‘Elfrida speaks your tongue as well as I do,’ Edgar said, supposing a lack of Saxon to be the reason for Raoul’s stricken silence.
A pair of big eyes smiled trustfully into Raoul’s; he thought he had never seen eyes so blue. A hand came out of the covering rugs; a shy soft voice said: ‘My brother’s friend commands my friendship too, messire.’
Raoul held out his hand to take hers. Edgar was surprised to see his lean brown fingers so unsteady. They closed reverently over Elfrida’s. ‘Lady, you are right welcome,’ Raoul stammered like a tongue-tied boy.
Three
In Rouen Matilda received both the Saxon ladies with courtesy, but eyed Gundred, a haughty managing dame, a little askance. She was quick to sum up her own sex, and almost immediately assumed towards Gundred a gracious condescension that was designed to show that proud lady the gulf that lay between Earl Harold’s sister and Normandy’s Duchess.
Not to be outdone Gundred at once made play with the name of her sister Eadgytha, the Queen. Matilda raised her delicate brows, and said softly: ‘Alas, poor soul, that she has brought her lord no heirs!’
Gundred was pardonably annoyed. ‘Maybe that might rather be the King’s fault, madame,’ she said bluntly.
Holding her own last-born, a babe still in its swaddling-bands, upon her knee, Matilda smiled. The smile might have betokened polite interest, or it might have betokened a mild scepticism. Gundred thought it best to turn the conversation into safer channels.
Towards Elfrida the Duchess used none of this edged politeness. Elfrida had gone plump down upon her knees as soon as she set eyes upon my lord William, that red-headed four-year-old, and held out her warm arms to him. There was no surer road to Matilda’s heart; she could even forgive Elfrida for having long golden braids that made her own locks fade to flaxen. ‘You have a kindness for children, damsel?’ she said.
‘Oh indeed and indeed, madame!’ Elfrida answered, looking shyly up at her.
‘I see that we shall do very well together,’ Matilda promised.
Being a lady of discernment it did not take her many days to see how matters shaped between Elfrida and Raoul de Harcourt. The Duchess had more than once laid deep schemes for Raoul’s espousals, but he had evaded these so often that for some years she had ceased to look about her for a bride worthy of him. Her quick eye now observed certain tell-tale signs to pass between him and the Saxon maid, and she did not know whether to be pleased or sorry. She contrived to find out from Dame Gundred what the girl’s dowry would be: it was respectable, but to Matilda’s provident mind not great enough to warrant her marriage to a Duke’s favourite. She mentioned the matter to the Duke; he opened his eyes at it; he had noticed nothing. When assured that the Watcher was beginning at last to look beyond his lord he laughed, and seemed to think he would derive amusement from observing Raoul in a damsel’s toils. The question of dowry left him unmoved. Matilda said: ‘Her marriage is in Earl Harold’s gift. Would he see her wedded to a Norman?’
‘Her marriage will be in my gift before all is done,’ he replied. ‘If Raoul is hot for her I promise you I will dower her nobly, my thrifty Maid.’
When next he saw Elfrida he gave her more than his usual cursory glance. She found a direct stare bent upon her, and looked gravely back at him in a way that pleased him. He remarked to his Duchess that the damsel had a brave eye, and made a point of accosting her when opportunity served. When he chose he could be quite unalarming; Elfrida, who had hitherto thought him an awesome prince, found him unexpectedly jovial, and afterwards confided to her brother that she thought no two people could be kinder than the Duke and Duchess of Normandy.
Edgar was surprised, and a little perturbed. He hoped secretly that Elfrida would wed Raoul, because he loved them both, and had soon seen how Raoul regarded his sister, but when she showed a tendency to admire Duke William he was shocked, for to his mind no one who owned Earl Harold allegiance could cherish affection for William.
As for Earl Harold, he was moving through the Norman Court with the ease that was natural to him. He was fond of hawking and of hunting at force, and since he had a gay humour and a wonderful mastery over horse and hound, the barons at once liked him. He had a proud look; it was plain that he was accustomed to command; but he was never above his company, so that he made friends wherever he went. All through his life he was first a man whom men liked, but he had also a name for being a great lover. It was said that he had many lemans; Alfric had spoken the name of one lady so beautiful that she was called the Swan-neck as being Harold’s mie. No doubt she was languishing in England now, awaiting the return of her splendid lover, while he rested in Rouen inflaming by no more than a chance look, a sudden smile, the hearts of many susceptible Norman ladies. He drew women as though they were moths and he the bright light round which they fluttered. There were a score of hearts in Rouen he might have plucked had he chosen, but he held off, steering an easy course through all this heady adulation, and gave only one lady cause to think she had him in thrall. And this was no less a personage than the Duchess herself.
Watching his liege-lady, Raoul began to wonder, and to know misgiving. She was sparing no pains to attract the Earl; she might be older, but she still had the mysterious lure that had caught and held Duke William. Now she turned her witch’s eyes upon Harold, weaving new spells. Raoul saw it, and his brow wrinkled in a puzzled frown. He knew her too well to suppose she had room in her heart for any but her lord, and her fine sons. He watched closer; there was no love in her eyes, but they were dangerous as he had not seen them since she planned Duke William’s downfall.
One evening before the supper hour he stood in the gallery looking down at the hall where the Court was gathered into little groups. Earl Harold was beside the Duchess’s chair, and it seemed as though some light traffic was passing between them. Raoul stood still, frowning and wondering. He heard a step behind him, and turned his head as the Duke came up.
William stood beside him, and looked down at the hall. He spoke without taking his eyes from the group about Matilda’s chair. ‘What think you, Raoul? What manner of man is Harold?’
‘One who does not show his whole mind to the world,’ said Raoul instantly. ‘A man of high courage, and large desires.’
‘I think I have his measure,’ William said. ‘He is more subtle than he would wish to appear; a leader certainly, a ruler – perhaps. He has not yet met his match.’ He watched Matilda smile up into the Earl’s face; he was of a disposition that brooked no rival; what he owned no other man might touch; but he seemed unperturbed at the sight of his dame’s behaviour.
Raoul saw satisfaction in his eyes, and all his wondering was done. ‘When does the Earl set sail for England, beau sire?’ he asked. There was a hint of severity in his voice.
William’s lips curled. ‘Do you think I am very likely to let Harold slip through my fingers?’ he said. ‘I have him at last; save at a price I shall not let him go.’
‘He threw himself on your mercy!’ Raoul said hotly. ‘Trusting to your chivalry!’
‘My friend, one who nurses such ambitions as Harold carries in his breast dare place his trust in no man,’ said William.
Raoul looked at him in a startled way, and with a gradually darkening brow. ‘Beau sire, when you sent to deliver Harold from Ponthieu Edgar begged me to assure him the Earl was not a second time betrayed. Now by God’s light you give me cause to wonder whether he had not reason when he asked that question!’ He saw a smile flicker across the Duke’s mouth, and his hand descended on William’s wrist and gripped it almost unconsciously. ‘William, my seigneur, I have been your man these many years, following you blindfold, knowing that your way never led to dishonour yet. But now I see you changing, made ruthless by your too large ambition, forgetful of all but a crown. Dread lord, if you mean harm to Harold who trusted in your knighthood, take my sword and break it across your k
nee, for you are no more a master for me, or for any man bound by his vows of chivalry.’
The Duke turned his head and regarded Raoul with a faint gleam of amusement. He said: ‘O Watcher, you are my man to the day of your death or mine. Not Harold, nor even the fair Elfrida can wean you from me.’
Raoul jumped at that, but answered steadily: ‘You only can drive me off from you.’
‘I shall not do it.’ He flicked Raoul’s hand with one finger. ‘Loose this grip. Is every passer-by to see me thus rudely used? I will be as careful of Harold’s ease as of mine own, but he shall not leave Normandy.’ He took Raoul’s arm in a friendly hold, and walked slowly along the gallery with him. ‘Have faith in me yet. I will put no constraint upon him; he shall dwell in my palace as my most honoured guest – yet, and be entertained by my Duchess, as you have seen.’
‘If you constrain him not,’ Raoul said practically, ‘he may ride to the coast as soon as he lists.’
‘He is too wise. I have placed trusted men about him to serve his needs; he cannot escape their vigilance. He knows that though I beg him to stay with us a while yet I have it in my power to enforce that – request. Do you think him a fool? I am sure he is not. He will not risk putting his suspicions to the test: none but a madman would provoke the Wolf in his lair. And so I hold Harold upon a chain forged of his own suspicions.’
Raoul could not forbear a grin. ‘William, am I to be cozened by such smooth words as these? Do you think I do not know you? If Harold were to throw all upon the chance of flight you would have him seized before a man could cry Haro!’
‘I might do so,’ the Duke said calmly. ‘But it would suit my purpose very ill to put an open restraint upon the Saxon. There will not be the need.’
They had reached the door leading into the Duke’s solar, and passed into the room. It was small, and rather stuffy, with a slit window set in the deep stone wall. Tapestries hung all round it, depicting the lives of certain saints; there was a table in the middle of the floor, and a couple of chairs stood beside it. The Duke sat down in one of these, and leaned his arms upon the table.
‘William, it is unworthy,’ Raoul said. ‘He came, thinking no ill, and is betrayed.’
‘He came with his eyes open, knowing me for his foe, trusting in nothing but the certainty that I would deliver him from a more pressing danger.’
‘If he knows you to be his foe how should he place himself in your power? You might, for all he guesses, slip poison into his wine, or arrange some seeming accident at the chase.’
‘My thanks to you, Raoul. Yet I think I have not earned the name for ridding myself of mine enemies by such means as that. Consider again: were Harold to die in Normandy all Christendom would point at me, his murderer. Would Holy Church support my claim to England then? Would any man? Nay, Harold must know himself safe from poison or chance arrows. But he cannot escape me, and that also he knows.’
‘To what end? Will you hold him for ever? That way, too, you must have every honest man against you.’
‘Nay, I shall not hold him for ever,’ the Duke answered. ‘He shall bind himself by oath to uphold my claim to England. That oath sworn I will speed him on his way hence.’
Raoul wandered to the window and stood there, leaning his shoulders against the cold stone. Across the room his eyes frowned into William’s. ‘He will not do it.’
‘He will do it.’
‘Torture would not wring that oath from such an one as he.’
‘Not torture, nor fear of death. But the King is stricken in years, and might die – who knows? – to-day, to-morrow, a year hence. If Harold were to be absent from England when Edward is coffined, think you there are no others ready to snatch at opportunity, and a crown? There is that wasting boar Tostig; there are those who desire to set up the child Atheling; there are Edwine and Morkere, the sons of Alfric, of Leofric’s blood. Let Harold but get news that the King is in failing health and he dare not tarry longer outremer. He will take the oath without any threat of mine to urge him.’
‘And be forsworn, saying that you forced it from him. How are you served?’
‘Very well. If he breaks his covenant he will stand forth for all the world to see and scorn: a perjured man. The Church will stand for me then, and I will not move unless I receive the Holy Father’s sanction. Let him declare for me and I may leave Normandy assured that no man will break my borders while I am away.’
Raoul said nothing. Turning his head he stood gazing out of the window at the sky and the chasing clouds. He saw a tomorrow that made him afraid. Glory it might hold; for Normandy perhaps a future splendid beyond his dreams; but before these could be attained dark crafty policy must go before and a sea of blood be crossed.
Two clouds drifting past the narrow window merged gradually into one and sailed on towards the setting sun. He watched them with unseeing eyes, while his hand, lying on the deep embrasure, slowly closed and tightened. Beyond the tortuous policy, beyond sorrow and bitter strife a crown lay waiting for the strongest hand to seize it. The Duke would dare that high emprise, and no Norman looking to Normandy’s future could deny his wisdom. Long ago William had seen the perils that would always beset Normandy, hedged as she was by jealous neighbours, and guarded by fickle border-holds; he had seen a goal ahead, a kingdom for his ancestor’s dukedom, and had determined to win for his posterity that glorious heritage. Dubious statecraft might be needful to his end; bloodshed, and death, and the misery of a whole nation; perhaps years of unending strife, but these would not daunt him.
But Raoul was not made of this stern stuff. More to him than ultimate achievement was present suffering, the severing of friendship, and the unscrupulous scheming that, while it might raise William the ruler high above other rulers, must make William the man lose chivalry in ambition.
He swung around suddenly. ‘I cannot like it!’ he said. ‘All that you would urge I too can see, yea, and desire for Normandy’s sake and your fame. But I have a friend out of England whom I have loved for long years. Must I turn my sword-point to his breast? I have seen warfare; I have seen how invaders laid waste this Duchy; I have seen men tortured, and women raped, and babes spitted upon gisarmes; I have seen whole towns given to the flames, and heard the wail of a people sore oppressed. Can you win England without bloodshed? If you will reach a throne it must be across the Saxon dead. Thus Edgar said once, and he spoke only the truth.’
‘But I shall reach that throne,’ the Duke said. ‘You think of your friend, of little lives and deaths, but I am thinking of Normandy, and the years that will come when I am with my fathers.’ He looked across at Raoul; his voice cleaved a deep silence. ‘I must die, but I shall leave behind me a name that will endure, and a people made safe through mine endeavour.’
Raoul sighed, and came towards the table again. ‘It is a high goal, splendid and terrible,’ he said. ‘Yet I would give it all for peace, and a happiness you will not find.’
The Duke laughed. ‘You shall have your happiness, Raoul, if you deem that to lie in a woman’s arms; but peace I cannot promise you. I may lead you to glory, or I may lead to death, but though peace is the end to which I am striving I think we shall not see it in our days.’ He rose, and laid his hands on Raoul’s shoulders. ‘Look you, my friend, whatever ill befall us, however grim the work we may have to do, we shall yet leave behind us for our sons the foundations of a noble heritage.’ His hands fell again; his voice changed; he said lightly: ‘Touching this happiness of yours, O Watcher, if I win a crown you may win a wife.’
‘Seigneur, this is not the first time you have spoken to me in these strange terms,’ said Raoul. ‘I think the Duchess’s grace hath been interesting herself on my behalf.’ He cast a shrewd glance at the Duke, and was satisfied he had guessed correctly.
‘I have had some speech with the maid Elfrida,’ the Duke said. ‘She seems to me an honest damsel, and one w
orthy of you. I shall lead you to your bridal-bed yet.’
Raoul smiled a little, but shook his head. ‘How may that be, if you plan to snatch England by the strong hand? If you prevail I must come to her as a blood-stained conqueror, a hated foe.’
‘Raoul,’ said the Duke, ‘once I asked you to read me the mind of women; now it is I who will tell you that women are not as men, and in my experience they do not hate their conquerors. Tenderness is not so much their need as strength. You may use them ruthlessly, in such a way as must provoke in any man a bitter hatred and a desire for vengeance, and they will think no worse of you. Never waste gentleness to capture a woman’s heart: she will deem you a weakling, and be done with you.’ A twinkle lurked at the back of his eyes. ‘I have given you wise rede, my friend. Guard it: it will stand you in good stead.’
Raoul laughed at him. ‘Brutal rede, William, and from the mouth of one whom I know to be the best of husbands.’
‘Yea, but from the start I have been master, and to the end I shall remain so,’ the Duke said.
Raoul tried to picture himself using Elfrida as the Duke had once used Matilda (and, for all he knew, might still use her upon occasion), but he could not imagine such a scene at all. The Duke loved a fierce lady fiercely; Raoul did not think that Elfrida was fierce. She was gentle, and very sweet, and the sight of her filled him with a desire to protect her against the whole world. He had seen William grasp his Duchess in a hardy embrace that took no heed of the bruising of her flesh; Raoul thought that if ever he were permitted to take Elfrida in his arms he would not use her so.
The Duke moved towards the door. As he opened it for him an idea occurred to Raoul, and he said suddenly: ‘Seigneur, does Earl Harold know what you require of him?’
‘He may guess,’ the Duke answered. ‘I make no open demand upon him till I see him urgent to be gone from Normandy. I know with what manner of man I have to deal. If I were to broach this matter now he would give me a plain No for answer, and once that word has passed his lips no fear of death or worse, no consideration of policy would avail to make him unsay it. Change No to Yes, owning me his master?’ He laughed. ‘He would rather die an hundred deaths.’
The Conqueror Page 26