The Anarchy, page 23
I woke to see Henry dressed and washing his face. As I stirred and stretched in the pungent sheets, he turned to me, an expression of affection in his eyes and on his mouth. His eyelashes were clotted with the water he had splashed on his face. ‘You save me again, Nest! I feel much better. As if I have slept for a thousand years. You have lifted the clouds of sadness in which I was wrapped. You brighten the nebulous gloom of my soul. I wish I could put aside my royal dignity, spurn my crown, trample my purple and run away with you.’ I laughed at him as he towelled his nose and chin and then sat on the edge of the bed, offering me a beaker of water. ‘So, my most beautiful princess, my longest treasure (notice I do not say old), what do you want?’
I smiled with my eyes at him over the rim of the beaker as I sipped and handed the emptied beaker back to him. ‘I would rather be dressed for that conversation,’ I declared and slid from the bed in hunt of my clothes, my hands cupped modestly to one breast and another to my private parts, bending away from his embraces as I dressed. I pushed him gently from me and sat in the chair before the hearth. ‘May I have audience with the king?’ I asked.
‘As many times as you like,’ he joked.
I bowed my head for a moment. ‘I would not have you think I lay with you for the sake of the plea I wish to make to you. That is not the truth of the it.’
‘Don’t worry about that. I have a clear sense of why you lay with me and am most grateful for it,’ he responded, his eyes alight with amusement. I was relieved to see him return to his former confidence.
‘I am glad of that.’
‘Have you forgiven me yet for roping you to de Marais?’
I frowned, but quickly relented. ‘I forgave you that when you signed the charter that released me from him. And,’ I said, quietly, ‘I understood why you felt you had to do it.’ Henry had feared that if I remained a widow and unwed, I would become a liability again for his rule in Wales. I had already made that rule vulnerable when the Welsh prince, Owain, kidnapped me from my first Norman husband, Gerald, aiming to make fools of the Normans with his theft of me. Henry could not allow that to happen again and so he had callously done me the disservice of marrying me to de Marais.
‘What is it then, Nest? Need to reject another husband? Have another abductor hanged from the walls of Pembroke?’
I laughed and then sobered my expression. ‘Sire, it is my brother.’ His expression sobered in return. ‘I would ask you for clemency for Gruffudd, sire.’
He pursed his mouth sourly. How many times had I seen that look, known what it presaged? ‘Don’t say no,’ I cried out quickly. ‘He was at grave fault, it’s true. But as the one who would have ruled in Deheubarth in former circumstances, his pride is injured with his disinheritance and the reduced situation in which he must live. You gave clemency to William Clito’s followers. Will you not give clemency to Gruffudd and let him return to his family, and to me?’
Henry swilled the wine around his mouth. ‘If I do grant clemency, will you stand surety, Nest, that Gruffudd ap Rhys will not act against my interests?’
I swallowed my own mouthful of wine. I had known he would ask me this and that I could not be certain of Gruffudd’s actions if he returned. In fact, I felt quite certain he would act against the king’s interests, that he must do so, and that, perhaps, I would too. ‘I will so stand surety,’ I stated with conviction and prayed I would not rue it.
Henry’s mouth continued pursed for some time. ‘You will rue it, Nest,’ he retorted, echoing my thoughts.
‘I hope not, sire,’ I whispered, looking away from him.
‘Very well. I will issue the pardon in tomorrow’s court. I can gainsay you nothing. But if your brother causes me any more trouble in Wales, I will not hesitate to hang him on the next occasion and no dillydallying on our parts will save him. Are we clear on this?’
‘It is clear. Thank you, Henry,’ I said, regarding him gravely. ‘And,’ I added in a more pert tone, ‘you can be certain there will be no more dillydallying.’
‘That’s what you said a few years back,’ Henry laughed, ‘and a few more times before that.’
I rose to take my leave of him, shaking my head and smoothing down my gown. Mabel would be worrying about what had happened to me in all this time, or would have guessed at it.
I leant a hand on his shoulder. ‘Go safely, dear Henry,’ I whispered in his ear and brushed his lined cheek with my mouth.
‘And you, my Nest.’
I backed into the corridor and dropped the latch on Henry’s door. Turning to the corridor, I was appalled to find myself confronted with Haith. It was clear from his expression that he knew I had been with the king. The dishevelled state of my clothes and hair were evidence against me. ‘Haith!’
‘I have come to treat with the king for Ida. Perhaps you are about the same mission,’ he said slowly.
‘Yes. I … Henry … the king assures me she is already freed and on her way here.’
Haith’s face briefly showed relief at this news, but then returned to his stare of consternation at finding me emerging from the king’s chamber.
‘I … Mabel is waiting for me.’ He stepped aside so I could move past him. When I reached my room, I was relieved to find it empty. I flung myself on the bed and hugged my knees, rocking and weeping. Oh, what had I done! I had only meant to give Henry comfort for old times’ sake, but I had affronted the man I loved and there was no cure for it. Amelina came in and was appalled to see me grieving. ‘What is it? You are breaking your heart! Has someone hurt you?’
‘Me. I have hurt me.’ I wept hard and could not, would not, speak of it.
‘Nest, Nest.’ She embraced me, trying to comfort me.
‘What’s happened? Has Ida been harmed?’
I shook my head. ‘Ida is safe. The king has freed her and sent for her. She will be here in a few days. The king will give pardon to Gruffudd.’
‘What is it then, Nest?’ she asked, bewildered.
‘I need a bath, Amelina. Order a bath for me.’
27
Suspicions
Haith stood dumbfounded at the door to the king’s chamber, taking deep breaths. Nest had bedded the king. He was sure of it. He took his hand from the latch. Speech with the king was not possible at this moment. Ida was safe in any case. Haith turned on his heel and moved back down the corridor. He avoided the hall and feast later that evening since he could not bear to watch Nest in company with the king. Should he simply turn tail and return to Pembroke? No, he wanted to wait and see Ida, see she was safe. Nest owed him nothing. He did not own her. She had once loved the king, long ago. He tried to drive the speculations from his mind.
Haith went to the stables in the morning to see his horse was provisioned and noticed Nest’s palfrey was not there. ‘Is the lady out riding so early?’ he asked the groom.
‘I think she left, sir.’
‘Left?’
‘She and her maid.’
* * *
Haith avoided the king, spending as much time as he could at his townhouse rather than at the palace. He had intended to take this opportunity to share his findings concerning The White Ship, but he could not bring himself to a long conversation with Henry after discovering Nest in the act of leaving the king’s chamber, the king’s bed. He forced the words to take solid shape in his mind.
He decided to write out a summary of his findings on the ship in a letter addressed to the king instead, to be given to him along with Gisulf’s chest in the event that Haith should die. After all, there had been two serious attempts on his life already. Haith wrote of his search for the truth about the sinking of the ship and that he had found no evidence to support his initial suspicions against Stephen de Blois. The accounts of Berold and Luc de La Barre and the letters in Gisulf’s chest were evidence that the royal clerk had been blackmailing Waleran de Meulan and Ranulf de Gernon.
He lifted his stylus from the parchment and paused in his account. The chest also contained a letter concerning Ida that might have given Amaury de Montfort motive for murder. Haith did not write that down.
He continued writing that Berold and de La Barre had attested that Berold and the royal dapifer de Pirou were commissioned by Waleran’s steward, Morin du Pin, to murder Gisulf onboard The White Ship. They had carried out that murder and also killed the ship’s pilot who had caught them in the act, and they had, thereby, caused the sinking of the ship and the deaths of three hundred people, including the king’s heir. The witnesses swore that Waleran de Meulan had not known about the murder plan beforehand. De Pirou had since also been murdered. Morin du Pin had disappeared beyond reach into exile.
Waleran was incarcerated when the two attempts were made on Haith’s life: one at Westminster during the Christmas court in 1126, and the second at Pembroke in the summer of 1128. There were reasons, therefore, to suspect the involvement of de Gernon in these murderous attempts against Haith, derived largely from the fact that he had opportunity to commission them, from his association with de Pirou and his treasonous correspondence stored by Gisulf. There was, however, no concrete evidence against de Gernon. The bard Breri had also been implicated in the treasonous letter from de Gernon that Gisulf kept in his blackmail chest, and it seemed likely he had some hand in the attack on Haith in Wales.
That was all Haith could write. It was a dissatisfying haul after all this time casting a net for truth. The perpetrators had died or disappeared and de Gernon, if arraigned, would simply deny any knowledge of Gisulf’s murder and the sinking. Haith would be speaking against a powerful lord who could crush him if he accused him without proof.
Haith blotted the parchment, folded it and addressed it to Henricus Rex. He sealed the letter and allowed a long red ribbon to adhere in the solidifying wax. He lifted the lid of Gisulf’s chest. So much misery and greed rustled in these papers. He reached for Robert de Bellême’s letter concerning Ida and transferred it to the small casket of his own important mementos. He closed and locked Gisulf’s chest and tied his letter to the king to the hasp. Perhaps with this summary, he could let the matter go as Ida had told him he should. He summoned two servants to carry the chest into the small, secure room where quantities of silver, his seal, and papers relating to his work as sheriff were kept.
Hooves sounded in the courtyard outside and Haith went to the door to see Ida arriving with an escort of the king’s men. Haith sped down the stone steps to the hall two at a time and hurried to the door. Outside, he quickly crossed the small, cobbled courtyard to help his sister from her horse. ‘Ida! Thank the Lord!’
When his sister was divested of her travel cloak and settled comfortably before the fire, he looked her over. He was relieved to see she was unharmed and had recovered swiftly from her ordeal at the hands of de Clare. She told him cheerfully she had been locked up at Pembroke for a week and harangued daily by de Clare’s chaplain, but the king’s summons arrived before she was forced to endure any further punishment. ‘I believe they intended to immure me in an anchor hold,’ Ida said, her face sobering, her shoulders shivering at that imagined fate.
‘Nest was here at court, I understand?’ Ida asked him. ‘Suing with the king on my behalf.’
‘Yes,’ he replied and moved away to leaf through a pile of papers on the table, making it clear he did not wish to speak further on that topic.
28
The Librarian
‘Are you looking forward to your return to Fontevraud?’ Haith shouted to Ida over the noise of the rough sea. Conversation offered them some distraction from the fear of the turbulent waters and the whipping winds buffeting their small ship.
‘Yes,’ Ida shouted back, ‘as long as I leave again on this occasion!’
Haith grinned back to her. ‘Have no fear. We’ll not leave you behind.’
The king had decided to visit the abbey of Fontevraud and to take Maud with him, hoping the abbess and nuns might make an impression on the devout empress and persuade her back to her marriage. The king’s daughter Juliana (one of his many children born out of wedlock) had decided to take the veil at Fontevraud and join her daughters, who had entered the convent as children. The king wished to make a substantial gift to Fontevraud for the sake of his daughter and granddaughters and had asked Haith and Ida to accompany him. This gift to Fontevraud from Henry was one of many large donations he had made in the last few months. He had also richly endowed Cluny and La Trinité in Caen. His gifts and ongoing negotiations with Pope Innocent all had one end, as far as Haith could see. To win favour with God, bring about a repair to Maud’s marriage and, therefore, a resuscitation of Henry’s hopes of a grandson. Haith was concerned about Ida’s safety at Fontevraud, but she reassured him she would keep her face concealed and the king would allow no harm to come to her.
Haith had kept his distance from both Nest and the king for a while, but Henry was his oldest friend and his king. Eventually, it had been necessary to obey his summons, and try to erase any thoughts concerning Nest and Henry.
* * *
The abbess welcomed Ida as a laywoman and feigned no recognition of her. She took care Ida was quartered where no one who had known her before would remember her and, true to her word, Ida went about heavily veiled. After their first night at the abbey, Ida met Haith in the refectory to break fast. When they finished eating, she took her brother’s hand and led him to her former kingdom: the library. He watched her make herself comfortable in a particularly secluded corner, where she told him she often sat before in her former life here. With the exception of themselves, the library was empty, and Ida removed her veil to sit with her eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine on her face.
‘Do you think of de Montfort here?’ Haith asked her.
‘Yes,’ she admitted, startled, opening her eyes and blushing. ‘Part of me thinks it is not fitting to think of him here, in God’s house. But you know, Haith, it was an act of affection, of hope somehow, between us. I am not ashamed of it. I hope God will see it in the same light.’ She sat up straight and bent to the desk in front of her, where she had laid out parchment, ink, and stylus. ‘Do you think of Nest in this place?’ she countered.
‘I think of Nest everywhere. Who are you writing to?’
‘To her, to Nest.’ She looked up at him. He realised she had grown aware of his reticence on the subject of Nest. ‘I have hopes you two will find happiness in time,’ she said, but he did not meet her gaze or respond.
‘How lucky we are Haith that our bodies, our hearts, and our children (in your case) are not indentured to the state, as are those of kings and queens.’ Haith’s thoughts went to Nest. There was some application of that idea to her lot in life.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you are thinking of the empress?’ The king’s business had lately been dominated by his efforts to repair the breach between Empress Maud and her husband.
‘Yes, but the king, too. All his efforts now are to secure this succession and the future of his kingdom.’
‘I wouldn’t feel too sorry for Henry, Ida, from a personal angle, on account of his loves in life, I mean. I assure you, he sowed plenty of his wild oats in his youth, before he ever became king, and after, too.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘He has followed his own heart for most of his life.’
‘And you are thinking of how my idea applies to Nest,’ she stated.
He did not reply.
‘May I read my letter out to you?’ She did not wait for his answer. He looked at her desk as she prepared to read and noticed she had two sheets of parchment she had been writing on. She moved the second sheet to the top and read out:
Felicitations to you on the return of your brother Gruffudd and the safe delivery of Gwenllian’s new son, Maredudd. I am grieved to hear of the death of Elizabeth de Vermandois. I know that you and she were close friends as girls.
‘Did you know her, Haith? Elizabeth?’
He nodded and thought of Nest and Elizabeth as laughing and lovely young girls at court, of how he had first met Nest, escorting her on the king’s orders on several journeys. It was hard to believe Elizabeth was dead. He and Nest, Henry, and Ida, they were all in the twilight of their lives now, with not much time left to them. Could he find a way past the most recent causes for distance between himself and Nest, or had she made her decision it was Henry who was the love of her life, after all?
‘What is it, Haith? Something about Nest.’ Ida had read some unguarded expression on his face.
‘It’s nothing. What else do you write?’
‘I told her not to fret that Robert has gone to de Marais in Cardigan.’
She meant de Marais’ eight-year-old son, Robert FitzStephen, not Haith’s son Robert, who was twelve. Nest’s youngest son had gone to Cardigan Castle where his father had placed him in training with Robert FitzMartin. Ida continued to read out her letter.
FitzStephen will thrive at Cardigan. He will be in his element. You will see.
I return to England with King Henry and Empress Maud next month.
‘Tell her I know FitzMartin well and he will take good care of her son,’ Haith said.
Ida was pleased at the additional comfort she could offer to Nest and dipped the stylus in the pot of ink one more time.
‘Who is your second letter to?’ asked Haith.
‘No second letter,’ Ida remarked, not looking up from her task. ‘I just blotched my first copy.’
Haith frowned. His sister was an accomplished scribe. The last time he had known her to blotch her writing, she had been six years old. He studied her bowed, blonde head, but found no explanation there.
