1066

by G. K. Holloway

  ‘Yes. Harold is a man of flagrantly corrupt morals, a fornicator who has brought up children outside a church-sanctioned marriage; he lives openly with some slut of a concubine. And then Stigand, his Archbishop, he’s been excommunicated I don’t know how many times and he is a bigamist to boot. Is this man an example of the sort of appointments Harold intends to make?’

  Lanfranc sat back in his chair, now smiling his broad serpent smile. ‘I think we’re agreed, Duke William, that Harold is subversive to the Church’s goals and that if left to his own devices he would allow and even cause great harm to befall the Church in England. It has become clear that my unavoidable duty is to inform Pope Alexander of the danger. Fortunately he’s an old student of mine, from my days at Le Bec, so I’m sure he will listen to our case. I’m certain if the Pope deems them proper, he’ll take the appropriate measures.’

  ‘Mm. I’m sure there’ll be a price to pay for it. There’s a price for everything. Find out what it is and tell him I’ll pay it.’

  ‘I think I can tell you the price now.’

  ‘Really. What is it?’

  ‘As you know, Rome in recent years has undergone a great transition.’

  ‘You mean there are now a lot fewer scandals.’

  ‘Duke William, really.’

  ‘All right, it has enjoyed a reformation.’

  ‘Exactly, and its most ardent reformer is Cardinal Hildebrand.’

  ‘Yes. I hear he’s more politician than cardinal.’

  ‘Probably the most skilful in the Vatican. Through Hildebrand’s efforts, the election of the Pope has been transferred to the Cardinals and is no longer the business of the Holy Roman Emperor or anyone else. Only Rome can elect the Pope.’

  ‘What has this got to do with my claim to the throne of England?’

  ‘Everything. Only half of Cardinal Hildebrand’s ambition has been fulfilled. You see, what Hildebrand believes is that kings should be appointed by the Pope.’

  ‘That’s an insane idea! Think of how much power that would give Rome… ’ William stopped the instant the words came out of his mouth as he realised the magnitude of what he had just said. His penetrating gaze fixed on Lanfranc. ‘Do you think he can do it?’

  ‘If anyone, he can. We can ask for papal blessing for an invasion if you have something to offer in return. If we ask the Pope to adjudicate the dispute between you and King Harold… ’

  ‘Earl Harold, you mean.’

  ‘Between Earl Harold and yourself, yes, it will set a precedent of great importance. Cardinal Hildebrand can tell the whole of Christendom that the Pope himself has appointed the King of England. And if the Pope can appoint the King of England he can appoint the king of any land.’

  ‘Yes, but will he come down on our side?’

  ‘Cardinal Hildebrand is someone I know very well; we were once close colleagues, and battled together against the heretics who denied transubstantiation.’

  William was unimpressed by this kind of battle.

  ‘So, Abbot, suppose we get the Pope’s approval, where does this leave us? Do you think Harold will move aside and give way to my claim?’

  ‘He may or he may not but if he doesn’t, you will have the right to launch a crusade. Think how that would encourage the fighting men of Europe to flock to your side. Our aim should be something more than a squabble between earthly rulers. We must elevate your claim to that of a noble cause, a high ideal for which no sacrifice is too great. Naturally the rewards will be commensurate.’

  Lanfranc added hastily, ‘Our quest should be the restoration of Christian values to a corrupt and barbaric state: a holy war to bring back an errant Church into the fold of Rome.’

  ‘You think that would work?’

  ‘Of course, the English Church is corrupt. Most of its scholarship and pastoral work are in English. Why would they do that unless they were trying to hide something? As you so rightly said, the Archbishop of Canterbury is a bigamist and isn’t even recognised in Rome!

  ‘Think of this, Duke William, we have an opportunity to solve the problem of raising a large army. As a duke you can promise land and booty but the Church can promise something more, something everlasting; the Church can promise nothing less than salvation. Think how many will flock to your banner to join you on your crusade. If the Pope finds in your favour and offers his support, any soldier fighting your cause would be offered absolution.’

  ‘And I offer them something a little more tangible?’

  ‘There is one thing I would ask,’ said Lanfranc.

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘You must assure the Pope that you have tried your utmost to solve this dispute without resort to arms. Perhaps if you sent an emissary to England with a view to persuading Harold to change his mind… ’

  ‘I’ve no reason to think Harold will give up the Crown.’

  ‘Well, if he did, so much the better but as he won’t, then at least you’ve done all you can in the eyes of the Pope.’

  ‘I’ll send an emissary to England immediately. I know the very man for the task.’

  ‘Good. By the way, my Lord, if you are successful in your bid to depose Harold what do you intend to do about the errant Archbishop Stigand?’

  ‘Replace him, of course.’

  ‘Do you have a replacement in mind?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ replied William with a sly grin.

  After his discussion with Lanfranc, Duke William sent Sir William Malet as his envoy to England. King Harold received his old friend with honour at Westminster. At the high table, after exchanging pleasantries, they talked.

  ‘So tell me, old friend, what is the reason for your visit?’

  ‘I have a message from Duke William, my Lord,’ said Sir William, suddenly adopting a formal air.

  ‘What’s the message?’

  ‘The Duke,’ he answered, casting a fleeting glance at Edyth, ‘wonders when you will set a date for your marriage with his daughter, Agatha, as promised by you, my Lord, to the Duke and Duchess.’

  ‘I promised no such thing.’

  ‘The Duke believes you did, as part of the arrangements.’

  ‘Arrangements?’

  ‘Yes. To seal the alliance between England and Normandy, you were to marry one of his daughters.’

  The expression on King Harold’s face froze; he knew too well where this conversation was heading. Sir William, ill at ease, continued.

  ‘This is the Duke’s final expression of friendship, my Lord. If you would still marry his daughter you would be free to rule England in his name. You would be as good as a king. The Duke himself would remain in Normandy, content in the knowledge his daughter would one day produce a son who would become England’s ruler. In return you need simply forget your claim to the throne.

  ‘The Duke understands why you wanted to make poor King Edward’s last days on earth as comfortable and as free from suffering as possible. It was an act of kindness to him to agree to succeed but now that he has passed on, it’s time to honour the oath you made on the holy relics when you swore before God.’

  ‘That oath was forced from me, as well you know, Will.’

  Sir William averted his gaze, before continuing, ‘My lord has asked me to convey a reminder that the sacred promises you made in Normandy are totally binding, utterly irrevocable. If they are violated, the consequences will be grave.’

  ‘Grave! Grave for whom?’

  ‘The Duke is resolute, my Lord.’

  ‘So am I.’

  Sir William did not reply. He had delivered the Duke’s message. All had been said that needed to be said. He remained sombre and silent.

  ‘Will, you’ve done the Duke’s business. Could he ask any more of you?’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand your meaning, my Lord.’

  ‘Why return to Normandy and an uncertain future? Why not send for your family and settle here in England? You already possess some fine land and I am more than happy to add more.’

&n
bsp; ‘I can’t do that, my Lord, though I thank you for the offer. I’m the Duke’s vassal and fealty is a stronger bond than friendship.’

  ‘Will, you know I’ve always thought God meant for us to be friends. I don’t know where the blame lies for all this but I do know I feel betrayed, although not by you.’

  Again Sir William remained silent.

  Harold continued, ‘I would have given everything to avoid this. Tell the Duke what I’ve said and if he would still have me make atonement for the oath, I’ll pay him no less than Count Guy asked for my ransom in Ponthieu and even double it. If he would have my help in peace or war I would give it gladly. But I’ll not, at any price, deliver up my country and its people as a result of an oath obtained by trickery and deceit.’

  ‘I’ll give him your reply, my Lord.’

  ‘I’ll have it put in writing but tell him this, too. I make my offer not because I’m afraid of Normandy or I think I’m in the wrong; it’s simply that I refuse to let other men die over a quarrel between us. How do you think he’ll react?’

  ‘My Lord, last time I saw the Duke he was angrier than I have ever seen him. I beg you to reconsider; after all, your brother Wulfnoth is still his hostage.’

  ‘Are you speaking for yourself or the Duke?’

  ‘I speak entirely for the Duke, my Lord.’

  ‘What will he do to my brother?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Will you take a message to Wulfnoth?’

  ‘It’s more than my life’s worth to take a letter but I could take him word.’

  So Harold gave Sir William a message, telling Wulfnoth that the family missed him and loved him and that he would have to prepare himself for a long stay in Normandy. In the meantime he would do all in his power to have him released.

  ‘You will make sure he hears my words, won’t you, Will? And if the Duke determines it shall be war between us then request he send another messenger.’

  ‘That I will, my Lord.’

  The two friends then parted, wondering whether their next meeting would be on the battlefield.

  Storm Clouds Gather

  Shortly after William Malet had delivered Harold’s reply to the Duke, another envoy left Normandy, this time for Rome, carrying the news that all diplomatic attempts to wrest the English throne from Harold had met with failure. Overlooking the Seine, at the pretty town of Bonneville-sur-Toques, Duke William called together a council of war to sound out his vassals as to their support for an invasion of England. Among members of his council were Robert de Mortain, Robert Count d’Eu, Richard Count d’Evreux, the aged Roger de Beaumont, Walter Gifford, Hugh de Montfort, Roger de Montgomerie, William FitzOsbern and the bellicose William Warenne, looking out of place, as usual, with his long grey hair.

  The mood was tense. Standing on the dais, Duke William put forward his case.

  ‘You all know why I called you here today. The honour of Normandy has been offended and I, Duke William, have been personally insulted by the perjuring blasphemer Harold, Earl of Wessex.’ He slammed his fist on the table to demonstrate his anger. Everyone waited to see what he would say next.

  ‘As you are all aware, my dear, beloved cousin, King Edward of England, was called by Our Lord on the eve of Twelfth Night. You know also that before his body was cold, Harold Godwinson organised a meeting of the ruling clique and with indecent haste unbefitting the sad occasion, named himself successor to Edward. Do you believe a man who would do such a thing can escape retribution? Do you think he can break the covenant and escape? No! He shall not get away with it.

  ‘You are all good Christian men here and you all know the teachings of the Bible. Does not our Lord God say to us: “As I live, surely my oath, which he despised and my covenant which he broke, I will requite upon his head. And all the pick of his troops shall fall by the sword and the survivors shall be scattered to every wind, and you shall know that I the Lord has spoken”.’

  William paused for effect but could detect none. All the gathering but four sat with blank faces. The assembly remained eerily quiet.

  The Duke continued, ‘Earl Harold is guilty of three unforgivable sins: First, he is guilty of the murder of Alfred, King Edward’s brother.

  ‘Second, Harold and his father were also guilty of wrongfully driving Robert, the Archbishop of Canterbury, as holy a man who ever lived, out of England.

  ‘Third, Harold is a perjurer who has broken an oath that was sworn on the relics of holy saints and usurped the kingdom that rightly belongs to me.

  ‘My friends, have we not fought at each other’s sides for many long years? Have we not heard the clash of our comrades’ swords as we cut a swath through enemy lines? Has not our blood flowed on the battlefield and gained honour where others saw only defeat? Have we not seen the tears of our women when they’ve lost a loved one? Have we not defeated many brave armies when the odds were against us and returned from the field valiant and with honour when lesser men would have run away like rabbits? All I ask now is that you, you men of Normandy, you brave and mighty warriors, sail with me to England, and take revenge on the perjuring usurper who has made Normandy the laughing stock of Europe. I know you are warriors with brave hearts who would revel in the danger and bask in the glory of raising the name of Normandy to the lofty heights where she belongs. Are you with me, men, are you with me?’

  ‘We’re with you. We’re with you,’ cried FitzOsbern, Gifford, de Mortain and Warenne. The rest remained quiet and stared ahead, trying not to catch the Duke’s eye. The hall was so quiet the Duke could hear his heartbeat. William stared around the room. Four of his best knights were on their feet with their fists raised and clenched, though they were now being slowly lowered; looks of incredulity were on their shocked faces.

  ‘What do you care for me? What do you care for Normandy? You are not men who fight in armour but crabs that hide in their shells beneath rocks. You will not fight for me? You will not fight for Normandy? What are you? Who are you? You are not Normans. Cowards! That is what you are, cowards! Cowards!’ The Duke paused in his ranting to take a breath.

  ‘I made you what you are and how do you repay me? With this… this… this disloyalty. You bring shame on yourselves, your families, your country and me. You disgrace us all. You… ’ At a loss for words, he paused. He was so furious, so overwhelmed with rage and disappointment he could hardly speak, hardly believe that for once he had lost support. He looked around the room searching for inspiration and caught the eye of William Malet.

  ‘You. Yes you’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  ‘Will you come with me to England to regain our honour?’

  ‘I will not, my Lord.’

  ‘You will not! You will not!’ William seethed, ‘Why will you not?’ he shouted.

  ‘My Lord, none of us here is obliged to provide service overseas and anyway England is too big and too powerful a foe for Normandy to become entangled with.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yes, I do, my Lord.’

  ‘And the rest of you?’

  D’Evreux came to the aid of his friend. ‘My Lord, we must be realistic.’

  ‘Realistic!’ snapped William.

  ‘Yes, my Lord, realistic. This expedition is beyond our powers to resource. Where would we find the ships? Where would we find the crews for such a venture? And as for land forces, we would need three times the men Normandy could muster. Who here is not afraid that this expedition would reduce this prosperous Normandy of ours to penury? It would take the resources of a Roman emperor to succeed in so hazardous an undertaking. And what if we failed? What would prevent the English invading Normandy? No, my Lord, this is too reckless an undertaking.’

  ‘Really? And you Malet, presumably you agree with him,’ accused the Duke, tossing his head to indicate d’Evreux.

  ‘I do, my Lord.’

  William simply stared wide-eyed and nodded his head while Malet put his case for staying in Normandy, saying why he thought they had no
chance against the English. When he had finished, William stepped down and walked towards him, fury bubbling up within him, all the time spluttering, ‘You do, do you? You do, do you?’

  When he got right up to Malet, shaking with rage, just inches away from his face, he bellowed at him, ‘That is why you are a chevalier of no importance, nor will you ever be, and that is why I am a duke and why I will soon be a king! And that goes for the rest of you.’ He stood amongst his men, red-faced and out of breath. ‘Where is your courage?’ he yelled. ‘Where is your faith?’ he shouted, turning his head this way and that. ‘Where is your pride and where is your honour?’

  Now, quite calmly and with utter contempt in his voice he said, ‘I pity you, you spineless rabble.’ He turned his attention back to William Malet and looked him straight in the eye. To the amazement of the gathering, in a mock child’s voice he said, ‘We don’t have to go, so we’re not going to and anyway they’re too big and we haven’t got a navy.’

  Duke William gazed slowly around the room, the contempt he felt for them all radiating from him, his rage about to explode. Then addressing the entire council at the top of his voice he shouted, ‘You are not men, you are petulant children!’ and he stormed toward the door, all eyes following him. Opening it he turned and bellowed, ‘You disgust me, you piss ants!’ Then he left them and as the echo of the slamming door subsided, the incredulous nobles were left drowned in silence.

  After a few moments a murmur rose in the hall gradually increasing to a loud din. Shouting broke out as the four men loyal to William berated the rest. Accusations flew, as did justifications, denials and defences. The arguments ebbed to and fro, the cases for and against. Logic gave way to passion, calm to fury and although debate was heated, no blows were exchanged. Finally common sense prevailed and the council agreed, with half a dozen dissentions, that supporting William’s claim to the throne of England by invading would be foolhardy.

  As one by one they drifted out of the council, the Duke’s men, feeling a little flustered and dismayed, thought they could rest safe in the knowledge that William’s proposal was a passing embarrassment for them but soon to be forgotten when the summer arrived. No one was going to England.