The Conqueror Read online

  FitzOsbern stared. ‘Why, do you doubt we shall have victory?’ he demanded. ‘Is there in Christendom a greater warrior than Normandy?’

  ‘All thanks, William!’ said the Duke, with a laugh over his shoulder. ‘Is there, Raoul?’

  ‘None,’ Raoul said. ‘And when this work is ended there shall be none more blood-stained.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ the Duke said. ‘But we have talked this over many times, Raoul. You cannot turn me now.’

  He looked at FitzOsbern. ‘I will send envoys into England,’ he said. ‘No cartel – yet.’

  ‘To what purpose?’ objected FitzOsbern. ‘What more do you look for, beau sire? He has broken a sacred oath, and spurned the Lady Adela, your daughter. What more, a’ God’s name?’

  The Duke paid no heed to him. ‘I have need of Lanfranc,’ he said. ‘William, let one be ready to bear a packet to Bec within the hour.’ He found that he was still holding his gloves, and laid them down on the table. His first rage had burned itself out; he had a problem to grapple now and was not the man to waste time in fruitless anger. ‘When did my messenger say that Edward died?’

  ‘Upon the fifth day of January,’ FitzOsbern replied, ‘the Abbey wherein they laid him having been dedicated at Childermas.’

  ‘Two weeks since.’ The Duke drummed his fingers lightly on the table. ‘Time enough. If Tostig had spies in London he will have learned the tidings by now, and we shall see him in Rouen ere many days.’

  Raoul raised his head. ‘Why?’ he asked bluntly.

  A smile glimmered in the Duke’s eyes. ‘To ask aid of me, my friend, or counsel. That last I will surely give him. I think – yea, I think I may count on Harold to deal with Tostig.’

  ‘Tostig could not be so great a fool!’ Raoul exclaimed.

  ‘I will wager my new destrier against your big bay he is,’ William said.

  ‘The destrier Giffard brought you from Spain?’ demanded Raoul. ‘And what will old Walter say to that?’

  ‘Nothing. I shall not lose,’ William said, twinkling.

  ‘Tostig must be mad if he comes to you for aid. Done, seigneur: the Spanish horse to my bay.’

  But he lost his bay horse. The Duke’s envoys had barely left Normandy for England with his first careful letters to Harold when Earl Tostig arrived in Rouen upon a foaming steed and attended by such thegns as had fled Northumbria in his train. He was in a stuttering rage, too bull-headed to guard silence, ready to blurt out all his fury and his ambitions into the ear of the one man he had need to beware.

  Not one of those about the Duke let fall a single word that might have enlightened Tostig. He knew nothing of the envoys sent to England, nothing of the Duke’s own ambitions. Out came his tale, and, swiftly following it, a request for aid from Normandy to cast Harold down.

  The Duke dealt with him easily enough, but to Raoul he said: ‘How Godwine, who, by all accounts, was a man of some parts, could have bred so big a fool, is a matter passing my comprehension. Aid of Normandy? Rood of Grace, I am the one man he should at all costs leave outside his confidence!’

  The Duchess, who was watching her sons at play in the gardens, turned away from the lancet-window to ask whether Tostig thought to get himself crowned King.

  ‘Like a-many others,’ said the Duke.

  ‘And asks aid of you?’ Matilda gave an angry little laugh. ‘Oh, brave! Normandy to be used to serve Tostig’s ends! What will you do?’

  ‘Use Tostig to serve mine own ends,’ replied the Duke grimly. ‘I have given him words which he thinks of great worth. He sails for Norway, as soon as he has taken leave of your sister, to interest Harold Hardrada in his cause.’ He put out his square hand and took Matilda’s chin in it. Pushing up her head he smiled at her, saying: ‘Here is strategy to please that subtle mind of yours, my Mald. Tostig may go with my blessing to attack Harold. So is he got out of the way, for I am very sure he will not outlive that venture. He will do no more than prepare the road for me.’ He glanced up, and saw Raoul looking at him. ‘My Watcher, I know what you would say. This is such craft as you mislike, but it will bring me to my goal.’

  Raoul did not say anything. He was looking at the Duchess, wondering how she could approve a strategy that seemed likely to make her sister a widow. He remembered how she and Judith had been wont to go linked arm-in-arm in the old days at Lille, the russet and the gold heads close together, green eyes telling secrets to blue ones.

  My lord Robert’s voice was heard suddenly, calling to Red William below the window; Raoul saw Matilda turn her head, listening, smiling, and he knew all at once that she was not thinking of Judith. Judith and girlhood’s days were far outside her busy mind, forgotten in the misty past. Matilda wanted a crown, perhaps for William, perhaps for herself, but above all for her fair son. Raoul guessed that already she considered it to be his right; probably if her own father were to reach a hand towards the prize she would be as ruthless an enemy to him as she was to Tostig.

  She spoke, drawing away from the Duke, fixing her intent eyes on Raoul’s face. ‘Are you against us, Raoul?’

  He shook his head. She did not seem satisfied; she was even a little troubled. He said: ‘No, lady; I am your man.’ He could not explain to her the qualms that shook him, nor beg her to see how the glory of a crown was already obsessing the Duke. She would scarcely understand; like William she had always a certain goal ahead; less even than he would she, being female, care what means went to its attainment.

  He thought all at once: If only I could be as they are, seeing one end alone worth striving for, not torturing my soul with thinking of what might have been, nor finding that my happiness tastes bitter on my lips after all because the price I had to pay for it was too heavy, and tore my heart in twain! but he knew that he would never be as they were; he must always see the smaller joys and griefs life held, and count them dearer than a distant, splendid goal. There is not one jot of greatness in me, he thought. They were certainly right who called me dreamer. And I wonder to what end, my dreams? None, I suppose. While I am groping in the murk, William will have cleaved a way through, trampling under his feet the obstacles that set me wavering. But I am afraid for him now. O William my master, do not lose all that I have loved in you for the sake of this accursed crown!

  As though in answer to his thought the Duke said suddenly: ‘Trust in me yet, Raoul. You may mislike my dealing, but the end I see you also desire.’

  ‘I desired peace in Normandy,’ Raoul said, meeting his gaze. ‘Only that – once.’

  ‘And safety for all Normans, and a noble heritage,’ the Duke insisted.

  Raoul smiled faintly. ‘Why, yes, seigneur, that too. But it came out of your head, not mine. I never looked so far until you pointed the way. Even now I think you see a star shining beyond my sight. My vision is filled with the darkness that lies between.’

  The Duchess opened her eyes at him. ‘Raoul, you talk as a poet did who once made rhymes for me,’ she said. She added slyly: ‘Tell me, is this Elfrida’s work? Are you turned poet indeed?’

  ‘No madame,’ Raoul answered lightly. ‘I am only one unfortunate who is shaken by doubts. Like Galet I must say, “Pity the poor fool!’’

  Two

  Upon the return of the envoys from England events began to move swiftly. Harold replied to the Duke’s letters very much as William had expected. He admitted that he had sworn an oath at Bayeux, but contended that this having been wrung from him by force, it could not be thought binding. England’s crown, he said, was not his to dispose of at will, but belonged to the people, and by them only could be bestowed. As for the Lady Adela, Earl Harold informed the Duke that he might not marry without his Council’s advice, and they had begged him to wed an English lady.

  The Duke read this answer thoughtfully, and gave it presently into Lanfranc’s care. It was destined for Rome, and to t