The Battle of the Queens (43 page)

Henry agreed and it appeared that the end was in sight. But it was not so, for Henry’s conscience began to worry him. He remembered scenes from the past and how Hubert had been there in many a crisis and that when the French were overrunning the country at the time of his father’s death, it was Hubert with William Marshal who had arranged for his coronation and had made the people see that with two such men beside him, supporting him, it was possible to drive the French out of the country.

Peter des Roches came to him and he could not hide how exultant he was. Henry took a sudden dislike to him and began to ask himself why he had allowed himself to be led by him.

‘We have cornered the wolf,’ said Peter des Roches. ‘His days are numbered. Nothing can save him now.’

Was this a man of God, to rub his hands in glee, to lick his lips in anticipation because a man’s blood was to be shed?

Henry said: ‘
I
can save him.’

‘My lord, what mean you?’ cried the Bishop.

‘I mean,’ said Henry, ‘that I am unsure of what will happen to Hubert. I have always heard it said that from the time he was a very young man he served my uncle Richard and my father very well. I used to think he served me well too.’

‘My lord, he is a cunning man.’

It was the wrong approach. It was suggesting that Hubert’s cunning had deceived Henry because he was less wise.

‘I have decided what shall be done,’ he said, regarding the Bishop of Winchester with a certain coldness of expression. ‘I shall restore some of his castles and he shall be lodged at Devizes. I shall appoint certain lords to watch over him and his fetters shall be removed.’

Peter saw that it would be unwise to press for a favour he was determined to ask. That was that he should be appointed custodian of Devizes Castle; and if he were it would not be long before Hubert died of some vague sickness which perhaps gullible people might believe had been brought on by all he had suffered.

Life had become like a nightmare for the once powerful Justiciar. At least he had some faith in the King who swayed this way and that and could not seem to make up his mind.

Hubert understood. Henry was young; he was unsure; he was unable to form his own judgment and was so eager that none should guess that he changed his views according to the person who influenced him most at a given time.

He may grow up into a strong king, thought Hubert, but he doubted it. Perhaps Richard of Cornwall would have been the better one.

The fact that the King had released him and placed him here in this castle, showed that he was not listening completely to those who were determined to destroy him. There was a spark of honour in the King. If only he could get near enough to ignite it, he might win back Henry’s favour.

In the meantime he must lie low at Devizes and hope that would satisfy his enemies; and perhaps in due course the King would see him and he could talk him into reason.

He was distracted when one of his manservants – a loyal man whom he could trust – came to him in some agitation.

‘One of the servants of the Bishop of Winchester has come to the castle. He did not immediately tell us for what purpose, but a little good wine loosened his tongue. He has come in advance to make ready for his master. The Bishop of Winchester has prevailed upon the King to give him the custodianship of Devizes Castle.’

‘God help me,’ cried Hubert, ‘this is the end. You know his purpose.’

‘It is to murder you, my lord, I would say. We should retire once more into sanctuary.’

‘You are right, my good fellow.’

‘We have made ready. Two of us will come with you. We will take food and warm robes and there we shall be when the Bishop of Winchester arrives in Devizes.’

It was night when they made their escape from the castle, Hubert creeping out disguised as one of his servants.

They spent the night in the church but when those who had been set to guard him discovered Hubert’s disappearance they were so alarmed because they had let him escape that they decided they would rather face the wrath of God than that of the Bishop of Winchester, so they went to the church and brought Hubert and his servants back to the castle.

It was the old pattern. The Bishop of London this time protested at the violation of sanctuary and Hubert went back to the church.

Henry had now swayed back again and was listening to the Bishop of Winchester.

‘What can I do?’ cried Henry. ‘Whatever happens he slips through our fingers. He is now once more in sanctuary. There is nothing to be done but leave him there.’

‘There is something,’ said the Bishop. ‘If no food is allowed into the sanctuary how can he stay there for his forty days? You could starve him into submission.’

‘That I will do,’ cried Henry. ‘I can see there will be no peace for me while this man lives.’

He gave the order and it seemed to Hubert that this really was the end. There was no church law regarding the refusal to allow food into sanctuary, and the grim choice lay ahead for Hubert. Stay there and starve or come out and face the charges.

Hubert knew that in time he would have to give in. He would have to come out and allow them to take him back to the Tower of London. Who knew that he might yet be able to confute his enemies. Those who would comfort him told him that the Bishop of Winchester was losing his hold on the King. That was a comforting sign, but Peter des Roches was not his only enemy.

It was one night when the decision seemed imminent. Hubert was cold and hungry. He could delay little longer and perhaps the next day he would walk out and give himself up to the King’s men.

Darkness had fallen. The church door opened silently. A man was standing there looking for him, he knew. Hubert could see him but he could not as yet see Hubert.

Hubert called out: ‘Who are you?’

The man came over to him and two more seemed to materialise in the gloom.

‘Do you want your freedom, Hubert de Burgh?’ said a voice.

‘I do.’

‘Come with us then.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Enemies of the Bishop of Winchester.’

Hubert hesitated and the man said: ‘Stay here and die or come with us. Take your choice … only we might decide to take you whether you wish to come or not.’

Hubert had spent a lifetime making quick decisions, but he had never made one more quickly than this.

‘I will come.’

That is good. There are guards outside and if you did not come of your own accord a fight might result.’

‘Where will you take me?’

‘You will see.’

Weak with hunger, Hubert rose unsteadily. He crept out of the chapel and mounted a horse which was waiting for him.

‘Away,’ said the man. ‘We’ll stop soon to feed you, for you are near to starving I see. Can you ride a little?’

‘Since my life would appear to depend on it, I believe I can.’

‘Wise man. Ride … and then soon you shall eat.’

They turned their horses in the direction of Wales.

The new Archbishop of Canterbury, Edmund Rich, had been watching the rise to power of the Bishop of Winchester and his protégé, Peter de Rievaulx, with misgiving; and he decided that he must warn the King that the violation of sanctuary which had occurred more than once had indicated a lack of respect for the Church and this must be stopped without delay.

He called together certain barons – many of them those who had risen against John and forced him to sign the charter and with them the leading bishops who shared his anxieties.

The King received them with great courtesy for Edmund was a man who was beginning to be called a saint. He was known for his piety and austere living. It was said that he had not lain on a bed for many years but took a little rest now and then sitting or on his knees. His clothes were rough worsted and he submitted himself to self-inflicted torture with knotted ropes. He gave money to the poor so that he had very little of his own, keeping back only enough to provide the small amount of food he allowed himself.

Among churchmen who looked for land and favours and made a habit of promoting their friends and relations to those posts where they could do their benefactor most good, Edmund was a rarity.

But his habits did mean that he was regarded with awe, and Henry, who had a greater respect for the Church than any of his predecessors since Edward the Confessor, would not have dreamed of treating him with anything but the utmost respect.

Thus when he called a meeting Henry responded with alacrity.

‘My lord,’ said Edmund, ‘there is much anxiety in the country. Hubert de Burgh has fled and is in the company of the enemies of the Bishop of Winchester, Richard Siward and Gilbert Basset. They are laying waste to the Bishop’s lands and have saved Hubert de Burgh from his evil intentions. Twice he and his followers have violated the laws of the Church, yet he remains in your favour.’

‘My lord Archbishop,’ protested Henry, ‘the violating of sanctuary was not done at my command.’

‘You ordered the people of London to go to Merton,’ said the Archbishop sternly.

Henry quailed. Saints were uncomfortable people, for no matter how they were threatened they showed no fear. How could you threaten a man who tortured himself and cared nothing for the comforts of living?

‘I ordered them not to afterwards.’

‘That is true. When the folly was pointed out to you by the Earl of Chester you realised what you had done. But the same fault was committed once more. My lord King, if you do not dismiss the Bishop of Winchester and Peter de Rievaulx and their foreign adherents I shall have no recourse but to excommunicate you.’

Henry turned pale at the prospect.

‘My lord Archbishop,’ he stammered. ‘I … I will indeed do as you say, but …’

‘Then that is well. There should be no delay. You do well, my lord, to remember what happened to your father.’

‘Yes,’ said Henry, ‘I know full well.’

‘Never forget it. It should be a lesson to you and all kings that follow. Kings govern through justice remembering the good of their people and their allegiance to God.’

‘I know it well,’ said Henry. ‘I shall dismiss the Bishop and those who are with him.’

‘You should recall Hubert de Burgh and make your peace with him.’

‘That I will do, my lord Archbishop.’

When Henry was alone he trembled with fear to think of what might have happened if the Archbishop had brought about his excommunication.

In a short time Hubert came back into power. He had aged considerably; and he had grown wiser too in as much as he would never be at ease with the King again, for he would never trust him.

Chapter XV

THE PRINCESS AND THE EMPEROR

I
sabella, wife of Richard of Cornwall, was expecting a child and her sister-in-law Eleanor, who had been widowed at the death of William Marshal, was with her.

Eleanor knew that all was not well with Isabella. Nor had it been for some time. Poor Isabella, she had been so happy during the first year of her marriage, even though she had talked now and then of the disparity between her age and that of her husband.

It had been so pleasant then at Berkhamsted where they had been living at the time. Eleanor had been comforted in an unexpected way. Perhaps it was because Isabella had like herself been married when but a child, had become a widow and then found this great happiness. Isabella had said: ‘A woman must marry first to please her family; then she should have a chance to please herself.’ It had been the case with Isabella. Would it happen in that way with Eleanor?

The two had become good friends. Richard was away from home a good deal, which was necessary, of course. He became more and more important and great homage was done to him as the King’s brother; and the less popular the King became, so Richard’s prestige rose. His quarrel with his brother and his friendship with the barons had made him one of the most important men in the country.

Isabella used to talk to Eleanor of his greatness and she admitted – in the utmost confidence of course and behind closed doors – that she believed he was more fitted to be the King than Henry was. Eleanor was inclined to agree with her.

But there was one thing Eleanor had noticed and which she did not mention to Isabella for a long time. It was a matter which – if Isabella wished to discuss it – she must raise herself.

Richard’s visits had become less frequent. When he did come to them he seemed less exuberant than before. Isabella was uneasy and not the same and she was becoming more and more preoccupied with her appearance in a frightened kind of way.

This was ridiculous for Isabella was a very beautiful woman.

Her hopes at this time were centred on the child she would bear, and Eleanor knew that she prayed for a son because she believed that the souring of her relationship with her husband was her inability to get a son.

Early that year Richard had come to Berkhamsted and stayed with them. It was clear that he had something on his mind. Isabella did not mention this but Eleanor was sure that she was aware of it.

And during that visit Richard, much to Eleanor’s surprise, had talked to her about his wife and tried to explain the cause of his uneasiness.

She had walked in the gardens with him, for he had requested her to do so and she believed afterwards that he had suggested this to prevent their being overheard.

‘Eleanor,’ he had said, ‘you are much with Isabella.’

‘Oh, yes, brother. We are finding pleasure in each other’s company.’

‘It is good for you to be here, for you are sisters twice over. Through your late husband and through me you have a kinship with Isabella. I doubt not you chatter together over your needlework and suchlike occupations which you share.’

Eleanor admitted that this was so. ‘Isabella says I am company for her during your absences which are frequent.’

‘Necessarily so,’ he said quickly.

‘Indeed we have not thought otherwise.’

‘We?’ he said. ‘You mean you and Isabella. Eleanor … what I wanted to say to you is this … Do you think Isabella would be very unhappy if … if … ?’

Eleanor’s heart began to beat very fast. She was no longer a child and she understood something of the relationship between these two. In the beginning it had been all romantic passion. That it was now something less, she was well aware – not on Isabella’s side but on Richard’s. She now began to suspect that the emphatic manner in which he had asserted that his absences were necessarily frequent meant that they were not and the reason that he did not come often was because he did not want to.

‘What are you telling me, Richard?’ she asked.

‘Well, sister, you will understand that my marriage has not turned out as I hoped.’

‘Isabella loves you dearly.’

‘You see, I need a son. I must have a son.’

‘You have had children …’

‘Neither of whom have survived – little John dying soon after he was born and our Isabella living exactly one year. It seems that we are doomed not to have children. Isabella is not a young woman.’

‘Oh, but she is not old, not beyond childbearing. You will have children yet, Richard.’

‘I am not sure. I am uneasy. You know Gilbert de Clare has a blood relationship with me.’

‘Oh, not a close one, Richard.’

‘In the fourth degree.’

‘But almost everyone one thinks of is connected with us in some degree.’

‘Such closeness is frowned on by God.’

‘Oh, I can’t think God would frown on your marriage with Isabella. She is such a good person.’

‘Eleanor, you talk like a child.’

‘What … are you going to do about it?’

‘If you will promise me not to tell Isabella … as yet … I will tell you.’

‘Yes, I promise.’

‘I have sent to the Pope asking him whether I should seek a divorce.’

‘Oh, Richard … it will break her heart.’

‘Better that than offend the Almighty. He is displeased. That much is obvious. Otherwise why should our children die?’

‘Many children die, Richard.’

‘But a man in my position must have sons.’

‘Many of them don’t.’

‘It is said it is because of some past misdeed. If one has sinned in some way and incurred the wrath of God the only thing to do is to rectify that sin.’

‘You have not told Isabella what you have done then?’

‘No. I will await the Pope’s verdict.’

‘And if he agrees to the divorce?’

‘You will comfort Isabella, Eleanor.’

She was too disturbed to speak. She wanted to be alone to think.

She went to her bedchamber and lay on her pallet. The beautiful romance – for which she had envied Isabella – was over. It was like the castle built on sand and the first rough winds had swept it away.

Isabella had been right. She was too old for him. He realised it now, although at the time he had been the one so sure that it was not so.

He was making excuses to be rid of her. When he said he had a fourth degree of kinship with her late husband he was really saying he was tired of her.

So much for love! So much for choosing one’s own husband the second time!

No one had thought it a very suitable match – except Richard and Isabella. He would leave her soon and marry someone else. Perhaps he already knew whom.

Poor sad Isabella! She would be in need of comfort.

Richard left the following day and in due course and before Richard received news from Rome, Isabella discovered that she pregnant.

When he heard the news, Richard came with all speed to Berkhamsted.

Eleanor was surprised at his pleasure in the news. He was kind and gentle to Isabella but he said at once that he could not stay long.

Eleanor had an opportunity of speaking to him alone and she asked him if he had heard from Rome.

He admitted that he had and that the Pope was against a divorce. He thought that he should continue in matrimony, but if Isabella failed to give him a son, added Richard, he would not let the matter rest there.

They were quite gay during that visit.

‘Oh, let her bear a son,’ prayed Eleanor.

She was glad that Isabella did not know how much depended on her getting a healthy boy who lived.

Isabella did notice that
she
had changed. ‘What is it, Eleanor?’ she said. ‘You are different.’

‘In what way?’ asked Eleanor.

‘You are less … soft … less innocent … perhaps. There are times when you are even somewhat cynical.’

‘I suppose I am growing up,’ said Eleanor.

‘One day they will be finding a husband for you.’

Eleanor’s face hardened. ‘I have no wish for marriage,’ she said firmly.

Isabella smiled. ‘Oh it is the happiest of states. There are disappointments, of course. I thought my heart was broken when my babies died. But now you see I am expecting again and all is well.’

Is it? thought Eleanor sadly.

On one of his journeys Edmund Rich, Archbishop of Canterbury, called at Berkhamsted.

Isabella was delighted to see him; she wanted to give him a banquet but that was not to the Archbishop’s taste; nor did he want the best chamber in the castle prepared for him.

He would be on his knees for most of the night, he told her, and perhaps he would sit on a stool where he would meditate for the rest of the time. So he needed no bedchamber, only a plain, quiet room.

Isabella asked him to bless her and her child and he readily did so, adding that it was the blessing of God she needed, not that of his servant.

The humility of the Archbishop was the wonder of all and Isabella told Eleanor that to have this saintly man under their roof at such a time was a sign of good fortune. She knew that her child would be a boy – and live.

The Archbishop indicated to Eleanor that he wished to see her and she went to the room in which he had slept. It was almost bare apart from the crucifix on the wall which had been put up by his servants.

She knelt with him and prayed with him and he asked after the health of Isabella.

Eleanor told him that it sometimes gave her cause for anxiety.

‘Tend her well,’ he said. ‘It is important that the child she bears shall live.’

Of course the Archbishop knew of Richard’s plea to the Pope, which would be passed on doubtless through him; and she knew that he was anxious for Isabella’s welfare because of this.

‘My lord Archbishop,’ she said, ‘I promise that I will care for her in every way.’

‘Stay with her until the child is born – and after. She will need you to rejoice with her … or to help her if aught should go wrong.’

‘I had intended to do that.’

He did not look at her; the palms of his hands were pressed together and he looked ahead at the crucifix. Her eyes were also on the crucifix and she stared at it unable to do anything else.

‘My child,’ he said, ‘it may be that ere long your brother the King will find a husband for you.’