The Bastard's Crown

by H A CULLEY

‘Hugo, don’t be so stupid; pull yourself together. And be careful what you say or you will be cast out of Sir Guillaume’s service and never make knight.’ Robert was nervous about what he needed to discuss with his son and spoke more harshly than he had intended. His son reddened at the rebuke and started to sulk.

  ‘That wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s connected though. Let’s go away from the camp so we can’t be overheard.’ Sensibly he was giving Hugo time to get over this unfortunate exchange.

  ‘What did you want to discuss, father?’ Hugo asked once they reached the pastures where the horses were grazing.

  ‘Well’ he took a deep breath ‘how do you think I can recover Cuille now?’

  Hugo thought for some time. ‘Well’ he began slowly ‘I don’t expect the duke will grant it to you whilst the daughter is alive. And the chances of her dying conveniently are remote.’

  ‘Non-existent’ he agreed.

  ‘So I presume that you would have to marry her. But that would be betraying mother’s memory. How old is she anyway?’

  ‘She’s thirteen. My reaction was exactly the same as yours when Guillaume suggested it. But if I don’t then I have to resign myself to losing Cuille for ever.’

  They walked in silence for a while.

  ‘I don’t think Guillaume should have put the thought in your head; he had no right to.’ Hugo said eventually.

  ‘He was only trying to look after my interests.’

  ‘Yes, well.’ Hugo heaved a sigh. ‘As you say, it is the only way to get Cuille back and I’m sure mother would say that you must do what is best for the two of us if she were here.’

  ‘Hugo’ Sir Robert grasped his son’s shoulders. ‘Thank you for that. I know how difficult is for you to accept. It is for me too. I loved your mother deeply and I always will.’ He paused. ‘But she is thirteen and will expect me to be a proper husband to her.’

  Hugo nodded miserably. ‘I suppose so. Yes, I understand.’

  ‘And if we have any sons the eldest will become the heir to Cuille. You need to accept that too.’

  Chapter Five – Normandy and Brittany 1064 to 1065 A.D.

  Oswin was pleased to get out of London for a while. When he arrived at Burneham it was to find the hall house was packed with visitors. When he had asked for permission to visit his family for Easter he didn’t know that Earl Harold of Wessex would also be there. The earl was making a grand tour of Wessex and he and his escort had stopped at Burneham for the night. After a brief reunion with his family he was introduced to Harold. Of course he had seen the earl many times in London but he hadn’t actually met him before. He stood a head taller than Oswin, who was not a short man compared to most Anglo-Saxons. Women considered Harold to be a handsome man with long blond hair and a moustache, the ends of which dangled below his chin. He was powerfully built and, although Oswin was noted for his firm handshakes, Harold nearly broke his hand when he greeted him.

  When the sat down to eat Oswin noted that Rowena wasn’t present. Wulfric came to sit beside him so he asked after his twin. He half expected to find that she was married and now lived with her husband - after all she was now fifteen – but he would have expected to have been told.

  ‘No, nothing like that’ Wulfric shook his head. ‘She is betrothed though to Siward Cerdicson over there.’ He pointed to where a boy of about nine sat next to a man so like him that he could only be his father.

  ‘Who is he, and why a boy so young? And why isn’t she here? Is she ill?’

  Wulfric laughed. ‘No, though you could say it’s a diplomatic illness. She still pines for Hugo de Cuille and won’t have anything to do with Siward. You remember Enid who held the manor of Farneham to the east of our land? Well, Cerdic, Siward’s father, married her two years ago having been Earl Harold’s under-steward for many years. When Enid died without producing a child Siward became the heir and father thought that he would make a perfect match for our sister, once he had got over the disappointment of the ealdorman’ son becoming betrothed to another.’ He shrugged. ‘Of course he is too young to bed her as yet so they are to stay betrothed until he reaches fourteen.’

  ‘Fourteen!’ Laughed Oswin. ‘She’ll eat him alive. And a lot can happen in five years.’

  The next morning the earl set off again, heading towards Southampton where he wanted to inspect the fleet of longships that he was beginning to construct there. As his men were preparing to leave he suddenly turned to Oswin.

  ‘I understand that you have a couple of weeks leave from the boring life that Edward’s housecarls lead?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘You probably want to spend it with your family but, if you are interested, I would be happy for you to join me.’

  Oswin glanced at his father who nodded encouragement. It was too good an opportunity to miss as Harold was the most powerful man in England after the king.

  ‘Can I come too?’ Wulfric asked eagerly.

  ‘Wulfric!’ His father was shocked at the boy’s boldness.

  Harold looked surprised for a moment then laughed and clapped his powerful hand on the boy’s shoulder making him wince.

  ‘Why not. If your father can spare you?’

  ‘Yes, of course, my lord. I do apologise for my son’s impudence though.’

  Harold waved the apology away whilst Oswin and Wulfric rushed to get ready.

  It took four days to reach Southampton, stopping at various manors and a monastery en route. Oswin calculated that it would take him five more days to get back to Westminster so he would have to leave the earl’s party in two days’ time. Harold was building a small fleet to patrol the coast, not so much to fight but to give warning of raids by Norsemen. The ships needed to be fast if they were to outrun the raiders. They were therefore lighter, which meant smaller and less robust than Norse longships, but they weren’t intended to make long sea journeys, just stay close to the coast.

  The morning they arrived, after Harold had inspected the ships under construction and the one already built, Oswin was surprised when he and Wulfric were invited to join the earl and a few of his thanes and housecarls to test it out.

  The weather was fine when they set off down Southampton Water but there were some clouds to the north, from whence a stiff breeze was blowing. The rowers had an easy time of it as they hoisted the sail once they reached open water. The plan was to sail around the Isle of Wight and return. Unfortunately, once they reached the southern tip of the island, the breeze intensified until it was more of a gale. The sail was stowed and the rowers did their best against the wind and the mounting seas but it was a losing battle.

  ‘Our only option is to run before the wind, my lord.’ The helmsman advised Harold.

  ‘But that will mean heading into the Channel and towards the French coast.’

  ‘I fear so but it is better than capsizing here which is what will happen if we try to head for a haven on the south coast. The rowers are already exhausted and more and more are needed to bail’

  Harold saw that his companions were already using their helmets to help the crew to bail out the water which kept cascading over the sides of the ship. He nodded.

  ‘I can see you are right. Head south then but we must turn about as soon as the wind eases. I have no intention of ending up in Normandy if I can help it.’

  Unfortunately the gale didn’t ease but increased to a full blown storm. But, as soon as the ship was allowed to run before the wind the amount of seawater it shipped reduced considerably. When night fell the helmsman calculated that they were probably halfway across the Channel. Shortly afterwards the boat was hit broadside on by a rogue wave and both Oswin and Wulfric lost their footing as the ship listed heavily and the cold, salty water swept them towards the side. Oswin grabbed his brother round the chest with one arm and desperately sought something to hang onto with the other. His groping fingers found a rope and he wound it around his forearm. The two came to a sudden halt which nearly dislocated his shoulder. Sever
al others were not so lucky and were washed overboard.

  When dawn broke they could see nothing but storm tossed seas and a looming dark grey sky. Many of the oars were broken or had been lost overboard so when they heard the sound of waves crashing onto a beach there was little the crew could do but pray as they were driven onto a lee shore. The boat struck the sand with such force that many men were knocked from their feet and some flew over the side. Harold got to his feet pleased to find he was unhurt apart from a few cuts and bruises. After what had happened earlier Oswin had roped Wulfric and himself to a rowing bench so they were relatively unhurt. Others had suffered broken bones or been knocked unconscious.

  A little later Oswin and Wulfric were sent off to find out where they were whilst Harold organised treatment of the wounded and set up a defensive perimeter. Many of their weapons had been lost at sea, as had most of the chainmail and helmets and so, although nearly thirty men had survived, they wouldn’t be able to put up much if a fight if attacked by more than a handful of armed men. Wulfric had a hunting bow and a quiver, which had been wrapped in oilskin, and Oswin still had his dagger. By this time the wind was easing and the blown sand longer stung their faces, making it difficult to see.

  ‘Where do you think we are?’ asked the younger of the two brothers as they reached the top of the sand dunes and looked over a strip of pasture grazed by sheep at the woods a few hundred yards away.

  ‘If I knew that we wouldn’t need to go and find out.’ Oswin retorted impatiently. Then he relented; it wasn’t fair to take his worry about their predicament out on the boy.

  ‘Somewhere on the coast of Normandy probably; the helmsman told me that he thought that we hadn’t been at sea long enough to have ended up in Brittany.’

  Suddenly he spotted three horsemen riding across the dunes. Later he found out that it was common practice for the locals to loot any wrecks washed up after a storm and, often as not, kill the unfortunate shipwrecked sailors. He pulled Wulfric down before they were spotted but the three scouts were too busy looking at the scene on the beach below. After a few minutes one of the men galloped off back the way they had come whilst the other two stayed on watch.

  ‘What do we do?’ whispered Wulfric.

  ‘Stay here and see what happens. If we went back and warned the earl what could he do? And we would end up as captives too. No doubt that man has been sent back to fetch more armed men.’ He added, anticipating his brother’s next question.

  An hour later a party of some thirty knights and sergeants rode up and surrounded the men on the beach. One carried a banner bearing blue and yellow diagonal bars enclosed in a border of red. Oswin watched as the man next to the one with the banner dismounted and Harold spoke to him. Shortly afterwards the English were marched off the beach, the wounded being carried by the others, surrounded by the mounted Normans. The two brothers followed them for several miles until they reached a castle encircled by a village near a river. They watched as the prisoners and their captors crossed the drawbridge into the castle. A flag similar to the banner displayed by the mounted men flew from a pole on top of the keep.

  Wulfric tapped Oswin on the shoulder and pointed to a shepherd boy who had just come into view round the shoulder of the hill below where they lay. The boy, who looked to be about eleven or twelve, watched them incuriously as they wandered down to where he was. The sheep flowed past them as they waited for the boy to come near. Oswin had learned some Norman French from Hugo and his friends and just hoped that it was good enough for the shepherd boy to understand him.

  ‘Good morning.’ Oswin smiled in what he hoped was a disarming way. ‘We are on our way to Rouen and we wondered what the name of that village is.’

  ‘Where are you from?’ The boy asked suspiciously. ‘You are not from around here.’

  Little do you know how right you are, thought Oswin.

  ‘No, we are from Maine.’ He could only think of Hugo’s birth county on the spur of the moment.

  ‘Oh. No idea where that is. That’s Beaurainville.’ Seeing that name didn’t produce a reaction he added helpfully ‘The castle of Count Guy of Ponthieu.’

  Oswin thanked him and then asked in which direction Rouen lay but the boy just shrugged.

  ‘Why did you ask about Rouen’ Wulfric wanted to know when the boy was out of earshot.

  ‘Because that is the main city of the duke of Normandy. I don’t know anything about this Count Guy but, by the way his men were treating Earl Harold and his men, I suspect that the sooner the duke knows the better. I’m sure he would at least treat the earl with the respect that is his due.’

  Oswin’s problem was that he didn’t know Normandy at all. Their only chance lay in finding someone who did and then persuading them to tell. The difficulty was that, if they knew the way to Rouen, they would probably be a lot brighter than the shepherd boy. In which case their long fair hair and their Saxon garb would immediately give the game away. He decided that, if subterfuge wasn’t going to work, then they would have to use coercion.

  An hour later they had a fire going in a clearing in the trees, Wulfric was roasting a rabbit he had shot and Oswin had shaved off his moustache with his dagger to make them a little less conspicuous. Wulfric was trying to grow one but so far his upper lip had only sprouted a little fuzz. Shortly after they set off again they came across a charcoal burner’s hut where two men were tending a smoking heap covered in turves. Leaving Wulfric hidden at the edge of the clearing he approached the men and asked the way to the main road to Rouen.

  The two men were immediately suspicious and one picked up a turf cutter and waved it threateningly as they advanced on Oswin. Wulfric sighted his arrow and let fly hitting the man holding the turf cutter in the shoulder. He cried out and clutching at his wound, dropped the erstwhile weapon. Wulfric stepped into view aiming at the other man.

  ‘Now just tell us where the road is and we will be on our way.’ Oswin pulled his dagger out and waved it threateningly.

  ‘What do we do about these two?’ Wulfric asked nervously.

  ‘We’ll tie them up to make sure they don’t send anyone after us for a while.’

  The man looked relieved. ‘Head due south and you should hit the road after about an hour or so.’

  ‘If we haven’t found it by then we’ll come back and kill you.’ Oswin warned him.

  ‘No, I’m not misleading you. I have a wife and three children; why would I lie? I’m not stupid.’

  Just over an hour later the two Saxons found the road and started to walk south west. After another thirty minutes they heard the muffled sound of hooves so they hid in the undergrowth beside the track just as a friar rode around the corner on a donkey. They waited until he was level with them then Wulfric seized the donkey’s bridle whilst Oswin pulled the friar to the ground. They had some qualms about attacking a man of God but the fate of the others lay in their hands.

  Ten minutes later Oswin had put the coarse habit over his Saxon clothing and Wulfric was wearing the friar’s tunic and braies. They were a somewhat large for him but Wulfric consoled himself with the thought that the naked friar was going to have a real problem getting into his clothes. Before they left the terrified friar confirmed that the road led to Rouen, which was about sixty miles away.

  ~#~

  Hugo felt miserable. He had eventually reconciled himself to his father’s betrothal to Lady Millicent, the heiress to Cuille, but he didn’t feel happy about it. He could understand that it enabled his father to recover the family estate but it was difficult to accept a stepmother who was seven years younger than he was and he felt very bitter about his disinheritance if, as seemed likely, she and his father had a child. To make matters worse he was upset by the ravaging of Maine and the burning of Mayenne when it refused to surrender. He still regarded himself as a Mainard rather than a Norman and his resentment had driven a wedge between him and Guillaume.

  He sighed and continued packing for the journey to Cuille where the wedding would take p
lace. Guillaume and Miles had been invited and, conscious of Hugo’s attitude to the match, Guillaume had agreed to stand as groomsman. Hugo felt both relieved and bitter that his master had been asked instead of him. He lugged the panniers outside and loaded the packhorse before saddling Guillaume’s courser and his palfrey. Tristan joined him to saddle Miles’ courser; the two friends nodded to each other but Tristan was wary of his fellow squire’s moods since the invasion of Maine and the two had tended to avoid each other recently.

  The only person Hugo felt close to was Roland. They shared an uncertainty about their futures as Sir Robert had warned Roland that he would not need a squire once he was married and living again at Cuille, where he would be concentrating on managing his manor rather than fighting, especially as the county was peaceful for the first time in decades.

  The three knights rode out through the gates of Rouen followed by their squires leading the packhorses. They had to push their way through the crowds trying to enter the city so Hugo didn’t notice the cowled friar on a donkey and the fair haired youth by his side. It was only when he heard his name called that he turned in the saddle. Oswin still had his cowl up but there was no mistaking Wulfric’s face, which was so like that of Rowena, even though it was two years since he had seen him and his face had matured accordingly.

  Sir Robert turned round in annoyance to see what the commotion behind them was all about. He was amazed to see the three squires exuberantly greeting two fair haired strangers. A few minutes later, after introductions, Sir Guillaume was the first to ask what brought the two to Rouen. Oswin quickly told them of their adventures since leaving Southampton and Wulfric chipped in that the castle where Earl Harold was held was called Beaurainville.

  ‘That’s Guy de Ponthieu’s stronghold’ Miles exclaimed.

  ‘Who is he and why is he holding the earl?’ Oswin wanted to know.

  ‘He’s one of the duke’s vassals but he tries to play Normandy off against France as Ponthieu lies on the border between them. He spent a few years in a dungeon the last time he crossed Duke William so I don’t suppose he wants to repeat that experience. No doubt he wants to keep news of Harold’s capture quiet until he can work out who will pay the greatest ransom.’ Guillaume smiled at the two Saxons. ‘Your escape has put paid to that scheme. I think we will need to delay our departure for a day or two; sorry Robert. You two had better come and tell your tale to the duke.’