The Conqueror Read online

  The Duke had taken Malet’s bridle from the lad who held it, and before the Viscount of Côtentin had finished reading the Seneschal’s message he was in the saddle, his horse sidling and dancing in a fret to be off. ‘Now I shall see which of you is ready!’ quoth the Duke. ‘Now I shall see who will follow me! To Arques, messires!’ He gave Malet his head, and the black horse sprang forward. Men jumped quickly out of reach of the plunging hooves; the Duke was away.

  Upwards of fifty men streamed after him; six only were still with him at the end of that nightmare journey. They rode from Valognes to Bayeux, their numbers dwindling. At Bayeux the Duke had a brief interview with his young half-brother, the Bishop, and was off again in an hour. His knights followed him doggedly, knowing that his haste was not wanton. Reinforcements might even now have joined the Count of Arques, and if the jealous King of France were marching to his aid, as rumour whispered, the Duke’s only hope of staving off a bloody campaign was to reach Arques before him.

  They passed by Caen, and rode on towards Pont Audémar. There Gilbert d’Aufay dropped out upon a foundered horse.

  ‘Eh, Gilbert, are you done?’ Raoul called to him.

  ‘A curse on this brute; he can no more,’ Gilbert answered. ‘Who rides still with William?’

  ‘Néel is here, with two of his men; de Montfort holds close; the Viscount of Avranchin; myself, and some others yet: maybe a score. If I tarry I shall never catch William this side Seine.’

  ‘Go then. If I can come by a horse I will follow you.’ Gilbert waved him on, and began to rub his aching limbs.

  At Caudebec Raoul’s horse sank under him. The Duke rested his little troop by the river bank, and got news from a scout of a loyal band of three hundred men who had sallied forth to oppose the Count of Arques. Raoul was sent off to the capital with a message for FitzOsbern, and Saint-Sauveur rode beside him a little way at a walking pace. ‘Go with God,’ he said, smiling. ‘I will play the Watcher for once, ill though you may like it.’

  Raoul shook his head. ‘Nay, there is no more strength in me,’ he confessed. ‘I am done, and must have failed in another hour. Do not leave him, Chef de Faucon, for by this hand I tell you he will not pause though every man of you falls out upon the road.’

  ‘You have no need to fear me,’ the Viscount promised, and rode back to rejoin William.

  Fording the river the Duke pushed on as hastily as he could to Baons-le-Comte, and from there towards Arques, crossing a ravaged countryside.

  Within a league of Arques he came up with the force that had set out to guard his interests. Their leader was struck dumb at sight of his liege-lord, whom he thought to be in the Côtentin, and for a while could not find his tongue.

  ‘Come, man!’ the Duke said impatiently. ‘Do not stare at me as though you saw a wolf! What news of my uncle of Arques?’

  Honest Herluin of Bondeville recovered his speech and his manners. ‘Lord, pardon! I had not thought to see you ere many days.’

  ‘That is very possible,’ replied the Duke, ‘but you see me now, and in some haste for your news, by the Face!’

  Taking this broad hint, Herluin plunged into a recital of the disasters of Tallou. His scouts had found the Count so strongly supported that he thought it would be folly to attack him with no more than three hundred men. Many lords had joined Arques; their doings made scandalous telling. ‘Beau sire,’ said Herluin earnestly, ‘I pray you draw back upon Rouen till you may gather a sufficient force against these rebels. We are but a handful, and should be cut to pieces.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ said the Duke. ‘With your leave, good Herluin, I will put myself at the head of your men, and try a fall with my rebels.’

  ‘Lord, lord, I dare not let you venture!’ Herluin said in great alarm.

  ‘Do you think you can stop me? I am very sure you were better advised not to try.’ The Duke smote him on the shoulder. ‘What, are you faint-hearted? I tell you, if once the rebels see me face to face they will never dare stand against me.’

  ‘Lord, we have had tidings of a great company out upon their affairs, and we held off from them since we are so few.’

  ‘Ha, this is good news!’ the Duke declared. He swung himself down from his weary horse. ‘A horse, man!’ His eye alighted on a bay mare that pleased him; he tapped her rider’s knee with his whip. ‘Off with you, my friend!’ he commanded pleasantly, and off the man got, wondering how he should fare afoot. The Duke did not concern himself with this. Mounting, he proceeded to make certain changes in the disposition of his small army. The six men who had kept up with him all the way from Valognes formed themselves about him in a bodyguard, and the troop moved forward at a brisk pace, and came soon on to the marshy flats that lay between the high ground of Arques and the sea.

  These flats were commanded by a narrow spit of land near the junction of the Eaulne and the Varenne, upon which the Castle, like a bird’s nest, was perched. To the left rose the chalk hills that guarded the coast; to the right, in the distance, a thick forest climbed the heights of Arques.

  The Castle was mounted on a precipitous hill, and was further protected by a deep fosse dug at its foot. There was only one path up the slope, and this led to a second ditch dug round the Castle walls.

  When the Duke came in sight of the place Count William’s followers were on their way home from a day’s plunder. Their meinie looked formidable, bristling with spears; Richard, the Viscount of Avranchin, who was related to the Duke through his marriage with William’s half-sister, exchanged a rather rueful glance with Néel, and murmured something to the Duke that had to do with caution.

  For answer William took his lance from the squire who carried it. ‘Brother Richard,’ said he, ‘I know very well what I am about. When these men see that I am here in person there will soon be an end to the affair.’ He gave the order to charge, and the troop hurled itself forwards over the flat ground to the foot of the Castle hill.

  Count William’s men were taken by surprise, and hampered by their plunder, but they managed to fling themselves into a hasty formation. Néel de Saint-Sauveur set up a shout of: ‘The Duke! the Duke!’ which was taken up by a score of voices. In a full-throated roar Herluin’s men fell upon the rebels.

  The rebel leaders heard Néel’s cry, and a moment later realized that the Duke was indeed at the head of the band. The word ran through their lines; men caught glimpses of a helmet ringed by a golden circlet, and panic seized them. If the Duke, who should have been at the other end of Normandy, had swept through the country to deal with Arques in person, the rebels had no stomach for battle. Their leaders could not rally them: they knew what manner of warrior William was. Before the shock of his charge they fell back, and in the space of a few minutes, discarding their plunder, they were flying to safety up the hill-path to the Castle.

  The Duke stormed after them, right to the very gates of the donjon. A desperate skirmish was fought there, and it seemed for a little while as though William would force his way through. Reinforcements from within beat him back, and managed to draw up the bridge. Missiles were hurled from the walls; Néel de Saint-Sauveur grasped at the Duke’s bridle, and dragged him out of range.

  ‘Holy God, beau sire!’ goggled Herluin, pop-eyed, ‘they fled like deer before the lerce-hounds!’

  ‘Look you, my friend,’ said the Duke, ‘I am a general, which is a thing you appear to find marvellous.’

  ‘Beau sire, I do perceive it,’ said Herluin, and rode soberly back with him down the hill.

  The Duke was joined soon after by an army led by Walter Giffard of Longueville, and those in the hold of Arques watched with uneasiness preparations for a blockade. The Count of Arques bit his lip, but when his captains quailed he gave a short bark of laughter, and promised them relief from the French King.

  This relief King Henry indeed tried to bring him, but he had planned to join forc