Of the Ring of Earls (Conqueror Trilogy Book 1)

by Juliet Dymoke

  On the morning after their arrival at Westminster he went to the King’s apartments to ask his permission to return home. He was walking along the gallery, relishing the thought of seeing his own domains again, when Hugh de Montfort, the Castellan of Winchester, came towards him followed by half a dozen men-at-arms.

  ‘Earl Waltheof,’ he said gravely. He was a thin, toughened soldier, a man without any social graces. ‘I was about to seek you.’

  ‘Well, here I am,’ Waltheof said. ‘I am on my way to see the King so if your business is lengthy . . .’ He had some property near Winchester and imagined de Montfort must need to speak of that.

  ‘I regret,’ the Castellan said, ‘that King William will not receive you. I am commanded to take you into custody and carry you to Winchester.’

  ‘Into custody? At Winchester?’ Waltheof stared back at him in disbelief, almost inclined to laugh. ‘What are you talking of? I am but this last day returned from Normandy with the King himself. I will speak to him at once.’

  De Montfort had his sword out now and was barring his path. ‘No, my lord.’

  Waltheof stood facing him, aware suddenly that this was no laughing matter. Yet only yesterday he and William had ridden together to London on the best possible terms.

  ‘There must be some mistake,’ he said at last, and then added with more authority, ‘If the King is engaged in business I will speak with the Archbishop and he . . .’

  De Montfort stepped forward, ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘But – what possible charge could there be against me?’ With a deft and unexpected movement de Montfort took the sword from his belt. ‘Treason, Earl Waltheof.’

  ‘Treason! He stared, speechless and incredulous. They had chosen their moment well. The corridor was empty and his small retinue far away for Thorkel had gone to the stables, Outy was preparing his gear for the journey home and the few men-at-arms that he had taken to Normandy as an escort would be in their quarters below.

  De Montfort’s men closed about him, their spears menacing. Along the passage a door opened and he thought he heard a woman’s voice.

  CHAPTER 4

  The great hall at Winchester was packed to capacity for the trial of the two Earls. It was the most spectacular happening for many years; every Norman was curious to see what fate would befall the son of the former High Seneschal of Normandy and every Saxon man who could get there pushed his way into the hall hot with indignation that their only representative in high office should be here on trial.

  Great nobles rubbed shoulders with lesser men as all fought for a place where they might see what went on. There was a table on the dais where the barons and bishops would sit, flanking the King himself, and in the centre of the hall in a clear space were set two stools for the accused. It was a bitterly cold day and an icy January wind shook the shutters and stirred the tapestries that covered them, but before long the hall was hot with the accumulations of bodies and a pushing struggling crowd of humanity at the lower end.

  Richard de Rules, upon whom as Chamberlain much of the organisation had fallen, was harassed outwardly by the effort of seeing that every man of note was in his rightful place, and inwardly by a desperate anxiety over the fate of his friend. He had had no chance yet to see Waltheof. The King and his court had only arrived in Winchester yesterday afternoon and since then he had only been off his feet for a few snatched hours of sleep stretched out on the high seat where the judges would sit, for the few guest chambers were occupied by the King, his brothers and the Bishops.

  Picking his way through the throng towards the door he came upon Thorkel Skallason and seized him by the tunic. Thorkel was paler and thinner than ever, his eyes large in a face drawn with worry.

  ‘I hoped to see you,’ Richard said. ‘Come, here is a corner where we may talk.’ He drew Thorkel behind a pillar. ‘How is he?’

  The Icelander leaned against the stone, arms folded. ‘Well enough for a man who has never before been kept within four walls.’

  ‘He has not been ill-treated?’

  ‘No, the Bishop has been as good as he could. My lord has had a fine chamber, Outy to see to his needs and myself allowed to spend each day with him, as well as what visitors he wishes.’

  ‘Thank God for that. I heard Bishop Wulfstan had been to see him.’

  ‘Aye. He is a saint, that man, and brought my lord as much comfort as might be. But,’ Thorkel stared over Richard’s head at the crowded hall, the bustle, the vociferous men gathered there, ‘he needs freedom and the open sky above him as some men need wine.’

  ‘I know. Please God today will give it back to him.’ Thorkel brought his gaze back to his companion. ‘Tell me, you know your countryman better than I, how will they judge him?’

  Richard looked troubled. ‘I cannot tell. For all I’m Chamberlain, I am not in the King’s secret counsels. There has been much coming and going and the Archbishop has been questioning everyone concerned.’

  ‘He has always stood friend to Waltheof.’

  ‘And still does. I think he believes him to be wholly innocent.’

  ‘He is here?’

  ‘No. He is sick of a fever and the King’s physician will not let him from his bed, but he has sent a letter containing testimony. There is not a man who does not know how he stands in this, but – Waltheof has enemies.’

  ‘What man has not?’ Thorkel shrugged, ‘Though I thought he had less than most.’

  ‘Of course,’ Richard agreed warmly, ‘yet there are Normans who are jealous of his position, his relation to the King – Ivo of Taillebois for one.’

  ‘That devil! He hated my lord from the first. But he is only one.’

  ‘There are others who are greedy for his land and honours. Did you know the Countess is here?’

  Thorkel jerked upright. ‘No – no, I did not, nor does he. All these weeks there has been no word from her and though he says little, we could see how much it distressed him. Well, thank God, she has come to her senses to be with him now.’

  Richard kept his eyes on the ground, and his doubts to himself. ‘I cannot think they will condemn him, there is so little against him. It is different with Earl Roger. His guilt is clear and he has gone out of his way to flout the King, especially with his latest folly.’

  Thorkel laughed. ‘What, burning the Christmas gift of warm clothes that William sent him. The man is a fool. Does he want William to string him up?’

  ‘The King won’t do that – banishment or imprisonment is all Norman law allows.’

  ‘Praise God for that, but I think my lord would find imprisonment a living death.’

  Richard took his arm. ‘He will be freed, I’m sure of it. No one can prove him guilty of anything. Find yourself a place, my friend. I was on my way to see him before they bring him in and time is running on.’

  He gave Thorkel a clap on the shoulder accompanied by a reassuring smile, and threaded his way down the hall towards a small ante-chamber that lay behind the high seat. Ivo of Taillebois was already on the dais talking earnestly with Richard FitzGilbert who had lands in Suffolk, de Montfort sat in his place staring moodily at his clasped hands, while Roger de Montgomery and William de Warenne, his grave face anxious, were listening to the King’s brother, Robert of Mortain, expounding something in his slow ponderous way. Bishop Odo of Bayeux, magnificent in elaborately embroidered cope and mitre stood by, his dark eyes snapping with impatience. God help Waltheof, Richard thought, and went through the small door in the wooden screen.

  Waltheof was sitting on a stool, attended by three guards and Richard saw at once that he was pale, his face lacking that ruddy glow of health it normally held. He was dressed in his Earl’s robes and would as always make an impressive figure, but Richard wondered if that was not perhaps the very thing to antagonise enemies even further.

  He held out both hands. ‘My friend!’

  Waltheof turned and saw him. There was a moment’s hesitation and then he rose and came forward. ‘I am glad you are here.
I was not sure . . .’

  Richard grasped his arms hard. ‘You could not have thought I doubted you? After our years of friendship, surely you could not have thought that?’

  Waltheof smiled faintly. ‘Only at first – not after your message came.’

  ‘I would have come myself if William had not kept me busy at court.’ Richard added suddenly, ‘Forgive me that I could not. I fear these last weeks have been hard for you to bear.’

  Waltheof was silent. The presence of his guards made it impossible to say a great deal, nor could he put into words just how weary those long winter days had been. He had been, for the first time in his life, no longer his own master, even though his captivity was little more than nominal and he had company enough; from his window he could see the courtyard below and the busy daily activity there, the comings and goings of men, their horses clattering in and out under the great archway, and he wondered achingly if they appreciated their freedom. Had he sufficiently relished his own when he had it? Tormented by thoughts of home, of Judith who had sent him no word, of his children who must be watching for his return, he thought that if he regained his freedom he would give thanks for every moment of it.

  A heavy sigh escaped him and he became aware that Richard was waiting for an answer. ‘I have wanted for nothing – but to ride free out of the gate.’

  ‘That will come – I pray by tonight.’ Richard motioned to the guards to withdraw a little and himself led Waltheof away to the narrow window. In a low voice he said, ‘I can do little to prepare you for your trial, but I am sure there is small evidence against you.’

  ‘I cannot understand it,’ Waltheof said. ‘The King made light of my part when I went to Normandy. What changed him over-night?’

  ‘God knows,’ Richard answered, yet he guessed shrewdly enough that Judith’s secret visit to her uncle on the night of their return had something to do with it. She had been at a house in the city and had slipped into the palace without her husband being any the wiser – that much Richard knew. What she had told the King he had no idea, but that the arrest was her doing he was certain and rage rose in him. What blackness was in her that she could act thus? But he said nothing of his private knowledge, only remarking as cheerfully as possible that he was sure the trial would be no more than a formality. Yet no one who had been about the court in the last weeks could be unaware of the currents of feeling, the jealousy of some, the fear of others that made new enemies for the last Saxon Earl.

  After a moment Waltheof said, ‘And the Countess? Have you seen her? How did she take my arrest? I have talked with no one who could give me news.’

  Beneath the almost casual tone Richard detected a fearful anxiety but the truth, now, could not be hidden. ‘She is here,’ he said.

  Waltheof’s face cleared. ‘Thank God. I was afraid – but no matter. If she is come, that is enough.’

  Aye, she is come, Richard thought, but for what? Aloud he said, ‘I must go back to the hall. I – and all your friends – pray that you will ride home with her tomorrow.’

  Waltheof looked down at him. ‘For whatever enemies I have,’ he said, ‘I am more than compensated in my friends.’ Ten minutes later the guards escorted him into the hall. Roger was already there. Having no hope of freedom he sat glowering at the rushes beneath his feet and did not even glance at his fellow prisoner as the latter took the other stool.

  Waltheof looked round the hall, searching the faces for a sight of Judith but he could see her nowhere. He picked out many a man of note that he knew and was thankful that Bishop Wulfstan sat on the dais to oppose Ivo of Taillebois and wished Lanfranc were there to add his voice. De Warenne would stand his friend, he thought, but Richard FitzGilbert coveted his position in East Anglia and Odo of Bayeux made no secret of the fact that he wanted no Englishman to hold office. Of the other Normans there he was less sure; Roger of Montgomery might remember that he had once refused his daughter but Mortain, sitting by his brother’s place at the centre of the table, might at least be disposed to be fair to him. In the end it would be the King’s judgment that counted, and a few weeks ago he would have sworn by William’s friendship. Now he was utterly bewildered by his sudden enmity.

  When all were assembled two heralds announced the King’s arrival and a hush fell as he entered attended by four young knights. He took his place and for a moment surveyed the hall. His stern gaze fell on Roger and there was no lessening of the grim expression: then he stared at Waltheof and as their glances met a curious change came over the dark face, so that .Thorkel Skallason, observing it, felt a resurgence of hope.

  Then William turned to his brother Mortain and leaning back in his chair nodded to him to conduct the proceedings, following his usual custom in allowing his barons and prelates to question and probe the evidence while assessing the whole in his own mind

  They disposed of Roger quickly. For a man taken in armed rising there was no justification, and Roger was sentenced to the loss of his lands and titles and to perpetual imprisonment.

  It was Odo who then asked him to tell of the bride-ale, ‘Earl Waltheof was there admitted to your counsels, was he not?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye,’ Roger agreed. He looked at Waltheof for the first time and there was hatred in his face.

  ‘And what answer made he to your proposals?’

  ‘He . . .’ there was a pause and then Roger went on : ‘He asked if it could be done.’

  Waltheof sat up sharply. If only he could remember what had been said that night! But apart from the appalling clarity of the words of the oath, it was all lost in a wine-haze, a muddle of men and talk and threats to his life.

  ‘No,’ he broke in loudly. ‘I do not think I asked that but more likely said it could not be done.’

  Robert of Mortain glanced at him severely. ‘Pray, my lord, keep silent. We will hear you later. Earl Roger, tell us of the conversation.’

  Roger went on, his tone vicious as if he would in spite drag down with him the man who had refused him aid. ‘He said that if Harold were living William would not wear the crown, that he had no right to it.’

  A silence fell at these words and every eye in the hall turned on the English earl. William sat back in his chair, still, but his fingers were drumming on the arms. Waltheof, his face flaming, could not keep back a fierce ‘Liar!’

  Roger said sulkily, ‘Then he changed his mind and would not join us – perhaps he thought he had too much already and,’ scorn rose in his voice, ‘would not risk what he had. But he did think of it.’

  In his words Waltheof seemed to hear an echo of Edwin’s accusation four years ago – to be accused by Saxon and Norman alike of greed and complacency was intolerable. No man had stood higher, that he knew, and greater must be his fall, but he had done nothing to merit it.

  Roger was continuing, ‘Then we thought he might betray us so we forced him to swear. He made short work of his enemies in Northumbria and we’d no mind to end as the house of Carl, lying in our own blood.’

  A murmur ran round the hall, a ripple of talk and in that moment Waltheof sensed his own doom. The fact that the one thing in all his life which had shamed him was brought out now filled him with foreboding. There lay his crime, not in the swearing of a foolish oath. He leaned his head on his hand, hardly hearing what Roger was saying, telling of the oath and the words used.

  At length William spoke. ‘You, Earl Roger, are a most unworthy son to a man who was the most trusted liegeman I ever had, and as long as I rule you will not know freedom, nor see daylight again. Take him away.’

  A shiver ran through Waltheof. Much as he loathed Roger the thought of such imprisonment filled him with a horror that chilled his bones. Did that await him too? As the guards took Roger past him, he said in a low voice, ‘God have mercy on you for the lies you have told today.’ Roger laughed in his face. The next moment he was gone, never again to know freedom, and Waltheof was left alone facing his judges and the stem figure of the King.

  He sensed a different
atmosphere in the hall now. Where there had been interest, curiosity, even sympathy there was an air of hostility, except among the little groups of Englishmen. He looked round the faces he knew and few met his eyes. Only de Warenne regarded him anxiously and Richard gave him a brief smile as if to encourage him to place some reliance on his own testimony.

  As ably as he could he told his story of the bride-ale. ‘If I had been sober, my lords,’ he finished honestly, ‘I would remember better, but this I know – that I never for one moment countenanced disloyalty to my sovereign lord.’

  ‘We Normans do not care for drunkenness,’ Mortain said in his heavy way, ‘it robs a man of his wits, as you have proved, Earl Waltheof. How can we rely on your testimony?’ Odo nodded. ‘You have told us a tale, my lord, and at the same time admit that you cannot really recall what happened.’