William, in a rage at the skewering of his favourite enchantress, ordered his cavalry to advance at the gallop and the infamous thunder of his conroi of destriers began. I gulped and prepared myself for the onslaught, casting one last glance at my companions. The Norman cavalry was a chilling sight, their ordered lines broken only by the dashing knights who led the charge, a glistening brown phalanx of equine muscle topped by armoured killers wielding finely honed swords and spears and massive cudgels and maces.
Robert knew his father’s tactics well and saw that on this occasion he had chosen the brute force of a massed attack by his horsemen. This played into the hands of Philip and his bowmen. Relying on Robert – who had ridden in many of his father’s charges – to judge the timing, Philip ordered his archers to launch their first onslaught on his ally’s signal. Many more followed in rapid volleys.
The missiles came out of the sun like hailstones, landing in lethal rhythmic waves; most hit the soft earth, penetrating to half their length, but tens of dozens hit human or horse flesh with devastating consequences. The tightly packed conroi was reduced to a mass of stricken bodies as horses and men hit the ground and careened into one another. The din was terrifying as men screamed and horses screeched in agony.
William had underestimated the power of Philip’s aerial assault, but instead of ordering a withdrawal to count his losses, he let his anger get the better of him. With himself at its vanguard, he called up his elite Matilda Conroi, committed his reserves of cavalry, ordered his infantry to attack in support and signalled his own archers to begin their onslaught. His entire force hurtled headlong into the fray.
For once, he had acted rashly and had seriously miscalculated.
Robert and I smiled at Philip. The French arrowsmiths and fletchers were busily unloading cartloads of arrows to replenish the spent quivers of the bowmen and archers, in order to continue the relentless barrage against the Normans. Philip offered Robert the chance to lead the allies’ charge, which he accepted with relish.
So, with Robert’s flamboyant battle cry ringing in our ears, we were off at a gallop. I stayed close to Robert, with Edwin close behind me. To our rear, only seconds later, Sweyn and Adela looked at one another and barely hesitated before donning their helmets in anticipation and joining the attack.
Our force was much more colourful than the Normans’. Philip had attracted knights from many parts of France, Flanders, Anjou, Brittany and beyond. In the bright sun of a clear winter’s morning, their standards were a rich medley of colours, their shields an array of fanciful designs. It was a stirring sight, and exhilarating to ride in the midst of it.
William’s archers were much less effective than Philip’s and by the time the two vanguards of cavalry met, our force outnumbered the Normans three to one. We scythed through the Matilda Conroi with ease, scattering men across the battlefield. Many were caught by the French infantry, pulled from their mounts and cut to pieces.
For my part, my only encounter with bloodshed was brief but fortuitous. Edwin and I and several of Robert’s knights were in pursuit of a group of William’s cavalry when they suddenly turned to make a stand. My pace took me into the midst of them, slightly ahead of the others, and for a few moments I was heavily outnumbered. Blows were aimed at me from left and right and my sword and shield had to parry several assaults. Thankfully, Edwin and the others soon joined the fray, easing the pressure. However, just at the moment when I began to think the worst was over, a Norman lance whistled past my ear and struck one of Robert’s knights behind me full in the face.
Vinbald, a young man from Évreux much admired by his peers, was killed instantly. Hurled with venom from only a few feet away, the lance was meant for me, but a slight movement of my head had been sufficient to remove me from its deadly trajectory. Even so, I felt it cut through the air next to my cheek before it smashed into Vinbald’s skull, entering through his eye socket. The impact was such that, when the missile exploded from the back of his head, it took his helmet with it. It was one of the worst things I ever saw on a battlefield.
The horror of Vinbald’s demise filled us with rage and we waded into William’s cavalry in a frenzy. For the first time in battle, the dread of injury or death left me and I went about the business of war like a savage beast.
William, a small group of his knights and his personal conroi tried to form a phalanx to force a way through our onslaught, but they were too few to make an impact.
His elite horsemen had never been punished like this before. As he surveyed the field, all he could see was his army in disarray. Finally, he issued the order to retreat.
Robert heard the horn sound the withdrawal and saw his father pull his war horse round. His blood was up and he meant to rub yet more salt into his father’s already painful wounds. He signalled to us with his sword and we were off in pursuit.
When William saw that it was his own son giving chase, he turned to face him, but few of his knights and only a handful of his conroi were able to halt their stampede and turn with him. He was soon engulfed by our cavalry and fighting for his life. Robert managed to grab the reins of his father’s horse and called on his men to sheathe their swords.
It was only then that I saw that two of the knights in the midst of it and at the forefront of the duel with William were Sweyn and Adela, still with their blades drawn.
‘Your Lord has ordered you to sheathe your weapons!’
Edwin could not have been firmer. They both – reluctantly – did as they were bidden.
William had been wounded. A spear or sword had cut through the mail on his right arm, which was soaked in blood, and the gauntlet on his left hand had been split open, revealing a deep gash. His check was gouged from below his eye to his jaw by the slash of a blade. He seemed confused and hardly able to speak.
Robert spoke to the few remaining knights who had stayed with his father.
‘Take him back to Rouen. When he is coherent, tell him to go back to England and leave Normandy to me. He will not be welcome on this side of the Sleeve until he installs me as Duke of this realm.’
William started to mutter something, but, wisely, his men drew him away at a canter. I watched as he was led away, noticing him swaying unsteadily in his saddle. I felt sorry for him – the once all-conquering warlord – now humbled in battle by his own son.
There were wild celebrations that night in the allied camp. Philip and Robert addressed their army to great cheers and raucous applause.
When the revelries were in full swing, Edwin and I took Sweyn and Adela to one side. I let Edwin give the reprimand.
‘You were given a clear order.’
Adela answered first.
‘Yes, we were.’
‘You disobeyed that order.’
Sweyn was next.
‘No, we did not. Our orders were to stay close to you and not to fight unless our lives were in danger. We did stay close to you and we were in mortal danger. The King came within a yard of us, swinging the baculus wildly. I was only defending myself.’
I took over the interrogation.
‘Does that mean that you actually engaged the King?’
‘Yes, my Lord. I was the one who slashed his face; his helmet saved his life. If I had been closer, I would have killed him.’
‘And I was the one who smashed his gauntlet. I too would have killed him if I had been given the chance. We both have a debt to collect.’
Edwin looked at me, astonished and exasperated, but without an immediate answer to their bravado. I could not decide whether to embrace them for their daring or admonish them for their defiance. I thought the latter the wiser option – at least, for the time being.
‘This conversation must remain with the four of us. If anyone discovers that you were responsible, at least in part, for the King’s wounds – and bear in mind, we don’t know what the consequences of them will be – you will be in mortal danger. Lauded as avenging warriors by some, derided as committing regicide by others; either
way, you will be marked for life. Apart from that, I find it hard to believe that you just happened to stumble into the King’s path. Everything you have said leads me to believe that you sought him out and thus flagrantly ignored Edwin’s direct order. Sweyn, you are rusticated for a period of three months. You must return to your home in the Lot and think about the value of discipline and the importance of obedience. If you are to become a knight, you must embrace these values.
‘Adela, you are to go with him and you may accompany him on his return. You too should think of these things. If you want to fight in the company of knights, you must learn to act like one.’
Sweyn was furious, his eyes burning with rage.
‘Sire, this is not just, we did nothing wrong.’
‘Your further disobedience serves only to discredit you. I have spoken, now go! We will talk again when you return. I do not want to see you again until Easter has passed.’
With that, they relented and strode away. Even though Sweyn had his back to me, I could almost feel his rage.
‘I hope I have done the right thing. I have to admire them both; although the circumstances were fortuitous, they came closer to killing the King than anyone ever has. It almost defies belief.’
Edwin was shaking his head in bewilderment.
‘My Lord, I can’t quite believe it. They continue to astonish me; he’s a slip of a boy, she’s no more than a hundredweight wet through, but they have a strength about them like fine-tempered blades. I suppose they were forged in the same furnace – in the horror that was Bourne.’
‘I am impressed. They remind me so much of Hereward.’
‘You are right to send them away; they will come back stronger for it. I’m sorry Adela suddenly imposed herself on you, but I did warn you she was obstinate.’
‘Don’t apologize, Edwin. She is remarkable; her inner resolve is so striking. Not a word of this. They are too young to be lionized or to be the quarry for those seeking revenge for a stricken king. Let’s hope his wounds are not severe.’
My personal experience on the battlefield and the deeds of Sweyn and Adela left me with much to think about. Up until then, my motives in contemplating a fight, or in the heat of battle, had always been focused on myself. Either I, as an Atheling Prince, had been the cause of the conflict, or else I stood to gain significantly from the outcome. But this time, I was peripheral to the cause.
Vinbald’s sudden, horrendous death and my response to it made me realize why people fight with such courage – even though they may not benefit directly from victory, or suffer overmuch from defeat. Sweyn and Adela had shown the same resolve in their passion to enter the fray and to influence the outcome of the battle.
In essence, I had learned how to fight.
7. Brothers-in-Arms
King William’s injuries at Gerberoi were not severe enough to immobilize a young warrior for long, but at the age of forty-four his recuperation took some time. This did not improve his humour and only added to the acceleration of his corpulence. The damage to his morale was also significant – enough to suggest that he might never fully recover from it.
In the summer of 1079, Robert’s bravado in challenging his father reaped a bountiful harvest. The King’s magnates, both in England and Normandy, gathered in Rouen, steeled themselves to the task and confronted William. They were led by men whose own sons had joined the cause of William’s prodigal son.
Their words hardly needed saying: Normandy and England’s neighbours were now too strong, Malcolm of Scotland too opportunistic, the Danes too avaricious, for William’s large and difficult-to-defend domain. Therefore, it was imperative that he treat with his firstborn, offer concessions to him and make peace in his realm.
They were not easy words to say, nor were they palatable for William to listen to, but after the customary bellowing and blustering, hear them he did. So, in the middle of August 1079, we accompanied Robert and his followers after he was invited to Rouen to negotiate with his father.
I had sent intelligence to King Malcolm in Dunfermline throughout the internecine squabbles in Normandy. He had been poised to act since the spring and now his timing was perfect. Two weeks before the negotiations, he launched a major offensive, ravaging a huge area from the Tweed to the Tees and filling his barns, granaries and treasury with plunder. It was a major card for Robert to play in the haggling to come.
Sweyn and Adela had returned to us by then, much chastened by the experience of being stalled in pursuing their ambitions. I agreed that they could accompany us to Rouen, in part because I wanted to see how they would react when they were again close to the King. We did not discuss their return to their home in the Lot but, for some reason, I sensed that they had not gone there, but had journeyed elsewhere. There was a diffidence about them which I suspected disguised a secret; one day I would come to know what it was.
The confabulation with the King was tense. He was accompanied by Queen Matilda, Roger of Montgomery, Hugh of Grandmesnil and the ageing Roger of Beaumont. Besides me, Robert chose Robert of Bellême and Ives and Aubrey of Grandmesnil, all sons of the men they were facing.
As I watched the polite formalities and courtesies, I felt uncomfortable – an outsider privy to what was, in truth, a family feud which just happened to be among the most powerful men in northern Europe. I was also ill at ease in being in the confidence of one party to the quarrel. Even these Normans, who had become my friends, were the very same people who had stolen my birthright and were oppressing my kinsmen. I also had the same anxieties that everyone else must feel. The fate of kingdoms often hinges on the outcome of battles, but this time the future of England and Normandy rested on the settlement of a family quarrel. But this was no ordinary family, this was the brood of an extraordinary warlord.
I was deep in those thoughts when the King, who was on his best behaviour, made the same observation that had occurred to me.
‘Why do we have an English prince in our midst, a man who repeatedly bows to me and then chooses to be my enemy?’
‘Father, he is my ally, wise counsel and good friend. He is no enemy of Normandy.’
On any other occasion that would have sent William into a tirade, but the circumstances made him relent and, with a sneer aimed at me and a dismissive grunt, he signalled for the parley to begin.
It did not take long to reach an agreement. Two crucial factors were in play. William’s humiliation at Gerberoi had put Robert in a powerful position, especially because of the support he could now draw on, both inside Normandy and among its enemies. This meant that, if William were to placate his son, he would also placate his enemies, especially Philip of France. Secondly, Robert had saved his father’s life on the battlefield. This meant that not only was the King in his personal debt, but he also had an obligation in the eyes of the entire Norman aristocracy to reward his son for his magnanimity in victory.
‘My son, let our differences stay in the past. Your prowess in the field at Gerberoi and your exemplary behaviour towards me have taught me to understand that my regard for you fell far short of what it should have been and that my deeds and words, and those of your brothers, were ill-judged and hurtful. All that will now be put right and the wrongs of the past will not happen again.’
They were astonishing words, such that I had to pinch myself to be sure I was hearing them, uttered by the same man who in the past had conceded nothing to any man, under any circumstances.
‘Thank you, Father, I am content that you now feel you can give me the respect that I have deserved for a very long time.’
Robert was visibly moved by his father’s contrition. Although he was short-tempered, impetuous and sometimes indolent, Robert was good company and generous and had become a close friend. I was delighted that the burden of half a lifetime of disrespect and bullying by his father appeared to have been lifted from his shoulders.
The King solemnly granted to Robert his succession to the Dukedom of Normandy and made recompense for all his son’s costs
during the rebellion, which were substantial. Tactfully, Robert did not raise the subject of the English throne, or the inheritance of his brothers; those quarrelsome subjects would have be resolved, or otherwise, in due course. The Queen sat and beamed, there were comradely hugs all round, and food and drink began to appear for a celebratory feast.
During the merriment, the King delivered a shock. Although William was not as imperious as he had been, he was still capable of flashes of highly astute manoeuvring. It was not a trap for Robert – indeed, for him, it was a generous gesture – but, for me, it was certainly a move that would test my diplomacy and force me to examine my loyalties. The King delivered his surprise with a hint of mischief in his eyes.
‘Robert, I am concerned about our northern borders. As you know, Malcolm of Scotland has flagrantly ridden roughshod over the pact we made at Abernethy. I would like you to lead our army on a campaign to remind him of his manners.’
Robert was beside himself. Not only was it a tangible affirmation of his reconciliation with his father, but it was also a major blow to Rufus, who would read into the mission the suggestion that Robert may well inherit England as well as Normandy.
William delivered his devious ploy with a smile and with cunningly chosen words.
‘Prince Edgar, perhaps you would accompany Robert? You know the Scots well; you can be of great service to us in helping to put them in their place.’
Robert looked concerned for me. I just about mustered a smile in response.
‘My Lord King, I would be honoured to accompany Count Robert. Thank you for entrusting me with the task.’
The King’s request made me wonder whether my friendship with Robert, while I continued to support the cause of my brother-in-law in Scotland, had made me a hypocrite. Here I was, the trusted friend of the Normans – at least, of Robert and his followers – while at the same time sharing my allegiance with King Malcolm and the Scots. While peace reigned the charade seemed inconsequential, but it was always Malcolm’s intention to take advantage of any Norman weakness. Not only had I been complicit in that, I had also aided and abetted Malcolm’s exploitation of the situation, the result of which was great mayhem and carnage on the English–Scottish borders.
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