The Conqueror Read online

  Upon the following day she did not set eyes on the Duke until she was bound to him in wedlock in the cathedral church of Notre Dame of Eu. Her father escorted her in procession between ranks of staring people who had all flocked to Eu to witness the bridal. She was dressed in a long robe encrusted with jewels, with a train of many ells, carried by her bride-maidens. When she entered the church her eyes sought and found William, awaiting her by the altar steps, attended by his half-brother of Mortain, and other lords whom she did not know. He was dressed in purple and gold, armed, with his sword at his side, and a coronet round his helmet. His mantle streamed back from his shoulders and touched the ground behind him; it was lined with gold that shimmered whenever he moved.

  Odo, the young Bishop of Bayeux, performed the ceremony, assisted by the Bishops of Coutances and Lisieux. In despite of the fact that she was a widow, and no maiden, four knights held a veil over Matilda’s head.

  After the marriage-vows were exchanged, and the blessing bestowed, and the wedded pair crowned with flowers, there was a banquet held at the Castle, with miming, and tumbling, and minstrels playing sweet music. A muzzled bear was led round on a chain with a monkey bestriding it; it walked on its hind-legs, and performed a shuffling dance to the sound of a tambour. Then a party of tumblers ran in, both men and women, and a minstrel sang a laudatory ode to the Duchess, accompanied by a harp and a cornicinus which set a flourish to the end of every line.

  Since cock-crow the Count of Eu’s servants had been busy slinging garlands of flowers from beam to beam; fresh rushes strewed the floor, subtleties which had taken the master-cooks three days to prepare were arranged on all the tables. They were not meant to be eaten, but to be admired. Some were dyed red with alkanet; others were covered with gilt leaves beneath sprays of silver. On the high table the bridal cake stood before the Duchess, crowned in allusion to the desired issue of the marriage with the figure of a woman in childbirth. A peacock in full plumage stood in the place of honour; no one looking at the ordered feathers could suppose that under them the bird was roasted and carved ready for serving.

  A boar’s head lying in a field and hedged round with roses was carried in shoulder-high to mark the beginning of the banquet; a scroll depended from its mouth, bearing a poem in praise of the pride. A Viand Royal followed it, venison in broth, and a subtlety that drew cries of appreciation from the Duke’s guests. The cooks had fashioned the emblems of Flanders and Normandy in foyle, and linked them together with a seal which bore the inscription: ‘Be all joyous at this feast, and pray for the Duke and the Duchess and all theirs.’

  Pages were kept busy running to and fro with flagons of wine; men hailed the Duchess in a shout, and a hundred cups and more were raised to her. She sat on a throne beside the Duke, and smiled, and spoke mechanical words, and ever and again stole a sidelong look at the unyielding profile beside her. Once, feeling her gaze upon him, William turned his head, and looked down at her. There was a glitter in his eyes, the hint of a fierce, triumphant smile. ‘I have you now, wife,’ he said between his teeth.

  She looked away, feeling the colour flood her cheeks. Had he married her with revenge in his heart? Was love dead in him? Mother of God, have pity if he looked like that!

  She spurred up her fainting courage. Count Robert of Eu was speaking to her.

  ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘how did it happen that you were brought to consent to a marriage with my cousin when he had so brutally used you?’

  On her mettle, she replied lightly: ‘Why, Count, it seemed to me that he must be a man of great courage and high daring who could venture to come and beat me in my own father’s palace, and therefore a fitting mate for me.’

  ‘Well said, cousin!’ he applauded.

  She glanced up to find the Duke looking at her. He had heard her answer to Count Robert, and there was a look in his eyes that might have been admiration. His hand moved as though to clasp her, but was checked, and gripped the arm of his chair instead. Her spirits rose; she believed she could read him at last. With a liveliness that made her new subjects like her at once, she went on talking to the Count of Eu, and to Robert of Mortain, who sat staring at her in undisguised appreciation.

  The banquet lasted many hours, and the company grew merry. At last, with laughter and with jesting, the women surrounded Matilda and bore her off to the bridal chamber.

  She went smiling; the last sight she had of the hall was of many light-hearted gentlemen lifting their cups in a health to her, and of William standing by his chair, watching her under his black brows.

  They undressed her, and laid aside the heavy bridal robes; they unbound the glory of her pale hair and combed it till it hung about her in a shining veil. She was put into the Duke’s bed with whisperings and fondlings. Voices were heard outside, and the tread of footsteps. The ladies clustered to the door, and threw it wide to admit the bridegroom. He was escorted by a laughing company of his friends; at the door they left him; the ladies went out; and the door was shut behind the Duke.

  The voices grew fainter; the footsteps retreated in the distance. The Duke stood for a moment, staring at his bride in pent silence. There was a blazing light at the back of his eyes; his mouth was set hard, as though he curbed himself. He came across the room to the bedside. ‘So, madame wife!’ he said on a gloating note. ‘How stand your barriers now?’

  Her eyes glimmered. All desire for revenge on him had left her. Smiling, she said: ‘My lord, have you taken me for love or for hatred? I would know.’

  He folded his arms across his chest, shutting himself in. ‘I have taken you because I swore to have you, madame, because I do not fail. I will break you to my hand until you learn to know me for your master, by God!’

  She slipped from under the ermine skins that covered her, and stood before him, slim and white against the dark bed-hangings. ‘I think you have no joy in this conquest, husband,’ she said, holding his eyes with her own. ‘My barriers are down, but can you reach my guarded heart?’

  She was so close to him she thought she could almost feel the struggle that raged in him. He grasped her shoulders through the golden mesh of her hair. ‘God’s death, Mald, I have sworn you shall find no softness in me!’ he said unsteadily.

  She said nothing; her smile lured his heart from his breast. He snatched her up into his arms, holding her cruelly close, kissing her eyelids and her lips till she gasped for breath. She yielded to him, her ice melted, her body aflame. Half swooning on the tide of his passion, she heard him whisper: ‘Eh, I love you! Heart of Christ, there is no more than that, my dear desire!’

  Part III

  (1054–1060)

  THE MIGHT OF FRANCE

  ‘The French have braved our chivalry: let them deplore the venture.’

  Speech of the Norman Herald

  One

  When Hubert de Harcourt saw his son enter the Castle of Beaumont-le-Roger he had a sudden impression that Raoul had grown in stature, yet when he looked more closely and saw him stand beside his tall brothers he perceived that he had been mistaken, and wondered how this could have happened.

  Roger de Beaumont – he who had helped Raoul to the Duke’s service seven years before – greeted him with great kindness today, and brought him into the hall with a hand on his shoulder, so that Hubert feared Raoul would be growing puffed up in his own conceit. But just then Raoul saw his father, and he went towards him at once, and knelt to get his blessing as meekly as you please, smiling up at him with that unshadowed sweetness in his eyes which always made Hubert think he saw his dead wife live again in her son. Hubert felt a surge of tenderness rise up in him as he laid his hand on Raoul’s neat head, but he did not show this. He said something in a gruff voice about Raoul’s scarlet mantle, calling it a popinjay’s cloak, but all the same, he was pleased to think that his son wore even more splendid raiment than young Richard de Bienfaite, who had be