The knights left and Anselm was treated to the indignity of the search. Meanwhile the King lost no time in seizing the rich lands of Canterbury.

* * * * *

When he arrived in Rome the Pope received Anselm with all honours and even lodged him in his own palace.

News reached the Archbishop that the King had already taken the Canterbury lands which as Anselm was still Archbishop came under his jurisdiction.

‘The King is a man without religious feelings.’ Anselm told the Pope. ‘He has no fear of God nor of hell.’

‘All men fear eternal damnation.’ replied the Pope. ‘If I threaten excommunication he may well restore your property.’

The Pope sent a messenger to England with a letter to say that unless the King restored to the Archbishop that which was his due he should suffer excommunication.

When Rufus received this letter he roared out his fury.

His father was once excommunicated for marrying his mother without the consent of the Pope. The Conqueror had snapped his fingers at the Pope. Did they think that he, William II, would accept what William I had not?

He roared at the messenger: ‘Get out of my realm. If you are not gone from here by the end of this day I’ll pull out both your eyes.’

Back went the messenger to Rome, his eyes safe, and when his story was told the Pope called together a council to consider the King’s way of life, his lack of religion and his quarrel with the saintly Anselm.

It was decided at the council that Rufus should be excommunicated and this threat would have been carried out but for Anselm who implored the Pope to wait awhile.

Rufus, he knew, would be quite unmoved by excommunication, a fact which the Pope, not knowing him, could not be expected to understand. No good would be served by the carrying out of the threat which Rufus would laugh to scorn.

Rufus was amused by the controversy. He declared that there was no question of returning the lands, for had not the Archbishop gone to Rome without his royal licence and having done so had he not forfeited the archbishopric?

Anselm realized that this in a way was a victory for the King. He was in England snapping his fingers at Rome; and there was nothing the Pope could do to frighten him.

Anselm settled down to the peaceful life. He was often in Rome with Urban and at times went into the monastery of San Salvatore where he worked on the treatise which was to become famous—the Cur Deus Homo, He began to understand that Urban, after his first gesture, was not eager to pursue the threat of excommunication. England under the Norman kings had become too important a country for that. Rufus had acknowledged him and for this reason he did not wish to alienate him too far.

Anselm realized that he had made a mistake and that he could not expect more help from Urban, so he decided to leave Rome altogether. He had a great friend in Archbishop Hugh who resided in Lyons. He joined him and receiving a warm welcome decided to settle there until such a time as he could return to Canterbury. As it seemed that would never be while Rufus lived, it could be said that Rufus had won the battle.

Love Comes to Wilton Abbey

The thick stone walls of the Abbey of Wilton had become a formidable prison for Edith. On this spot had once stood a wooden building and Queen Editha (the wife in name only of Edward the Confessor who was, it was said, too saintly to have ever consummated his marriage) had rebuilt it in stone at the same time as the Confessor was building Westminster Abbey.

The order was, as at Rumsey, that of the Black Benedictines; and, now that they were at Wilton, Christina was more determined than ever that her niece should follow in her footsteps. She was delighted by the transfer. Wilton, she said, was the Royal Abbey. Atheling Princesses had received their education there ever since it had been founded in its present form by Queen Editha; and of course an Atheling had always been the Abbess.

The time would soon come for Edith to take her vows. It was a ceremony long overdue. This affair of Alan of Bretagne had postponed it, but now that God had removed him there was no need to delay longer.

Edith was thankful for the company of her sister. Mary had never suffered as she had. Although she was forced to wear the robes of the order they did not irritate her skin as they did Edith’s., and Mary was always sure that one day she would escape into the world.

But now even she was getting anxious.

Sometimes she would come into Edith’s cell to talk to her. It would have been forbidden had they been discovered, so they always had to talk in whispers and keep on the alert for prying nuns. Often Mary had hidden herself in the stone alcove while Edith stood before the cross as though in meditation until footsteps passed away.

‘How I long to escape.’ said Mary. ‘And we are getting old, Edith. You are twenty-one years of age. Soon we shall be too old. Oh, if only our father had not died. I wish our uncle would come. I would ask if I could go back to Scotland. Perhaps then a husband would be found for me.’

‘Who can say what sort of husband?’ replied Edith, remembering the leering eyes of Alan of Bretagne.

‘Is not any husband better than living here forever, wearing these fusty robes? I want to have jewels and an embroidered gown. Aunt Christina doesn’t want us to marry...especially you. She feels that marriage is a sinful state and yet how would the world go on without it!’

Edith was silent, thinking of the conflict which had beset her when she could not make up her mind between the dreary existence under Aunt Christina and marriage with Alan of Bretagne. They were two extremes; there must be something in between. She did know now that if she could find a husband of her own age—or thereabouts—a gentle kindly man, she would be ready to go to him and rejoice that she had escaped Aunt Christina.

‘We are tucked away here.’ said Mary, ‘and who is aware of us?’

‘Alan of Bretagne was.’ Edith reminded her. And she added to comfort her sister: ‘It may well be that some others are.’

She was right.

This time it was Mary’s turn to be summoned to the Abbess’s sanctum to be told that the King had given his consent to Eustace the Count of Boulogne to come to Wilton to see her.

Mary’s expression betrayed her excitement.

The Abbess looked at her sternly. ‘I see that you, as your sister once was, are eager for the marriage bed.’

Mary, emboldened by the possibilities of escape, replied: ‘It is the lot of most women, Aunt.’

‘I am filled with sorrow to think that after all my teaching, all the efforts I have made to instil some piety into you, you should harbour lustful thoughts.’

Mary in her exulting mood could not help feeling sorry for poor Aunt Christina who would never have a husband and who hated the thought of anyone else’s having one. So she did not reply but kept her eyes lowered that Aunt Christina might not see the pleasurable anticipation which she could not suppress.

‘You must prepare yourself for this meeting. It disgusts me that he should come here to inspect you as though you were a dog or a horse. I would forbid it but he has the King’s consent to come and none of us dare disobey that.’

How wonderful, thought Mary, that Aunt Christina’s sway was restricted.

‘I will send for you when this man arrives. Be prepared.’

Mary went to her cell in a state of great excitement. Edith came to her to hear what the Abbess had said.

‘He is coming. Eustace of Boulogne. I shall be Countess of Boulogne! Oh, Edith, how I wish I had a rich embroidered gown in which to see him. What will he think of me in these hideous black robes?’

‘He’ll make allowances for them.’

‘With what joy shall I cast them off. I’ll tear them off. I’ll stamp on them.’