His concentration was so totally focused on the one animal that he barely even heard the thunder of the other huntsmen’s horses across the ground, was unaware of the shouts and blaring horns, did not see the dogs spring forward at their masters’ commands.
All he knew was that one moment the boar was heading towards him, and the next it had turned and dashed away in a completely different direction, pursued by hounds and horsemen as it went.
But one man had not followed the pack. Herluin remained, sitting atop his mount, blocking out the sunlight so that he cast a shadow right across the ground where William was struggling to his feet.
‘How dare you?’ he rasped, in a voice William had never heard from him before. ‘How dare you break your word to your mother? Have you no respect for her at all. By God, if you were not my duke, I’d give you a thrashing you’d never forget.’
William walked shamefaced to fetch his own horse and mount it while Herluin glared at him.
‘Come here,’ Herluin commanded him, and William obeyed. His stepfather had begun to sound a little more like his normal kindly self. ‘Don’t you realise that you can’t go around acting like a fool? You’re too important. This whole duchy is sliding into anarchy and you are the only person who can bring back peace and order. Your people need you. You’re their only hope. You’re the Duke of Normandy, William. You have to start acting like it.’
‘How can I?’ William replied, almost crying with pent-up frustration. ‘How am I supposed to be a proper duke when Ralph and Mauger and Talou won’t let me? They’re supposed to be my guardians and advisers, but they don’t behave like that. They go around like they’re the real dukes and I’m just this . . . this . . . this little boy that has to do whatever they tell him.’
Herluin nodded. William had made a fair point. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘there’s no need to tell your mother about what happened today. No point in worrying her unnecessarily. I’ll tell Odo and Robert to keep their mouths shut too. But if you ever try anything like that again . . .’
‘I won’t. I promise.’
‘Good. Now we must decide what to do about your self-appointed guardians. You’re quite right to dislike them. They’re all as poisonous as vipers, if you ask me, and I wouldn’t trust any of them further than I could throw them. I think this is something we can discuss with your mother. She’s been dealing with dukes and their problems since she was barely older than you are now. Let’s hear what she has to say.’
‘You need a powerful friend,’ Herleva said, as the three of them talked after supper. ‘Someone you can turn to who has nothing to do with those three weasels. As long as you’re weak and you’ve not got anywhere else to go, they can control you. But if you had an ally, that would make them think twice.’
‘Yes, but who?’ William asked.
‘How about King Henry of France?’ Herluin suggested. ‘He is your liege lord, after all. If you need his help, he’s bound to provide it.’
‘Yes, but William can’t go to him too often,’ Herleva objected. ‘It has to be for something really important, if his life or his dukedom are threatened. Things aren’t that bad yet.’
‘Mama’s right,’ William said. ‘Anyway, the king is angry with Normandy because the fighting here is spilling on to his lands. I can’t see him wanting to help me.’
‘I know just the man!’ said Herleva, her face lighting up with the pleasure of finding a solution to such a tricky problem. ‘You should go and see Baldwin of Flanders.’
Herluin looked sceptical. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, he’s perfect!’ Herleva insisted. ‘Think about it. William, you want someone who’s powerful but who has no desire to grab Normandy for himself, otherwise he’ll just use you and you’ll be even worse off than you are already. That exactly describes Baldwin. He’s completely secure on his throne, incredibly well-connected—’
‘How?’ asked William.
‘Because his wife Adela is King Henry’s sister.’
‘And Flanders owes its allegiance to the Holy Roman Empire, so he’s close to the emperor, too,’ Herluin pointed out.
‘Yes, but how do I know he’ll want to help me?’ William asked.
‘You don’t,’ said Herleva. ‘But Baldwin’s late father was married to your aunt Eleanor. Adela was married to your uncle Richard. And your great-aunt Emma lived in Bruges for years after Canute died. So you’re practically family. And as it happens, I knew Adela years ago. Robert took me to the wedding when she married Richard. You remember, Herluin? She was such a shy, mousy little thing, even younger than I was, and Richard was so beastly to her that I felt sorry for her, even though she was the daughter of the King of France. And then, when Richard died, she stayed with us in Rouen for a while and it was Robert who helped arrange the marriage to Baldwin. I really liked her. She was very clever and a lovely girl once you got to know her – far too good for Richard.’
Herleva fell silent, clearly contemplating what she was about to say next. ‘You know, I think that conniving murderer Ralph de Gacé—’ she began.
‘That’s a bit strong,’ Herluin said. ‘There’s been no proof against him.’
‘Yes, that’s because he’s sneaky and always manages to keep his hands clean, but don’t tell me that he didn’t have something to do with Alan, Gilbert and Osbern’s deaths – and all of them far finer, kinder men than he will ever be, too. Anyway, as I was saying, Ralph thinks he’s done something clever by sending you here while he demonstrates who’s really in charge by going to Falaise to deal with Thurstan. He’s not paying attention to what you’re doing now because he doesn’t think there’s any need to. So you can go to Bruges without him being any the wiser.’
‘That’s a very good point, William,’ said Herluin. ‘Ralph would never let you go to another court by yourself. He’d see right away why that would be good for you and bad for him. You should definitely go.’
‘I can’t just turn up and say, “Hello, I’m William of Normandy, I want to speak to Count Baldwin”, can I?’ William said.
‘I don’t see why not,’ his mother replied. ‘You’re a duke, my darling. That makes you Baldwin’s equal, at the very least. But just to make sure, I’m going to call a monk over tomorrow and he can write me a letter of introduction for you to give to Countess Adela. If you have her on your side, Baldwin will be all ears.’
‘But how can you write to the King of France’s daughter?’
‘Because I am a viscountess, and the mother of a duke. I can write to whoever I please.’ Herleva stopped, frowned and looked at her husband. ‘What’s the matter, Herluin? Why are you looking at me like that?’
Herluin was smiling in wonderment. ‘Nothing’s the matter, my love. Nothing at all. I’m just looking at you and asking myself how the simple girl I saw dancing in that clearing grew up to become the great lady who can call herself the equal of Adela of France. And yet you don’t look a day older or the slightest bit less beautiful than you did then. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.’
‘You are being very foolish indeed, my lord,’ said Herleva, though even her son could see that she didn’t really think that at all.
William could tell what was coming next. ‘I’m going,’ he said, and left the room before his embarrassment could become even more acute than it already was.
12
Bruges
It was not the luxury of Count Baldwin’s court at Bruges that surprised William, rich though it was. The House of Normandy too had fine tapestries, silken rugs and golden ornaments aplenty. What was unexpected was the sight of the count and countess sitting side by side on golden thrones to greet him upon his arrival at their palace.
To be sure, Baldwin’s throne was larger than Adela’s, as befitted both his greater size and his status as the ruler of the county of Flanders. William made sure to pay his respects to the
count first before greeting his wife and handing her the scroll on which his mother’s letter was inscribed. Still, there was no doubt that Baldwin ruled alongside his wife, sought her counsel and took her opinions seriously.
‘Remember,’ Herleva had told William, ‘Adela may not be as big or strong as Baldwin, but she is more than his match in wisdom and learning. I’ve heard that she corresponds with scholars across Christendom, in her own hand.’
William had been impressed by that, even if he was puzzled as to why anyone would bother writing letters themselves if they had monks and priests at their disposal. He was struck, too, by the cool way Adela looked him up and down, assessing him as calmly and shrewdly as if she were selecting a joint of meat from a butcher’s market stall.
His initial interview with the couple was brief and, once the formal greetings had been completed, consisted of little more than pleasantries. William had, of course, been trained from earliest boyhood to conduct himself properly in august company. But he was no fonder of small talk than any other sixteen-year-old boy and was grateful for the presence of Herluin, who had escorted him to Bruges with a company of Conteville men, and who was now able to keep the conversation moving along when William could not think of anything to say beyond basic answers to the count and countess’s questions.
Finally Count Baldwin indicated that their audience was over, and William was unable to suppress a heartfelt sigh of relief. He was just about to leave when Countess Adela gave a little wave of her hand to indicate he should approach her chair. ‘I shall read your mother’s letter as soon as I am able. Then you will sit next to me at dinner and we will discuss what she has to say.’
William nodded and made his way out of the council chamber. As he did so, a girl ran past him in a blur of energy. He half turned to watch her, and as he did, she stopped and turned back towards him. Their eyes met. He saw a girl who was no bigger than a child of eight or nine, but who somehow looked at him in a way that suggested she was rather older than that. Either way, William wasn’t interested. He grunted a rudimentary greeting then loped away out of the chamber. The girl stood watching him for a few more seconds. Then her mother’s voice called out, ‘Don’t just stand there all day, Matilda!’ and she picked up her feet and sped towards the countess’s throne.
‘Your parents were both very kind to me, William,’ said Countess Adela at dinner that night, waving away the servant offering her another slice of roast pork. William, who was used to the rough-hewn slabs, chunks and knobbles of flesh that were hacked from the joint by Norman cooks, thought the quantities served at the court of Flanders pitifully inadequate, and was desperately staring at the man who had been shooed away by Adela in the hope that he would turn back and make him the same offer the countess had just spurned.
Having received no response to her remark, Adela looked at William, saw his desperation and swiftly ordered that the boy’s trencher should be topped up with meat and plentiful supplies of gravy. She let him gorge himself for a while without intruding upon him with further conversation, for it gave her time to ponder the immediate impression he had given her when they’d met earlier in the day.
He was gauche, that much was indisputable. His conversational skills were minimal and he had the table manners of, well, a Norman. But for all that, the boy had something that many other more polished young men of royal or aristocratic blood lacked: an unmistakable animal energy. Everything about him, even the desperation with which he’d gazed at the departing salver piled with meat, suggested that this was a young man fuelled by hunger. He’ll spend his entire life wanting more, she told herself. She had never seen William fight, but she would bet her entire fortune that if he hadn’t yet dipped his sword in another man’s blood, it wouldn’t be long before he did.
As she thought about William, Adela remembered his father. When she had first set eyes on Robert of Normandy, he could only have been a couple of years older than his son was now, but he was much more of a young man, filled with a boundless self-confidence verging on arrogance, offset by his ready smile and effortless charm. How she had pitied herself at her own wedding feast, being married off to his surly, wine-sodden oaf of an older brother, Richard. And how she had envied Herleva, common though she was, who had basked in the love that shone from Robert like the dazzling light of the summer sun.
William lacked that joyful, ebullient streak that had made Robert so attractive. He was by no means bad-looking, and he did not strike her as mean-spirited or malevolent, but he was contained, watchful, well armoured against the hurt that the world could inflict on more open souls. But then, when she considered all that had happened to him in his short life: his mother taken from him, his father dead, his guardians murdered – one of them, it was said, before his very eyes – she suspected that he would always be prey to suspicion, find it hard to trust and, once crossed, never rest until he was avenged.
Still, as she had said, his parents had been very kind to her, and so Adela persisted in her attempts to engage this gauche young man in conversation.
‘So . . . you have a problem with your guardians, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
She waited to see whether he would add to that comment, and saw that nothing else would be forthcoming. She reminded herself that he was, after all, just an adolescent male sitting next to a woman twice his age whom he’d only just met, and realised she would have to draw him out of his shell a little.
‘I gather that the one causing you the most trouble is Archbishop Robert’s son, Ralph. I remember his father well enough. He married me to your late uncle Richard.’
‘My father didn’t kill his brother,’ William snapped, his whole body tensing as if for a fight, before she could say another word. Interesting, thought Adela, the way he jumps to his father’s defence. Not for the first time, I’ll be bound.
‘He would only have my thanks if he had done,’ she replied, and watched William’s shoulders relax. Good. She’d won a little of his trust.
‘So, this Ralph . . . I hear people call him Donkey-Head, is that right?’
William managed something close to a smile. ‘Yes . . . but not when he can hear them. They’re too frightened to say it to his face.’
‘And are you frightened of him?’
For the first time, William looked her right in the eye. ‘I’m not frightened of anyone.’
Plenty of boys his age would say a thing like that, but most would simply be puffing themselves up to look bigger and tougher than they really were. But William meant it, and spoke as if there were not the slightest doubt that he was telling the truth.
‘So, if you are standing next to Ralph, are you as tall as him? Could you look him in the eye?’
William thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘And are you as strong as him? Let’s say you arm-wrestled with him, who would win?’
‘Oh, me, easily,’ William said at once. ‘Ralph’s all skinny and weak.’
‘And you’d beat him if you had a sword fight?’
‘Definitely.’
‘So now we have established that he is less physically powerful than you. And he cannot match you for rank, because you are the Duke of Normandy and he is your vassal. So do you know the only reason why he still has any control over you?’
William frowned. ‘Er . . . no.’
‘Because you’re both used to him being in charge. You’ve actually outgrown the need for him. But neither one of you realises it.’
‘Oh . . .’ said William thoughtfully. ‘But how do I do anything about that? I mean, I can’t just go up to him and say, “I’m in charge now.”’
‘Well, you could, actually, but I’m not sure it would be the cleverest approach. The best thing would be to do something that showed Ralph, and everyone else, that you had earned the right to be in charge. If you really want to persuade people, dee
ds almost always work better than words. But what can you do? That’s the question.’
There was one very obvious thing, but Adela wasn’t going to say it. Let the boy get there himself. Silence fell on their stretch of the table as William pondered. Then his face lit up. ‘I can take Falaise Castle! I know that Ralph doesn’t think it will fall quickly. He’s expecting it to take months. He won’t even be there half the time, he told me so himself.’
‘Well done, Your Grace, that would be an excellent way of showing people you deserve to rule the duchy yourself, without any guardians. But why would you be able to take the castle if Ralph cannot? After all, you’re stronger than him, but you’re not strong enough to tear down the walls. And even if you’re a better fighter than him, you can’t fight everyone there yourself.’
‘No,’ William agreed, warming to the conversation now that it was touching on a subject that really interested him, ‘but Ralph wasn’t born at the castle. He hasn’t heard stories about it all his life, and his grandparents aren’t inside it. That’s why he can’t get into the castle. But I can.’
‘How, exactly, might I ask?’
‘I’ll tell you,’ said William, and proceeded to do just that. By the time he had finished, Adela realised that she had underestimated the shrewd intelligence and driving ambition that lay beneath William’s unprepossessing exterior.
‘He carries within him the possibility of greatness,’ she told her husband when they lay in bed together that night. ‘Perhaps you might consider giving him a small company of men to take with him to Falaise. Twenty, maybe, or even thirty – enough to put him in our debt, but not so many that we are at all weakened.’
Baldwin laughed affectionately. ‘“Might consider” indeed! There’s no might about it. You demand that I should pack some of my men off to Normandy with this young pup, and I happen to think you are right. Tell me, is William betrothed to anyone yet?’
The Leopards of Normandy: Duke: Leopards of Normandy 2 Page 29