Daughter of the Last King, page 24
part #1 of Conquest I Series
After two weeks of negotiations with King Muirchertach, I returned from Dublin to Arnulf who waited, hiding out near Cardigan, to hear the outcome of my negotiations. ‘I have bettered even my commission, sire,’ I told him.
‘How so?’
‘King Muirchertach Ua Briain will take your allegiance and give you lands, ships and men … and his daughter Lafracoth in marriage.’
‘What! Are you insane, FitzWalter!’
‘It was the seal on the agreement required by Muirchertach. There was no negotiating on it.’ This last was not entirely the truth but while I was at the Irish court Muirchertach gave his other daughter Bebin in betrothal to Magnus Barelegs’ son Sigurd, and it occurred to me, seeing her sister seated beside her that it would be a way to ensure Lady Nest no longer ran the risk of an uncertain marriage to Arnulf.
‘What do I want with an Irish hoyden?’ Arnulf yelled at me. ‘I want the Welsh princess that was promised to me all this time, not this … this Lafra …’
‘Lafracoth, sire. She is no hoyden, I assure you. A beautiful and cultured young girl, sire, in truth. We all know that we do not marry for desire, lord, but for allegiance and wealth.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said sullenly, waving me off.
He was crazed with the news for several days but had to grow reconciled to it. He has no other options. He can never have the Welsh princess and her father’s kingdom now. Arnulf sails to Ireland tomorrow and he will find his wife is not without beauty, though she is not Nest. I do not sail with him since he has given me my promise of fealty back. I told him I knew only England and Wales where my kin are, and must chance myself there, not in Ireland. He was reluctant, but eventually admitted I had served him long and well and deserved the granting of my request for release from his service. He is morose, as well he might be, with his losses and his prospects.
One stroke of luck occurred while I was in Dublin. I was invited to dine at the hall of the Norse lord Ragnall. I made my way up Fishamble Street to his hall where it seemed most of the household were out hunting when I arrived, perhaps too early, and there was not so much as a stableboy to greet me. I called out hallos in vain and then watered and tethered my own horse. I left my sword belt at the doorway and ventured in. A fire burnt well in the hearth and I could smell the scents of a meal in preparation.
‘We heard you, sir, but are at a crucial moment here!’ Two young men sat at the table in the hall, with beakers of ale, playing at hnefatafl. The red-haired man, who I recognised as Owain ap Cadwgan, had called out to me in Welsh, holding one arm up to stay me from an interruption. He and his contender kept their eyes fixed upon the game and not upon me. I approached them and saw Owain was taking the role of the attacker with white pieces. ‘Submit!’ he exclaimed as he captured one of the defender-pieces. The other, younger man was black-haired and defended with the red pieces. His king-piece still stood in the castle in the centre of the board. A serving lad looked up from stirring a pot and brought me over a beaker of ale. I lent against the warm stone, close to the hearth, and watched until their play was concluded with Owain finally capturing the king of the dark young man. They shook hands, laughing, and then looked to me apologetically. ‘Much was riding on it!’ Owain exclaimed. ‘I won a fine horse here from my friend Gruffudd.’
‘You are Welsh, my friends,’ I said, using their tongue.
Their faces were more guarded now, and their glances took me in. ‘And you, Norman,’ the dark-haired boy said, looking at me with blue eyes. There was something familiar about him.
‘Aye. I am invited here by Lord Ragnall to dine. I am Gerald FitzWalter, until recently, castellan of Pembroke Castle.’
The dark-haired young man leapt to his feet at the sound of my name, reaching to the empty scabbard at his hip. Owain gripped him and pushed him back down into his seat. ‘Easy! Our friend here is a guest of Lord Ragnall.’
‘No friend to me,’ the dark young man exclaimed, looking angrily at me.
‘Give me your names that I can understand how I have offended,’ I begged them, hoping all the while that Ragnall would arrive before too long and calm down the situation, which I had not expected at all. I looked to check there was little distance between me and my sword leaning in the doorway. Though the young boy had no beard, was perhaps only fifteen or sixteen years old and I had the advantage of age and experience on him, nevertheless, I had seen such youths made dangerous before in their eagerness to prove themselves, and I would not underestimate him. Owain, I knew to be a bloodied warrior, and if it came to a fight, he was bound to support his fellow Welshman and friend.
‘I am Owain, son of King Cadwgan. You know of me, no doubt.’
I inclined my head politely. ‘Indeed, Prince, I am glad to meet with you.’
‘And my friend here, who alas you anger with your trespass on his lands, is King Gruffudd ap Rhys.’
For a moment, I floundered. I could not think what was meant by it. ‘I …’
Seeing my confusion, Owain enlightened me further. ‘Gruffudd is the heir to Rhys ap Tewdwr, who was slain by Bernard de Neufmarché at Aberhonddu.’
‘Gruffudd …’ I said, turning to him, ‘then you are the brother of Nest, Princess Nest.’
‘What do you know of my sister? How is her name in your mouth, Norman?’ The young man’s face was flushed, and he growled his words at me beneath a furious brow.
‘Take ease, Gruffudd,’ Owain soothed him, holding him down in his chair with a heavy grip on both his shoulders.
‘I have had the honour of knowing your sister for some years, lord. You will be glad to know she fares well. She is in England, at the court of King Henry. She is treated with honour, sire, as she merits.’
He looked a little mollified and raised his beaker shakily to me. The serving boy approached tentatively and refilled Owain and Gruffudd’s beakers. I shook my head at his proffered jug. I judged they were both a little drunk, despite the early hour.
‘Is she wed? Nest?’ Gruffudd asked me, his face and tone shifting mercurially to a friendly enough facade.
‘No, sire. Not as yet.’
The two Welshmen exchanged a look.
‘And …’ Gruffudd began, but then I was relieved to hear the hunters arrive back in the courtyard beyond and to know I would soon have Ragnall between me and these two young pretenders to Welsh crowns. It was a stroke of luck to come across Nest’s brother. He is a fine young man who has been reared and trained in Ragnall’s warrior household. He and Owain both are wont to boast there of their intended inheritances as kings’ sons. With Arnulf and the rest of the Montgomerys out of the way in Wales, it would be a good time for such boasts to be acted upon. Nest would look gratefully on news of Gruffudd ap Rhys, but so would King Henry, and I am in needs to buy my way back into the king’s good graces. Evidently, Gruffudd means to make an attempt to reclaim his kingdom at some juncture if he could ever find himself adequately equipped with men and ships. Ragnall keeps him dangling on such a promise I have no doubt, but I see no likelihood of its fulfilment for the moment.
* * *
At Queen Matilda’s court, news filtered through to us that Bellême, betrayed by his Welsh allies, had been forced to surrender Shrewsbury to Henry, and had fled the kingdom. Sybil’s family, that had been the greatest in the realm during the rule of William the Conqueror, was reduced to nothing in England and Wales. Prince Iorwerth had captured his brother, Maredudd, and Henry had imprisoned him, but then Iorwerth had approached Henry for his promised reward and despite Henry’s assurances – which I was certain had included me – the prince found himself also incarcerated at the king’s pleasure, so Cadwgan was now unchallenged ruler of Powys. It had doubtless been the agreement between Cadwgan and Henry all along.
Henry used me, dangled me as bait for Iorwerth, and perhaps hoped to conquer me himself, too. The sooner I was honourably wed, the better. I decided to work on Queen Matilda to see if she could intercede with the king to find a suitable husband for me. Why not Prince Owain? Could it really make a difference to Norman rule in Wales? Grudgingly, I admitted to myself that yes, it could. Cadwgan was already as powerful as Henry was prepared to allow any Welsh prince to be. My alliance with Owain would present a significant rallying symbol for the Welsh resistance, and would give Cadwgan and Owain every reason to expand their control into Deheubarth, against its current Norman rulers, who were insecure as yet after the dismissal of Arnulf. If Henry would not consent to a marriage to Owain, then who would he bestow me upon? I determined to discuss this knotty problem with Elizabeth.
* * *
from The Copybook of Sister Benedicta
* * *
Westminster, Midwinter 1102
Dear Benedicta, forgive my tardiness in writing to you. There has been much afoot. Last year, as you know, William de Warenne, the earl of Surrey, left Henry’s court in the company of Duke Robert. Henry has been setting his house in order, as I told you he would, creating an aristocracy around him that is loyal as they never were in the reign of his brother William. He disseised Warenne for allowing his men to inflict private warfare on villagers in Norfolk and refuses all his treaties for restitution. Ivo de Grandesmil has had to hock his land to Meulan and go on pilgrimage for similar reasons of offence against the king. No doubt you will have heard from your Montgomery abbess that Henry has dealt with that family harshly. The Montgomerys are all disseised and banished from England. Their nephew, William de Mortain, continues to be a concern. Henry is giving him a chance to show loyalty since he is young and a kinsman to Henry also, but I doubt that will end well, either. Slowly Henry moulds his raptor barons to his own needs. If you hear news of any of the Montgomery brothers, it could be useful for Henry to hear it.
Your favourite, Archbishop Anselm, has been holding council and doing a similar job with cleansing and shaping the Church, much to the discomfort of some bishops and abbots who gained their positions through bribes to William Rufus, and to the unease of those married clerics that Anselm chastises and orders they must set aside their mistresses and children. Friction continues between Anselm and the king regarding the controversy over investiture of bishops, and this has no prospect of resolution for now. I am lately returned from campaign against Bellême at the Welsh borders with Henry and have been kept busy conveying beautiful young ladies through wolf-infested forests and the like. How are things in Normandy? From your brother, with love, Haith.
* * *
Almenêches Abbey, Normandy, Yuletide 1102
Dearest Haith, all is calm here at the abbey for now, although we expect trouble with the return of Bellême. He is a turbulent man & peace does not follow him. You will have heard of the sad death of good Count Stephen de Blois on crusade. His wife Countess Adela, sister to your King Henry, is ruling Blois as regent for her young son Thibaud & doing an excellent job of it to all accounts. Duke Robert & his wife Sybilla have cause for celebration with the recent birth of their son, William Clito. We are all praying that this son will live, & that Duke Robert, steadied by a wife & heir, will find a good rule of the duchy now. Beautiful young ladies you say? I send you all my affection & this gift of warm woollen hose that I have knitted for you to wear in your draughty palaces. I hope they are not too small for your great hooves. Benedicta.
* * *
The Christmas court was held at Westminster so the queen could stay put, as she liked. We heard the sad news that the wife of Duke Robert had given him an heir but died soon afterwards and the queen has sent both her congratulations and her condolences to the duke, who is her godfather. Henry has lately arrived back with his household and among the members of his entourage swelling the palace, were his adviser Robert de Meulan, Elizabeth’s husband; Henry, earl of Warwick and Meulan’s brother; Bishop Roger of Salisbury; William d’Aubigny, Henry’s butler; William de Courcy, Eudo and Haimo, who are Henry’s stewards; Aubrey de Vere, his chamberlain; Ralph Basset, one of his justiciars; William Warelwast, who acts as a diplomat to Rome and the sheriff, Urse D’Abetot. Elizabeth schooled me in the names and roles of everyone. I was disappointed that FitzHamon did not come to court, thinking Sybil might have come with him, but FitzHamon, Henry told me, had business in Normandy.
Henry also brought with him the scholars, Petrus Alfonsi and Adelard of Bath, since he was very interested in their latest discoveries concerning counting and astrology. Adelard, who had travelled widely in the Holy Land, had a table set before the king and was demonstrating his new invention. The surface of the table was divided into units with counters that could be moved around the table to add and subtract. ‘I am also, sire, writing a treatise on the illnesses of hawks, from their heads to their toes.’
Henry nodded his head up and down earnestly, equally interested in the counting and the hawk diseases. ‘Excellent, Adelard. Truly excellent.’
I was surprised to see Gerald in the crowd of people thronging the hall and raised my hand to catch his attention, but he did not see me. Before I had a chance to step to him and ask how he did, the king’s herald shouted his name: ‘Gerald FitzWalter!’
Gerald stepped forward and knelt to the king, his head bowed.
‘You were vassal to the Montgomerys and castellan at Pembroke Castle?’ Henry asked Gerald.
‘Yes, sire.’
‘You travelled to Ireland on Arnulf de Montgomery’s behalf to ask for help for the rebels against me from the king of Munster and negotiated an unsanctioned marriage for Arnulf de Montgomery with the Irish king’s daughter.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Gerald’s head stayed down.
My mind raced to comprehend what I heard. Arnulf was married! And Gerald … Gerald was accused before Henry of treasonous acts. I looked in panic at Henry’s face, trying to read Gerald’s doom there. I had seen him issue warrants for hangings and maimings for much less.
20
An Old Maid
Henry contemplated Gerald’s bowed head and looked out across the crowd of people, his gaze alighting on me. ‘However …’ Henry began.
I did not think but suddenly found myself standing next to Gerald in front of the king. I was aware of Gerald turning to look up at me in surprise, but I did not look at him. ‘Please, sire, grant Sir Gerald FitzWalter clemency as he gave me compassion when my father, the king of Deheubarth, was slain by Bernard de Neufmarché. I know that as steward of my father’s conquered lands, he has treated all with fairness and justice. Even the Welsh would say so.’ I had stepped up and spoken in a rush and now I was alarmed at my temerity, wondering where had it come from, but shouldn’t a princess be able to speak to a king?
I was relieved to see a smile blooming on the king’s face. ‘My dear Lady Nest. You plead eloquently for Gerald FitzWalter.’
I wanted to say more but my legs were shaking terribly and I feared my voice would also shake.
‘No more words, my lady?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, FitzWalter, since you have such a fair champion, who could gainsay her?’ The king appeared to be highly amused, but he sobered his expression and voice to pronounce his decision on Gerald. ‘You will stay here at court for now, FitzWalter, where I can watch if your tendencies are as rebellious as the Montgomerys or no, and then we shall see.’
‘Thank you, sire. You will find me loyal to you. I thank you greatly, Lady Nest,’ Gerald turned to me, his face scarlet. The king waved his hand for the next business and Gerald walked quickly from the hall, glancing back over his shoulder at me.
* * *
With Henry back at court, I noticed that he showed a great deal more affection for his wife and baby daughter than FitzHamon had ever shown to Sybil and her daughters. The queen was pregnant again, but unlike Sybil, who was always so sturdy in her pregnancies, Matilda was constantly unwell. The king invited me twice to Woodstock, but I found reasons to demure on each occasion, using the excuse of my duties to his wife. I was not such a fool as to risk myself there with him, nevertheless, I was surprised and, I had to admit to myself, a little jealous, when Elizabeth told me Henry had taken a new, and very young, mistress, named Sybil Corbet. ‘She is exquisite,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Like a doll.’
‘Well, if a full-grown man must play with dolls …’ I said waspishly.
Elizabeth herself might be described as exquisite, with her red hair and strange coloured eyes, but there was nothing doll-like about her. The white flesh of her arms and shoulders was softly padded, and her breasts swelled substantially in her bodice. I was a little jealous of that since my own body was still rather boy-like. ‘But you haven’t started bearing babies yet like me!’ Elizabeth exclaimed. She had lately discovered she was pregnant again and her body was blooming fast.
At the beginning of May, the court moved to Windsor for Pentecost where a controversy occurred because Duke Robert and William de Warenne arrived to attend the court without giving notice to the king. Henry was furious with his brother and refused to see him. Eventually the duke admitted, using Meulan as his mediator, that he should have asked leave from the king before landing on English soil. It was embarrassing to see how Henry and Meulan manipulated the duke into humiliating himself, particularly since he had come, selflessly and with great courtesy, to plead for the reinstatement of Warenne. This pleading then did not get off to a good beginning. I think it is Henry’s deliberate policy to put his opponents on the wrong foot from the outset.
