The Bastard King (30 page)

Poor child, she thought.

She laid aside her needle and drew Adelisa to her.

‘What is it?' she said.

‘Cecilia has told me that Harold is married.'

‘It is true, child.'

The look of tragic horror smote Matilda. But no, she assured herself, children get over these things.

‘I don't believe it,' said Adelisa.

‘My dear child, he has broken his promises to your father.'

‘He was forced to promise.'

‘That's true. He was forced to promise to help your father to the crown and to marry you.'

‘Then he did not want to do either.'

‘Nay, my child, he did not. It was a matter of expediency for him. He promised because he was in your father's power and dared do no other.'

Adelisa did not speak. She could not. There was heavy pain somewhere within her. There was nothing but this pain. She supposed it meant that her heart was breaking.

‘Why, child, you are trembling,' said Matilda gently. ‘And how thin you have grown. I will send something to make you sleep. Go to your chamber.'

Adelisa shook her head and Matilda drew her into her arms.

‘You are but a child,' she said. ‘You think you do not wish to go on living. But it will pass. There will come a day when we shall find you a finer husband than the Saxon deceiver could ever have been.'

Still Adelisa did not answer. There was nothing to do now. It was true that she had lost him.

She would die now of a broken heart.

It was July of that fateful year. The fleet was almost ready. The shipyards had been working day and night and William surveyed his growing fleet with pride and excitement. It was assembled in the estuary of the Dive and his troops were waiting to embark. As soon as a favourable wind arose they would set sail.

There was his pride, his own flagship, the
Mora
, which Matilda had had built in secret, a noble vessel at the prow of which was the figurehead of a leopard, the emblem of the dukes of Normandy. At the stern of the ship was the figure of a child in pure gold holding a horn in one hand and waving a pennant in the other. From the top mast floated a banner embroidered by Matilda with beautiful blue silk on a white background and in its centre a cross of gold.

‘You have asked for my prayers,' she had said. ‘These you know you have. But the
Mora
is the outward symbol of my devotion to you and your cause.'

‘By God's Splendour,' replied the Duke, ‘I will sail her to victory and I shall not rest until you are crowned Queen of England.'

‘You will succeed,' she told him. ‘I could find it in my heart to depict your victory on my tapestry before it has taken place.'

Even William was a little sobered then.

‘It is a mighty undertaking,' he told her. ‘We shall need all our skill and then with God's help we shall succeed.'

And now there was the impatience of waiting. Why did God not send the wind? A waiting army grows restive. William himself was tense; he must continually guard his temper. At times such as this it was more ready to flare up. He must be watchful for enemies. When he looked at those fine ships dancing on the water and could remind himself that many of them had been supplied by his faithful vassals, he could congratulate himself on being fortunate in his subjects.

But the traitors were always lurking. There were few whom a man in his position could trust. He thought of his cousin
Guy and what a shattering revelation it had been to find that the companion of his childhood had sought to destroy him – and all because he wished to take William's crown. Men would sell their souls to the devil for a crown.

What of Saxon Harold who had vowed over the relics of dead saints and had broken that vow . . . all for the sake of a crown! And now he, William, was setting out on this perilous expedition and for that crown, a great crown this one. He would be a King of England; he would found a race of Kings. Richard his son would follow him for Robert should have Normandy. He frowned thinking of Robert. We shall have trouble with that boy, he thought. He has mischief in him. He has none of my qualities. If I did not know Matilda as I do, I would suspect he was not my son.

Richard would be a good and serious king. As soon as he was settled on the throne he would send for Richard. He should come to England and learn the ways of the English. They would accept him all the better for that. Rufus should come too. The girls he supposed would be found husbands. But that was for the future.

Would the wind never come?

He inspected his troops; he inspected his ships. He was aware of the respect of his soldiers and sailors. There was a legend growing round him. He was unbeatable. None could stand against him.

He must preserve that legend. Often what was in the minds of men won their battles more than what was in their hands.

Still, be wary of traitors. Be ever watchful. Remember Guy. Remember but recently Conan, Duke of Brittany. The traitor who had been ready to make war because he knew his Duke was about to engage on a mighty enterprise. Conan's father had been a cousin of William's and like other members of the family believed he had more right to the crown of Normandy than its Duke.

He had said: ‘Give me what should be mine by right – the Dukedom of Normandy – or instead of fighting with you for the crown of England I will fight against you for that of Normandy.'

War in Normandy at such a time was unthinkable and it had been necessary to resort to other means of removing an enemy than the sword.

Conan did not long survive that braggart statement. He died suddenly. William knew that a good servant of his – posing as a servant of the Duke of Brittany – had treated his riding gloves with a deadly poison.

Conan's successor had been a wise man. He had offered the Duke of Normany help in his enterprise.

A happy solution, thought William; but yet another reminder that he must be constantly on the alert.

At Bayeux Matilda waited for the news that the expedition had sailed. She was uneasy, wondering what would happen if, by some mischance, William did not succeed. She thought of Harold who would be waiting for him when he landed. Beautiful Harold who had won the heart of little Adelisa – and others, she doubted not. They were handsome men, these Saxons. She herself was not indifferent to their charms. A little of the magic of Brihtric lingered on and she had seen something of it in Harold. Saxons, both.

One of these men – Harold or William – might well die in battle. She prayed for William's success of course but she could spare a thought for Harold because he was beautiful and his manners more gracious than those of the Normans, his voice more musical. It saddened her to think of such a handsome man dead or mutilated on the battlefield.

She sighed. Something must happen soon. Before the year was out great events would have taken place. Triumph or disaster. Victory or defeat. Who could say?

The children talked of the enterprise. Robert boasted of what he would do were he in charge of it. He would not have let the wind stop him. Richard said he was foolish and knew nothing of battle or the navigating of ships. But Robert went on boasting.

They had better take care, he said, because now Father was going he was the Duke.

Richard did not attempt to argue. Richard never wanted to
indulge in pointless arguments. Rufus would have been ready to challenge his brother, but Robert in spite of his short legs was bigger than he was.

They saw more of their mother than they did when their father was in the castle. She superintended their education and they were all aware of how she favoured Robert, he most of all for he took every advantage of it.

She had just granted a charter to La Trinité, the Abbey which she had built on the orders of the Pope to expiate her sin in marrying without his consent. There was to be a ceremony of consecration which she would attend with her family. The timing was right. It was good while William was on the brink of embarking to show her piety.

She had another idea. She sent for her daughter Cecilia.

‘My daughter,' she said, ‘you have long expressed a wish for convent life. Tell me truthfully, do you really wish to shut yourself away from the world?'

Cecilia answered earnestly: ‘It is true, my lady. I have already vowed to myself that I wish to dedicate myself to God.'

‘Very worthy,' said Matilda. ‘Tell me of Adelisa. She is very sad at this time.'

‘She mourns for the Saxon still,' Cecilia's eyes were scornful. ‘She still dreams of him, my lady.'

‘Alas, poor child.'

‘I have told her to pray.'

‘Her affairs cannot be resolved as easily as yours, Cecilia. But it is of you I wish to speak. You know your father is going off on a great expedition which may well change all our lives.'

‘I pray for him constantly.'

‘Prayer is good but sometimes more than prayer is necessary. My Abbey of La Trinité is to be consecrated and if you have firmly decided to take the veil you can begin your novitiate without delay and it seems to me that there could not be a better time to start than now.'

Cecilia clasped her hands with pleasure and then feeling it might be sinful to be so pleased about something immediately looked serious.

I wish Adelisa's future could be solved so easily! thought Matilda.

So, while William waited for that fair wind, the Abbey of La Trinité was consecrated. And what a good augury for William's success. His daughter preparing to take the veil. Surely God must be on his side:

Divine assistance was not readily given.

Oh, that elusive wind!

William chafed against delay. Everything was in order. Matilda would be Regent in his absence. The trusted Lanfranc who had done such good work at Rome and had risen in William's favour ever since, would watch over affairs during his absence.

William had applauded Matilda's suggestion that Cecilia should enter La Trinité and at the same time that Lanfranc should be appointed Abbot of St Stephen's at Caen. This would enable him to work closely with Matilda. With two such deputies William felt safer than he could with any others.

If only the wind would come!

William stood on the shore and invoked the heavens. How puny was man against the elements! There he was, a great soldier who had rarely been beaten in battle. Four hundred sailing vessels and a thousand transports were dancing on the waters, their sails slack, equipped for an expedition on which the mischievous sea would not allow them to embark.

William remembered that his father had once dreamed of conquering England and what had happened? He had set out in great spirits with a fair following wind; then suddenly the mood of the sea had changed and he had been blown back to where he started, his fleet disordered and many lives lost. Before he, William, could defeat Harold he must defeat the sea and as all wise men knew that was an impossible feat. Only if the sea was his ally could he win.

He had to sail across that water over more than twenty miles of treacherous sea that could smile and be gracious and suddenly change its mood. How quickly a wind could spring
up to sweep an army to destruction! So his father had found.

‘Oh God of battles,' he prayed, ‘let this not happen to me. My father died on a pilgrimage, washed clean of his sins. My wife has founded a convent. I have given my daughter to your service. Remember this, O Lord, and calm the seas for me this day.'

But God remained indifferent to his pleas. As a general he knew the dangers of boredom in an army. The families of men who would sail had come to the shore to take their farewell of them. They should have sailed off days ago in a blaze of glory. Instead they waited, the soldiers in their camps, the beautiful ships tossed hither and thither straining at their anchors; and there was a murmuring in the camp.

Why does God not change the wind? Is it a sign that he is displeased with us? Can it be that he is on the side of the man who vowed away his kingdom on the bones of dead saints?

But the waiting went on and each day the tension mounted; each day the misgivings rose.

At last they sailed. There was a great tumult on the shore. The women who had said good-bye to their men were weeping; but even they felt that the tension was over. The trumpets sounded; the sails were billowing in the breeze; the expedition had begun.

Alas for the mischievous wind and the unpredictable sea!

As the fleet kept close to the coast it was clear that it would be folly to venture out to sea for the violent wind had risen again and the grey waves dashed over the decks.

There was nothing to do but put back to harbour. They came in at Saint Valery, there to continue the waiting.

The soldiers disembarked. They set up the camps once more. Depression was rife.

‘The expedition is doomed,' it was whispered.

‘It is unlucky to start out and turn back.'

‘Remember what happened to the Duke's father? Didn't he attempt the same game?'

‘This is a sign from Heaven.'

ALTHOUGH NONE CHAFED
as bitterly against the delay as William, he was later to be thankful for the unpredictable winds of Heaven.

Tostig had quickly realized that William would be of no use to him. He was shrewd enough to know what was in the Duke's mind. He had decided not to help William by attacking Harold . . . yet.

He made up his mind to go to Norway and put some suggestions before the King of that country. This was Harold Hardrada, one of the greatest fighters of the age. His skill in battle had been greatly aided by his enormous height. Even for a Viking he was tall, being six feet seven inches high. Battle was joy, fighting his reason for living, and although he was by no means young, being all of fifty years, he was still aching for a fight.

Trouble-maker Tostig was well received at his Court and the plan he had to lay before Harold Hardrada seemed a good one.

Tostig could testify that all was not well in England. Harold might be the choice of the south but it was another matter in the north. Why should not Harold Hardrada conquer the North and set himself up as King? It would be a short time before the whole of England was in his hands.