The Bastard King

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘And how are you, my love?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Your bruises are terrible. Are you still sore?’

  ‘A little, Father.’

  ‘My brave child!’

  ‘Fancy, Father he rode into your town without escort and no one moved to help me.’

  ‘They should be flogged,’ he said.

  ‘They were powerless. Remember he is the Duke of Normandy.’

  ‘I would wring his ducal neck.’

  Matilda laughed.

  ‘Father. I have made up my mind.’

  ‘What do you mean, Matilda?’

  ‘I will marry the Duke of Normandy.’

  ‘My dear child, do you feel well?’

  ‘But, Father, what a man he is. If you could have seen him standing there. Everyone was afraid of him . . . except myself. I wasn’t afraid. I was just excited . . . excited because there is such a man in the world and I am going to marry him.’

  ‘This man maltreated you.’

  ‘He threw me into the gutter, he seized me by my hair. I believe he took great delight in ruining my gown and bruising my skin.’

  ‘Are you sure you are feeling well, dear?’ asked Adelais.

  ‘Never better.’

  ‘What! Bruised as you are.’

  ‘They are honourable bruises. A kind of battle scar.’ Matilda laughed gleefully. ‘This is the only man I would marry. At last I have a man. He takes what he wants. He is unafraid. He rode right into the heart of your town alone and attacked me.’

  ‘The child is not well,’ said Adelais. ‘This has upset her too much. Look you, daughter, I will send you a posset.’

  ‘Send rather your messengers to the Duke of Normandy. Tell him I have changed my mind. Bastard he may be, but he is the man for me. I will take him for my husband, Father, and I will take none other.’

  It was some time before she could make them believe she was in earnest, but finally she convinced them. She displayed her bruises as though she were proud of them.

  Life was no longer dull. Let Judith have her Saxon. What did she want with snivelling Saxons? She had found a man and life would be exciting for she would be a match for him.

  At length she prevailed on her father to send messengers to Rouen.

  Matilda of Flanders had changed her mind. She was not averse to a match with William of Normandy. She asked that he visit her without delay.

  A Promise and a Wedding

  IN THE CASTLE of Rouen William was talking to his mother.

  ‘Why did I do it?’ he was saying. ‘It was unworthy of a knight. I should be robbed of my golden spurs. I have lost her for ever and my good name from now on.’

  ‘She behaved ill to you, William,’ Arlette soothed.

  ‘You would always take my side, Mother.’

  ‘I should hope so. Who could you trust to do that if not your own mother? Oh, William, I am in some measure to blame. I loved your father and he loved me. There was no other woman in his life after I came. But marriage was impossible between us. You understand that. Hence you could not be his legitimate son and I your mother.’

  He took her hands and kissed them. ‘I would not have any other for mother,’ he said.

  ‘Even though it has meant you must suffer this slur?’

  ‘Even so,’ he said.

  ‘William, you are over-sensitive. Many of your illustrious ancestors were the fruit of unmarried love. Why should you care?’

  ‘I want everything to be right for me, Mother.’

  ‘Ah, my son. Is it ever for any of us?’

  ‘And when I hear that word my gorge rises, my temper flares and I do terrible things. Alençon haunts me. The faces of the onlookers, Mother. It was terrible. And I responsible. I shan’t forget Alençon in a hurry. And then Matilda. God’s Splendour, Mother, she is a beautiful woman. She compares with you.’

  Arlette laughed. ‘I am old now and growing over-plump.’

  ‘It becomes you. You are as beautiful as ever.’

  ‘Tell me of Matilda.’

  ‘Long, thick fair hair that seems to shine in the sun; a proud face, the face of a princess . . . a legitimate princess who knows herself loved and sought after and therefore puts a high price on herself. She was on a horse and her saddle was decorated with gold and silver. Her gown was white ornamented with jewels and she was the most beautiful creature I ever saw . . . save you.’

  ‘She was more beautiful than I. She had the beauty of a princess. And you threw her into the mud.’

  ‘My fury possessed me. It was the greater because of her beauty. If she had been some plain little hunchback I would have forgiven her, but not that proud beauty. I thought: There is one I would have as my bride. And having seen her I fancy no other. She would bear me many sons – proud and royal, worthy of their ancestors. I wanted this woman, Mother, and because she had called me “Bastard”, my fury blinded me to everything but revenge.’

  ‘She might have been killed.’

  ‘Nay, I would not kill a woman. I think of her. I have thought of none since. I have even thought of going to war with Flanders, taking this woman, and forcing her to marry me.’

  ‘You have never cared for women, William. That seemed strange since you are your father’s son.’

  ‘Oh I have thought of them, now and then. But as I wanted perfection in my realm so did I want this in my wife, and never saw a woman whom I wished to bear my sons until I set eyes on Matilda of Flanders.’

  ‘There are other women in the world – fine princesses who can bring you as much good as this one.’

  ‘I want this one, Mother.’

  ‘Then you should never have beaten her and thrown her in the mud. That will never be forgiven.’ Her brows were drawn together in a frown. ‘Herlwin said that the King of France is not so friendly as he was.’

  ‘It’s true. He was never a very trusted friend.’

  ‘But he looked after you so well when you were a child.’

  ‘True too, but I never trusted him.’

  ‘And if Baldwin of Flanders should join forces with him?’

  ‘Then we should be facing desperate odds. But fear not. I can command my armies. I am a better soldier than the King of France or the Count of Flanders.’

  She shivered. ‘Trouble! Always trouble. Oh, William, if you had but ignored this girl!’

  ‘I cannot afford to ignore anyone who calls me a bastard. I want all to know that it will go ill with any who do, be they rebel citizens or marriageable young women.’

  ‘I hear sounds of arrival.’

  She rose and went to the window.

  ‘It is so,’ she said. ‘Is that not the Flemish livery?’

  He was beside her.

  ‘God’s Splendour,’ he said, ‘they come from Flanders.’

  He went down to the hall. More insults? he wondered. Or was this some ultimatum from the Count?

  He received the messengers. He took the despatches handed to him.

  ‘The Princess Matilda of Flanders has consented to your proposal. She adds a wish that you will call at Lille and this time come to the palace.’

  He stared at it.

  He could not believe it. Was it a trap?

  But a wild excitement took possession of him. He was going to see the beautiful Matilda again.

  He did not wait. With a small escort he left Rouen that day.

  Matilda, who had been watching, saw his approach and went down to the courtyard because she wanted to be the first to greet him. This was unconventional, of course, but he would have to understand from the beginning that the rules which others must obey did not apply to her. She acted as she wished.

  He leaped from his horse and one of his men took it.

  He is even more commanding than I imagined, she thought with pleasure, and her smile was radiant as she stood before him.

  He took her hand and kissed it.

  Her eyes were mischievous. ‘A different greeting, my lord of Normandy, from when we last met.’

  ‘You have forgi
ven my conduct.’

  She liked the way he stated it. Not humbly supplicating her forgiveness but making it seem natural that she should.

  ‘I was amused,’ she replied. ‘I have had suitors but you are the first who threw me into the mud and set upon me.’

  ‘I have the devil’s temper,’ he said.

  ‘Has he one? If it is like yours I should like to see it aroused.’

  Her father came into the courtyard. He looked astonished and she knew he was asking himself what Matilda would do next.

  ‘I have been told that we have visitors,’ said the Count.

  ‘Father, this is my future husband, William Duke of Normandy.’

  She was amused to see the cold expression on her father’s usually benign face.

  ‘So you have come, my lord Duke,’ he said. ‘My daughter’s decision has surprised me.’

  ‘It surprised me no less,’ replied William.

  ‘I must present you to my wife,’ said the Count.

  And they went into the palace, the Count leading William, Matilda falling behind them.

  How straight he was. How nobly he walked!

  Dear God, she thought, I can love this man.

  He was treated to the hospitality of the palace, although he was aware that her parents eyed him with some misgiving. Nor could he blame them. What had possessed him to drag this beautiful girl into the mud? And what possessed her to have forgiven him so easily for doing so?

  The Count of Flanders had had him conducted to his bedchamber – which was the greatest honour. He would share his bed that night which meant that he was being accorded the utmost friendliness. He was to be a member of the family and the Count was to be his father.

  He bathed from head to foot and donned his crimson velvet robe and mantle which was the insignia of his rank; on his head was placed the ducal crown and his shoes were purple.

  Now he looked magnificent. Surely his father himself had never appeared more handsome? He was pleased with his splendour because he had donned it for the purpose of charming Matilda.

  Down in the great hall the trestles were put up and there was the savoury smell of roasting meats.

  She was there with her father and she had changed her gown too; she wore white – as she had when he had first seen her; there were ornaments at her neck and bracelets at her wrists; the hanging sleeves reached to the floor and she wore her hair loose about her shoulders.

  Ceremoniously Baldwin took her hand and placed it in that of William and she led him to the table.

  He could see nothing but Matilda, nor it seemed could she see anything but him. She loved him – not only for his boldness and his virile good looks but because he had wiped away the painful humiliation of that scene with Brihtric. That affair seemed comic now. How could she ever have admired the Saxon when there were men such as this one in the world? She had hated him when she thought of him and despised him but now William of Normandy clearly desired what Brihtric had turned from.

  William could not stop looking at her.

  ‘I trust you find me to your liking?’ she asked.

  ‘I never saw any so beautiful . . . save my mother.’

  ‘Your mother. Am I then like a mother!’

  ‘Not yet,’ he said, ‘but pray God you soon will be.’

  ‘You go fast, my lord Duke.’

  ‘It has been my usual pace all my life.’

  ‘So your mother was beautiful then?’

  ‘She is beautiful. She was reckoned the most beautiful woman in Normandy. Anyone would tell you that. Nor do reports lie.’

  ‘Is it true that your father saw her washing clothes in a stream?’

  ‘Ay, ’tis true.’

  ‘And the result . . . was you, my lord.’

  ‘I see you know a great deal about me.’

  ‘Should not one learn all one can about the man one is to marry?’

  ‘You knew a great deal about me when you decided that you would not have me. What made you change your mind?’

  ‘When I saw you.’

  ‘On that shameful occasion.’

  ‘That was when I made up my mind.’

  ‘I thought you would hate me for that.’

  ‘I did – so much that it turned into love.’

  ‘You are a strange woman, Matilda.’

  ‘So my father thinks, yet he loves me dearly.’

  ‘As I do.’

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘Ay, so soon.’

  ‘Do you usually love so quickly?’

  ‘I have never loved before.’

  ‘You have the right answers for one unskilled in the art of making love.’

  ‘It is because I speak from the heart which all lovers should.’

  ‘Then you are indeed eager to marry me.’

  ‘I would I could this night.’

  ‘It will take a little longer than that, my lord.’

  ‘I fear so. But now I have seen you, held your hand, witnessed your beauty, I shall not rest until you are my wife.’

  ‘Nor I until you are my husband.’

  ‘I did not think I should so soon succeed with you. I had thought you would be bashful, reluctant.’

  ‘You did not know Matilda, but you will learn, my lord, that she rarely does what is expected of her.’

  ‘I can see my life with her is going to give me great joy.’

  She put her hand in his.

  ‘I plight my troth with you, William of Normandy. I will bear your children. I will go with you throughout your life.’

  ‘The happiest Norman this day is its Duke,’ he answered.

  Baldwin, watching his daughter, even knowing her as he did, was quite bewildered. But then when had he ever understood Matilda? He only wished her to be happy and he had come to the conclusion that Matilda needed a strong man.

  She had got one. That much was certain.

  What a night that was! The feasting, the drinking, the telling of sagas. William told those which his mother had told him and the company thrilled to the story of how Ragnar slew the dragon and how Sigurd awoke Brynhilde.

  There was the music of psalteries and flutes to enchant the company and when William retired to the bed he shared with his host he felt bemused, yet he looked forward to the future with a delight he had never known before.

  He could not dally in Flanders. He must return to Normandy to make arrangements for his marriage.

  His mother was waiting for him in the castle of Rouen when he returned. She was down in the courtyard even before he dismounted.

  ‘I have suffered such anxieties,’ she told him. ‘I was convinced it was a trap. As soon as you left I wanted to send Herlwin after you to bid you return and not enter Lille without troops. But he said you would have none of that.’

  ‘He was right and your fears were groundless. Mother, you remember how it was when you came to my father. So it is now for me. Matilda has promised to marry me.’

  ‘Then it was true . . . indeed true.’

  ‘She is so beautiful, Mother, and of a spirit that inspires me.’

  ‘I trust there is no treachery.’

  ‘I’d swear not from Matilda. She is the wife for me. None other would satisfy me.’

  ‘She was gracious to you?’

  ‘She loves me, Mother, even as I love her.’

  ‘But it is such a short time ago that you trampled her in the mud. Can she love you after that?’

  ‘Because of it, it seems.’

  ‘It is incredible.’

  ‘That is what is so exciting about Matilda. One can never be sure what she will do.’

  Arlette looked worried but William was so exultant, so unusually gay that she allowed herself to be persuaded that all was well.

  ‘Now, there is much to do. I shall inform my people that I am about to marry and then we shall go ahead with our preparations.’

  He was merry in the castle that night. Everyone was talking about the change in the Duke and saying that they had been thinking for
a year or more that it was time he married.

  A few days later the mood changed.

  That harbinger of evil, Archbishop Mauger, arrived at the castle and sought an immediate audience with the Duke.

  William received him not very willingly. His uncle had always repelled him.

  ‘You have come to talk about my proposed marriage I doubt not,’ said William.

  Mauger inclined his head in assent. ‘This marriage cannot take place,’ he said.

  ‘Not take place! Are you mad? I have affianced myself to Matilda of Flanders and she has pledged herself to me.’

  ‘The Pope will not permit it.’

  ‘And why not indeed?’

  ‘You are cousins.’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘Six times removed, it is true, but the Pope considers the relationship too close.’

  ‘You may tell the Pope to think again.’

  ‘It is no use, my lord. The Pope will not agree to the marriage.’

  ‘Then perforce he must disagree. Six times removed! A distant ancestor of Matilda’s was a Norman and married into Flanders, and therefore we are too close to marry! I will not listen to such nonsense.’

  ‘I have the Pope’s answer here.’

  ‘Then you may send it back to him and tell him I’ll have none of it.’

  ‘My lord, would you suffer excommunication?’

  ‘Yes,’ shouted William.

  ‘And eternal damnation.’

  ‘Yes . . . for Matilda.’

  ‘You are losing your temper, my lord, as you did so often in the schoolroom.’

  ‘I lose my temper with fools and scoundrels,’ said William significantly.

  ‘You cannot go against the decision of His Holiness.’

  ‘I can go against all those who oppose my wishes,’ growled William.

  ‘My lord!’

  ‘Leave me,’ said William.

  Mauger went out, a slight smile lifting one corner of his mouth.

  Why do I tolerate that man? William asked himself. Did I not always know that he was my enemy? He is a sorcerer who delights in conjuring up mischief. He is clever, learned and my Archbishop, but I have always hated him. And what is the meaning of this?

  He thought he knew. The King of France did not wish for the marriage. He had always wanted to take back Normandy. He resented that all those years ago Rollo had demanded the land and received it. He wanted to be the King of France who restored Normandy to the French crown. And if William married into Flanders the rich and powerful Baldwin would certainly become his ally.