The Anarchy, page 10
‘That time is far off yet, sire.’
‘A king must think far ahead, Nest.’
‘A regent for a minor on the throne? Has that happened before?’
‘Yes, with my own father, when he stood to inherit the duchy of Normandy. There were attempts to kill my father, and successes at killing his regents.’
I was silent for a moment, thinking. ‘In Wales, this does not happen. The most able, adult male relative inherits – he who is most aggressive in his claim and can muster the most support. Who would you appoint as regent? Your nephew, Stephen de Blois, is your closest kinsman in the court,’ I said, careful to inject a note of hesitation into my tone. I disliked and distrusted Stephen.
‘Yes, but that would be a great deal of power for an ambitious and not always circumspect young man. If Stephen were so close to the throne as regent, he would think to take that throne himself. I am thinking of my son, Robert, and my daughter, Maud.’
I frowned and considered what such a responsibility might mean for my foster-sister and Robert’s wife, Mabel. Henry’s daughter Maud, his only remaining legitimate child, was married to the Emperor of Germany. ‘Maud is far from here and has a husband herself who is in need of an heir,’ I said, my tone laden with my doubt.
‘This is true. But I have asked Emperor Henry and Maud to stand ready to act quickly should Robert need their support in ensuring a regency. Depending on circumstances, depending on timing, I am hoping I can obtain Maud’s oath to come and give at least a year of her time to support Robert, in the event that he must become regent.’
‘This seems very complex. Why not allow Robert to be regent alone, or appoint someone else who is already here, in your realm?’
‘Such as?’
‘Is there no-one else?’
‘No one of the younger generation with the right qualities. No one I trust. Remember, Nest,’ his voice sank to a whisper, ‘how many of that generation died on The White Ship.’
I blinked slowly to express my sympathy, and we both sat in silence for a while, thinking of the roll call of the drowned, so very many of them. Henry reached for the jug of wine and refilled our beakers. ‘Maud is my legitimate child and used to command,’ he said, recovering the certainty of his voice. ‘I have spoken with Robert and asked Maud to come to consult with me. She was due to meet me in Kent earlier this year and I waited there for her, but she did not arrive. The count of Flanders would not give her passage through his lands. If I were to have a child heir and they were to take sick and die, Maud would be the rightful heir. It would be best, then, if she were already on English soil.’
Did he imagine that the Norman lords would allow a woman to rule?
‘Robert would make the best regent,’ Henry carried on. ‘His own interests would make no headway, more’s the pity.’
I raised my eyebrows. This conversation felt as if we had stepped back twenty years and nothing had passed between us. No other mistresses and wives on his part, no husbands and lovers on mine. It was as it had been between us in the days of our great affection for each other when he was newly king and mulled over all his affairs of state with me. I gazed into the dark red pool of my wine, suppressing my welling emotion. Now, we were both so old and had lived through so much. Now, we must sit and discuss how our children would replace us.
‘Robert would make me an admirable heir,’ Henry continued. ‘I could ask for no better. I wish wholeheartedly that it could be so. That I could appoint him, my eldest and my most loyal son. But his maternal lineage does not make him throneworthy in the eyes of my unruly and ambitious barons, and his illegitimacy means that opposition from the Church would be relentless. He would be untenably weakened as king by his birth. It seems ridiculous, when you consider that a few years back, my own father, who was a bastard, was crowned king of England. But there it is. I have to be realistic. You agree? Robert would be the best choice of regent?’
‘Yes. I have no doubt of that.’
‘Nor I. All I need is an heir now! Perhaps you could give me some practice for that, Nest?’
‘Henry, you are incorrigible. I will do no such thing.’
He pulled a face. ‘Let’s see later,’ he murmured, filling my beaker again. ‘I’d rather take an experienced woman to bed than a young girl. A woman I know I fit with very well.’
I laughed. It was impossible not to laugh with him. It was the first time I had laughed since I had heard the news that Haith had drowned, since I had learned that news was false and been forced to wed de Marais in the same moment. And Henry laughed, and I guessed this might be the first time he had laughed too for a long time. ‘I can sympathise with that,’ I joked, ‘since my own husband is fifteen years my junior, thanks to you!’ I raised my goblet to him, and he looked with warm affection into my eyes, while I did my best to evade that liquid black gaze I had known so well as a young woman, that had led me astray so often before. ‘What about Adelisa herself as regent?’ I asked, to remind him he had a wife and to keep him distracted from his flirtation with me.
‘She will have a role, of course, as the queen mother, but she does not have the political acumen and experience of my daughter, Maud. Nothing like.’
I thought of our own son, Henry. I could have raised and supported a king. The king had so many sons, all frustratingly useless since they were illegitimate and their mothers were, for the most part, low-born. Alone among the king’s mistresses who had given him sons, I had royal blood. Our son had royal blood on both sides, but he was also the only one of Henry’s illegitimate children who had not been raised at the king’s court. The king had granted me that, in love for me, that I raise my child in Wales. So our son Henry had not been raised to rule or to aim high, and a part of me was glad of that.
‘If Adelisa and I should not be blessed with a son, then I am determined that a son of my daughter Maud will inherit my kingdom. My grandson.’
‘England and Normandy, together with the empire of Germany and Italy!’ I exclaimed. ‘This is a vast kingdom. Too vast, surely?’
‘Yes. It would have to be her second son, of course. Her first son will be heir to the empire.’
I opened my mouth and then closed it again. I had been on the verge of mentioning that Maud had not yet birthed any living child in eleven years of marriage, but then I saw a look of fevered hope in Henry’s eyes and did not speak my scepticism. He leant forward and whispered. ‘It has been prophesied.’
I said nothing in response to his prophecy. I had allowed this meeting to go on too long. The fire was beginning to burn low and the huge bed in the room, with its lavish green quilt and hangings, seemed to have grown more present. ‘Will you excuse me, sire?’ I said. ‘I had a long, arduous journey to get here and was readying for bed when I received your message. You find me in my old, everyday frock, as you see.’ Presenting myself as an ageing, plainly dressed woman was not giving me the protection from his importuning that I had expected.
‘Naked is good, as I recall,’ he persisted. ‘Readying for bed is good.’ I cast my eyes to the ceiling, and he shrugged. ‘You would make a peasant’s smock look like an ermine and pearl-encrusted robe, Nest.’ He took my hand and touched three gossamer kisses to the first knuckles of my fingers. My body responded to the contact with his mouth. I slipped my hand quickly from his and made my way to the door.
‘Nest.’
I had my hand on the latch of the door. I would do a great deal to elude my horrible husband, but I could not go so far as to sleep with Henry.
‘I will begin my progress north at dawn tomorrow and would be glad if you would accompany me for the first few hours of my journey. Break fast with me at the hunting lodge that lies on the route.’
I said nothing, keeping my back to him and my expression to myself. I knew that hunting lodges were always places of sexual tryst for him.
‘I would speak more with you of your charter,’ he stated.
I turned back to face him. ‘I will be ready to ride with you at dawn, sire.’
* * *
We were all up with the lark in the morning, but so was the rest of the household and a great deal of clattering and neighing broke through the swirling morning mist that lifted and lowered around the castle courtyard in waves. The air was damp, and Amelina forecast more rain. Readying to dress me, she laid out an oiled riding cloak and heavy boots. She would remain at the castle and wait for my return, but I asked Ida to accompany me and keep her face well concealed. ‘It’s too dangerous,’ she gasped.
‘I have a notion,’ I told her as we stood at the window watching Breri leave to continue his journey into Wales. Through the swirling mist, we glimpsed his flamboyant hat and his back as he swayed in the saddle, disappearing down the road.
‘I have an idea about this threat.’ In response to her inquisitive glance, I continued. ‘While Breri is in Pembroke, you are at great risk in Wales. I’m thinking you might be safer at Henry’s court for a while.’
‘What are you talking about, Nest?’
‘Henry would not betray you to the Church. I assure you he will find the notion of a renegade nun a great amusement, and he was very grateful to you for nursing him through his sickness before.’
Ida’s expression showed her hesitation at my idea. ‘But then, I would have to leave you.’
‘Not for ever. Just until we are sure that Breri is no threat.’
‘I believe Breri would have no compunction in betraying me for a handful of coin.’
‘Whereas the king would protect you.’
‘I don’t know, Nest.’
‘I have two motives, I confess. The king needs you, Ida. I was a little concerned at his speech last night on prophecies of death and births. Perhaps you could help keep him stable, keep him well?’
She nodded, but her face showed her reluctance and anxiety at the risk we would run in exposing her situation to the king.
Amelina’s prediction was true, and we rode for half an hour through sheets of cold rain that blustered at our cloaks, penetrated beneath the brims of our hats and under our collars, slid wet fingers inside the tops of our boots. ‘You’ll be regretting this, Nest!’ Henry laughed.
‘I hope not, sire.’ First, I saw the long, curving line of the grey wall of the deer park running far across the fields, as far as the eye could see. We trotted through the gateway into the park, and the trees gave us some respite from the downpour. Then, the hunting lodge came into view through the trees. Halting before the lodge, two of the king’s men came to help Ida and me dismount. We ran for the shelter of the door. ‘Stay close to me,’ I told Ida in a low voice.
‘Come in, Nest, and …’ Henry turned, holding his hand out to me. Ida stood close behind me with her face swathed in a veil. He stopped mid-sentence at the sight of her, thinking that I had come alone, perplexed that my chaperone persisted in accompanying me even into private conversation with him. I pulled her fully into his chamber and closed the door behind us. The king had already discarded his sopping cloak, and Ida and I followed suit. Then Ida slowly removed the veil that was moulded wet to the contours of her face.
‘Sister Benedicta … Haith’s sister,’ Henry said slowly.
‘Yes.’ She cast her eyes to the ground and Henry looked at me, bewildered.
‘You are a long way from Fontevraud.’ I saw his eyes roving over her clothing. ‘And from your nun’s habit.’
‘Sister Benedicta is known as Ida de Bruges now,’ I told Henry. He opened his eyes wide to me and then to her, but she only glanced briefly at him, her face flushed. ‘She has temporarily left … she is on an extended pilgrimage.’
‘I see.’ Henry’s voice was loaded with amusement. I was relieved to find that my prediction about his reaction was correct.
‘Henry, I have two favours to ask of you.’ I spoke quickly.
‘Ask away.’ He was chuckling openly now at Ida.
‘Would you keep Ida with you, in your court for a while, and safeguard her? She is at risk of exposure as a runaway nun, and I want to protect her from that.’
‘I would, certainly,’ he assented warmly. ‘I owe her a great deal.’
Ida thanked him quietly.
‘And would you sign my charter and ask witnesses for it from your household members breaking fast in the next room?’
He narrowed his eyes, distracted for a moment from his amusement at Ida’s renegade status. ‘Hmm. You wish to be away from your husband, Nest?’
I did not respond. ‘Very well. It is the least I can do for you, my beloved.’ He took my hand, and I let him.
‘I would have it in writing,’ I persisted.
Henry rummaged in the saddle bag he had brought in with him and produced my rolled charter. He unrolled it on the table, weighting it at either end with two stones that were left on the table for just such a purpose. He read it through again, and looked up at us both, his eyes glinting with humour. The king took a few steps to the door, opened it a crack and called out, ‘Give me a stylus, quick.’ He closed the door and returned, stylus in hand, to stare again at my charter spread out on the table.
‘Was it a man?’ he asked Ida, without looking up from his perusal of my charter.
Ida kept her lips tightly pressed together and her gaze directed at her feet.
He signed the charter with a flourish. ‘My scribe will see this witnessed for you, Nest, and sealed with the royal seal.’ Now he looked up. ‘I have no doubt it was a man,’ he said to Ida, smiling delightedly at us both, and holding the charter out to me.
10
Gold
Cadell ran with his brother, Anarawd, up the last stretch of steep hill on the Caeo to Pumsaint road. At the brow of a hill, they caught their breath, gripping their thin, knobbled knees, then straightened up to survey the ruins of the Roman goldmine before them. Their step-mother, Gwenllian, had told them tales of how the mine had occupied this dip in the Cothi valley. The whole area was strewn with lumps of fist-size quartz. The bards sang of the Romans as a race of giants who had left behind them so many extraordinary feats of construction: roads, town walls, the long wall keeping out the Scots, forts, houses with mosaic floors, heated baths.
Anarawd was sceptical that these Romans could really have been giants, yet the mine was undeniable. If Cadell’s father could mine gold, he could rebuild his army. Cadell’s aunt had told him she was serious about finding out about the mine. She had even written for advice to a German who was an expert working in the silver mines in the north of England. Cadell and Anarawd had recently returned home from a visit to their aunt in Cardigan and would very likely have a chance to return there again before too long. His aunt was intent on ensuring that they were well-versed in how to behave like the princes of Deheubarth, which, she told them emphatically, they were. It would be excellent, Cadell considered, if next time he visited his aunt he could go bearing a rich lode of information on the gold to further his father’s fight to regain the kingdom of Deheubarth. That would impress her, for sure.
Cadell’s heart beat fast with trepidation as well as exertion. He and Anarawd had agreed that they would venture into one of the dark, cavernous openings today, wade down the flooded underground tunnels and find gold. Autumn had stripped away much of the vegetation from the site and heavy rains had filled the river and gullies, making it easier to see the layout of the mine and to distinguish between natural formations in the landscape and features that had been built by the Roman giants. ‘Or their Welsh slaves!’ Cadell exclaimed.
‘See, the leat they built, marked by that reed-filled depression?’ Anarawd asked. He gripped Cadell’s shoulders and twisted him to look to the right at a straight gully carved in the hillside. ‘‘That’s the aqueduct. And those are washing tables.’
‘Washing tables? What, like the Roman baths Gwenllian told us about in the city of Aquae Sulis?’
Anarawd laughed. ‘No! For washing and crushing the ore – to separate out the gold.’
Before Cadell, and to his left, were three overgrown ponds, which Anarawd guessed could be a series of ‘tanks’ that the Romans had made. Down there, among the tanks, were the entrances to the shafts. Their stepmother, Gwenllian, often told them stories from the distant past when the Romans had marched and built here in the Welsh hills. It was hard to believe now, looking around at this neglected terrain. Parts of the structures were broken and eroded, and others had fused back with the rock and vegetation and were in the process of being reclaimed by the land. Gwenllian had told Cadell not to go near the mine-workings, which might collapse and were filled with poisonous air and ghosts, she said, but he and Anarawd had decided to shrug off her warnings. Their father had found a buried hoard of Roman golden jewellery that had gone to fund more men and weapons. Who knows what they might find. They might be able to contribute something really valuable to their father’s struggle.
The boys ambled down the hill toward a water-filled depression where Cadell picked up a long stick and poked it into the murky pool, stirring up pebbles and shimmers. ‘Gold!’ he shouted.
‘Just gold dust, faery dust,’ Anarawd laughed. ‘Not much use. How can you render something from dust specks?’
‘It’s still gold, though,’ Cadell said stubbornly. ‘And if there’s still gold here, why isn’t the lord of this land mining it? Or father?’
‘We’ve forgotten how to do it. Us and the Normans, both. We don’t know the Romans’ secrets of mining anymore.’
‘Well, can’t we read the ruins, the landscape we’re looking at right now?’ asked Cadell. ‘Figure it out, somehow?’
Anarawd shrugged.
One day, Cadell’s father would regain his kingdom, which meant that one day Anarawd would be king of Deheubarth. An operating goldmine would be a very useful thing for a king, and his brother ought to realise that, Cadell considered.
At the sound of a bird’s screech, Cadell looked up to the distant ridge in time to see not only the circling bird of prey but also a group of riders breaking from the dense tree cover on the slope. They were heading for the drovers’ road, the road he and Anarawd had come along from Caeo.
