Daughter of the Last King, page 12
part #1 of Conquest I Series
Sybil swallowed, opened her mouth, thought better of it, and waited in silence to see what the king would tell her.
‘Rebellion was proved against your brother, Philippe,’ he told her. ‘He is in prison now, awaiting my sentence. I am of a mind to be merciful and banish him from my kingdom, requiring him to go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land.’
Sybil waited with her head down.
‘I have had speech with the earl of Shrewsbury, your brother Hugh. He was also implicated in this abominable plot against me.’ He paused and all in the hall were listening. If the king stripped Hugh of the earldom, the Montgomery family would lose their status here entirely, and their enormous wealth.
‘Hugh has assured me of his renewed loyalty,’ the king told Sybil, patting her hand. ‘I have forgiven him for a second time, but I will not forgive him or any more of your family if there is another occasion.’
‘Thank you for your mercy, sire,’ Sybil murmured, her face as red as the king’s own. She told me later, with resentment, that the king had fined Hugh the enormous sum of 3,000 marks as the price of his mercy.
After two days in Cardiff, the king, FitzHamon and the army marched into Wales ‘to subdue the natives’ as the king put it. He boasted that he intended to leave not so much as a Welsh dog alive. That autumn was one of the worst I had known for years for rain, wind and storm surges along the coasts. The king’s campaign against my countrymen floundered in mud and floods. They tried and failed to pursue the Welshmen up into the frigid mountains. After a month the king and FitzHamon had had enough and they returned to Cardiff, frustrated.
The tense meals and overcrowding in the castle resumed. Sickness broke out among the soldiers who were clustered miserably outside the castle walls under canvas. The doctors declared the sickness to be typhoid fever and Sybil took what measures she could to prevent it from spreading. Bryn came down with the illness and was one of the first to die. Amelina and I sat with him in the hayloft above the steaming horses, holding his hands as he struggled for his last breaths. We looked at each other mutely, our eyes wet with tears, cloths wrapped around our faces, covering our mouths and noses.
The following day, Sybil’s little Haimo began to cough and cry. He burned with fever. ‘No!’ Sybil paced her chamber as the doctors examined the baby in his cradle. ‘No! No!’
‘Amelina, take care of Sybil, and I will do what is needful for Haimo,’ I ordered in a low voice. Amelina nodded and rose to do her best to comfort Sybil. I carried out the doctors’ recommendations as calmly as I could, trying not to cry and show the welling pity I felt for the child and for Sybil. FitzHamon sat downstairs in the hall wringing his hands and looking up with a pitiable, hopeful expression every time Amelina or I came down the stairs.
In the end, there was little we could do. The remedies made no change in Haimo’s condition and he died quickly. I could not believe that the life I had seen grow slowly inside Sybil and then arrive to delight us all, could so swiftly stop and still. Amelina and I held Sybil tightly as she shuddered and sobbed against us when the priest came to take the poor baby away for burial.
* * *
The king and FitzHamon were with us another week after Haimo died. A few nights after his death, I sat up in bed and looked to Amelina, lying on her side on her low bed. We heard raised voices in Sybil’s room next door and then the unmistakable sound of a man taking his pleasure. Amelina shook her head silently to me.
Sybil’s grief at the loss of her son was so great she could barely function. She moved around like a woman walking to her grave. I took charge of the orders for the household and told Amelina to stay with Sybil at all times. I kept Mabel strictly quarantined from anyone who had been among the soldiers and the sick. ‘Lord,’ I ventured, finding FitzHamon sitting miserably in the hall, ‘it would be wise, perhaps, to decamp and go away from here, for the safety of the king, to outride the sickness, and for the safety of your daughter and wife.’
He looked at me bleakly. ‘Yes. The king must be taken to safety. You are right.’
The king himself showed scant compassion for Sybil’s loss. There was a final supper before his planned departure. ‘I hear bad news of your brother Bellême,’ he told Sybil.
‘Surely not, my lord,’ she responded. I sat close to Sybil, ready to intervene if necessary, for she was not herself.
‘His wife has left him, claiming great cruelty.’
‘Who can say what happens between a man and his wife?’ she said lightly, placing her hand on her husband’s as it rested on the table.
‘Many can say, my lady. Very many. Your brother shamefully kept his countess locked up at Bellême for years, refusing her the right to rule in Ponthieu as her father’s heiress.’
‘I know nothing of the matter,’ Sybil murmured. FitzHamon removed his hand from beneath hers.
‘Your brother’s wife sought refuge in the household of my sister, Adela, comtesse de Blois, and will not return to Bellême,’ the king said. ‘So you see, I have it on good authority.’
‘Well, I am sorry to hear it,’ said Sybil, not making it clear which part she was sorry to hear about: her brother’s mistreatment of his wife or the fact that the poor lady had escaped her husband and would not return.
‘Your mother was murdered for cruelty to her tenants, I believe,’ the king said, his expression revealing it was his deliberate intention to provoke.
‘That is a false lie!’ Sybil exclaimed and her husband frowned her to silence.
The king spoke to FitzHamon, taking no notice of Sybil’s indignation. Perhaps it was a good thing that she should be pricked out of the torpor of her grief. ‘Bad blood, FitzHamon. Keep a weather eye on your wife and daughter. Now, where is this Welsh princess?’
I was startled to find myself so abruptly the subject of interest. Sybil gestured in my direction, but the king ignored her.
‘Stand up and speak to your king, Nest,’ FitzHamon told me.
‘I am Nest ferch Rhys, sire,’ I said, rising to my feet and facing him.
He lent back in his chair regarding me with a smile on his face. ‘I can see why Lady Sybil’s brother is so keen to gain my permission to wed you,’ he said finally when he had finished his top to toe perusal of me.
He turned to Flambard. ‘Is she the heiress or not?’
‘There are rumours of a surviving, legitimate heir in Ireland,’ said Flambard. How did they find out about Gruffudd? I kept my expression neutral. Perhaps my uncle Rhydderch had betrayed the information of Gruffudd’s whereabouts to them.
‘Well find out. What of the son in the prison at Windsor?’
‘He is illegitimate, sire.’
‘Find out more Flambard.’ He roved his eyes over me again. I was shocked to realise he was thinking of marrying me.
‘Yes, sire, I will do what I can as fast as I can. She has only her lands at Carew and Llansteffan if there is a surviving brother.’
The king continued to regard me for a while and then told me, ‘You may sit, child.’
I felt Sybil’s gaze boring into me, but kept my head down, refusing to meet her eyes. I knew she was thinking that my fortunes rose unfairly as hers plummeted.
8
A Queen
After the revelation that King William was thinking of marrying me, I lay sleepless, staring at the dark beams in the chamber ceiling, considering that I was buffeted helplessly like a fragile raft from rock to rock, from wave to wave. First, I should be Owain’s wife to seal a peace between my father and his, and yet his father had betrayed mine; then, I should be Arnulf’s wife to help him usurp my father’s lands, yet he was implicated in the slaughter of my family; and now, it was mooted I might marry this old foreign king to birth an heir for the Normans. I did not like him. The thought was repugnant. Did I have no power at all over my own life? Could I do nothing? All these suitors meant nothing but ill to my family and yet what was this family I clung to? Tatters. Shreds. Shards.
Could I find a way to free Idwal if I should learn how to flirt with the king? There was no sense in trying to get word to Gruffudd in Ireland since he was hardly talking or walking yet and was still a small child playing with a top. He might not survive his childhood, in any case. There must be something I could do to find the helm of my own life. Lying in the darkness, my resolve gradually grew that I should push aside my physical dislike and my romantic notions of marriage, and accept this old king as my husband. I should be a queen. By that means I might gain some power to impact on the fortunes of my country.
* * *
from The Copybook of Sister Benedicta
* * *
Rouen, Martinmas 1096
My dear Benedicta, you bewilder me with your ampersands, on top of your code too! Have you become the venerable Bede now? I am spending piles of candles deciphering your tales and have black circles round my eyes like a hardworking clerk. I am not getting anything like my necessary nightly quota of fifteen hours’ sleep. Nevertheless, despite your exactions, I am enclosing a small gift of gum arabica and another gift to help your little brown, sore hands.
Here is a report of a politic conversation for you, Benedicta, of the kind I am all times surrounded by now. One morning early in the year when Henry and I were lately in Domfront, Meulan arrived straight from Curthose’s court, and it was clear the count was brimming with some news longing to be out of his mouth.
‘The duke is unlucky in love,’ he began.
‘How so?’ asked Henry. The two of them have been worrying for some time at the issue of whether or not the duke would marry and get himself an heir, which would not suit them at all.
‘His first betrothed wife, Margaret de Maine, died long ago when they were both very young. Starved herself to avoid the marriage, they say.’
‘Yes, I know of her death, of course.’
‘But do you know your father had intended to betroth Curthose to Matilda of Scotland?’
‘No? How would that be possible? He is her godfather.’
‘Yes, but that was not the intention when your father and Robert went to Scotland together years ago, in 1080. Your father hoped to find a replacement for Margaret de Maine there for your brother.’
‘In truth? No, I never knew that,’ Henry exclaimed.
‘Queen Margaret and King Malcolm of Scotland had no desire to make such a tie. They negotiated Curthose down to godfather – with the utmost politeness, of course.’ Meulan and Henry laughed briefly. I almost feel sorry for the duke sometimes, Benedicta. Henry mimics his father, the Conquerer, in the ruthless contempt he shows Duke Robert Curthose.
‘Well, what does Robert propose now for a wife?’ asked Henry.
‘As I said, he is unlucky. Agnes de Ponthieu, the heiress, would have been a good choice, but since your brother was at war with your father, Bellême was able to be there before him.’
Henry was getting impatient. ‘Tell me something I don’t know, Meulan. What glee is lurking on your face? I see it.’
Meulan was unwilling still to let go of the drama of his telling. ‘Then Roger de Montgomery beat him to another heiress, Almodis de La Marche. Wait! I’m arriving at it.’ Meulan, laughing, held up a hand to Henry.
‘Arrive faster, Meulan.’
‘Curthose thought he might settle for the second daughter of the Scottish king, Mary, and was encouraged in that hope by her uncle Edgar Aetheling, who is great friends with the duke. Mary is of marriageable age and Curthose needs to shift to get himself an heir soon. The aetheling says he holds Curthose dear, but nevertheless his main interest is to see his nephew on the Scottish throne and King William gives best hope of achieving that.’ Meulan spoke rapidly, but Henry was still winding an index finger in a circle in the air to indicate more speed was required. Meulan took a breath and proceeded. ‘So Curthose is thwarted over Mary of Scotland too, and the Scottish princesses are at William’s court now, as you know. Finally he alighted on the daughter of Hugh de Vermandois, Elizabeth.’
‘Ah!’ Henry nodded slowly. ‘A good choice. She is niece to the French king and has Charlemagne’s blood. I was thinking about her myself.’
‘Don’t say anything else on that matter, sire! I have married her.’
‘What! Isn’t she a child still?’ Henry leant back in his chair to regard Meulan.
‘Yes. Eleven years old.’
‘Alright, you have me flabbergasted now.’
‘When I was lately at his court, Curthose discussed the thorny problem of his necessary marriage and heirs with myself and Bellême. After all these deliberations, that is where we ended up – a choice between Mary of Scotland or Elizabeth de Vermandois. Knowing he stood no chance of succeeding with the Scottish offer, I hurried to Elizabeth’s father, who is great friends with my father. Hugh de Vermandois was preparing to leave on crusade and wanted to safeguard his daughter before he left. I suggested myself as husband and, of course, that I would wait to consummate the marriage until the girl gains her maturity. He agreed forthwith and his overlord and the girl’s uncle, King Philip of France, was content with the match.’
A delighted shout of laughter burst from Henry, and Meulan joined him. Eventually Henry wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and said, ‘Meulan! Meulan! Sometimes you amaze me. You stole the girl from under Robert’s nose!’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘And what is his response?’
‘Sadly, I couldn’t witness that. I came directly here, after I had made arrangements for my child-bride. I’ve placed her in the care of my brother’s wife until she becomes a woman. She is an exceedingly pretty girl.’
‘And exceedingly royal to boot! You have done well, my friend.’ Henry clapped Meulan on the shoulder, and I poured wine for us all. We raised our beakers and slopped them together at Meulan’s successful intrigues and nuptials.
‘So William plays this card with Edgar Aetheling and the Scottish princesses?’
‘I have advised him to do so.’
Henry grinned briefly. ‘Of course you have.’ He thought for a moment. ‘William would still be well advised to marry one of these princesses himself, no? And certainly not to give either of them to Robert. Their symbolic significance is too great – the blood of the Anglo-Saxon kings – and their political significance with Scotland is greater for William as king of the English than it is for Robert as duke of Normandy.’
Meulan nodded. ‘I have strongly advised William not to agree to any marriage offer from Curthose for either of them. As to King William’s own marriage – he shows no inclination.’ Meulan paused. ‘He is happy with FitzHamon and wants no disruption to that from a queen at his court. A female queen.’
Henry frowned. ‘Do not go too far, Meulan. He is my brother.’
‘I apologise, my lord.’ Meulan shifted uneasily in his seat.
Henry waved his hand. ‘I know you speak truth, but let’s be circumspect. It makes me shudder to wonder what my father would have made of William’s ... preferences.’ He looked at Meulan, his eyes wide.
‘Indeed. The fact is, sire, the Conqueror would have gutted William and his paramour and thrown them both into the sea. Sadly, the Conqueror is no longer with us. My informants tell me there is a Welsh princess that William and Flambard have under consideration.’
‘A Welsh princess?’ Henry retreated back into his own thoughts for a while. ‘And Curthose? Does he have other ideas for a wife?’
‘At present, he has none. He is also happy with a paramour.’
Henry raised his eyebrows.
‘Agnes de Ribemont,’ said Meulan. ‘Agnes is managing her husband’s estates in Normandy while her husband operates in England. Agnes and your brother the duke enjoy a little risky adultery. Agnes is a strong woman and holds Curthose fast to her. I doubt she will want to see him marry unless she herself becomes a widow.’
Henry and Meulan smiled long and slow at each other, satisfied with their latest information.
But then came the great change you will have heard about, Benedicta, when Duke Robert decided to take the cross, answering the pope’s call to crusade in the Holy Land. This resolves many things, both for Henry and for King William, at least temporarily. Henry and I witnessed Duke Robert vowing at Mont-Saint-Michel to carry the cross against the heathens into the city of Jerusalem and never to return until that deed was done. He has just handed his duchy over to his brother William in Rouen in exchange for a truly vast pile of William’s silver that will fund the duke’s journey. Normandy is in the hands of Rufus now and I pray that it is safe there, since you reside within it. Flambard wrung this huge sum of silver that King William used to ‘purchase’ his ‘caretaking’ of Normandy from the hard-pressed English. Many other men of Normandy will accompany the duke, including his uncle, Odo de Bayeux, and Rotrou, count de Perche. It seems a fitting conclusion to the contention between the brothers and the problems with Duke Robert’s rule of Normandy. The theory is King William will caretake Normandy until his brother’s return, but in practice, I cannot imagine William has any intention of ever handing Normandy back.
William has promised to restore Henry as Count of Contentin. In the meantime, we have been visiting with Henry’s sister, Countess Adela in Blois, who has birthed a third son, Stephen. Henry is fond of all children, and took his own junior entourage of Robert, Mathilde, Richard and Juliane to play with their cousins. The countess’ husband is also an absent crusader, but his wife is more than able to rule in his stead. Adela was educated alongside me and Henry in Salisbury and aside from our military training, she was Henry’s equal in all else – in Latin, reading, construing. She is like him with her strategic head. Her oldest son, unfortunately, had a problem at birth and he has not grown well in his mind, but her second son Thibaud looks lively enough, and this new third son, Stephen, thrives. Write to me how are you and the events in your abbey, dear sister. With great affection, Haith.
