Читать книгу The Conquerors: The Pageant of England - Thomas B. Costain - Страница 31

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For three months after the loss of La Blanche Nef, Henry remained sunk in the deepest gloom. He had no appetite, he sat alone and stared at nothing, his temper was so fitful that the people of the court tried to keep out of his way, he did not pay any attention even to affairs of state, which was the surest indication of the mental condition into which this most painstaking of rulers had fallen. His chief minister, Roger of Salisbury, began to take it upon himself to govern and to issue writs “on the King’s part and my own.” This was too much for the rest of the royal entourage, who, of course, hated Roger. A concerted effort was made to bring the sorrowing man back to an interest in life, and he was finally persuaded, much against his will, to marry again in the hope of having a male heir to take the place of his lost William.

The wife selected for him was Adelicia, daughter of the Count of Louvain, an eighteen-year-old girl of such beauty that she was called the Fair Maid of Brabant. Rhyming Robert of Gloucester said of her, “no woman so fair as she was seen on middle earth.” Adelicia was gentle and understanding and she strove to be a good wife to the melancholy Henry, but she failed in the most important respect: she did not bear him children. The situation looked hopeless until the King’s last remaining legitimate child, the Empress Matilda, was left a widow by her aged pantaloon of a husband and returned to England.

Henry’s interest in affairs of state revived in earnest with the arrival of his daughter. He proceeded with the vigor of his younger days to insure her succession to the throne, calling another parliament and demanding that her right be acknowledged by all. He had one precedent to quote in support of his claims. Serburge, the wife of Cenwalch, King of the West Saxons, had been chosen to succeed that monarch. This had happened a long time before, and Queen Serburge had reigned for one year only, after which the nobility had expelled her, not being able to stand any longer the humiliation of taking orders from a woman. If he had wanted to go back to Celtic days he could, of course, have mentioned Boadicea of immortal memory, but it is doubtful if he had ever heard of that spirited ruler. Support of this kind was not needed, however, for the assembled nobility decided unanimously in favor of Matilda. The first to take the oath was Stephen of Blois, son of Adele, the Conqueror’s fourth daughter.

Stephen was said to be the handsomest man in Europe. He was, at any rate, tall and striking-looking and debonair. There must have been tension in the air when he knelt before the young woman of twenty-four who had been an empress and pressed on her white hand the kiss of fealty.

The old Lion of Justice (this name for Henry came from some garbled nonsense of Merlin’s) lived for fifteen years after he married the Fair Maid of Brabant. He became less active and developed a liking for the mild pleasure of processionals about his domain. His radiantly lovely wife was always by his side, but the royal countenance remained as unsmiling as in the days following the death of his son and the end of all his hopes. He won another, and final, campaign in France and allowed himself an act of retaliation which seems more in keeping with the character of his father. A bard named Luke de Barré, who had once been on friendly terms with the English King, fought on the French side and was indiscreet enough to sing some ballads which held Henry up to ridicule. The unfortunate bard was captured, and Henry ordered that his eyes be burned out. The victim, who had always been a gay fellow with a great zest for life, struggled with the executioner when he was led out at Rouen and sustained such bad internal burns that he died of them. Perhaps the monarch felt some remorse, for he began after that to complain of bad dreams. In his sleep angry peasants swarmed about him, and sometimes knights who threatened his life. These nightmares became so bad that he would spring out of bed, seize a sword, and slash about him in the darkness, shouting at the top of his voice.

Finally he accomplished his purpose of marrying Matilda to the man he had chosen for her, Count Geoffrey of Anjou. Geoffrey was a handsome youth who was called Plantagenet because he always wore in his helmet a sprig (planta) of genesta, the broom of his country. After six years of fruitless union a son was born to them who was named after his grandfather and grew into a fine, strapping boy. He was called, in England, Henry Fitz-Conqueror (the proud grandfather’s choice) and, in France, Henry Fitz-Empress. It was generally believed at court that his belated arrival had settled all dynastic troubles.

When the King made his last journey to France he was getting a little unsteady in his legs and his temper was worse than crotchety, but the keen old mind was still functioning as well as ever. The first thing he did when he reached Rouen was to go hunting, and he came back to Lyons Castle with a ravenous appetite. He had always been temperate about food and drink, but he proceeded to eat heavily of a dish of lampreys, a favorite food although not one that agreed with him. The result was a general upset of his digestive organs, a high fever with increasing weakness, and, after seven days of illness, his death on December first at the hour of midnight. The body was embalmed with salt and wrapped in a bull hide in preparation for its return to England.

The Lion of Justice was buried at Reading, and his lovely widow transferred one of her grants, called the Queen hythe, for a lamp which was to be kept burning before his tomb for all time.

Ever since the passing of the Conqueror there had been two schools of thought about continuing the union between England and Normandy. The first, which included most of the Norman nobility, were against separation and had supported Robert’s claim on that account. They estimated correctly that a separation would result ultimately in their absorption into the English nation. The other party, which contained all the Saxons, wanted separation for that very reason. As additional cause they knew that, if the King of England continued Duke of Normandy as well, they would be involved in the internal quarrels of the French.

Henry had always been conscious of this cleavage and he had striven to alleviate the anxieties of his native subjects, even while he was fighting successfully to bind England and Normandy together. In his last days, however, he made a mammoth error in marrying his sole remaining child and successor to the Count of Anjou. The Angevins had always been cruel and proud, with something demonic about them which showed itself in a disregard of religion. It must be said for them that their faults were never petty, that there was greatness even in their guile. The Normans, being neighbors of the Angevins, had an especially strong dislike for them, calling them Guirribecs, and the match found no favor with them. The English, naturally, did not want to see any of the Angevin breed on the throne. The birth of Henry Fitz-Empress had not caused any rejoicing on either side throughout the country. The news, in fact, had been received with angry mutterings. Seeds of discontent had been planted which would raise a bitter crop.

The Archbishop of Rouen was at the bedside of Henry when he died and he wrote, “God give him the peace he loved.” It is to be hoped that Henry found it, but there was to be no peace for the unhappy land he had ruled so long. England was to know nearly twenty years of terror and suffering because of the old man’s grievous error.