The Bastard King (42 page)

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?

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?

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.

‘Illustrious lady,' wrote the hermit, ‘do not rest in your endeavours to bring peace in Normandy. If you do not you will find misery and death for your Duke, and the ruin of your country.'

What have I done? Matilda asked herself. I have worked against him, the greatest man of his age, who is my life and my husband.

But Robert is my son.

Was ever a woman in such sad case?

She could not sleep. She wandered about the castle by night. Her women found her at the turret window watching for riders who would bring tidings which she feared would be evil.

They took her shivering to her bed.

Then one day when they went to awaken her they found her unable to rise.

They sent for William.

He sat by her bed and held her hand.

‘William,' she said, ‘how is it in England?'

‘Well,' he told her, ‘all is well.'

‘And safe for you to leave and come to me?'

‘I should have come in any case.'

‘This is the last time, William.'

‘Nay,' he said. ‘You will get well.'

‘You command it. Oh, William, God is one even you cannot command and Death an enemy you cannot overcome.'

He did not answer; she saw the tremor of his lips. ‘William, beloved William,' she said, ‘forgive me.'

‘Forgive you for being my love, my life, the only one I ever cared for or ever shall?'

‘'Twas so, was it not? Am I forgiven my sins?'

‘They
shall
be forgiven. We will make such offerings . . .'

‘So you will command them in Heaven. My sins lie heavy on me, William.'

‘Nay, you have been a good woman . . . a good wife and mother.'

‘Sometimes it is difficult to be the two.'

‘You did well,' he assured her.

‘William . . . you and Robert . . .'

‘He does well in England.'

‘Let it remain so, then I shall die happy.'

He pressed her hand. ‘Should you not rest, my love?'

‘It makes no difference, William. This is the end for me. You will miss me, William.'

‘I beg of you . . .'

‘I see tears in your eyes, William. They are the first you ever shed . . . and for me.'

‘For whom else should they be shed?'

‘William, come close to me. Tell me it is the same as it ever was . . . tell me nothing is changed.'

‘I loved you through life and shall do so till death.'

A faint smile touched her lips so that she looked like the old mischievous Matilda of her youth.

‘No more beatings . . . no more loving . . . Oh, William!'

His emotion would not let him speak.

He sat by her bed holding her hand until she died.

Then he rose, strode away and none dared look at him.

He shut himself into his chamber and gave way to his paroxysms of grief.

When he emerged he was the strong man again. Whatever tragedy he had to face there was a Dukedom to hold, a Kingdom to govern'.

HE WAS OLD
and fat and weary of life without Matilda. His doctors warned him that he must eat less or his corpulence would be the death of him. He could still ride to the hunt but the fast steeds were no longer for him. He must judge a horse by its ability to carry him.

He had made England prosperous. His Doomsday Book was completed. The people might rail against this and what it meant to them but when a Danish invasion was threatened he explained to his people that for once it was better to buy off the Danes. Because of his wise government his exchequer was full and a settlement with the Danes which would keep them out of the country, would be less costly than a war.

William had foreseen what would happen. The Danes fought among themselves for the gold he gave them. Their King and leader was killed and only half their number went back to Denmark. A wise move it was seen to be, for William had the means to fight and was never afraid of a battle; but on this occasion he had avoided bloodshed and in his own manner defeated the Danes.

‘They'll never come back to England,' prophesied William, and he proved to be right.

There were occasions when he must take to his bed. His doctors ordered this. Then he must drink the potions they prescribed for him and eat frugally. After such treatment he found he had lost a little weight and therefore agreed with them, for his huge body was becoming a burden, and he was often out of breath.

He was still hunting frequently, usually with Rufus. Rufus was his great comfort now, although he enjoyed a discussion with Henry.

After his mother's death Robert made no pretence of friendship; he left his father and went back to Normandy. William expected trouble from him daily.

Often from his bed he thought over his life and assessed
what he had done. He knew that he was the greatest ruler of his age. He had stern ideas and had put them into practice. He believed that England was a better country than it could have been under Harold. He had been fair to men who had obeyed him, and harsh with those who had not.

England was not the lawless place it had been when he came and conquered. Now it was said that a man could travel fearlessly on the lonely road with a purse of gold. No man dared slay another for that crime would be met with the direst punishment. William had abolished the death penalty. The putting out of eyes was a punishment often inflicted. A man should not have the comfort of dying, declared William, if he had broken his laws. He should live to suffer and be an example to others. William had always been a firm upholder of chastity. Any man who violated or attempted to violate a woman was punished by the cutting off of his sexual organs.