The Conqueror Read online

  ‘Elfrida speaks your tongue as well as I do,’ Edgar said, supposing a lack of Saxon to be the reason for Raoul’s stricken silence.

  A pair of big eyes smiled trustfully into Raoul’s; he thought he had never seen eyes so blue. A hand came out of the covering rugs; a shy soft voice said: ‘My brother’s friend commands my friendship too, messire.’

  Raoul held out his hand to take hers. Edgar was surprised to see his lean brown fingers so unsteady. They closed reverently over Elfrida’s. ‘Lady, you are right welcome,’ Raoul stammered like a tongue-tied boy.

  Three

  In Rouen Matilda received both the Saxon ladies with courtesy, but eyed Gundred, a haughty managing dame, a little askance. She was quick to sum up her own sex, and almost immediately assumed towards Gundred a gracious condescension that was designed to show that proud lady the gulf that lay between Earl Harold’s sister and Normandy’s Duchess.

  Not to be outdone Gundred at once made play with the name of her sister Eadgytha, the Queen. Matilda raised her delicate brows, and said softly: ‘Alas, poor soul, that she has brought her lord no heirs!’

  Gundred was pardonably annoyed. ‘Maybe that might rather be the King’s fault, madame,’ she said bluntly.

  Holding her own last-born, a babe still in its swaddling-bands, upon her knee, Matilda smiled. The smile might have betokened polite interest, or it might have betokened a mild scepticism. Gundred thought it best to turn the conversation into safer channels.

  Towards Elfrida the Duchess used none of this edged politeness. Elfrida had gone plump down upon her knees as soon as she set eyes upon my lord William, that red-headed four-year-old, and held out her warm arms to him. There was no surer road to Matilda’s heart; she could even forgive Elfrida for having long golden braids that made her own locks fade to flaxen. ‘You have a kindness for children, damsel?’ she said.

  ‘Oh indeed and indeed, madame!’ Elfrida answered, looking shyly up at her.

  ‘I see that we shall do very well together,’ Matilda promised.

  Being a lady of discernment it did not take her many days to see how matters shaped between Elfrida and Raoul de Harcourt. The Duchess had more than once laid deep schemes for Raoul’s espousals, but he had evaded these so often that for some years she had ceased to look about her for a bride worthy of him. Her quick eye now observed certain tell-tale signs to pass between him and the Saxon maid, and she did not know whether to be pleased or sorry. She contrived to find out from Dame Gundred what the girl’s dowry would be: it was respectable, but to Matilda’s provident mind not great enough to warrant her marriage to a Duke’s favourite. She mentioned the matter to the Duke; he opened his eyes at it; he had noticed nothing. When assured that the Watcher was beginning at last to look beyond his lord he laughed, and seemed to think he would derive amusement from observing Raoul in a damsel’s toils. The question of dowry left him unmoved. Matilda said: ‘Her marriage is in Earl Harold’s gift. Would he see her wedded to a Norman?’

  ‘Her marriage will be in my gift before all is done,’ he replied. ‘If Raoul is hot for her I promise you I will dower her nobly, my thrifty Maid.’

  When next he saw Elfrida he gave her more than his usual cursory glance. She found a direct stare bent upon her, and looked gravely back at him in a way that pleased him. He remarked to his Duchess that the damsel had a brave eye, and made a point of accosting her when opportunity served. When he chose he could be quite unalarming; Elfrida, who had hitherto thought him an awesome prince, found him unexpectedly jovial, and afterwards confided to her brother that she thought no two people could be kinder than the Duke and Duchess of Normandy.

  Edgar was surprised, and a little perturbed. He hoped secretly that Elfrida would wed Raoul, because he loved them both, and had soon seen how Raoul regarded his sister, but when she showed a tendency to admire Duke William he was shocked, for to his mind no one who owned Earl Harold allegiance could cherish affection for William.

  As for Earl Harold, he was moving through the Norman Court with the ease that was natural to him. He was fond of hawking and of hunting at force, and since he had a gay humour and a wonderful mastery over horse and hound, the barons at once liked him. He had a proud look; it was plain that he was accustomed to command; but he was never above his company, so that he made friends wherever he went. All through his life he was first a man whom men liked, but he had also a name for being a great lover. It was said that he had many lemans; Alfric had spoken the name of one lady so beautiful that she was called the Swan-neck as being Harold’s mie. No doubt she was languishing in England now, awaiting the return of her splendid lover, while he rested in Rouen inflaming by no more than a chance look, a sudden smile, the hearts of many susceptible Norman ladies. He drew women as though they were moths and he the bright light round which they fluttered. There were a score of hearts in Rouen he might have plucked had he chosen, but he held off, steering an easy course through all this heady adulation, and gave only one lady cause to think she had him in thrall. And this was no less a personage than the Duchess herself.

  Watching his liege-lady, Raoul began to wonder, and to know misgiving. She was sparing no pains to attract the Earl; she might be older, but she still had the mysterious lure that had caught and held Duke William. Now she turned her witch’s eyes upon Harold, weaving new spells. Raoul saw it, and his brow wrinkled in a puzzled frown. He knew her too well to suppose she had room in her heart for any but her lord, and her fine sons. He watched closer; there was no love in her eyes, but they were dangerous as he had not seen them since she planned Duke William’s downfall.

  One evening before the supper hour he stood in the gallery looking down at the hall where the Court was gathered into little groups. Earl Harold was beside the Duchess’s chair, and it seemed as though some light traffic was passing between them. Raoul stood still, frowning and wondering. He heard a step behind him, and turned his head as the Duke came up.

  William stood beside him, and looked down at the hall. He spoke without taking his eyes from the group about Matilda’s chair. ‘What think you, Raoul? What manner of man is Harold?’

  ‘One who does not show his whole mind to the world,’ said Raoul instantly. ‘A man of high courage, and large desires.’

  ‘I think I have his measure,’ William said. ‘He is more subtle than he would wish to appear; a leader certainly, a ruler – perhaps. He has not yet met his match.’ He watched Matilda smile up into the Earl’s face; he was of a disposition that brooked no rival; what he owned no other man might touch; but he seemed unperturbed at the sight of his dame’s behaviour.

  Raoul saw satisfaction in his eyes, and all his wondering was done. ‘When does the Earl set sail for England, beau sire?’ he asked. There was a hint of severity in his voice.

  William’s lips curled. ‘Do you think I am very likely to let Harold slip through my fingers?’ he said. ‘I have him at last; save at a price I shall not let him go.’

  ‘He threw himself on your mercy!’ Raoul said hotly. ‘Trusting to your chivalry!’

  ‘My friend, one who nurses such ambitions as Harold carries in his breast dare place his trust in no man,’ said William.

  Raoul looked at him in a startled way, and with a gradually darkening brow. ‘Beau sire, when you sent to deliver Harold from Ponthieu Edgar begged me to assure him the Earl was not a second time betrayed. Now by God’s light you give me cause to wonder whether he had not reason when he asked that question!’ He saw a smile flicker across the Duke’s mouth, and his hand descended on William’s wrist and gripped it almost unconsciously. ‘William, my seigneur, I have been your man these many years, following you blindfold, knowing that your way never led to dishonour yet. But now I see you changing, made ruthless by your too large ambition, forgetful of all but a crown. Dread lord, if you mean harm to Harold who trusted in your knighthood, take my sword and break it across your k