Stewart Binns - Anarchy

After several days of recovery, I was able to begin yet another journey to the south. I was given a small escort of cavalry, a steward and a groom. The life of an earl had some obvious advantages!

As promised by Maud, Eadmer was waiting some fifteen miles south of the city, at the ancient Pont de l’Arche on the Seine. He was a sight for sore eyes, and his first remark brought a smile to my face.

‘You’ve looked better, Hal. Let’s get you home to the Lot and see if we can make you resemble a human being again.’

‘Thank you, Eadmer, it’s good to see you. Remember, you’re addressing an earl now – so show due deference.’

‘Yes, Your Earlship! How did you swing that one? One minute you’re a dead man. The next, you’re the Earl of Huntingdon! But you were better looking as plain Harold than you are now!’

I spent the greater part of the journey to St Cirq Lapopie listening to Eadmer’s exhaustive account of his dramatic escape from the clutches of the King’s executioners. I also heard many times the several new ballads he had written while idling away his time in the forest. He said he was going to compose a new one called ‘The Ballad of Robyn of Hode’, which began:

To Hereward, a grandson, Harold by name,

To the Empress, a lover, one Robyn of Hode.

And to England an earl, Lord of Huntingdon’s shire,

A knight for all men and all maids to desire.

He also had news of Lothar, Maud’s faithful bodyguard. Apparently, he had been captured trying to get her message to Count Geoffrey. Despite many days of torture, he had refused to reveal her whereabouts. Death was his only saviour. Thankfully, that finally came to him and ended his suffering. Maud found it difficult to bear the news – especially as the detail of it was told to her with cruel relish by Count Geoffrey.

During Eadmer’s time in the forest, Greta had brought him food and regular news about my captivity. She had also been given Maud’s permission to disclose the full story of her pregnancy and subsequent ordeal. He was full of praise for Maud’s fortitude and told me that she had been vital to his escape by distracting his guards.

As usual, he was both forthright and sardonic in his reflections.

‘I always encouraged you to get on with it and get her into your bed. As a reward, you’ve now ended up as an earl. You see, you should listen to me more often!’

It was good to have Eadmer at my side again. After a few days, I decided to give him a dose of his own medicine.

‘So, what about young Greta? She’s a handsome Teutonic lass, broad in the beam, strong in the shoulders, flat-bellied… She’d make you a happy man!’

He was unusually coy in his response, which made me probe further.

‘I see… so after emptying the bread basket she’d brought you, you rewarded her by filling hers!’

He avoided a direct answer – which I took as an admission that my inference was accurate – before he changed the subject.

‘You must be feeling better, Hal. Let’s get you home to the Lot before you start getting frisky again.’

At least for the rest of the journey, I had found Eadmer’s Achilles’ heel. I smiled at the thought that I could return to it whenever I needed entertainment.

St Cirq Lapopie was a fine sight when it first came into view. Although Maud was not there to share it with me, I could still relish the fond memories it brought me. After my recent incarceration, thankfully, it was once again a haven of refuge and a symbol of hope for the future.

I tried not to think about Maud trying to conceive with her feckless husband, but only of the past, our joyous time together, and of the future when, God willing, we would be together again.

By the winter of 1131, I was fully recovered from my ordeal in King Henry’s dungeon. Growing impatience now began to become the dominant feature of my mood.

During the spring of 1132, by which time there was still no word of a pregnancy for Maud, my impatience turned into exasperation. The only saving grace was that I found myself preoccupied with the many tasks demanded by the estate. But eventually, even these were no longer a respite for my frustrations.

I had bedded several of the local girls, in search of some distraction, but the shallowness of these encounters only added to the problem. Eadmer was doing the same despite, for the first time, admitting his love for Greta – like me, all he wanted was to be with his beloved again. We were like chivalrous young knights, revelling in our love for our ladies, and did not mind admitting it to one another, often over too many flagons of Cahors’ best vintages.

We hoped that Maud and Greta were in Rouen, where at least their Norman kin could keep an eye on them. But we feared that they may be in Le Mans or Angers, among Geoffrey’s kin – a thought that only added to our woes.

Then, in May, a rider arrived at St Cirq Lapopie. He wore the clothes of a merchant, but was heavily armed. He said almost nothing, other than to ask for me by name, before handing me a folded vellum note closed with a distinctive seal: ‘Matilda, Emperatrix Romanum’.

It contained only a simple message: ‘Venire mox, pons Yssoir, Le Mans’. So, fortified by optimism, we headed north-west to respond to Maud’s summons: ‘Come soon, Yssoir Bridge at Le Mans’.

At the end of May, we tethered our horses and waited on the west bank of the River Sarthe in the lee of the ancient walls of the Presbytery of Our Lady of Le Mans. We could see the ancient Roman walls of Le Mans on the opposite back, with the ornate roof of the Cathedral of St Julien towering above them. Later that day, a plainly dressed rider crossed the old bridge and waited for some time before returning to the city. He did the same thing the next morning, leading us to conclude that he was a messenger from Maud.

When he came back in the afternoon, I greeted him.

‘Who do you seek, friend? I am Harold, Earl of Huntingdon.’

He responded curtly.

‘Wait here for further messages, my Lord.’

The following afternoon, the messenger reappeared with another short instruction.

‘My Lord, the Empress sends her greetings. Go to a small lake in the middle of the Forest of Loudon. Travel for ten miles eastwards from the city, on the old road to Orléans, and you will come to a crossroads. Go south for two miles towards a village called La Raterie, where you will see the lake through the trees on your right. Be there tomorrow night.’

I could not wait to see Maud, to hear her news. But more importantly, after what had seemed like an eternity, I longed just to cast eyes on her beautiful face once again.

It was almost June, and a warm sunny evening in the Forest of Loudon. The lake was just like a fenland mere – a series of shallow ponds amidst marshland, thick with undergrowth and populated by waterfowl of all kinds. As the sun went down, the reeds and tall marsh grasses became silhouetted against the glistening gold of the water. The vivid reds and yellows of the marsh orchids and water irises faded in the encroaching darkness. It reminded me of some of the mysterious and romantic places in the Fens and Broads of my home.

With darkness fully settled, we could see the light of a couple of lanterns to the west, on the far side of the mere. It was the dark of the moon, and not easy to make our way over wet ground that would have been impossible to cross in winter. But then one of the lanterns moved towards us – it was held by Maud’s messenger, who guided us to a makeshift camp.

There were two royal carriages, drawn up around a large camp fire. Hidden in the trees was an escort of just two guards, with a picket-line of horses. With Greta behind her in the shadows, Maud stood close to the fire, the flames of which danced provocatively on the smooth silk of her midnight-blue kirtle, highlighting the delights of her womanly form. The cord at her waist rested on the ample hips I had come to know so well, its tassels hanging down to the heart of her femininity. She looked as enchanting as ever.