The Lion of Justice

She was also concerned with adding to the Tower of London. Rufus had built the imposing White Tower which had been an impressive addition; she and Henry were putting in the royal apartments. Henry had said that his father would be delighted if he could see what a superb building they were making of his original fortress.

She prayed for Henry’s success, never entirely forgetting that this would mean the defeat of Robert. He had charmed her, this feckless brother-in-law, and she would always feel guilty because of the part she had played in robbing him of his pension, but she must remember that the people of Normandy were suffering under the tyra

Henry had talked to her about the poor state of the clergy and expressed his sorrow at their state.

‘But you will understand.’ he told her, ‘that in ruling a country one faces many important issues; and it is sometimes necessary to shut one’s eyes to the injustice done to a few in order to protect the interests of many.’

He had convinced her. She would add to her charities; she would see that a great deal of the money she gave should go to indigent clergy. She must not blame Henry. But this was a little difficult to remember after a conversation with her women Emma and Gunilda.

Matilda had just received a visit from Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, who was that priest who had first appealed to Henry because he said the mass in record time and so released Henry from the irksome business of spending too much time on it. Roger had risen high in the King’s favour and the bishopric was a result of this. He was clever, astute and fast becoming a very rich man.

Matilda said: ‘The King is far-seeing. It is amazing that not long ago the Bishop was but a humble priest of Caen and the King, after a short acquaintance with him, realized his powers and now he is of great assistance in the governing of the country during my husband’s absence.’

‘He is very clever indeed,’ said Gunilda.

‘And loves his comforts.’ added Emma.

‘He is able to enjoy them in spite of the rules which affect humbler men.’ went on Gunilda.

‘What mean you?’ asked Matilda.

The women exchanged glances and Matilda with a little rush of indignation asked herself: Why is it that I am always the last to hear what is going on in this kingdom? Why do people constantly protect me from the truth!

‘Oh, he is clever.’ said Gunilda evasively, but Matilda insisted that she tell what was in her mind.

‘It is well known, my lady, that the Bishop of Salisbury lives openly with his mistress, Matilda of Ramsbury.’

‘But how could this be so and he a bishop?’

‘He is a very powerful bishop, my lady.’

‘But the King has expressly laid down the law...’

The women were silent.

‘Does the King know of this?’ asked Matilda.

There was silence, and Matilda said sternly: ‘I wish to know.’

‘My lady, the King often visits the Bishop and is very gracious to the Lady of Ramsbury.’

A wave of anger swept over Matilda. She could not shut out of her mind the faces of those poor clergy who had implored her to help them. And Henry would do nothing; he had been stern and adamant. The few had to suffer for the good of the many, he had said, when all the time he was visiting the Bishop of Salisbury who was flaunting his mistress to the world. And the King looked on and was gracious!

Now that Emma and Gunilda had started to talk they could not stop.

‘The Bishop’s nephew who is also a bishop, Nigel of Ely, is married and makes no secret of it.’

‘I ca

‘It is true. But it may be that the King feels these are special cases.’

Special cases! Favourites of the King! Was this the Lion of Justice?

She said sternly: ‘I would have to have proof of this.’

The women were silent. They feared they had said too much.

* * * * *

Matilda wrestled with herself. She must find out if this were true. Women listen to tattle she told herself and there would always be scandal about those in high places.

Of course Henry would not countenance such behaviour. She would not dishonour the King by believing such gossip.

Then she laughed at herself because she knew that she did believe it and she was avoiding trying to discover because she feared what the result would be.

Then she knew she had to discover.

The truth was even worse than she expected. The Bishop of Salisbury was living openly with the voluptuous Matilda of Ramsbury. The Bishop of Ely was in truth a married man.

This cruel edict had affected only those clergy in the lower ranks because they either did not enjoy the favour of the King or could not pay the fines he imposed on those who wished to keep their wives.

She learned that many of the rich clergy had been allowed to defy the law by contributing to the war in Normandy.

She was deeply disappointed. It seemed that she must continually be so. She imagined herself explaining her feeling on this point to Henry and what his reply would be. He would say: ‘Yes, I fined these men. They have provided money for the conquest of Normandy. Normandy will be saved from the anarchy which will always follow feeble rule. For the greater issue I have waived the lesser.’

She could never reason with Henry. His lawyer’s brain was too clever for her.

But once again she must regard her husband with bewildered dismay. She had accepted the sensualist, the libertine, but she had believed in his sense of justice.

He had always said there was much she had to learn of life. How right he had been.

* * * * *

There was news from her sister Mary.

She often thought of her sister, wrote Mary, and wanted to come and see her.

‘It is not meet,’ she went on, ‘that sisters should be apart. We were closer than most, my dear Edith. (I shall never think of you as Matilda.) I want you to meet my daughter, my little Matilda, for I have a desire to place her in an abbey that she may receive an education similar to that which you and I had. She is our only child and I doubt we shall have another, so as you can imagine, she is very precious to us. I long, too, to meet your own Matilda and little William. These children must be friends. So very soon I shall be coming to see you and would you in the meantime look about and tell me which abbey you think would be most suitable? I shall certainly not send her to Wilton. I could not allow our Aunt Christina to lay hands on my Matilda. I want marriage for her not the veil and I think Aunt Christina might be tempted to make a nun of her. This will be an anxious time for you, sister, with the King in Normandy. I shall hope to hear from you ere long. Your sister, Mary, Countess of Boulogne.’

Matilda was delighted at the prospect of seeing Mary and immediately began the search for a likely abbey where Mary’s daughter could be educated.

She agreed that the education so acquired was good and that she owed a great deal of her ability to keep pace with Henry to her grounding in the classics and history.

She finally decided on the Abbey of Bermondsey, the Abbess of which, realizing that she would receive munificent gifts from the Countess of Boulogne if she promised to educate and care for her daughter, declared that she would be delighted to take the young Matilda with the object of giving her the best possible education which would prepare her for a good marriage.

Mary was pleased with all she heard of Bermondsey, immediately sent a gift to the Abbey and made her preparations to leave Boulogne with her daughter.

* * * * *

The battle of Tinchebrai took place exactly to the day on the fortieth a