Seemingly unaware of the advantage it may have given Matilda’s side, weak as it was at that time, Stephen disregarded the edict and continued to defy both pope and archbishop. In response, Eugene opted for the interdict, but directed Theobald to impose it in order to make a point. Though he imposed it in obedience to the pope, Theobald was doubtful as to its effectiveness, and he was proved correct — the interdict had no effect, because many feared it would resurrect the civil war. Indeed, the ever-independent Londoners lodged an appeal with Rome to have the interdict lifted. The clergy of Canterbury, however, obeyed, though some in the monasteries held out. Watching from Saint Bertin’s, Theobald realized by the spring of 1149 that he would have to take drastic action to resolve the issue. Despite the risks to his own safety, he had to return to England. Adopting a disguise, he hired a boat at nearby Gravelines in Flanders, sailed to Gosford in Sussex, and then rode to Framlingham to the castle of Hugh Bigod, a onetime supporter of Stephen who had since defected to Matilda’s cause.19 There, safe behind the walls of the impenetrable fortress, Theobald very publicly resumed the work of the archiepiscopal court, once more asserting his authority over the Church in England. When Stephen heard of Theobald’s return, he thought better of his position and realized how far he had gone. Now that Theobald was in the fortress of a former supporter who was now an enemy, Stephen suddenly realized that Theobald could well become a powerful proponent of the empress’s cause, and that could well mean the end of his reign. Stephen reached out to the archbishop and settled the dispute; Theobald’s lands were restored, together with compensation for lost earnings and damage to the property.
Back in Canterbury, Theobald may have pondered the events of the last year. He had won and brought a king to heel for his transgressions against the Church and her rights; his predecessors would have been pleased, and perhaps he had set a precedent for his successors. But more needed to be done. Stephen’s position was precarious, and so, too, England’s. Matilda had withdrawn, but the issue of the throne was not resolved; though there was peace for now, it was uneasy and fragile. Theobald knew that the most awkward task of all lay ahead. For now, life at the archbishop’s court had returned to normal, or at least as normal as it could be, given the political climate, but it would not remain so for long.
As for the clerk, when Thomas returned to Canterbury, Theobald made a surprise announcement: Thomas was to be his spokesman, and he was to be sent on various missions on the archbishop’s behalf. It was obvious that Thomas possessed great skills of diplomacy and tact, and recent events had honed those skills further. Theobald could be rough and dogmatic in his directives, but Thomas was a clerk who was able to translate his master’s intentions in a subtler manner. A good communicator who could now carefully control his stammer, he could spin a persuasive argument. It was another good decision on Theobald’s part; Thomas would excel as his spokesman. Theobald may also have mused that his young protégé might prove useful to the Church in England.
Now Thomas would be thrust in earnest into the heart of English political life and the maelstrom that was tearing the country apart — the Anarchy had woken up and was breathing fire again. Closer to home, Walter, Theobald’s brother, was elevated to the see of Rochester, no doubt due to his brother’s influence, and was consecrated bishop on March 14, 1148. The archdeaconry of Canterbury was now vacant, and Theobald did not wait long to appoint to the office his most able and senior clerk: Roger de Pont L’Évêque. It was a decision Thomas’s enemy greeted with glee, and Thomas with caution.
9
Peace
In March 1148, Matilda returned to Normandy to find peace in the priory of Notre-Dame-du-Pré. Having had enough of war, she just wanted to pray and live a quiet life among the nuns for the years that were left to her. She passed the scepter, impotent as it was for now, to her son Henry Angevin. This young man, son of two noble houses, heir through his mother to the realms of England and Normandy and through his father to the dukedom of Anjou, had all the assets to become one of the most powerful monarchs in Christendom; he also had the ambition and ability. Stephen was well aware of this, and he realized that he needed to take action to prevent Henry from gaining a foothold in England. The time had come, he surmised, to crown and anoint his son Eustace, the Count of Boulogne, as junior king of England to settle the matter of succession and provide for a smooth transfer of power when he died.
In 1147, hungry for victory for his mother and himself, fourteen-year-old Henry landed in England at the head of an army. While the English were concerned a new front had opened up in the civil war, and there were rumors that the young commander led a large army, their fears were unfounded as Henry’s army, not as impressive as the rumors would have it, quickly abandoned him and his cause when the money ran out and no wages were paid. Henry appealed to his mother and his uncle Roger to assist him financially, but they refused — they may not have been keen to finance what they might have seen as a foolhardy venture.1 With a display of bravado, however, Henry appealed to King Stephen, offering to withdraw his army if the king would send him money. Astonishingly, Stephen agreed, and Henry returned to Anjou.2 Henry’s second attempt occurred in 1149, this time with the support of his great-uncle, King David of Scotland. With a newly minted knighthood, thanks to the Scottish king, Henry set his sights on York and took it, before heading south. Stephen was not prepared to repeat his generosity this time. Sending a formidable army, joining with that of his son, Eustace, they created enough resistance for Henry that he was forced to return to Normandy.3
In the meantime, Geoffrey, Henry’s father, was growing in power and influence, and this worried King Louis VII of France. Having deprived Stephen of his Norman domains, Geoffrey had Henry proclaimed Duke of Normandy, an action that further alarmed the French king. Henry governed as duke for the next few years, developing his administrative skills. To pacify Louis, who could become a serious enemy, and to win him as an ally in the claim for the English throne, Geoffrey advised Henry to do homage to Louis as his feudal lord; Henry agreed to do so, and Louis formally acknowledged him as duke in 1150.
Henry’s ambition was growing, and planning for an invasion of England was under way. Geoffrey was at the heart of the planning, but on September 7, 1151, he died suddenly of a fever. Knowing his son all too well, and recognizing the real possibility that he might deprive his younger brother of an inheritance, Geoffrey had made arrangements for Henry to inherit the title of Count of Anjou and Maine only until he was king of England, at which point he would be legally obliged to pass the title and domains to his younger brother, also called Geoffrey. At his father’s death, Henry promised to do so, though he would regret the promise, and had his brother Geoffrey not been offered the title and domains of the County of Nantes a few years later in 1156, Henry would have re neged on his promise to his father and done what he had to do to prevent his brother claiming his right. Though he challenged Henry and made trouble for him, Geoffrey took Nantes, Henry kept Anjou and Maine, and they finally settled down to an amicable, if tense, relationship.
Meanwhile, Theobald was petitioning Rome for the office of papal legate in England; once again, his rival in this issue was King Stephen’s brother Henry, bishop of Winchester. Thomas was now being sent on missions for Theobald, some of them to Rome, where he was reacquainted with the workings of the curia. In 1149, Theobald sent Thomas to the pope to deliver his petition, and it met with success. That Henry of Winchester had already held the office and had used it to assail the see and archbishop of Canterbury proved an advantage for Theobald’s request — Rome had learned its lesson. Thomas’s advocacy before the pope was a powerful piece of persuasive oratory, and while Bishop Henry had rushed to Rome himself to plead his case, he was no match for Thomas, who wiped the floor with him, figuratively speaking. Thomas came back to England with the official bull appointing Theobald papal legate, the pope’s representative in England, invested with papal authority.