The Prince of Darkness

Chapter XIV THE VIRGIN OF DUNMOW

In the castle of Gloucester, Isabella was delivered of her third child. This time it was a girl and she was christened Joanna. Having borne three children in the space of three years Isabella felt that she could give herself a rest from childbirth. She loved her children but her nature made her more interested in the sexual side of marriage than the maternal.

She was growing more and more disenchanted with John. She could still attract him in a way, although naturally the tremendous appeal she had had for him had slackened a little. He liked to add different flavours to his activities and as he grew older his desires did not diminish.

It was always a daring adventure for a queen to take lovers because of the possibility of children. Royal children should be those of the King, for illegitimate offspring could cause endless trouble. Isabella was royal enough to be aware of this. But having presented John with three children she felt she had earned a little respite and there were one or two personable men on whom she had cast speculative eyes.

Her inborn fascination for the opposite sex had to be great indeed for them to dare risk the dangers which discovery would mean. As gentlemen of the Court they would have experienced from time to time the mad wrath of the King and although he might think it perfectly natural for him to take a mistress wherever he fancied, he would certainly not offer the same liberty to his Queen.

Therefore to one of Isabella’s character the thought of infidelity was irresistible. John was absent a great deal and opportunities offered themselves.

There were one or two men who were ready to take the risk, Isabella discovered, when she looked about the Court for likely partners with whom she could spend her nights. They did not have to be of high birth; their only qualifications were their sexual prowess and their courage.

There were not a great number who had both; but she did find the occasional man who was prepared to risk everything for her favours.

Life was spiced with exciting adventure for Isabella.

John was becoming a little suspicious of Isabella. There was something sly about her. When they met they were as amorous as ever and no matter what women he encountered none of them could really compare with Isabella. He had set spies on his wife where she would least expect to find them but still nothing had come to light about the lovers he suspected her of taking.

Sometimes he would laugh to himself to think of her with them but at others the thought would send him into a mad rage. It would depend a great deal on his mood of the moment, though he knew of course that if he ever had actual proof of her infidelity he would be furious.

Meanwhile, he sought ladies to amuse him. Sometimes they were willing – in fact they almost always were – out of fear of his temper or obsession with the honour of being noticed by the King. But it was the reluctant ones who were beginning to attract him more and more.

When he came to Dunmow Castle to be entertained by one of his leading barons, Robert FitzWalter, the baronial lord of Dunmow and Baynard’s Castle, he met Robert’s daughter Matilda. That the girl was a virgin was obvious from one glimpse of her, for she was very young and her mother had guarded her well. Moreover, she was the prettiest creature he had seen for a long time and just the sort to soothe those nagging doubts about Isabella’s fidelity which beset him from time to time.

Robert FitzWalter was one of the most important of the barons and his possession of Baynard’s Castle carried with it the hereditary office of standard bearer to the City of London which meant of course that he was regarded highly by the citizens. He was a great merchant and owned several ships; he was also engaged in the wine trade and because of his importance as a baron the King had granted him several privileges which were useful to him in his business.

And now having seen he had this fair daughter, John was prepared to honour Robert FitzWalter even more.

As they rode together in the hunt in the forest of Dunmow John brought his horse close to that of Robert FitzWalter and said: ‘By God’s eyes, Walter, you have a fair daughter.’

Those words accompanied by the leer on John’s face were enough to make any father anxious.

‘My lord, Matilda is but a child.’

‘A fair one, forsooth.’

‘Yes, her mother has brought her up very carefully.’

John licked his lips. He had a great fancy at this time for virgins. ‘So I see, and it does her credit. Your lady wife will be pleased to hear that the King admires her.’

Robert FitzWalter did not answer, knowing full well that that was the last thing his lady wife wished to hear. Lady FitzWalter was a woman of strong character and stern morals who had brought up her daughter firmly in the light of her own beliefs.

‘I will tell her,’ said Robert quietly.

‘Pray do. I may extend my visit to Dunmow, Robert. I like the place. It pleases me … as does your daughter.’

When the King talked in such a manner there was only one thing to do. Robert FitzWalter immediately sought out his wife and told her what the King had said.

She turned pale.

‘This is terrible. What can we do?’

‘I know not.’

‘I shall never give my daughter to that lecher.’

‘It is impossible.’

‘I would prefer to die defending her.’

‘Remember what happened to Matilda Braose. Starved to death in a dungeon.’

‘This man is a vile tyrant, Robert.’

‘I know it well. The barons have known it for years. They will not endure his villainies much longer.’

‘But not in time to save Matilda. Our little girl, Robert! I feel ill contemplating it.’

‘I know. I know.’

‘I’ll take her away. We’ll leave at once. You must tell him I have taken her on a visit … you can say it is without your permission. In fact it is better that you do, for he might turn his wrath on you if you do not. Tell him I have taken her away and you knew nothing of it. That I often do it perhaps, that I am a disobedient arrogant wife. Tell him that and that you do not know where we have gone.’

‘It’s the only way,’ said Robert. ‘Who knows, if she is out of his sight some other poor girl might take his fancy.’

Lady FitzWalter lost no time. She sent for her daughter and told her to prepare for a journey at once and to be sure not to mention to anyone that she was going.

Thus Lady FitzWalter took her daughter from the Castle of Dunmow.

At supper that night John asked where Robert’s wife and daughter were.

‘They have gone on a visit.’

‘While I am here?’ cried John.

‘My lord, my wife is a most contentious woman.’

‘By God’s ears, Robert, it is an insult to me.’

‘I trust you will not take it as such, my lord.’

‘To leave when the King is here! Why so, man, why so?’

‘It seems my wife had arranged this visit and would let nothing – not even your presence – prevent her departure.’

‘You have married a scold, Robert FitzWalter.’

‘I fear so, my lord.’

‘Yet I would not have thought you a meek man.’

‘We don different faces, my lord, by our own fireside.’

‘’Tis true. I have seen the boldest men cowards before their wives.’

‘Then here you see yet another.’

John laughed aloud. He was in good spirits it seemed. Robert was delighted. His wife’s ruse had worked and John was already looking round at other women.

He did not know that John’s men had made him aware of the departure of Lady FitzWalter and her daughter and he had laid plans that they should be intercepted on their way. Lady FitzWalter should be allowed to return to the lord who declared he was in awe of her, but the delectable daughter should be carried to a place of John’s choosing where she could await his coming.

The following day John left Dunmow and shortly after his departure Lady FitzWalter returned. She was so distraught that she could hardly tell her husband what had happened. Their daughter had been abducted and she was in great fear as to what was happening to her. They had not ridden far from the castle when they met a party of men riding towards them. The men stopped and asked if they were near Dunmow Castle.

‘I told them that they were very close,’ said Lady FitzWalter, ‘and I asked what their business was. The leader of the men bowed and said he knew he had the pleasure of addressing Lady FitzWalter and her fair daughter. That was the sign. It was terrible, Robert … a nightmare. Two of them seized Matilda’s horse and started to drag it away. She cried out but by that time I was surrounded by them, and her horse was galloping away with her with two of these scoundrels. Some of our men gave chase but they were followed by others of the party whose horses were fleeter than theirs. There was a fight and several of them were injured. Oh, Robert, they have taken Matilda.’

‘Oh God,’ cried Robert, ‘it cannot mean …’

They looked at each other in horror.

‘How was he … when he knew we had gone?’ asked Lady FitzWalter fearfully.

‘Calm, jocular. He did not seem put out.’

‘Could it possibly be … ?’

They dared not answer that question.

It was one of his smaller castles, not very far from that of Dunmow. It amused him that it should be so near the home of her parents and they not know it. He expected she would be terrified. What would she be like when she knew who had ordered that she be brought here? They could say what they liked, all women were at heart ready to please the King. It meant something to them to take a royal lover. She might be reluctant at first but not for long.

Her mother would be outraged. Foolish woman! Did she not know that he was conferring an honour on her daughter?

As he rode to the castle to confront the young girl he was thinking of her mother. What impudence to have removed the girl in that way because she knew that he had designs on her. Had she forgotten what had happened to Matilda of Braose? Did she think that because she was the wife of a powerful and somewhat forceful man she could act against him with impunity? Matilda de Braose had been the wife of a most influential man – though he had fallen low – and Lady FitzWalter should consider her.

By God’s ears he would humiliate that woman where it hurt her most. He would show her that her meek little daughter came to him willingly. He would make the girl eager for him. He would flaunt their lust before that prim woman. It was the best way of dealing with her. So as he rode along he made up his mind that he would not force this young Matilda. He would make her come to him of her own free will. Then he would tell her mother this and indeed the prospect of the mother’s anguish would give him as much pleasure – if not more – than the deflowering of the daughter.

With this firm resolution he arrived at the castle and went at once to the chamber where they had put the girl. It was in one of the turrets – approached by a stone spiral staircase – a safe refuge for her. She would not be able to escape from this place very easily. That was the last thing she must do. If she did they would secrete her abroad somewhere, find refuge in France most likely. That would not be difficult, for Philip was master across the Channel now and what pleasure he would take in fresh scandal about his old enemy! He would make the most of it, honour the girl, take her to his Court, no doubt find a noble husband for her and hold her up as an example of John’s wickedness; he would revive the murder of Arthur. Revive it! He had never let it die!

But he would not think of Arthur now. The years were passing and it was long since the day the boy had died. Who would have thought the scandal could have survived so long? But now he was interested in that tasty morsel, the virgin Matilda.

She stood up as he entered. By God’s teeth, he thought, she is a beautiful creature. Her eyes were wide, dilated with terror. She would have heard stories no doubt of the monster he was reputed to be. She clasped her hands together in front of her, as though to guard her body from him, or perhaps to try to hide the fact that they were trembling. Silly, frightened creature! She was so graceful. Like a deer startled by the approach of the huntsmen, poised for flight. But where to, my pretty? Out of the window? Down, down to the ground below, that exquisite body bruised and torn by the rough stone walls as she fell? No, I have other plans for it.

‘You must not be afraid, Matilda,’ he said, smiling.

To her it was an evil smile although he had meant it to be reassuring.

‘You must not be in awe of me because I am your King.’

She continued to gaze at him, speechless with fear.

‘You must speak to me when I address you, Matilda. It is not good manners to do otherwise – particularly when you are confronted by your King.’

She swallowed and stammered: ‘I … have nothing to say except to beg you to let me go home.’

‘All in good time,’ he said. ‘But I’ll tell you this, Matilda, there will come a day when you will beg me not to send you away. You will ask me not to send you back to the dull home of your father where your mother stands continual guard over you. You will say: I love my King. I wish to serve my King in all ways. I wish to be a joy and comfort to him.’

He put his hands on her shoulders and felt the tremor run through her.

Foolish child! he thought. It was a pity she was so pretty. He would have liked to have shouted: Go home to your mother, you silly little thing. There are women a thousand times more attractive than you are who welcome me.

It was her youth that appealed to him. She was about the age Isabella had been when she had first come to him. How different she had been! This child knew nothing of the passion of men like himself except to distrust and fear it; how different from his gay adventurous Isabella who had longed to experiment with everything that was new.

A great yearning for the days when he had first known Isabella came to him. To be young with Isabella. To start again. Oh, he would have acted just the same. When the Marshal and the barons warned him that he was losing his dominions he would still have stayed in bed with Isabella.

There would never be anyone to replace Isabella. This foolish shrinking virgin, what had she? She had been nurtured by that strict woman whose main desire had been to protect her. What pleasure could there be in this child – except the rape of innocence? He had had plenty of that.

He wanted Isabella. He wanted to be young with her again. What was she doing now? Had she taken lovers? She was not the sort of woman to live without them. And that slyness about her … that acceptance of his infidelities which had angered her in the first place?

But why was he thinking of Isabella here with this lovely young girl before him?

It was not that he wanted the child so much as to score over the mother.

‘Now, Matilda,’ he said, ‘you and I are going to be friends. I will show you how to get the utmost pleasure out of life. You would like that would you not, my dear?’

She had closed her eyes and he thought she was going to faint.

‘Please …’ she began. ‘Please let me go.’

He put his arms about her and kissed her roughly on the lips. She gave out a cry of anguish.

The impulse came to rape the girl and get it over, send her back to her mother and hope he had not got her with child, for a weak creature it would be with such a mother.

He shook her roughly.

‘You silly girl,’ he said. ‘You are afraid of what you do not know.’

Her frightened eyes were staring at the door. There was no one there; she was thinking of escape.

He said softly: ‘No use, Matilda, there is no way out. There is a guard at the door and others on the stairs.’

She showed a spark of spirit then. ‘Would they not be doing you better service guarding your possessions?’

‘You are my possession, little Matilda,’ he said. ‘As all my subjects are. Subjects, remember! That means they are subject to my will.’

‘My father …’

‘Your father, oh, he is a very powerful baron but he and your mother will learn that there is none more powerful than the King.’

Her eyes appealed to him to release her. Oddly enough, beautiful as she was with her large eyes like a doe’s, she did not arouse him. How different from Isabella’s long, languorous eyes. She was unformed – attractive in a way. How was it Isabella had managed to be voluptuous in her immaturity?

Why did he not take the girl and have done with it? Because he did not want to. He wanted to revenge himself on her mother. That woman’s defiance of him could rouse more passion in him than this child’s obvious charms.

He would woo her; then he would make the mother aware of her daughter’s depravity.

‘You should not be afraid, Matilda,’ he said. ‘I have a fancy for you, ’tis true. But you have been listening to evil tales of me. It is a sad fact that a king is often maligned. There are rumours about him, his deeds are exaggerated. You fear me because you have heard whispers, have you not? Confess it, little one.’

She nodded.

‘I have to convince you that you have been misled, do I not? I shall have to show you how different I am from the man they led you to believe me to be. Let us talk now of your home and your family. You shall tell me what you best like to do.’

‘I best like to be with my mother.’

‘Ho, that is baby’s talk. We are at our mother’s knee when we are children, but as we grow older we realise we cannot spend the rest of our lives there. You will find interests away from your mother and I am going to teach you.’

He took her hand and led her to a bench. He sat there beside her and put his arms about her. He felt her whole body shrink and it made him want to shout at her not to be a fool or he would give her something to be frightened about. But he restrained himself by thinking of the insolence of her mother in snatching her away from him as she had done. Nobody was going to treat him like that. Did she think that because Philip of France had humiliated him, that his subjects could?

Be calm, he admonished himself. You are going to revenge yourself in full on that woman.

He talked to Matilda quietly, of his journeys through England. He was not sure that she was listening and when he rose to go he believed she had ceased to fear him as much as she had when he arrived.

It was a difficult task he had set himself, but having embarked on it he decided to go on. He stayed in the castle to be near her, expecting that in a short time he would have beguiled her into accepting him of her free will as a lover. That was what he wanted. He would say to her mother: Here is your daughter. My willing mistress. Is it not so, my dear Matilda? And she would blush and stammer, for she had been brought up never to tell a lie – and that would be the ultimate triumph.

It had to happen that way. He had determined it should.

There were times when he lost his temper with her.

‘Matilda, you like me, don’t you?’

Her foolish answer was: ‘You are the King.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘That it would be treason not to.’

‘And you know what happens to those who commit treason, my child?’

She hung her head.

Oh, she was a foolish creature. He could imagine Isabella in such circumstances. How she would relish such a game as this.

On the day he tried to make love to her, she began to shout for help.

More folly. As if anyone would come to her aid when they knew who her assailant was. If it wasn’t for her mother he would let her go.

Fear had changed her a little. It had made her grow up. She might develop feelings, desires. She might realise that there was exciting adventure outside her quiet home. He imagined the marriage which would be planned for her. A powerful nobleman with estates, carefully chosen by the mother; someone who would bring wealth to the darling daughter and be gentle with her. It would do her no harm to be the King’s mistress first. She would go to her husband wiser and more able to enjoy her married life.

Every time he visited her she shrank from him. She was never going to come to him willingly. He had to make up his mind whether he should take her by force or give up. Give her back to that woman. Virtue triumphant. Never!

He tried to talk to her reasonably. ‘How can I be such an ogre when I am so patient?’

That made a little impression, for she was well aware of what he might have done.

‘See how I seek to woo you! I am tender and kind. I have told you how I came to your father’s castle and saw you and loved you for your beauty. You are a very beautiful girl, Matilda. I have rarely seen one as lovely as you. But you are unformed, you are a child. Your beauty needs to mature. You need a lover … a king for a lover.’

But what was the use?

She was adamant.

One day, she stood by the window and said: ‘If you come near me I will throw myself out.’

He looked at her in alarm and he knew she meant it.

It was no use. She would never give in willingly. Her family would be searching for her. He didn’t trust FitzWalter. He was too powerful; he was the sort of man who would lead the barons to revolt. All the same he was not going to allow FitzWalter’s wife to dictate to him.

And what if they discovered the whereabouts of their daughter? It wouldn’t be difficult in the present state of affairs for them to lead the barons to her rescue.

He pictured it with dismay. All those who had been murmuring against him for so long, setting out against him. There could be civil war.

He had had enough of Matilda. She would never give in willingly. He did not want just another rape. He had had enough of that, and it had ceased to appeal as it once had.

What then? Return her to her parents? Never.

But be rid of her he must.

He sent for one of the cooks, a good fellow whom he knew would do a great deal if rewarded for it; and with such a task one was comparatively safe because although he had ordered it, the act had actually been committed by someone else who was as involved as he was.

It was so easy. A hint which was immediately taken.

During the day young Matilda was taken ill. Before the night was out she was dead.

It was later said by those who attended on her that she had become affected after eating an egg.

He sent her body back to Dunmow and the young girl was laid to rest in Little Dunmow Church. Her mother wept bitter tears of anguish and could not stop herself going over and over that moment on the road when her daughter had been snatched from her.

What could I have done? she asked herself. I should have gone with her. I should have died rather than let her go.

But it was no use weeping. Matilda lay in her tomb, poor child, and no tears could bring her back.

‘I shall never forget this,’ cried Robert FitzWalter. ‘I shall be revenged on John. He shall suffer for this. He will wish he had never dared harm my family.’

‘What can we do?’ cried his wife. ‘Nothing will bring Matilda back.’

FitzWalter could do a great deal. His hatred burned so fiercely in him that it became an inspiration.