by Jean Plaidy
‘By God’s Splendour,’ he had vowed, ‘I will show this Curthose what it means to take up arms against me.’
He did not believe the battle would last long. He despised Curthose. He had not the experience. He had nothing to commend him. It was true he had managed to gather together a formidable force and it was shocking to think that so many Normans had rallied to his banner. William himself was relying on some of his English troops whom he had brought with him. But he was the general and with him in charge a handful of men could make short work of a legion.
It was with some dismay that he discovered all was not going as he wished. What had happened? Had some sorcerer put a spell on him? Fleetingly he thought of Matilda – on her knees no doubt, praying for the success of her son.
He was attacked at the rear and he had not expected this. Suddenly the ranks of his troops seemed to disintegrate. He roared at them but they could not re-form.
A lance pierced his arm and he fell. The enemy was upon him. He, the Conqueror, had been unhorsed and was at their mercy.
He must get up. He must remount. He must be there to lead his troops.
He began to shout. ‘Help me up. Get me on my horse. Don’t you see who I am?’
A man was bending over him ready to strike. At the sound of his voice his assailant paused. He lifted his vizor and the man who was preparing to kill him was his own son Robert.
It was almost as though fate had contrived this dramatic moment. There lay the Conqueror defenceless on the ground and standing over him lance in hand ready to pierce him through the heart was his son.
Robert stammered: ‘Father!’
‘Yes, you traitor!’ roared William. ‘It is your father.’
Robert knelt down. ‘Oh God, so it is indeed you.’
‘Well, you have your lance. It is a fitting deed and one I would expect of you.’
But Robert laid down his lance.
‘Let me set you on your horse,’ he said.
‘You are a fool,’ retorted William. ‘I am at your mercy. Slay me now and carry my head to your mother. Doubtless she will applaud you.’
‘Father,’ said Robert, ‘forgive me.’
And with that he helped William to his feet and on to his horse.
He leaped on to his own and bareheaded so that all would know him, he led the wounded William out of the mêlée to safety.
William lay tossing on his bed. The wound in his arm was not serious. He heard with dismay that Rufus had been wounded also. Most disquieting of all, the day had gone to Robert by whose munificence his life had been saved.
Matilda nursed his wound and that of Rufus.
The wound to his body was not serious; it was that to his pride which was so hard to bear.
Matilda was exalted. Robert had saved his father’s life. It was the answer to her prayer. All would be well now. All must be well.
She sat by his bed; she had scarcely left him since they had brought her to him.
Each day she said to him: ‘You must ask Robert to come and see you now.’
But he turned his face to the wall.
She would not give up. Every day she raised the subject. It made her so happy, she said, that Robert had been the one to save his life.
‘Ha,’ he growled. ‘Doubtless you will make a tapestry depicting your gallant son, his lance poised to murder his father.’
‘It would be a good subject but I doubt you would like our little dwarf to design it for me. Nor would I wish to see you where you had been but once . . . at the mercy of another.’
He took her hand. ‘It pleases you,’ he said. ‘Admit it. If one of us had to die you would liefer I were that one.’
‘Nay,’ she cried. ‘If either of you had died that day my heart would be broken. Bruised it has been by this conflict between you. William, I grow old. See, my hair is almost white. You remember how golden it used to be. And you have grown so fat that there is scarce a horse will hold you. We grow old. Let us have peace in the family if we cannot have it elsewhere.’
‘You know what will happen. He will want Normandy.’
‘And you will refuse it.’
‘My mind is unchanged. I’ll not strip now before I go to bed any more than I would then.’
‘He will not ask for Normandy this time, William.’
‘And why not? He was fighting for it a short time ago.’
‘He will come here and ask your forgiveness. He will understand that it is easier for him than for you.’
‘Easy for the victor of his petty battle.’
‘Much easier. He saved your life, therefore he can come in humility. You were at his mercy, therefore your pride is great. But I do not wish him to come in humility or you to remain in your pride. I want you both to be friends for your love of me, for I grow old, William, and there cannot be many years left to me.’
‘Don’t talk so. Am I not older than you?’
‘You are a man. You see yourself among the immortals. Oh, you are fat and you must now ride horses that can carry your weight and they are not so swift as others you have known. You have your kingdom to govern, your dukedom to hold. But I must sit at home and wait and that is hard for a woman such as I am. I want you and Robert reconciled. I want peace in our home. Please, William, see Robert for my sake and when he asks for your friendship and that the past be forgotten, give it and forget. Please, William.’
She stooped and kissed him.
And she knew that she had won.
In the castle of Rouen William awaited the coming of Robert.
He had written to him telling him to come that he might receive a full pardon for his rebellion. If he did so, William added, he would be ready to grant him everything that he could expect from the affection of a father.
With memories of that emotional encounter on the battlefields, Robert lost no time in journeying to Rouen. He came attended by only three servants to show that he put his entire trust in his father.
Matilda embraced him warily and even William received him with a show of affection.
Rufus, who was present, hid his sullen feelings. He was not pleased by the reconciliation and Robert’s dramatic act, although if his father had been killed he realized it could have gone ill with him. Robert might well have kept him prisoner and taken England as well as Normandy. So as things had turned out it was as well but he did not like to see friendship between Robert and his father.
Still, there was nothing he could do about it but feign pleasure.
There was feasting in the great hall and Matilda seated with her husband on one side of her at the great table and her son on the other, declared that this was one of the happiest days of her life.
Those days at the castle with the feasting and hunting jaunts in the forest passed quickly and pleasantly. But the time must eventually come when William must return to that kingdom which demanded so much of his time to subdue and govern.
‘I wish you to come with me, Robert,’ he said. ‘I have work for you to do. The King of Scotland is giving me trouble. I think you could help me there. You have proved yourself a good general.’
Robert, still living in the glow of that dramatic incident, declared his willingness to help his father defeat his enemies.
When Rufus and his father were alone together Rufus ventured: ‘It is well my brother is accompanying us. I feel safer with him under our eyes.’
And William replied: ‘I see we are of like mind.’
Odo Dreams of Greatness
BACK IN ENGLAND William put into progress a scheme which he had long had in mind. This was a survey which was to cover the whole of the country – not an acre of land was to be left out and there was to be a record of all cattle and such livestock. His idea was that because of the unrest in the country he needed money to maintain order and he would devise a means of taxation according to property owned.
He called this the Great Land Register but because the landowners saw this as another of the King’s methods of taking their possessi
ons from them it was called the Doomsday Book.
There was dissatisfaction with the Conqueror throughout the country but all but his greatest detractors were beginning to see that his harsh, but often just, rules had strengthened the land. Since his coming the country had become dotted with fine buildings; monasteries, churches and castles had grown up. He had brought in law and order, for so ruthless was the punishment accorded to offenders that few dared offend. The Danes appeared to be wary of raiding the coasts for fear of meeting the Conqueror whose reputation was well known. He had studied the laws of the country and kept the best and substituted the rest by those of Normandy. He had encouraged marriage between Normans and Saxons, for he had said that the surest way to a peaceful country was to destroy racial differences. He set up industries and rewarded those who worked hard. He introduced the laws of chivalry. He was rich, but did not indulge in personal extravagance. He owned many manor houses and castles; all the forests of England were his property and he would allow no one to hunt in them without his permission. This was his great passion and he, with Rufus, sought the consolation the hunt could give on every possible occasion.
Disappointed in Matilda and never trusting his eldest son, he turned more and more to Rufus. Rufus was at his conferences, and would ride beside him when there was any need to settle a rebellion; and of course they were constantly together in the hunt. He was seeking consolation in Rufus.
He often thought that he had only two sons left now – for he had never wholly forgiven Robert: Rufus and Henry. Of Henry he was proud, but Henry was a scholar – a proud bold youth but still a scholar. Lanfranc thought highly of him, so William was pleased, but his companion was Rufus; and he took pleasure in training him to step into his shoes.
Whenever possible he went back to Normandy. There he was shocked to see how Matilda had aged. Some of the spirit had gone out of her since that day when he had beaten her. He thought of this with remorse yet the memory of it sent the blood rushing to his head and his anger was so great that had either Matilda or Robert been with him he would have struck them again.
It was unwise to care too much for people. His relationship with Rufus was a sensible one. He had an affection for his son and would teach him all he would need to know, but if Rufus played the traitor he would put him aside as he had Robert and turn to Henry. It was only Matilda who was different.
But now she was gentle and loving. That was because Robert so far had behaved loyally. William knew that if his eldest son decided to rise once more against his father Matilda would betray him again as she had before. This knowledge had set a cancer in their relationship.
Families, he decided, were a mixed blessing; and there was yet another example of this. For some time he had been growing suspicious of his half-brother Odo. Their mother, Arlette (who was one other whom William had loved, but she had never done aught to harm him; there would never have been any disloyalty from her), had begged him on her death-bed to care for his young brothers, her children by Herlwin, Odo and Robert. Robert had been a loyal friend; William had given him the estates of Mortain; and Odo had become the Bishop of Bayeux.
After one of the northern revolts William had sent Odo to pass judgement on the rebels. This he had done with a harshness that was remarkable even in Norman England; he had been universally detested and because of his mother’s origins was known as the Tanner of the English.
Since then Odo had become ambitious. He was the brother of the King of England and Duke of Normandy: moreover William was illegitimate and their mother had been married when he, Odo, was born. It was true his father was not the Duke of Normandy so he did not aspire to the crown and the dukedom. But he was as avaricious as his brother William. He had begun to amass possessions; in his position of power he was able to extract bribes, and this he did.
He was a proud man. He could not be first in England or Normandy, he had always known that. But there were other fields. This idea came to him when he heard that an Italian soothsayer had prophesied that a Pope named Odo would follow Gregory VII. The Pope of Rome wielded as much power as any King. He knew then which way he was going.
He needed money, so he increased his extortions. He bought a palace in Rome. To make sure of his election he must have the cardinals on his side so he sent them rich presents.
It was while William was in Normandy that Odo decided to leave for Rome. He gathered together a company of Normans who were dissatisfied with what they received from William and invited them to accompany him to Rome where, when he was Pope, he would make their fortunes. He had had a ship built and this he had loaded with treasure. It was at anchor off the Isle of Wight and he was almost ready to leave.
But William’s spies outwitted him, and when the King was told of what was happening, he hastened to England and was in the Isle of Wight just before Odo’s ship was due to set sail.
When William heard of Odo’s pretensions to the Papal crown he jeered; but when he realized what treasure his half-brother had sent out of England his fury was great.
He ordered his arrest.
‘I am a churchman,’ retorted Odo. ‘You cannot arrest me nor condemn me without the judgement of the Pope.’
William, who had been persuaded by Odo to bestow an English title on him that he might reap the monetary rewards which went with it, retorted: ‘I am not arresting the Bishop of Bayeux but the Earl of Kent.’
Odo was trapped.
William himself conducted his trial after which Odo’s wealth was confiscated and he was sent to prison in the dungeons of Rouen Castle.
William had stopped Odo’s departure in time, but he was depressed.
He had never felt so lonely since before he had married Matilda.
Where could a man turn when his own family were so ready to betray him?
The Last Farewell
HOW DREARY WERE the days at Rouen. Matilda fell to brooding on the past. She felt tired and weary.
Often she went to Bayeux Cathedral where her tapestry was on show. Studying it she could recall those events portrayed as they had happened; and she thought: If he had never conquered England we should have been together here. There would not have been these long separations. Robert would never have thought of taking Normandy if his father had not been King of England. I believe we should have had a happy life if a less glorious one.
She had changed. She longed for peace now. But what chance was there of achieving that happy state? At the moment there was an uneasy truce between Robert and William, though in England Robert had done well and proved himself a good general. He had founded a city in the north which he called New Castle Upon Tyne. But she knew them both well enough to realize that the friendship would not last. Robert had not given up his ambitions and William clung to his determination to concede nothing till death.
Each day she expected disaster. Every time a messenger came she feared to open the letter lest it contain bad news.
There was a tap on her door.
‘My lady, a messenger.’
She closed her eyes. Not Robert, she prayed. Not further bad news from England.
But this was not from England. It was from Bretagne. Her daughter Constance was seriously ill and feared to be dying.
Is God taking His revenge on me? she wondered.
She thought of Brihtric in his cell. Did he ever understand why he had died? She thought of the girl whom William had briefly loved. Had he loved her? She would not believe that he had. Yet she had loved Brihtric . . . after a fashion . . . and had cared enough to murder him for refusing her. That girl had died too. Two deaths at her door.
Foolish! How many people died every day? Who at her Court or in Normandy or England was guiltless of having killed someone at some time? Death was no stranger in the world. It came swiftly, unexpectedly.
William had murdered many in his day yet God had given him the Conquest of England, but William had killed for state reasons, which was different she supposed. To kill for personal pride, was that a greater sin?
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How sad to be old, for with the grey hairs came shadows from the past, to mock, to question. Soon it will be your turn, they said. Do your sins lie heavily upon you?
Robert and William in conflict, Richard and Adelisa dead . . . and now Constance dying.
She called her women to her and said: ‘I will make a journey. I am going to pray at the shrine of St Eurole and beg of the saints to spare my daughter’s life.’
She made the tedious journey to the Abbey of Ouche and there laid costly offerings at the shrine and on the altar.
She sat with the monks and dined in the refectory and begged them not to make any difference for her, for she came in all humility.
She prayed fervently for the forgiveness of her sins and a sign that she was forgiven would be the recovery of her daughter.
When she returned to Caen it was to find the news waiting for her that Constance was dead.
A great melancholy came to her. Her health began to deteriorate rapidly. She began to consult soothsayers so greatly did she long to hear that her son and husband were at peace.
There was little comfort for her.
Hearing that a German hermit could prophesy the future she sent gifts to him and begged him to tell her what the future held for her.
His answer was not comforting. His visions had shown him a noble horse feeding in a rich pasture. Other animals approached but the horse would not allow them to encroach. In the vision the horse died and a silly steer came to take over the guardianship of the meadow; but he could not hold back the herd of marauders who trampled into the field, devoured the pasture and destroyed the land.
The interpretation was that the horse was William the Duke, King of England; the steer was Robert. Only the powerful horse could keep order. The vision showed what would happen if the horse was replaced by the steer.