Stewart Binns - Anarchy

We met him on 2 March 1141, the Feast of St Chad of Mercia, as he duly reminded us when we met. It was a tense encounter, held in a meadow outside the village of Wherwell, ten miles north of the burgh. Ever the pragmatist, Henry wanted to be Maud’s primary link to the ecclesiastical establishment of England, a position that would grant him immense power – even more than he had already. He also insisted that he be installed at Canterbury when the time was right.

Maud bristled openly; she was very reluctant to concede, arguing that he was dictating terms to her. But I persuaded her to acquiesce, for the time being.

It was a hard bargain but, in return, Bishop Henry gave her a ceremonial welcome into Winchester the next day, swore his allegiance to her in public, opened up the Royal Treasury and handed her the keys. She was also given the royal crown known as ‘Edward’s Crown’, worn by her forebears reaching back to her ancestor, King Edward. It incorporated jewels set in the ancient crown of Alfred the Great, eight generations earlier in England’s royal lineage.

Maud was now halfway to the throne: she had Stephen under guard, and the Treasury was hers. She still needed the support of London, and a coronation at Westminster. But it seemed that her destiny, and mine, would be fulfilled.

In addition, I received an unexpected windfall at Winchester. When King Henry had made me an earl in Rouen – in an agreement that seemed to have been sealed a lifetime ago – he granted me lands in the north, in Barnsdale and Loxley Chase, and a large hunting forest called Sherwood, south of Worksop. To my amazement, the dutiful clerks in the King’s Exchequer had been diligently collecting the income from my holdings. The Pipe Rolls for the last ten years recorded that I was owed almost 200 pounds of silver – not quite enough to pay the ransom on a king’s head, but enough to live for many years with all the trappings of wealth.

Maud agreed that the silver should go to Fulk of Falaise in Argentan – to be kept as a discreet nest egg for the future – and Otto and Berenger were immediately despatched to ensure its safe delivery.

We moved to Oxford, while Bishop Henry called a Great Council of the Church at Winchester to debate the succession. At the Great Council, Henry delivered on his promise. In front of the entire ecclesiastical hierarchy of the kingdom, he issued a declaration.

While I should love my mortal brother, he has won nothing but hatred, and therefore, I should esteem far more highly the cause of my immortal father. Our kingdom cannot stumble along without a ruler and therefore we choose as Lady of England and Normandy the daughter of a King who brought us peace, and we promise her faith and support.

They were powerful words. As soon as we heard the news, we set out for London. At Wilton we were welcomed by Theobald of Bec, Archbishop of Canterbury, and a huge gathering of cheering crowds. There were also rapturous welcomes at Reading and St Albans, and every day messages arrived from magnates all over the land declaring their loyalty to ‘Matilda, Lady of the English’. It was a blissful time, during which we were carried along on a wave of euphoria.

Maud was dressed in the clothes she had worn on her march through Normandy and looked like a fairy-tale queen. Her red velvet cape gleamed in the bright sunlight and her winning smile could easily be seen through the fine white silk veil draped from her wimple. A pristine cream kirtle hugged her womanly figure, bringing gasps of admiration from the crowd. She rode side-saddle and waved regally to the hundreds who had come out to see her pass. I had returned the Talisman to her and it sat neatly between her breasts; every now and then it caught a beam of sunlight and flashed like a beacon, signalling a new beginning for our beloved homeland. I thought back to the story my mother had told me many times about the moment when a beam of light had illuminated the Talisman in the Chapel of St Etheldreda after the end of the Siege of Ely – a moment that had saved my grandfather’s life. He would have been a very proud man if he could have witnessed the scenes that greeted us – as would everyone else in my family, and all those who had died for England’s cause.

At St Albans we had met with several of the burgesses of London, who outlined their plans for a ceremonial procession into the burgh through the ancient gate at Aldgate. The route would take us past King William’s mighty tower and on to Westminster via Ludgate.

Maud’s entry into London was a memorable occasion. England had never had a reigning Queen before, and I knew of none in any other land. But the people of London – Norman and Englishman alike – cheered and cried out their approval. Perhaps the ruling Normans, always realists, accepted her through shrewd calculation. But for the downtrodden English, she was seen as their saviour – the embodiment of the brave King Harold and all their Cerdician kings stretching back to Alfred the Great.

When she later entered the Great Hall of Westminster, all the clerks and officials of government were lined up to greet her. To one side stood the monarch’s private household, all hoping to be renewed in the roles they had held for Stephen. There were also more than two dozen nobles from all corners of the realm. Everyone present was warm in their welcome and fulsome in their praise.

But almost all also had a pressing need, an axe to grind, or a bargain they would like to strike.

Maud’s work as Queen began early the next morning. It was not a new experience for her – she had acted as regent for her first husband – but the volume of business to be dealt with was colossal. Stephen had been an absentee King for years and the anarchy across the realm had suspended efficient government in all but a few centres of royal power. All supplicants were impatient, and the years of turmoil had created a widespread mood of antagonism and bickering.

By dusk, Maud was exhausted. But the business of the day was still not over; a deputation of burgesses from London were due to dine with the Queen that evening. Maud invited me to join them for supper.

The gathering of the rich and powerful of London did not go well. The burgesses were overtly humble to the point of being obsequious, and Maud charmed them as only she could, but they soon raised the serious business they wished to discuss. Crucially, they wanted Maud to acknowledge Stephen’s decision to grant London commune status and to reaffirm the tax concessions that went with it.

Maud trod carefully, but she was firm with them.

‘Gentlemen, I appreciate that no one likes to pay tax, but the Treasury at Winchester is bare. Stephen tried to win popularity by giving concessions while, at the same time, he spent all his reserves laying siege to his opponents and paying an army of mercenaries to fight his battles. My priority is to bring peace and to refill the coffers of the kingdom.’

The burgesses’ main spokesman was a merchant called Osbert Eightpence. His name and his appearance suggested he was an Englishman, but in fact he was the son of a Norman from Rouen, who had changed his name from ‘Huitdeniers’. Nevertheless, his cleverness and his silky tongue were not in doubt.

‘Ma’am, we understand the task you face. Perhaps if you were to put your financial affairs in the hands of your Chamberlain, it would relieve you of a great burden? We could then discuss the matter with him.’

It was not clear whether he meant the insult calculatingly, or perhaps he had not realized how condescending he was being, but the effect was the same. I tried to catch Maud’s eye, but I was too late. She nodded in the direction of her Chamberlain, who was sitting close to her at the huge oak table of Westminster’s Great Hall.