Stewart Binns - Anarchy

The days after my visit to Gloucester were difficult for me and for England. My wounds were severe and I needed rest, but England’s wounds were then only mild; there would be much worse to come.

Eadmer got me away in a small boat down the River Severn – just as my grandfather had escaped when he was an outlaw – and we made landfall at the mouth of the River Brue in Somerset. We lost ourselves deep into the hinterland, in search of a place for me to recuperate. In the middle of the wilderness of Somerset’s marshland, we met Juliano – a large and jovial Cistercian monk from Navarre. He was on his way from Glastonbury to a new Cistercian foundation called Forde Abbey, at Thorncombe.

It was a perfect destination for us. Hidden in thick woodland on the western edge of the Dorset Downs, but only a short distance from the ancient Fosse Way between Lincoln and Exeter, it offered a refuge from the turmoil engulfing England. The monks, mainly Iberians from Navarre and Castille, had only just begun to speak English and kept to themselves as much as they could. There was a foundation of nuns nearby, headed by Abbess Alicia, a very fetching Galician woman, and I always thought there was more to her friendship with Juliano than a shared love of the Church’s catechism.

It was several weeks before the earnest young Cistercians got me back on my feet. It was a frustrating time, but I had to be patient while I recovered. I tried to find contentment within the tranquillity of England’s meadows and forests, but it was difficult, knowing that events were moving rapidly and that Maud was still waiting for news in Normandy. Eadmer would help me walk around the villages nearby. I found a perfect perch for reflection, high on a hill above the village of Wynsham, from where I had fine views of forests and meadows all the way to the sea at Lyme Bay.

Juliano was a fine host; all he asked in return for his hospitality was help in learning English, a service I was delighted to render. He learned quickly and was soon fluent – especially when he learned to speak at a normal English pace, rather than in the excitable babble of his native Castiliano.

Eadmer managed to get a message to Earl Robert at Gloucester, asking him to send it on to Caen. It simply reassured Maud that I was well, and urged her to remain in a state of readiness.

By late August 1139, I had regained my strength. After thanking Juliano and his monks, and donating a pouch of silver for an altar cross to grace their new chapel, Eadmer and I rode to Robert of Gloucester’s impressive fortification at Bristol. Bounded by the River Avon on one side, moated on the other three sides, and fortified by a huge curtain wall and towering keep, it was one of England’s most secure citadels.

Earl Robert greeted us warmly when we arrived at Bristol.

‘My Lord Huntingdon, I have the pleasure of meeting you at last – another half-brother. What a prodigious father we had!’

‘Indeed, Lord Robert; and I am delighted to meet the elder statesman of our family.’

‘Yes, but our family is a matriarchy, is it not? Surely Matilda is mother to us all.’

‘Well said, sir.’

‘Let’s dispense with formalities. I hear you go by the name Hal. Please call me Robert. Come and sit, I have important news.’

I took to Robert immediately. He was a tall man, fair in complexion, but with a warrior’s build. He was welcoming to Eadmer and had a casual rapport with all around him, especially his soldiers. We sat in front of the fireplace of his Great Hall, which, even in August, roared as it consumed several logs as big as a man’s thigh. Like my mother’s great cathedral at Norwich, the Normans’ mighty stone keeps never seemed to be warm.

‘Hal, Stephen has made a grave mistake. The time for us to strike is coming soon. The brawl at Oxford, where you were wounded, was instigated by him. He has become mistrustful of everyone – especially of the bishops and, in particular, of Roger of Salisbury. He thinks everyone is plotting against him. The Earl of Richmond’s men provoked the melee at Oxford, and several were killed. But Stephen laid the blame on Bishop Roger’s men – and in particular on you, the Earl of Huntingdon, posing under a pseudonym, one Robyn of Hode. So, after me, you are the most hunted man in England!’

‘I regard it as a position of great privilege.’

‘So you should! Stephen has had Roger of Salisbury arrested, along with two of his nephews – Alexander, Bishop of Lincoln, and Nigel, Bishop of Ely. He has taken their palaces and holdings into his own Exchequer. But it was a serious mistake: there is uproar, and even Stephen’s own brother, Henry of Blois, Bishop of Winchester, has called him to account. Henry convened an ecclesiastical council at Winchester, to which he summoned Stephen to justify what Henry called “an act of barbarity against the Church”. Stephen was humiliated in public and has lost all credibility among the earls.’

‘Then Maud must come to England immediately.’

‘Agreed! You must go to her at once; but we have to be careful. The journey from Bristol is too far by sea, and Stephen still controls the ports in the south, bar one.’

‘Which is?’

‘Arundel, which is held by Adeliza, King Henry’s widow, our stepmother. She is now married to William d’Aubigny, and both are loyal to our sister. Adeliza is particularly annoyed that King Henry’s wish that Matilda should be Queen was ignored by those who were supposedly loyal to him.’

‘I will leave for Normandy immediately.’

‘Good, when you set sail, get word to me here in Bristol and I will wreak havoc in the West Country sufficient to persuade Stephen to mount a campaign down here and deflect his attention from the south coast. Again, when you arrive in Arundel, send word and I will rally our supporters and gather our army.’

Maud was overjoyed at the news when we were reunited in Caen. Count Geoffrey provided a small contingent of knights and seemed delighted that, unhindered by his wife’s presence in the Dukedom, he would soon have free rein as Lord of Normandy. Our children – Henry, Geoffrey and William – together with Eadmer and Greta’s daughter Gretchen and her newly arrived sister, Ursula, were left in the unstinting care of Fulk of Falaise, at Argentan.

We all set sail for England. These were happy days during which our quartet of brothers-in-arms revived the spirit of our clandestine encounters in the Forest of Loudon and resumed our adventure.

Empress Matilda, Lady of the English, made landfall on the banks of the River Arun on 30 September 1139, eight years after she had last set foot on English soil. Adeliza was there to meet us and had called out her entire garrison to create a processional route fit for the Queen. Cheering wildly and shouting ‘God Bless you, Queen Matilda, Lady of the English!’ the people of the burgh lined our route as we made our way up to the castle.

Maud looked radiant and wore the small ducal coronet she had used in Normandy. She was in her thirty-eighth year, the mother of three children, but she still looked like a girl in her twenties – exactly as I remembered her when we first fell in love at St Cirq Lapopie. Indeed, our subsequent nights together – in a very private chamber that Adeliza made available to Maud in Arundel’s colossal gateway – were also wonderfully reminiscent of our time together in the Lot.

I chose a particular moment carefully. It was early one morning, and the cold air of autumn was already bringing a chill to the ground. I awoke to find Maud, covered only by her cloak, standing by the arched window of our chamber. The sun had just brought its golden glow to the morning mists over the burgh and the meadows beyond. She was staring at her realm, her England.