Stewart Binns - Anarchy

‘I think I should take Eadmer and a few good men and go to England to see Earl Robert. Lothar and Berenger, and the rest of your bodyguard, can stay with you. I’ll send word as soon as possible for you to set sail. I fear things are stalling, because we’re too far away.’

Maud was enthusiastic about the idea – if anything, a little too enthusiastic.

‘You’re right of course! But I should come too–’

‘No, my darling, not yet; you will be too conspicuous. The ranks of your bodyguard are too big to land secretly, and too small to pose a serious threat.’

‘Then we’ll travel as a small group, like we used to.’

‘It’s an attractive idea, but when you next land on England’s shore, it should be to a fanfare announcing the arrival of the future Queen. Let us see out the winter here in Caen and watch our boys grow, and I will travel to England in the spring.’

Maud agreed, albeit reluctantly, and we spent the long winter months in front of the colossal fireplaces of Caen Castle. We listened to Eadmer’s long repertoire of ballads and enjoyed a voice that he had perfected to match any I had heard. We all agreed that our favourite was ‘The Ballad of Robyn of Hode’, to which he had added new lines about the ‘fair lady Maud’ and ‘The arrow that rescued a fair damsel / Captive in the wicked King’s castle’.

It was a cold winter, as they had been in recent years, and we had few visitors until spring arrived in March. Eadmer and I recruited four redoubtable men-at-arms and, in May 1139, we sailed for England’s south coast, once again adopting our pseudonyms ‘Robyn of Hode’ and ‘William of Scaerlette’, which Eadmer had shortened to ‘Will’ so that it scanned better in his ballads.

It was a reluctant parting from Maud and the boys. Her words to me were simple, insisting that I return soon. She placed the Talisman over my neck, making me promise that I would wear it at all times while in England.

‘To keep you safe, my darling.’

‘It is not a lucky charm, Maud.’

‘It is for me; it brought you to me.’

She embraced me passionately, then pushed me away and turned hurriedly to hide her tears.

As for the boys, Henry had just celebrated his sixth birthday and Geoffrey was approaching his fourth, so they were much more voluble – excited by the preparations for my departure, and clamouring for presents on my return. Young William was not yet three and oblivious to it all.

Maud and I, knowing that the truth of their paternity must be kept from them, realized that one day we would find it difficult to explain my constant presence in the household and the permanent absence of their father. For the time being, I had taken on the role of ‘Uncle Hal’ – their mother’s guardian, as designated by their grandfather – but it was not easy, especially at farewells like this one.

Our first port of call was Devizes, where Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, had just completed a castle of palatial quality to rival any in the land. Lord Chancellor under King Henry, he was one of the most powerful men in the country, and clever and ambitious in equal measure. Although Earl Robert had stressed in his messages that he could be trusted only as far as his own self-interest would permit, Roger was known to be a supporter of Maud’s claim to the throne.

Devizes was indeed a castle of imposing proportions, and Roger was no less prodigious – either in girth or presence. His garrison of men was well armed and looked like a formidable fighting force. His private apartments were more like those of a king or a duke: the floors were covered with large rugs and the walls with tapestries of equal scale; his high table gleamed with silver plate; and a huge gold crucifix on an oak pole stood against one wall.

He greeted us warmly, but with some suspicion.

‘Gentlemen, you wished to see me. I am Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, and this is my prior, Roger of Caen.’

The Bishop was a man as round as he was tall, while his prior was as thin as a quill and with the bearing of a man of letters. Both men were scrutinizing us carefully. The Bishop smiled, but with the false grin of an inquisitor.

‘The names Hode and Scaerlette are not familiar to me; they sound neither English nor Norman.’

‘They are from Aquitaine, my Lord Bishop.’

‘I see. And yet, you sound English?’

‘I am English. But before we go further, may I ask you a telling question?’

‘You may ask, but I can’t promise to answer.’

‘I hear you are loyal to the Empress, the Lady of the English?’

The old Bishop hesitated.

‘That is a discourteous question for a complete stranger to ask.’

He was right. I decided I should avoid needless prevarication, and make a clean breast of it.

‘You are right; I apologize. My real name is Harold of Hereford, made Earl of Huntingdon by King Henry Beauclerc; I am Commander of the forces of Empress Matilda. For obvious reasons, when travelling in England I use a name from my home in Aquitaine. This is the commission appointing me, with her seal.’

I handed him my roll of vellum, which he studied carefully before handing it to his Prior. He was still sceptical, so I outlined my background – in particular that King Henry had acknowledged me as his bastard son before ennobling me as an earl. He knew both the Earl and Bishop of Norwich and had heard of my mother and her work on the cathedral. He seemed reassured and ordered that wine and cold cuts be served.

‘I am relieved that you appear to be who you say you are. Stephen is suspicious of everyone; these are dangerous times. Yes, I do believe that the Empress’s claim is stronger than Stephen’s. The squabbling among the lords is getting worse, Normandy is in turmoil and Stephen has given Northumbria to Henry of the Scots, despite routing them in battle. Even his supporters think he is losing all respect. How can I be of service to you?’

‘I need a true assessment of the sympathies of England’s magnates, both temporal and spiritual.’

The Bishop paused. I was reminded of Earl Robert’s warning about the man’s strong streak of self-interest and imagined him to be calculating how he could profit from the answer to my question.

‘Stephen has called the royal court to gather at Oxford, a burgh that is growing in importance, on the feast of the Nativity of St John the Baptist, on the 24th of June. Tell me, are you known here in England?’

‘Hardly – and not at all as the Earl of Huntingdon.’

‘Good, then if you and your man would like to adopt your Aquitaine names, you could join my retinue. It is the first court Stephen has called for some time and will be a perfect opportunity to test the mood in the realm.’

‘Thank you, Bishop Roger. That is very generous of you.’

‘But we should be careful. I hear that Stephen doubts my loyalty and may challenge me. Also, we should check at Oxford, but I think Stephen granted the Earldom of Huntingdon to Henry of the Scots, as part of the settlement brokered by Cardinal Alberic. But it wouldn’t be the first time a title has been granted twice!’

The Bishop gave us lavish chambers to reflect my rank as an earl of the realm, and we waited as his retinue prepared for the journey. We had a long time to kick our heels, as the court’s date was another three weeks away.

Early the next day, as I enjoyed the fresh air of an English summer morning, the Prior approached me as I crossed the castle bailey.

‘Good morning, Earl Harold.’

‘Good morning, Prior Roger.’

He had the same expression as the Bishop had sported the day before – the disingenuous grin of the interrogator.

‘Tell me, my Lord – if I may be so bold. Your mother, Estrith, Abbess of Fécamp, was one of King Henry’s many mistresses?’