The Anarchy, page 22
Ida shook her head. ‘It has to be about The White Ship, but none of those possible culprits are at Pembroke. Perhaps Breri is in the pay of more than one master. He would be capable of that.’
‘I thought he might be a double agent for the de Clares and for Prince Cadwaladr, who covets my brother’s lands in Ceredigion. But that could not explain this threat to Haith’s life.’
‘There is a third person Breri could be working for,’ Ida said. I raised my eyebrows in query. ‘When I searched Gisulf’s chest, I found an incriminating letter from Ranulf de Gernon, that mentioned Breri’s name. If he is working for a third master, for de Gernon, that might give reason for Haith’s poisoning since he has been so intent on finding evidence of who might have caused the sinking of The White Ship.’
‘Spying for three different masters!’
Ida nodded confidently. ‘It’s not impossible for that man, Breri, I assure you.’ She was silent, thinking for a moment. ‘For such an act, to go to the lengths of poisoning Haith in Pembroke, there must be some great secret belonging to someone powerful who fears that Haith will uncover it and tell it to the king. Haith is right in his quest to discover the truth about the ship and the drowned court, after all.’
25
Runaway Bride
‘I want you to start packing for a journey to England,’ I told Amelina.
Amelina opened and closed her mouth like a floundering fish. She frowned angrily at me, turned on her heel and stomped to my clothes chest, muttering loudly, ‘Up and down the country, over and over!’ Nevertheless, she was soon enjoying herself, holding up tunics and mantles as we sorted those that were fine enough for court and others that could be worn on the journey itself. She sorted them into two piles on my bed. ‘What are we going for this time?’
‘I mean to ask the king for clemency for Gruffudd. He has been exiled in Ireland for more than two years.’
Amelina was about to give me her response to my intention when we heard the sound of horses, a lot of horses, in the courtyard below. Amelina stood on tiptoe to look from the window. ‘It’s Gilbert de Clare, with that bard, and a lot of soldiers! That’s not good, is it?’
‘No, it’s not. Quickly, warn Ida to get out of sight.’
Amelina ran down the stairs to the hall where we had left Ida stitching and keeping an eye on the children. I fixed my veil onto my head and followed her down and was appalled to see that we were too late. Ida was standing between two soldiers, her face white, her arms held tightly in their grip. Maurice had followed the visitors in from the courtyard and stood observing the scene with a frown on his face. Gwenllian and her children were also staring at the Normans and Ida.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ I demanded of de Clare. ‘That you bring armed men into my hall?’
‘This woman is a renegade nun that you have sheltered in your household,’ he stated coldly.
‘This is nonsense.’ I looked among the group of strangers, hoping that Haith might be here, but he was not one of their number. I swallowed when I recognised another prisoner as the Welshman who regularly brought news of the goldmine to Gwenllian and me. His face was bruised and bloodied, and he looked very afraid.
Breri pointed a finger at Ida. ‘She was a nun at Fontevraud. She was named Sister Benedicta there. She consorted lewdly with Amaury de Montfort.’
‘My name is Ida de Bruges,’ Ida said shakily.
A scrawny priest stepped from the group of soldiers and began to harangue Ida. ‘You take from God his bride. You will be damned if you do not return to the convent. In hellfire, you will kiss the bare teeth from which the flesh of your paramour has fallen.’ He turned to the others. ‘The Devil made her consort in lewdness with a man. The Devil cajoled her to cast off the veil of religion and causes her to persist shamelessly in wearing secular clothing. We must compel her to return to the Order that she has arrogantly despised.’
‘You are mistaken,’ I continued to address de Clare. ‘This is no Sister Benedicta. She is my companion Ida de Bruges and I do not take kindly to this abuse of her by your wandering jongleur.’
Breri drew himself up. ‘I am no jongleur, but a bard.’
‘This accusation is nonsense and holds no water,’ I declared. ‘I demand that Breri be imprisoned for bearing false witness.’
‘Have a care, Lady Nest,’ de Clare told me, ‘that you are not convicted of bearing false witness yourself. I see you shelter here the family of your brother who has been convicted of treason against the king. Falseness swirls about you.’ His eyes swept across Gwenllian and her family. Morgan was twelve and looked defiance at de Clare, although he must have been afraid. Maelgwyn was nine and Gwenllian hugged him to her side. Maurice was red in the face, staring at his boots and biting his lip. ‘The evidence against this renegade nun is certain,’ de Clare asserted. ‘She will be incarcerated in a religious house and made to recant her gross sins. Take her!’ he commanded, and the men dragged Ida away, her eyes beseeching upon me.
De Clare took one more look at the occupants of my hall, stared stonily at me and then followed his men to the horses. They took the battered Welshman with them. I exchanged a frightened glance with Gwenllian. They had not managed to extract anything damning enough from him yet or they would have clapped her and me both in irons. I refused Maurice’s attempts to speak with me. ‘I will deal directly and only with the king on this matter,’ I told him, and he left the hall, exasperated with me. ‘Gwenllian, you are not safe here. I am going to the king, and you should seek refuge. Is there somewhere you can go?’ I glanced miserably at my nephews.
‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘Don’t worry about us, Nest. I know where we can go. I thank you for your kindnesses to us and hope that you are able to gain Ida’s freedom.’
When de Clare’s men had cleared the gateway, I ordered two messengers to ready their horses. I penned one note to Haith informing him what had happened to Ida and another for the king, telling him also of the calamity. ‘Come, Amelina,’ I ordered, when the messengers had galloped out on their missions, ‘we must swiftly follow my letter to the king.’
III
1129–1135
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret.
26
Clemency
Approaching the palace of Westminster by boat, memories crowded me: memories of Sybil de Montgomery, my Norman foster-mother, after my family were slain; of my first meeting with Haith; and with King Henry, too. The Thames was even busier than my memories. Numerous boats of all sizes moved around me. Small jetties and myriad stalls with bright awnings lined the banks. The whole merchandise of the world was set out and enticing us to open our purses. The shouts of traders and boatmen mingled with the high cries of gulls that pursued the boats and rode the currents of the air as we rode the waters. I had travelled from Wales to London with the entourage of Mabel’s husband, Robert of Gloucester.
My boat bumped against the buffers at the palace pier on Thorney Island. The pilot handed me up the steps and I looked around me. Behind me, I heard Amelina stridently berating the porters as they manhandled my travelling chest from the boat. The palace and abbey, set amidst the island’s marshy ground and surrounded by green fields, was a splendid sight. The distance to the palace was too short to require horses, so I leant on Earl Robert’s arm, and we walked on planks covering the mud to the moat bridge and palace gateway. There were more guards than usual crowding the gates and doorway to the great hall.
Inside, I craned my neck, looking for Mabel. Earl Robert assisted in parting the crowds for me to look for his wife. I was, at last, relieved to see her. Stephen de Blois recognised me and gave a nod of greeting across the crowded hall. Next to him, I recognised Ranulf de Gernon, the new earl of Chester, from Haith’s descriptions of him. He wore his moustaches very long and turned up at the ends, stiffened with wax, which had been a Saxon fashion that was now adopted by some Norman lords.
King Henry and Queen Adelisa sat on the raised dais. The young queen looked out, bright-eyed and intent on the throng of people, but I was shocked at Henry’s appearance. There were dark patches beneath his eyes, and he was, very unusual for him, a little dishevelled. ‘Does something ail Henry?’ I asked Mabel.
‘There has been terrible news from Normandy,’ Mabel told me. ‘Geoffrey d’Anjou has repudiated Empress Maud as his wife.’
‘They can be reconciled, surely,’ I glanced back at Henry. ‘Henry will work on it.’
‘Yes, he is already doing so and please God that such a reconciliation is possible. I believe the king has slept badly for several nights. He has been subject to terrible nightmares, where he says apparitions of his subjects accuse him.’
I raised a querying eyebrow. ‘Accuse him of what?’
‘He does not say, only that shades of vengeful lords, clergy and peasants crowd his bed, and he cannot sleep. He has weapons and relics filling every inch of space around his bed and changes where he sleeps each night in fear of murder. His physician and astrologer, Grimbald, sleeps in his chamber and interprets his dreams on the instant of his waking when he manages to sleep at all.’
‘He is unwell? In his mind?’
‘Perhaps.’
I had intended to make my plea for a pardon for Gruffudd in public at this assembly, but hearing Mabel’s words and looking at Henry’s condition I resolved it might be best to approach him privately on the matter and see if I could bring comfort to him for the anxiety he suffered.
Mabel pointed out Peter the Venerable, abbot of Cluny, who was visiting England and other members and visitors to the court I did not know. Once upon a time, I had been acquainted with everyone at court and they had known me, but it was decades since I held the position of king’s mistress, and I was out of touch with the whirling currents of power here. The place buzzed with discussion of the separation of Henry’s daughter Maud from her husband. It had not been a popular choice of bridegroom, but the lack of an heir was an even greater concern. The first business of the court concerned Waleran de Meulan and Hugh de Chateauneuf.
The names of the two former rebels were called, and they stood before the king. They had been freed by Henry, after five years of imprisonment, when the court was in Normandy and, now, he was reinstating them to their lands and honours. Waleran was the son of my great friend, Elizabeth de Vermandois. I had been with Elizabeth when she had birthed Waleran and his twin brother. No doubt, the two men had been kept imprisoned in some comfort, yet it was harsh punishment to idle away the vividness of one’s short life in captivity and constraint. The king told them that, due to the dying request of his nephew William Clito, he had granted their freedom. They swore again their sincere allegiance and their oath not to conspire in rebellion against him, the king.
Mabel pointed out the king’s other nephews, who I did not know: Thibaud, count of Blois, who was visiting, and Henry de Blois, abbot of Glastonbury. The abbot was called to stand before the king and was well pleased to be created bishop of Winchester. ‘This makes him the second richest man in England, after the king,’ Mabel whispered in my ear.
The king’s dulled eyes found me out at that moment, and he nodded slightly to register my
presence, but his attention was soon distracted elsewhere. ‘Will you plead for your brother today?’ Mabel asked.
‘No, I’ve decided my plea will be best heard in private. Let’s go to my chamber.’
We moved off to my room where my chest had already been delivered and Amelina was busy unpacking. Mabel and I sat down comfortably together to catch up. First, I wrote a note to the king asking for a private audience with him when he was able and sent that to him with a servant. Mabel caught me up with the news of the court and we listened to Amelina complain about the smallness of the room and its draughts.
‘And … Mabel, how do you feel about being reunited with your husband?’
‘Good.’ She laughed lightly and looked down at her hands in her lap.
I wiggled my eyebrows when she glanced up again. ‘Not adequate!’ I declared.
‘Very good?’ she tried. We laughed, and I opened my mouth for further interrogation, but there was a knock on the door and one of Henry’s servants entered to request my presence with the king. ‘That was quick!’ Mabel remarked, arching an eyebrow. I rose and Mabel squeezed my hand to wish me luck.
Henry was in his chamber, sitting with his broad shoulders rounded before a great fire. There was a large jug of wine on the table at his knee. He had, as was his habit, stripped off his robes of state and sat in his white shirt and a pair of grey breeches. When I entered, his back was to me. The king was sixty-one and his hair had receded significantly from his temples and forehead. His remaining hair was cut short to his head in a dark burr. He turned at the sound of my entry, and I was grieved to see the battle between stress and a false cheer in the expression he gave me. The hair that curled thickly at the neck of his shirt, which I had once delighted in combing at with my fingers, was iron grey. In the privacy of his own chambers, he looked even worse than he had in the hall. ‘Leave us,’ he told the page standing in a corner, and the boy slipped quietly out.
‘Nest. Your name is like oil soothing me. Your face is the sweetest flower. You envelope me in the fragrance of delight, my dear.’
‘Stop, Henry!’ I laughed.
‘No, truly. It’s no exaggeration. You find me in a most lugubrious mood, dear Nest. Still no heir. You should have given me that bed practice I asked you for in Bristol.’ His attempt at joking convinced neither of us.
‘Henry!’ I could not help myself. I went to him and took his head in my arms, cradling it against my stomach. He turned his face further into my body and wept almost without sound for long, long minutes. I held him hard, trying to absorb his grief, as I might hold and rock a swaddled and sobbing infant. I had never seen him so unmanned before. He had shown me many sides to his personality in our time together, but never this.
‘Forgive me.’ He extracted himself and dried his face on the voluminous linen of his sleeve. He took my hand. ‘Sit and talk with me, Nest?’
I took the chair he indicated across from him in front of the hearth. Our customary composition. I poured wine for us.
‘But you are here, Nest, of course, because you want something of me. I have already dealt with your nun. She is released, and I have ordered that no harm may come to her. An escort is bringing her here to me. She should arrive in a few days. I owe her much and her brother too, and you, of course.’ He gazed at me warmly.
‘Truly, Henry? Ida is safe?’
‘She is. You didn’t need to travel all this way to sue for her, but I’m glad that you did.’
‘There is something else,’ I admitted.
‘Ah!’
‘But that can wait a moment. I am sorely grieved to see you so troubled, sire, and would speak with you of your own cares first.’
‘I have not slept for many nights, Nest, and am not myself. You find me in a sorry state.’
‘What causes your sleeplessness, Henry?’ I caressed his hand on his knee, thinking how his knuckles had thickened and his hands had the splotched appearance of those of an old man. ‘You can speak with me.’
‘My sleeplessness is no doubt caused by my guilt, Nest.’
‘Guilt? At what?’
‘Everything,’ he moaned glumly and stared into the fire.
‘Everything! Sire, how can you say so? You have shouldered the burden of ruling England,’ (I did not say Wales) ‘for so many years and you have done well. More than well.’ I considered, fleetingly, that there was hypocrisy in my speaking kindly to King Henry on the one hand and conspiring in treason against him on behalf of my brother on the other, yet my kindness was for the man that I had loved long ago, and politics could not overwhelm that.
He gave me a quick, small smile, more grimace than grin. ‘You think so.’
‘Everyone thinks so. Why do you torture yourself with guilt? You have done your best. And it has surpassed that of any other king in living memory.’
‘I have tried.’
‘You have kept peace and prosperity in England for thirty years, sire! This is a great achievement. No one could have done better.’
‘Perhaps. Yet, there is constant warfare in Normandy, conflict in Wales,’ he glanced meaningfully at me, ‘and I have no heir so when I die everything I have done will dissolve to ruination.’
‘No, no, Henry. You will have an heir soon enough and there will be no ruination.’
‘The queen and I have been wed for seven years. She does not quicken.’
‘She has had no pregnancies at all?’
He shook his head. ‘God punishes me for my delinquencies.’
I compressed my lips on the thought that God might see countless mistresses and hordes of illegitimate children as more than delinquency.
‘Nest, I need comfort,’ he said, standing suddenly and lifting me to my feet. He took me in his arms, and I did not have the heart or the will, in truth, to push him away. His tongue thrust into my mouth, and he pulled my wimple from my head, dragged down the shoulder of my tunic, and pulled my chemise from my breast. His mouth encompassed one nipple and then the other as he pushed down my clothes, and the old desire for him coursed through me. He looked briefly in my face and saw no resistance there, so lifted me to the bed. We were both stripped before I could take many more breaths and he was moving inside me and fast crying out in climax. Afterwards, he slept for many hours close against me, our sweat pooling and cooling together and his penis and then his semen slipping from between my legs. After a while, a servant knocked quietly and put his head around the door, quickly averting his eyes at the sight of us on the bed. I waved him away wordlessly and Henry slept on. I was past childbearing, but I considered that if I had not been so and if I had quickened with Henry’s child again now, I might have found myself queen regent in due course. I watched Henry’s sleeping face and pushed down a fleeting, guilty thought of Haith. Life was complicated. I loved Haith, but I also loved Henry in a nostalgic way, and I was married to de Marais. My eyelids dropped down over my eyes in fatigue at it all.
