Stewart Binns - Anarchy

‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. The most difficult part will be handling my father. He’s sure to remember you from your first encounter with him. And then there’s the small matter of my escape… Also, he knows me well, and he will assume I have not been without companionship these past months.’

‘You’re right, we will be walking into a bear pit. But as long as we stay true to what we’ve learned here in St Cirq Lapopie, we can draw strength from one another.’

‘I love you, Hal, and I always will. Please remember that, no matter what happens–’

‘And I love you, my darling. I will always be at your side, come what may.’

Matilda had never told me she loved me before, and I was quick to respond by affirming my love for her – something I had wanted to do for a very long time.

It was a moment that changed my life. I had decided some time ago that I would rally to her cause, now I knew I had to devote my life to her.

Eadmer helped me organize the estate for our departure, but he gulped hard when I told him we were due to rendezvous with the King in Rouen. His only comment was short and to the point.

‘He’ll cut your balls off and hang you from the nearest gibbet!’

Although I hoped his prediction would prove to be exaggerated, he was right. Of all our journeys, the one we were now preparing for was by far the most hazardous.

We were in Rouen before the worst of the winter of 1129 began. King Henry had sent orders that Matilda must be well taken care of in the ducal palace, and she arranged for me to be accommodated as a knight-escort of the royal household.

Rouen was busy; the city was storing the harvest and preparing itself for winter. Waiting for the arrival of the King was an anxious tedium, a calm before a raging storm. So as not to feed too much gossip, I only saw Matilda occasionally, although our arrival – as just a quartet without any escort or attendant paraphernalia, after months of absence – had already generated enough chatter to keep the busybodies happy for weeks. Fortunately, neither Eadmer nor Greta would ever reveal any of our secrets – so the surmise of the gossips remained no more than idle speculation.

However, the boredom of waiting for the King’s arrival was relieved in a most unwelcome way about ten days after we had settled in Rouen.

Greta stopped me in the palace courtyard and ushered me to see Matilda in her chamber. Her mistress was lying face down on the bed in a state of considerable distress. Greta pushed me inside furtively and closed the door behind me.

Matilda rushed over and threw her arms around me.

‘Hal, I’m at my wits’ end. I think I’m with child!’

I started to speak. I must have looked bewildered, because Matilda voiced my thoughts.

‘I know, I believed I was barren… but I’ve missed two months. There’s either something wrong with me, or I’m pregnant. I’ve got all the other signs: I’m sick all the time and bad tempered with Greta. What are we going to do?’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘It’s our child, I want to keep it.’

I tried to think quickly, but sensibly.

‘Good, then we have to leave. When do you expect the King?’

‘Any day now; the stewards are preparing everything.’

‘We must leave before he arrives. We’ll go to St Cirq Lapopie and make sure no one finds us.’

Looking relieved, she smiled at me.

‘Oh, please… please stay with me tonight.’

‘Of course, my darling. But first, let’s tell Greta and Eadmer to prepare for the journey. You’ll need to think of a reason for your swift departure.’

Although my night with Matilda was amorous enough, I did not sleep well – if our lives were not already beset by danger, our problems had just become much more ominous.

By late morning, all was ready for a rapid departure southwards. Matilda had told the King’s Chamberlain that she wanted to travel to Évreux to speak with Audin of Bayeux – the old bishop, famous for his wisdom and kindness. The Chamberlain was suspicious – especially when Matilda declined an escort – and made the obvious point that he would have to answer to the King if anything should happen to his daughter.

When we reached the gates of the palace, the Chamberlain was there with several of the garrison. He was still perturbed by Matilda’s sudden decision to leave, just at the point when her father was expected to arrive. The Constable of the Palace then intervened, a senior member of the King’s hierarchy in Normandy. The two men were on the horns of a dilemma: did they incur the ire of the Empress by preventing her from leaving, or the wrath of the King by allowing her to go?

It was obvious to me which decision they would make. I began to think of our options, the most obvious of which was a clandestine departure later that night.

I was about to whisper that thought to Matilda, when distant heralds sounded the approach of Henry Beauclerc, King of England. Eadmer looked at me, expecting a signal to make a run for it, but I shook my head. Matilda concurred with a frown and a shrug of her shoulders.

Our game was up.

The King was just as I remembered him – older of course, a little more rotund, but still formidable. He looked grim-faced. Perhaps he was tired from his journey, but his demeanour only added to my anxiety.

Matilda made a good fist of greeting her father with unbounded enthusiasm and rushed to his side. Henry looked at me only momentarily, without a flicker of emotion, as I tried to meet his glance with equanimity.

Eadmer was very anxious and forthright with his advice.

‘We should ride like the wind. Let’s leave now!’

‘You go, my friend, and take care of St Cirq Lapopie. I’m staying with Matilda; I’ve made her a promise.’

‘You’re a love-struck fool. But as it’s winter, and the Lot will be cold, I suppose I may as well stay here. And that makes me a bigger fool than you are!’

Matilda disappeared into the royal apartments with her father and his huge retinue – a host soon swollen by the entire nobility of Rouen, who rushed to the Palace to greet the King of England. He was a liege for whom they had much more affection in his guise as their Duke.

A celebratory feast began at dusk, and Eadmer and I retreated to a tavern to drink some of Normandy’s infamous Calva – not the most elegant of brews, but one that could certainly leave its mark. Sadly, its potency solved none of my problems.

Should I not have stood my ground with the King? I was in love with Maud and she with me; was it not my duty to stay by her side and protect her? In my head, I knew that discretion was vital, but my heart screamed at me to burst in on the feast and declare my abiding love.

Would I ever see her again? It seemed unlikely.

We had only been in the tavern for an hour when the door burst open, and at least a dozen of the King’s men set upon us with a vengeance. They wielded maces and staves and began raining blows on us.

Eadmer and I both managed to get to our feet and hurl ourselves at two of our assailants, knocking them to the floor. This reduced the odds a little, as we both managed to draw blood with our seaxes and relieve our opponents of their clubs.

A vicious exchange of blows ensued. Eadmer and I stood our ground amidst the confusion of a large group of men rapidly fleeing the tavern. But the sheer weight of numbers was too great for us to endure for long.

I saw Eadmer take a blow to the back of his neck before I suffered what I assumed was a similar fate. I felt a sickening crack to the side of my head and then nothing.

I did not even remember hitting the floor.

When I awoke, there was only a small speck of light high in the ceiling. I was sitting upright, devoid of clothes, with my arms chained to an iron ring in the wall above my head. I was confined in a small dungeon not much wider or longer than my own frame. I was in unbearable pain: the side of my head throbbed, my arms ached from being stretched upwards, and I was sitting in my own filth, which made my skin itch and burn.