chance, he was sure. The whole of the country would be against her. Stephen was his hope. Hugh was not content merely to serve Stephen in the manner in which many would. He must call attention to himself in an ostentatious way.

When Stephen arrived in England the position was that he was accepted by London and Winchester; he had his brother Henry, a most powerful man, on his side; Henry had secured the treasury for his brother; but the Archbishop of Canterbury was refusing to crown him.

Hugh presented himself to Henry of Winchester and Stephen. He could set this matter to rights.

‘I have something of the utmost importance to impart,' he said. ‘The King disinherited his daughter Matilda. He quarrelled with her just before he died, and named his nephew Stephen as his successor.'

Henry was delighted. He said: ‘This makes all the difference. You must accompany me to the Archbishop of Canterbury and tell him exactly what you have told me.'

‘I shall do so with pleasure,' said Hugh.

Stephen thanked him with tears in his eyes.

‘My lord King,' replied Hugh, ‘there was nothing a man of honour could do. I knew this to be so. The King, on his deathbed, repudiated Matilda. He said that such a quarrelsome woman would bring discord to the nation. His successor was to be his nephew Stephen who, after the death of his son in the White Ship, he had first thought to name. But because he had a daughter and she was his own child he named her and men swore fealty to her. But he later saw that the English would never be ruled by a woman and he saw too that she was of a temper that would not bind men to her.'

‘We will lose no time in going to William of Corbeil. He shall hear this and it will sweep away his doubts.'

The Archbishop of Canterbury was pleased to hear what
Hugh Bigod had to say. The situation was beginning to make him uneasy and he wondered what he could do if Stephen attempted to force him to crown him.

He was an old man. All he asked was to live in peace and he did not wish to be disturbed now.

But this man Hugh Bigod was ready to swear that Henry had disinherited Matilda so that was clear enough.