Geoffrey Plantagenet 1128-1154

[Part 1]

In 1128 Geoffrey the Fair, nicknamed Plantagenet because of the sprig of broom he wore in his cap (Fr. genêt -- broom), and soon to be count of Anjou, married the haughty Empress Matilda, daughter and designated heiress of Henry I, king of England and duke of Normandy. When Henry died in 1135, his nephew Stephen of Blois seized the English kingdom. Over the next 19 years, the houses of Anjou and Blois fought for control of England and Normandy. Matilda concentrated on the kingdom and Count Geoffrey on the duchy, where he became duke in 1144. In 1153 King Stephen was persuaded to acknowledge Geoffrey and Matilda's son, Henry, ad his heir to England. Part 2 begins with a highly laudatory and at time florid biography of Geoffrey Plantagenet, written in about 1170 by John of Marmoutier. Full of chivalrous images and daring deeds, it was intended to please Henry II, Geoffrey's son. In contrast, Henry, archdeacon of Huntingdon, shows a relative lack of political prejudice in his History of the English. It was completed by 1154, and in it he graphically describes Stephen's good as well as his bad qualities, bringing his reigh to life.

It is well known to everyone that the Angevin race has flourished under high-spirited and warlike rulers and that they have dominated the people surrounding them with terror. No one questions the fact that they wrought all the destruction within their power upon their neighbours and subjugated the lands around. For those for whom the dominion of Anjou was quite insufficient, bellicose labour acquired the territory of Tours when Odo of Champagne was defeated by the successful Fulk, nicknamed Nerra, in the battle of Braye, and Odo's son, Count Theobald, was vanquished, bound by the law of war and taken prisoner. From the splendid stock of such princes came Geoffrey, the outstanding son of Fulk, king of Jerusalem.

Not merely was he unusually skilled at warfare: it was with outstanding competence that he returned the principality to peace and his people to a quiet life. This man was an energetic soldier and, as I have said, was most shrewd in his upright dealings, exceptionally well educated, generous to all, tall in stature, handsome and red-headed, the father of his country and the scourge of pride.

He was enthusiastic about military feats, meticulous in his justice and graced with almost all good habits. He differed in no respect from the most excellent princes of his time and was loved by all, although he endured much trouble from his own men. Being intelligent and of strong character, he did not allow himself to be corrupted by excess or sloth in early adulthood, but spent his time riding around the country and performing illustrious feats, but saying little about himself as he did so. By such acts, he endeared himself to all and smote fear into the hearts of his enemies.

Hearing that the youth was no exception to this, as far as age allowed one to tell, the king decided to join his only daughter Matilda, widow of the Emperor Henry V, to the young man in lawful matrimony.

Heralds were therefore despatched to make petitions to young Geoffrey's father, Fulk V, count of Anjou, to inform him of the royal will. This man, wise and diligent in all matters, treated the royal legates with due honour and willingly promised to ensure that the royal request was granted. Pledges were given and a pact, supported by oaths, removed all trace of doubt. On the king's instruction, the count agreed to send his son, not yet a knight, in style to Rouen the following Whitsun, in order that he should be knighted with others of the same age amid regal festivities. There was no difficulty in arranging this: a just request warrants easy assent.

Then he took Geoffrey by the hand and bade him sit down with him. The king spoke of all manner of subjects to the young man, putting a great variety of problems to him to discover how wise his responses were during their private conversation. Geoffrey replied succinctly but, as is the wont of the wise, he embellished his words with rhetoric known to few. The king, whose profound admriation grew at every moment, was delighted by the youth's sense and his replies and so the whole day was spent in rejoicing and exultation.

As the next day was dawning, Geoffrey was prepared for his solemn bath, as custom demands of a young man about to become a knight. When the king learned from his chamberlains that the Angevin and those who had come with

The horses were drawn up, the arms brought and distributed to each as was appropriate. To the Angevin, a Spanish horse was let, marvellously bedecked and reputed to outstrip many birds as it ran. Then the young man was fitted with a cuirass second to none, whose double layer of mail cound be pierced by the blow of no lance of javelin, and with iron boots which were also reinforced with two thicknesses of compact mail; his feet were bound with gold spurs and a shield covered in gold motis of lions was hung from his neck. On his head was placed a helme, resplendent with many precious stones, which was of such a quality that it could be cut or destroyed by the blade of no sword; a spear of ash lengthened with Poiteven iron was brought, very last of all, a sword from the royal treasury was carried out to him. It had been preserved from long before, when it had been carefully crafted by that master, Weyland.

King Henry I of England set out from Rouen with Fulk's son and his daughter, the empress (for she had been the emperor's wife), and likewise arrived at Le Mans on the appointed day. From different quarters, they assembled for the service of the nuptial sacrament, which was to be performed by archbishops, bishops, abbots and priests of all ranks.

And so the king's daughter was given in wedlock to the son of the count of Anjou and the bishops investigated the mutual consent of the couple to the match. For all strength and efficacy of marriage lies in consent; indeed, consent makes marriage. Both consented and each promised their faith to the other who they were about to serve, and solemn Masses blessing their marriage were celebrated.

There was rejoicing amidst the clergy, dancing by the people and the shouting of praise by all and sundry, whether native or foreigner, rich, middling or poor, noble or commoner, soldier or husbandman drawn in by the general rejoicing. He

Once the father had been elevated to the kingdom of Jerusalem as I have described, Count Geoffrey devoted his time to feats of arms and strove for honour. Before long, a day was named for a tournament to be held between the Normans and Bretons on a sandy hill pasture. To the aid of the Norman side, came William Clito, count of Flanders, Theobald, count of Blois, and his brother Stephen, lord of Mortain, the future king of England, These three were nephews of Henry I. The count met them and increased their number. By way of an adversary, there stood the Breton line, agile in arms and mind but few in number.

When Geoffrey saw that the Breton troops which had assembled were few, he broke away from the multitude and offered his services to them. The company assembled and the lines joined battle. There was much clashing of arm, the clarions rang out and the voice of the horn resounded with many notes while their steeds let out dissonant neighs.

When talk of the tournament spread beyond the sea, a Saxon soldier of enormous stature arrived, whose strength and daring gave the Normans confidence to assume victory. He set forth from the Norman camp, taller than any other human by far and, taking up position in a prominent place, he taunted the Breton line and dared them to name a man who would meet him in individual combat. The faces of his listeners grew pale and the strength drained from brave men. They feared for the person who went into single combat with such a monster.

Geoffrey watched these courageous men reduced to weakness and wailing when summoned individually. Then he yelled ferociously and refusing to suffer such taunts as were being thrown out, rode forward on his horse. Taking up his weapons and, in front of the crowd watching on all sides, he went into battle with the giant soldier.

Geoffrey enjoyed hunting when he could afford the time; this diversion, pleasing and available to some, has often driven away dark cares and led men back, after their fill of recreation, all the more ready for duty. For this reason, the count hunted quite often. The hunters would enter the woods and unleash their cunning hounds as is customary, and the dogs, following the beast by the traces of its scent, would find it with a speed that was difficult to believe, leading the count by their barking.

On this particular occasion, the count hurries to anticipate the winding, circling paths of his almost runaway dogs. He climbs the quickest ways but has no luck, for while the best he had hoped for is drawn down by his dogs, he is force to flee elsewhere, and although he believes himself to be nearer to his companions than to his dogs, he is in fact further away. It was thus that he wandered all day, dicovering neither his friends nor hounds nor anyone who had seen them. At last,

The other replied, 'If I did not know, I would not take my charcoal there so often to sell.'

The count said, 'So take me, dear fellow, along your path to the public highway, before I become completely lost in the lonely places of these woods.'

'Master,' said the peasant, 'you who ride a horse have no trouble in feeding your spirit and clothing your body. But if I stop work, I perish and my family with me.'

Do not delay but come, I beg you, where I ask,' was the response, 'for I will pay the price of your journey.'

Then the fellow, looking at him and suspecting I know not what divine occurrence, bowed and answered, 'I am not afraid of what will befall me. I will go with you wherever you order.'

The count gratefully embraced him and bade him sit behind on his horse. The peasant gladly placed Geoffrey on the road he was seeking after a while, all the time taking note of the nobleman's humility and marvelling at his gentleness.

'Lord, our oppressors are the reeves, bailiffs and other servants of our lord the count. Whenever he comes to one of his castles, his servants seize goods on credit, wherever they are available, without prayer or price. Those who have bought are silent, the count leaves and the creditors seek repayment. Then, lord, pitiful to relate, they either totally deny owing anything or they defer payment until their creditors are glad to accept half of what is owed.'

The our wise hero, concealing the anger which he could not but feel at hearing himself so cruelly fed, said smiling to the peasant, 'But they have fertile land for nothing, these men who both usurp what is due to the count and make him live unawares on rapine.' And then he added, 'Peace, peace. But it is not peace where the land is so badly devastated by domestic enemies.'

The peasant told him, 'But you haven't heard all yet, master.'

'I will gladly hear everything,' said Geoffrey. 'Explain it all carefully and fairly, for I love the count and, presuming on my friendship, I will be sure to tell him what they do.'

'Perhaps', continued the peasant, 'it has happened by the will

know what happens in their own houses. I will add one more incident to what I have been told and then I will put a stop to my tale lest, stammering in a country fashion, I cause offence to your fine ears.'

Geoffrey replied: 'Speak and fear not. No one speaks more elegantly than when he is speaking the truth.'

The other continued, 'When some warning of war begins to be heard, whether true or invented by them, then these reeves send out their hangers-on who put great effort into spreading the rumour, and by means of a public edict announced by heralds, they gather husbandmen from all parts and fill the castles with them, under the pretext of guard duty, leaving the countryside deserted. Then their accomplices, secretly despatched, secretly summon individuals and console them for their loss as though they have always been their comforters. They encourage the husbandmen to buy permission to return from their reeves by offering secret gifts, as though this is good advice. And for every man allowed to return, there are others, wretched farmers, who are weighed down by debt and owe their few coppers to another and who are forcde to stay in the castles. Such, my lord, are men by whom the countryside is sorely afflicted. He who toils in peace is almost as unfortunate as he who perishes in war.'

They came to the time for a banquet. Changed into clothes generously provided by the count, he, a peasant, reclined amid the leading men of the court. A peasant was honoured with the most sumptuous dishes of food; a peasant dined off gold and most of the adventure was related to the court either by the count or by the peasant.

When the count had returned from Mass the next day, he ordered that his guide be summoned and said, 'I free you and your heirs from all exactions and services and I ordain that you be freemen, free in every respect. Return therefore to your family and lead a somewhat easier life.' Having said this, the count ordered that the man be escorted back to his own parts.

The count was outstanding above all because he made it his duty to spare the weak. Now, however, I shall lay before you an example of the way in which he knew how to subdue the mighty.

Count Theobald II of Blois and Champagne was an illustrious man, one of the richest of his day in France, utterly faithful and quite blameless. Within his dominion, William, count of Nevers and Hugh, lord of Cosne, nicknamed the 'Manceau',

Our hero did not delay; he was ever swift to assist his friends, would promise forces and be faithful to his pledge.

Geoffrey summoned a band of one hundred and forty knights, chosen and sturdy comrades, and with three hundred auxiliaries he hastened forward. He combined forces with Theobald and together the two hurried to rescue the besieged 'Manceau'. But rumour of their arrival flew ahead and reached the ears of the king of France, who wisely broke camp and left the siege.

Hatred for his enemy caused the count of Nevers to delay his flight a little, however. So Count Geoffrey set about pursuing him while Count Theobald dealt with those who remained. Then you should have seen the noble Geoffrey, with his companions of honour, holding up the lions emblazoned on his shield although, truly, he was inferior to no lion in ferocity. He chased fiercely those fleeing, as though he were a military thunderbolt, or went to the aid of his friends. Some runaways he cut down with his sword, others he stretched out on the ground when he attacked. No one fled him unwounded.

What more? When many had died and more had fled, Geoffrey took the count of Nevers himself prisoner and

John of Marmoutier now describes in considerable detail the numerous campaigns of Count Geoffrey against his unruly castellans, among them the lords of Sablé.

Rober of Sablé made the barons of the entire territory by oaths his despicable comrades. Even Elias, the count of Maine, brother of the count of Anjou, by the advice of wicked men, attacked his brother. When Geoffrey had captured Elias, he kept him for many days at Tours, but after he had been released from there, the youth died, having caught a serious illness in prison.

Meanwhile, having conferred with his own men, Count Geoffrey seized the opportunity to enter his enemy's land, judging it more prudent to attack them in their own lands, rather than leaving it to them to attack him. Consequently, with hand-picked knights and many foot-soldiers, the count himself went after that rebellious and hostile people who were immediately forced to flee, even the foot-soldiers. Then Robert's men came out against the count. He held back from a headlong attack, for the men of Sablé, having been alerted to his approach, had set up ambushes. Geoffrey, seeing that it had become necessary for him to prepare his force for battle, drove Robert of Sablé back within the castle, having both killed and wounded many of his men and captured others. The count, the victor, then retired to his own place.

Meanwhile the Empress Matilda, the count's wife, having crossed he tsea with a full band of knights, though by sex a woman yet with manly strength did she attack the English, maintaining that the inheritance which was hers by right she would obtain by arms. The news flew, and having come to the ears of King Stephen, it was declared that the kingdom was in danger, for the empress had overcome many of the English by force and many of them had at once surrendered to her; so that unless he hastened back to England quickly he would lose the crown of the kingdom. The king, compelled by the bad news, sailed with as many men as he could allow from his host of warriors.

John of Mamoutier next gives an idealized account of Geoffrey's conquest of Normandy (1142-4) which suggests -- inaccurately -- that the count's progress was met with more enthusiasm than hostility in the duchy.

Then the energetic Count Geoffrey, who was struggling in his fight against the collected army of Stephen, having ascertained that God would fight for him against the castles of the impious king, and having learned of his retreat, did not waste the advantage of the hour, but advanced. He entered the land, besieged Mortain, took hostages and sureties, received the inhabitants in peace, governed them humanely, protecting their possessions unharmed from the army.

withstand the count. But the great-hearted count first ravaged Ralph's land, besieged his castles, and then with martial strength captured Ralph himself. Too late to repent because he had already attacked others, Ralph accepted his captivity peacefully in submission.

Count Geoffrey now advanced to Cherbourg. Having organized his companies of soldiers, and with engines carefully and skilfully constructed, he made ready with warlike preparations. At Cherbourg Julius Caesar had erected a fortress in preparation for his invasion of Great Britain. It was surrounded by the most stout walls, frequent towers have been set into the circuit of the wall so that scarcely a soldier's spear would fit between them. Inside the fortification, he set a tower higher that the others and a royal hall. Into this fortress he fled at the first attack of the Britons. Not undeservedly tradition has named this fortress 'Caesar's Stronghold'.

After occupying this place, Richard de la Haye filled it with knights, squires, armed men and large supplies of provisions. The he admonished them stoutly to resist Geoffrey. [Richard decided to cross the sea to King Stephen, from whom he would return leading forces of soldiers to break up the siege

A long strife had been waged between Stephen, the false king and Geoffrey, the count of Anjou: Geoffrey excelling and always more active in himself, Stephen weakening daily.

At the time when kings and princes are accustomed to advance to war, just after the bitterness of stormy Winter, when the gentle kindliness of Spring warms the scented airs and thickets blossom into flower, when rose-gardens, which but a little while ago were bare, are now garlanded with fresh roses, and when on wondering eyes the whiteness of flowering lilies plays. . . .

Henry of Huntingdon paints a quite different picture of the struggle between the house of Blois and Anjou for domination of Normandy and England. Not only does the chronicler show some sympathy -- albeit qualified -- for Stephen, but he sees the events of his reign almost entirely in an English -- and a Scottish -- context. This is immediately apparent in his description of Henry I's death and Stephen's accession in 1135.

On the death of the great King Henry I (1135), his character

For in all haste came Stephen, the younger brother of Theobald count of Blois, a resolute and audacious man who, disregarding his oath of fealty to King Henry's daughter Matilda, tempted God by seizing the crown of England with boldness and effrontery. William archbishop of Canterbury, who had been the first to swear allegiance to Matilda, consecrated the new king, alas; wherefore the Lord visited him with the same judgement which he had inflicted on the man who struck Jeremiah, the great priest: he died within the year. Roger, the powerful bishop of Salisbury, who had taken a similar oath and persuaded others to do the same, contributed all in his power to raise Stephen to the throne. He too, by the just judgement of God, was afterwards thrown into prison and met a pitiful end, afflicted by the very king he had helped to make.

In short all the earls and barons who had thus sworn fealty transferred their allegiance to Stephen and did him homage. It was a bad sign, that the whole of England should so quickly, without hesitation or struggle, as if in the twinkling of an eye, submit to Stephen. After his coronation he held his court in London.[A brave and foolish king]

magnificent display of gold, silver, jewels, costly robes and everything that was sumptuous.

1137

In the second year of his reign, King Stephen spent Christmas as Dunstable, and in Lent he sailed over to Normandy. Alexander bishop of Lincoln and many nobles crossed with him. There, from his experience in war, the king succeeded in all he undertook, defeated the schemes of his enemies, reduced their castles and obtained the highest glory. He made peace with the French king, to whom his son Eustace did homage for Normandy, which is a fief of the French crown.

Geoffrey count of Anjou was king Stephen's mortal enemy, for he had married King Henry's daughter Matilda, who had been empress of Germany and who had received oaths of fealty for the kingdom of England; so that the husband and wife laid claims to the crown. But, seeing that at present he could not make headway against King Stephen on account of his numerous forces and of the abundance of money found in the treasury of the late king, the count of Anjou came to terms with King Stephen. Thus successful, the king returned to England in triumph on the very eve of Christmas. These first two years of King Stephen's reign were very

invading Scotland, carried fire and sword through the southern part of the dominions of King David, who did not dare to oppose him.

The anonymous but contemporary author of The Deeds of Stephen, takes a somewhat less critical view of the Scots.

The king of Scotland, which country borders on England, only a river dividing the two, was a prince of great humanity who was born of religious parents and had not degenrated from them in goodness and piety. Along with the other great men, indeed the first of them all, he had taken the oath of allegiance to King Henry's daughter Matilda in that king's presence, and he was therefore deeply grieved that Stephen had usurped the crown of England; but as that was settled by the barons without his concurrence, he prudently awaited the result, watching the course of events.

At length he received letters from Matilda, complaining that she had been excluded from her father's will, robbed of the crown which had been secured to her and her husband by solemn oaths; that the laws were set aside and justice trodden underfoot,; and the sworn fealty of the English barons was broken and disregarded. She therefore earnestly and sorrowfully implored him as her kinsman to succour her in

We now return to the narration of Henry of Huntingdon.

After Easter 1138, the treason of the English nobles burst forth with great fury. Talbot, one of the rebels, held Hereford castle in Wales against King Stephen, which, however, the king besieged and took. Earl Robert of Gloucester, bastard son of King Kenry I, maintained himself in the strongly fortified castle of Bristol and in that of Leeds. William FitzAlan held Shrewsbury castle, which last the king stormed, and hanged some of the prisoners.

While the king was thus engaged in the south, David of Scotland again led an immense army into the north of England, against which the northern nobles, under the command of Thurstan, archbishop of York, made a resolute stand. The royal standard was planted at Northallerton and, as he was prevented by illness from being present at the battle, the archbishop commissioned Ralph bishop of Orkney to fill his place. Standing on a hillock in the centre of the army, Ralph roused the English nobles' courage with a speech.

Then all the English replied with a shout, and the mountains and hills re-echoed, 'Amen, Amen!' At the same moment the Scots raised their country's war cry, 'Alban, Alban', till it reached the clouds. The sounds were drowned amid the clash

to his father's household, had retained their horses. But this body of cavalry could make no impression at all against men sheathed in armour and fighting on foot in close formation, so they were compelled to retire with wounded horses and shattered lances after a brilliant but unsuccessful attack.

It is reported that eleven thousand of the Scots fell on the field of battle, besides those who were found in the woods and corn fields and there slain. Our army gained this victory with very little effusion of blood. Its leaders were William count of Aumâle, William Peverel of Nottingham, Walter Espec, and Gilbert de Lacy, whose brother was the only knight slain. When the issue of the battle was reported to King Stephen, he and all who were with him offered thanks to the almighty God. It was fought in the month of August.

During Advent, Alberic, the papal legate and bishop of Ostia, held a synod at London in which Theobald, abbot of Bec, was made archbishop of Canterbury with the concurrence of King Stephen.

In the fourth year of his reign, when Christmas was past, King Stephen besieged and took Leeds castle, after which he went

got hold of the bishop's treasures, he used them to obtain in marriage for his son Eustace the hand of Constance, Louis the French king's sister. King Stephen then took back with him to Newark, Alexander bishop of Lincoln whom he had previously thrown into prison at Oxford. The bishop had built at Newark a castle in a florid style of architecture, on a charming site among the meadows washed by the River Trent. Having inspected this castle the king imposed on the bishop a fast not authorized by the Church, swearing that he should be deprived of food until the castle should be surrendered to him. But the bishop had some difficulty in persuading his garrison with prayers and tears to deliver it into the custody of strangers. Another of his castles, called Sleaford, not inferior in beauty and site, was surrendered in a similar manner.

Not long afterwards, when Henry bishop of Winchester, the king's brother and the pope's legate, held a synod at Winchester, Theobald archbishop of Canterbury and all the bishops present joined him in imploring the king on their bended knees to restore their possessions to the above-named bishops, with the understanding that they would overlook the indignities to which they had been subjected. However, unmoved by the entreaties of such a distinguished assemblage, the king, following evil counsels, refused to

late bishop of Salisbury, against whom the king was so incensed that his anger extended to all the kindred.

Where the king spent Christmas and Easter does not matter, for now all that made the court splendid, and the regalia handed down from the long line of predecessors, had disappeared. The treasury, left full, was now empty; there was no peace in the kingdom, but slaughter, fire and rapine spread ruin throughout the land; cries of distress, horror and woe rose in every quarter.

1141

In the sixth year of his reign, over Christmas, King Stephen laid seige to Lincoln, the defences of which Rannulf, earl of Chester had siezed by a trick. The king stayed there until 2 February. Then the earl, with Robert of Gloucester, his father-in-law and King Henry I's son, and other powerful nobles, assembled to raise the siege. The daring earl crosses an almost impassable marsh, drew up his forces and offered the king battle on the same day. He and his men formed the first line; those whom King Stephen had disinherited the second, and Robert and his men the third. A crowd of Welshmen, brave rather than well armed, was on the wings.

Meanwhile, King Stephen in great anxiety heard solemn

William of Ypres attacked the Welsh on the wings, and put them to flight. But this group was then attacked by the earl of Chester's men, and scattered in a moment like the others. Thus, all the king's cavalry fled and also William of Ypres, from Flanders, a man of aristocratic blood and worth. Since he was experienced in war and saw that is was impossible to help the king, he deferred his aid for better times. So King Stephen was left on foot in the midst of his enemies. They encircled the royal troops and attacked from all sides, like one attacks a castle. Then could be seen the horrible face of war all round the royal army, with sparks flying as swords crashed on helments, and awful screams and shouts resounding from the hills and walls of the city. The cavalry charged the royal army; some were killed, others trampled, and many captured.

There was no respite or time to draw breath except where the king himself, who was very strong, was standing, his enemies being afraid of the imcomparable force of his blows. When the earl of Chester saw this he envied the king's glory and charged him with the full weight of his armoured men. Then the king's power really shone as with a great battle axe he felled some and scattered others. A new shout went up: 'Everyone onto him! Him against everyone!' At length the king's axe was shattered by the repeated blows. Then Stephen drew his sword, worthy of the royal arm, and wrought

from London. With a woman's bitterness she then had King Stephen, the Lord's anointed, put in fetters.

After a while, with her uncle the king of the Scots and her brother Robert of Gloucester, Matilda gathered her forces and besieged the bishop of Winchester's castle. The bishop sent for the queen and William of Ypres, and for almost all the barons of England. Both sides assembled large armies. There was fighting every day, not large battles but skirmishing. In these engagements valiant deeds were not lost, as they are in the blindness of war, but everyone's valour could be seen and glory be awarded for merit; so this interval was pleasing to everyone as their splendid deeds were more visible.

At length the Londoners' army arrived, and as it increased the number of the empress's enemies she had to flee. Many were captured in the flight, among them her brother Robert, in whose castle the king was imprisoned and whose capture alone let the king out: they were exchanged. And so the king, who had been captured by God's judgement, was set free by God's mercy, and the barons of England received him with great rejoicing.

1142

In the seventh year of his reign, the king besieged Empress

Walden and that of Pleshey. The earl, thus stripped of his possessions, seized the abbey of Ramsey and, expelling the monks, garrisoned it with robbers, turning the house of God into a den of thieves. He was indeed a man of great valour, but resolute in ungodliness; diligent in worldly affairs, but negligent in spiritual.[The Cistercian phenomenon]

1144

King Stephen, in the ninth year of his reign, laid siege to Lincoln. While he was preparing siegeworks for the attack on the castle, which Rannulf earl of Chester had taken possession of by force, almost eighty of his workmen were suffocated in the trenches, whereupon the king broke up the siege in confusion.

The same year Earl Geoffrey de Mandeville gave the king much trouble, and distinguished himself more than others. In the month of August, providence displayed its justice in a remarkable manner; for two of the nobles who had converted monasteries into fortifications, expelling the monks, met with similar punishments, their sin being the same. Robert Marmion was one, who had committed this iniquity in the church of Coventry; Geoffrey de Mandeville had penetrated the same, as I have said, in Ramsey Abbey. Robert Marmion,

1146

King Stephen, in the eleventh year of his reign, assembling a great army, built an impregnable siege-work against the castle at Wallingford, and Rannulf earl of Chester, who had now joined the royal side, was present with a large force. Afterwards, however, when the earl came peaceably to attend the king's court at Northampton, fearing nothing of the sort, he was arrested and kept prisoner until he gave up the strong castle of Lincoln which he had seized by a stratagem, as well as all the other castles which belonged to him. Then the earl was set free to go where he pleased.

1147

In the twelfth year of his reign, King Stephen wore his crown during Christmas at Lincoln, which no king, because of some superstition, had ever ventured to do before. This showed his great resolution and how little importance he attached to such superstitions. After the king's departure the earl of Chester came to Lincoln with an armed force to assault the castle; but the chief commander of his troops, a man of great courage and fortune, was slain at the entrance of the north gate of the town, and the earl himself, having lost many of his followers, was compelled to retreat; upon which, rejoicing in their successful defence, the citizens offered special thanks to the

1149

In the fourteenth year of King Stephen's reign David King of the Scots knighted his own nephew Henry. As a large force was assembled for this ceremony, David having a large retinue, and his nephew having his own following the nobles of the west of England, King Stephen was alarmed lest they should proceed to attack York. He therefore established himself in that city with a large army and remained there all the month of August. Meanwhile Stephen's son Eustace, who was also knighted the same year, invaded the territories of the barons who were in attendance upon Henry the empress's son, and, as there was no one to oppose him, he laid them waste with fire and sword. But the kings of England and Scotland, the one at York, the other at Carlisle, fearing to attack each other, avoided meeting, and thus separated peaceably, each to his home.

1150

King Stephen in the fifteenth year of his reign made an assault on the beautiful city of Worcester and, having taken it, committed it to flames: but he was uable to reduce the castle which was inside the city. It belonged to Waleran count of Meulan, to whom King Stephen had granted it, much to his own disadvantage. The royal army, having plundered the city, overran the territories of the hostile lords and, no one resisting them, carried off an immense booty.

force, yet fall if ripe and ready, so force bears away the life from young men and maturity takes it from the old.'

Geoffrey was buried in the most holy church of Saint-Julien at Le Mans, in a most noble tomb which the righteous bishop, William of pious fame, had build fittingly. Such a venerable likeness of the count was fashioned there, suitably ornamented with gold and precious stones, that if seemed to express their doom for the proud and grace to the humble. At the altar of the crucifix, at which the dead man lay, a chaplain was appointed by the bishop with a stipend in perpetuity, who each day offered the sacrifice to God for the count's sake, so that the holy and merciful Lord might deign to have mercy on the count's wretchedness. He who lives and reigns eternally.

Henry of Huntingdon, despite his not wholly unsympathetic approach to Stephen, prudently glorifies his successor to be, Henry of Anjou, duke of Normandy.

1152

Geoffrey left to his eldest son, Henry of Anjou and Normandy, the hereditary claim to England which he had never made good. Now it happened that Louis VII, king of the French, had been divorced from his wife, the daughter of the count of Poitou, on grounds of consanguinity. So the new

gave back when he repented.

The same year, the king besieged Newbury castle, not far from Winchester, and captured it. From there he besieged Wallingford, building a siege castle at the entrance to the bridge which prevented free access and the delivery of supplies to the besieged. Now hard pressed, they asked their lord, the duke of Normandy, either to send help or to give them permission to surrender the castle into the king's hands.

1153

In the eighteenth year of King Stephen's reign the duke of Normandy, Henry of Anjou, impelled by necessity, paid an unexpected visit to England. This miserable country, previously devastated, seemed to regain new life with his arrival.[Poitiers Cathedral]

When the glorious duke was blown by a tempest onto the shores of England the land rustled with rumours, like a reed-bed at a touch of wind. The news spread quickly, as usual, bringing joy and happiness to some, fear and sorrow to others. But those who were delighted at his arrival were a little alarmed that he had brought so few men with him, while equally the worries of his enemies were lightened. Some thought that crossing the stormy sea in the middle of winter

The young duke's army relied on valour rather than numbers, especially because the justice of the cause for which they were fighting ensured that they were strengthened by God's grace. It was drawn up not far from the walls of the town of Malmesbury, by the banks of a stream to which the inundations of rain and snow had lent such strength that to go in was terrifying and, once in, there would be no coming out.

The noble youth was at the head of his army, his physical beauty betokening that of the soul, and marked out by arms worthy of him, which suited him so well that we may say that his arms did not so much become him as he his arms. He and his men had the gale at their backs, the king's army had it in their faces, so that they could barely hold their weapons or their dripping wet lances.

Since God intended that his child should be granted the land without shedding blood, and neither side would cross the river, the king, no longer able to withstand such floods of rain, retraced his steps to London, his discomfiture complete. So the besieged castle was surrendered to the duke, who hurried delightedly to do what he had come for, namely to relieve the castle of Wallingford by now on the verge of being starved out.

Collecting a large body of troops to take provisions to the beleaguered garrison, God so favoured his design that it was

The king and the duke did not wish to be compelled to make a truce, each realizing the treachery of his supporters. But as usual, God was on the duke's side. They agreed that the royal castle which the duke had besieged should be destroyed. The king and the duke had a conference alone together, across a small stream, about making a lasting peace between themselves, and each complained to the other about the treachery of his nobles. The peace treaty was begun here, but not completed until another occasion.

Their quarrel was still unsettled when the two went back to their quarters, but light had begun to dawn on the great duke's fortunes. For two of his most hostile and powerful enemies, namely the king's on Eustace and Simon, earl of Northampton, were snatched away by the providence of God at the same time, and in consequence all his opponents suddenly lost hope and courage.

They both died of the same illness in the same week. Earl Simon, who did everything that was unlawful and indecent, was buried at Northampton. The king's son was buried in an abbey founded by his mother at Faversham, an experienced knight but an ungodly man, very harsh with the leaders of the Church, being their determined persecutor. In removing the most formidable adversaries of his beloved Henry, God was most kindly preparing the way for his peaceful reign.

procession of bishops and nobles through the cheering crowds.

The king received him as his adopted son and recognized him as his heir. From there, the king took the duke to London, where he was received with no less joy by enormous crowds and splendid processions worthy of such a man. Thus, by God's mercy, peace dawned on the ruined realm of England, putting an end to its troubled night.

When this was over, King Stephen and his new son parted with joy and love soon to meet again, for the peace was confirmed before Christmas.

1154

On 13 January they again came together at Oxford, when the duke had just spent a year conquering, or rather resuscitating, England. There, all the great men of England, on the king's order, did homage and due fealty to their lord the duke, saving the honour and loyalty they owed to the king during his life-time. They all left this splendid assembly filled with joy and delight at the new peace.

It was not long before they had another meeting, at Dunstable, where, however, a small cloud appeared on the horizon. The duke was displeased that the castles built

and their tongue a sharp sword', tried very hard to sow discord between the king and the absent duke. The king could hardly resist their persuasion and after a while, some thought he was no longer resisting them; but, pretending to disapprove, the king listened not unwillingly to evil counsel.

However men are one thing, God's judgement another, and He rightly finished what was started by bringing the wicked plotting of evil counsellors to nought. King Stephen besieged the castle of Drake near York, and having captured it, and destroyed many other castles, went to Dover to talk to the count of Flanders. During the conference he fell ill, and on 25 October, 1154, he died. He was buried in Faversham Abbey beside his wife and son, having reigned unhappily and with great labour for nineteen years.