The Passionate Enemies (33 page)

‘That may well be,' he said cautiously.

‘And you, my lord Bishop, you are his brother, but you are my cousin. You owe much to my father. He would be displeased that you had denied the true heir to the throne because your brother asked that you should support him. Come, Bishop. It is not too late. You are a shrewd man, I know it well. Do you think Stephen will long hold the crown now that I am here?'

‘He has been crowned King of England.'

‘By traitors. And what has he done for you, my good Bishop? Come tell me the truth. When old William of Canterbury died did you not hope for the highest office in the Church? You do not answer. Nor do you need to. We know, do we not, that you are an ambitious man. You were the natural successor to William but you did not become Archbishop of Canterbury. Do you know why?'

‘The Pope refused his consent.'

‘Why? I will tell you. Because Stephen opposed it – urged by his silly little Queen. Yes, that woman is beginning to have quite an influence over the man you call King. For that alone he should be deposed. Together they worked against your election.'

She laughed. She could see she had struck a vulnerable spot. That rankled with him. He had believed he would be elected to the See of Canterbury. But he was still merely Bishop of Winchester. Was that the just reward from Stephen for one who had helped him to the crown?

‘So,' she went on, ‘they elected Theobald.'

‘The Pope was in fact a good friend to me,' he answered. ‘He made me Legate of England which could well be a position of as great power as that of the Archbishop of Canterbury.'

‘I doubt not that you are a man of some influence in my kingdom,' she replied. ‘And that you are a wise man. It is for this reason that you will cease to support the usurper and rally to the banner of the true Queen.'

‘The King is my brother . . .'

‘The usurper is assuredly that, but your allegiance belongs to your cousin. I do not sue for it. It is not in my nature to sue. I demand it. And, my lord Bishop, you would be wise to accede it without delay. I am not of a temper to deal lightly with those who work against me. You do not see in me such a one as your brother Stephen.'

‘I have learned that, Madam.'

‘Then when the time comes you will receive me in Winchester.'

He did not speak but he had stopped his horse as she had hers and for a moment they looked steadily into each other's faces.

‘I see that you will give your loyalty to me,' she answered. ‘And I promise you that when you do this you shall regret nothing. I know full well that you have knowledge of the government of this realm. I should not take one whit of your power from you and I should leave in your hands the preferments to bishoprics and abbacies. We understand each other, I believe.'

‘Yes, my lady, I am sure we do.'

She nodded and rode on, he beside her.

She gives herself such airs, he thought, she could indeed
already be the Queen of England. Although she had yet to gain the crown she behaved more like a sovereign than Stephen ever had when the crown was actually on his head.

My brother, thought Henry uneasily. Yes, but a fool. And I believe that but for him and his wife Matilda I should be the Archbishop of Canterbury.

He admitted then what he had known in his heart he was going to do. He was going to change sides and support Matilda against his brother.

THE NEWS THAT
Stephen had freed the Empress Matilda and that she was on her way to Bristol to join Robert of Gloucester astounded Stephen's supporters. The King was mad, they said. What had that mysterious illness which had attacked him so suddenly really been? The Queen had nursed him herself and had allowed few to go near him. Could it really be that the King had been attacked by madness?

He had been over-lenient with his enemies which had proved to be a weakness in him, though his genial temper was well known and he was not disliked for it; but to allow his rival to walk calmly out of the trap in which she was caught it seemed could only be the action of a madman.

Matilda was here and she was indeed the true heir to the throne. A woman, yet by all accounts an indomitable one. Moreover, Robert of Gloucester was supporting her and he was one of the ablest generals in the country. Many had believed that, as the King's son, he should have had the throne. But he was a bastard – favourite son of the King though he had been – and he made it quite clear that he had no intention of taking the throne from the one whom he considered to be the true heiress of England – his half-sister Matilda, King Henry's only legitimate child.

Thus by the time Matilda joined Robert in Bristol many of
those knights and barons who were anxious to be on the winning side had thought it expedient to rally to her banner.

After leaving Arundel, Stephen had returned to Westminster and there his Queen was waiting for him. She tried to hide her melancholy foreboding; she had been stunned with horror and grief when she heard that Stephen had allowed Matilda to escape. At first she could not believe that this was possible, but when the implication of what this meant dawned on her she understood perfectly. Stephen had been trapped by the enchantress. What power had this woman? Matilda the Queen knew that her rival was a handsome woman but her character was far from attractive. Haughty, selfish, arrogant she undoubtedly was. And yet her brother Robert, who was a man all must respect, was her faithful adherent, and Stephen – her own husband – was so besotted by her that he put his crown in jeopardy by letting her go free.

Her mind went back to the early days before her marriage when she had been brought from the Abbey of Bermondsey to the Court to learn that she was to marry handsome, gentle Stephen and how happy she had been and thought herself the most fortunate of princesses because such a husband had been selected for her. That other Matilda had been forced to leave her home and go to an old man while she was given handsome Stephen. Had she been so lucky?

Yes, because she loved him. His weakness made her more determined to protect him; and how strange that she, Matilda of Boulogne, as they called her, who had been so quiet and unassuming, now knew herself to be so much stronger than Stephen.

She greeted him affectionately when he came. He was shame-faced, knowing that she would have heard by now that the Empress was on her way to Bristol. Some might have reproached him for being a fool and for being unfaithful to his wife – for she knew he had been – but she did not. It was in his nature to be unfaithful to his wife. There had been other women before the Empress had come back. They had been different. Dear, charming, easy-going Stephen, who could not easily say No, even when his crown was in danger.

When they had dined and were alone in their chamber she said to him: ‘There is little time to be lost, Stephen.'

He nodded.

‘I hear that many are rallying to the Empress's banner.'

He was silent.

‘Depend upon it,' she said, ‘there will be a mighty battle.'

‘I have many faithful followers,' he answered.

She was silent, wondering how many of those had deserted to the enemy since he had shown himself to have acted in a manner unaccountable to those who did not know of the passionate involvement of the King with the Empress.

‘Stephen,' she said, ‘how can you know who is faithful?'

He turned to her then and took her face in his hands. ‘There is but one I know of,' he replied.

‘On that one,' she answered, ‘you can always depend no matter what should befall.'

He laid his head against her breast then and she comforted him as though he were a child. He was ashamed of his subservience to the Empress; he realized fully how foolishly he had acted, for she cared only for herself, the gratification of her senses and her ambitions. She had no love to offer him, only a searing passion which they both found irresistible. It was this Matilda, his wife, who stood with him and would support him no matter what happened. He was a fool. This was where his loyalty lay, with this woman whose cause was his, who loved him selflessly. And he had betrayed her and risked his crown for the sake of a sensational encounter with his beloved enemy, the Empress. No doubt she was laughing at him now, telling Robert of Gloucester of her victory, and with what ease she had tricked her cousin the King into letting her escape.

‘Oh, my dearest Matilda,' he said, ‘my Queen, don't leave me. Stay with me.'

‘I will always serve your cause,' she told him, ‘but it may well be that I cannot always stay with you.'

He was alarmed. He raised himself to look at her and a fierce delight filled her heart because the prospect of losing her terrified him. He loved her; she was the steady rock on which he built his life. He could not do without her, and yet he could not be faithful to her.

‘Stephen,' she said, ‘there may be little time left to us. A mighty battle is about to break out. There will be civil war in
this country. Let us face the truth. Robert of Gloucester is amassing an army. When the Empress meets him she will find men rallying to her banner. They will march on . . . who knows where? Winchester? London perhaps? And you will have to be ready to meet them.'

‘Why did they make me King,' cried Stephen angrily, ‘if they did not want me?'

‘They wanted you, Stephen, when they put the crown on your head. Men's minds change.'

She thought sadly: They would never have changed had you, my dearest husband, acted as your uncle Henry would have done, as your grandfather the great Conqueror would have done, and you would not now be in this miserable dilemma.

But she said nothing. Reproaches would help not at all. It was not brooding on the past which was necessary but planning for the future.

‘The people are fickle,' cried Stephen.

She put her arms about him. ‘When they see that you are strong, Stephen, they will support you.'

‘Then I will show them,' he said.

And she thought sadly: You will not do that by giving way to the Empress, by allowing your enemies to escape.

But she said: ‘You are a brave fighter, Stephen. All know that. None who have seen you in battle can doubt your courage.'

‘I have never doubted it,' he told her. ‘I will fight to the death, if need be, for my crown.'

She was silent and he turned suddenly to her and took her by the shoulders. ‘They blame me, Matilda, for letting the Empress go.'

She could not look at him.

‘You blame me, Matilda.'

She shook her head.

‘She is my cousin, Matilda. We were children together . . . I could not make her my prisoner. What was I expected to do? To put her in some dungeon?'

‘Nay,' she said, ‘you should not have done that.'

‘I remembered when we had played together as children.'

She raised her eyes to his and tried to read what those memories were.

‘My cousin,' he went on. ‘It is not good to make war on one's own kith and kin, Matilda.'

Matilda replied: ‘It may be necessary if they make war on you.'

He nodded and his eyes as they met hers were crestfallen. She felt protective, as she might have felt towards their little boys, Eustace who was now four years old, and baby William.

‘Stephen,' she said, ‘let us not think of what is past but plan for the future which indeed we must. The Empress with the help of her brother Robert – and let us not underestimate him – is raising her standard at Bristol. It is certain that soon they will be marching against you. You must be prepared.'

‘I will vanquish them,' he said, ‘never fear. And then, my Queen, you and I will live in harmony and peace for the rest of our lives. I want to show you how I love you, how I depend on you, what you mean to me . . .'

She smiled. They were so clearly the protestations of a husband with a need to satisfy his conscience.

‘You are fond of me, I know, dear husband,' she said. ‘And we have our children to consider. The Empress has a son, young Henry, and the fact that this boy exists will make her fight the harder for the throne. She will be fighting not only for herself but for her son.'

‘The Empress would fight as fiercely for herself as for any other.'

He was bitter, yet even when he spoke of her in anger there was a lilt in his voice which none other could put there.

‘We have a son too, Stephen. Our Eustace. William, too. We shall be fighting not only for ourselves but for our children. It is a matter of who shall inherit the throne . . . your son or the son of the Empress.'

He lowered his eyes. She must not read that particular secret. She knew as so many did that there was a passionate attachment between himself and the Empress. She would guess at what had passed between them when she had so successfully prevailed on him to release her and so place his crown in jeopardy. But what she must never know was that Henry of Anjou, that bright and lusty boy, who had been the pride of his grandfather's heart, could well be his.

My two sons then, thought Stephen. Henry . . . Eustace.
Was Henry his son? Who could say? Perhaps even the Empress was not sure.

He was filled with a sudden hatred towards the Empress. He thought of her always as the Empress because his Queen was Matilda. Her son should not inherit the crown. That must be Eustace.

‘Eustace shall have the crown,' cried Stephen. ‘I will stake my life on it.'

He meant it. He had a resolution. He would never again be tempted by the Empress. He knew who were his true friends. The love his gentle wife had for him was worth everything; his passion for that other Matilda was but a destructive force and it always had been.

‘We must think ahead, Stephen,' the Queen was saying. ‘There is Normandy to be considered. We should consider placating the King of France. If he were our ally, Normandy would be safe and you could give all your attention to England.'

‘You should have been a statesman, Matilda.'