The Conqueror Read online

  The Duke turned his head. ‘Is Néel of Côtentin there?’

  ‘Not yet. But Tesson is, and will have none of your scheme.’

  William’s teeth gleamed. ‘I can twist Tesson which way I choose,’ he said.

  Someone scratched on the door; Raoul opened it, and found Gilbert d’Aufay upon the threshold. Gilbert said, looking rather troubled: ‘Will the Duke be pleased to come back? All are agreed to let FitzOsbern put their objections before him as doucely as may be.’

  In the hall order had been restored. The Duke sat down on his throne again; his brothers stood beside him, and Raoul stayed by a pillar in the background.

  ‘Well, messires? Have you considered your answer?’ said the Duke.

  FitzOsbern rose from his chair. ‘Yea, seigneur, we have considered, and it falls to my lot to speak for all who are here to-day.’

  A murmur of assent sounded; all the noble gentlemen looked gratefully at their spokesman, and waited to hear how he would soften a blunt refusal.

  ‘Then speak, FitzOsbern,’ said the Duke. ‘I am listening.’

  The Seneschal gave his mantle a hitch on one shoulder, and bowed. ‘Seigneur, we have heard your proposals, and honour you for that high courage which makes you look upon this emprise as a thing easily to be accomplished.’

  His followers nodded indulgently. They had no fault to find with this way of beginning; it would be just as well to put the Duke in a good humour before the unpalatable meat of the matter was reached.

  ‘You desire a crown and a kingdom, beau sire; we know you to be worthy of them. You ask us, your loyal vassals, to lend aid on that venture. Seigneur, it must be known to you that by the laws of fealty our service overseas you cannot command.’

  He paused, but the Duke said nothing. The vassals nodded again: FitzOsbern was managing the affair very creditably.

  FitzOsbern went on: ‘You ask us to follow you to a strange land, peopled by bitter foes – a thing no Duke of Normandy has done before. We are unused to sea-faring, maybe we like it ill, maybe we have lands needing our care here in Normandy, wives who would weep to see us go forth to battle. But this we have in our hearts, my liege: you have ruled over us long fruitful years, leading us to victory upon victory. That thing which you have sworn to do never have you failed in. Seigneur, every leal man’s trust in you; every leal man’s hands lie between your palms, and this is a leal man’s answer to you: We will follow whithersoever you lead, be it to England or to Araby, and he whose duty owes you twenty men-at-arms will give in love for you twice that number.’ He stopped. The vassals were staring at him as though fascinated. Raoul saw one man open his mouth, shut it again, and swallow hard. The Seneschal took advantage of the appalled silence to say heroically: ‘Sixty ships will I myself furnish for the emprise! Seigneur, we are your men to command!’

  This was too much. The outraged vassals found their tongues at last; decorum was cast to the winds; a roar of ‘No!’ went up from scores of angry voices. Henry, Lord of Saint-Hilaire de Ferrières, thrust forward to the very steps of the dais, and glared up at the Seneschal, saying: ‘False! false! These are your words, not ours! We do not journey overseas!’

  A muscle quivered at the corner of the Duke’s mouth; he turned his head to survey the speaker. At the back of the room Richard de Bienfaite sprang upon one of the benches, and called: ‘Shame! shame on you, Henry de Ferrières! All true men cry Yea to what FitzOsbern has said.’

  ‘Not so!’ Fulk Du-Pin tried to pull him down. ‘This is no matter touching our fealty!’

  ‘What, are we afraid?’ cried young Hugh d’Avranches. He leaped up beside Richard de Bienfaite on the bench, and waved his sword over his head. ‘Let the young men answer!’

  The Duke took no notice of this; he was looking at Raoul Tesson, who all the time had said no word, but stood aloof from his peers by one of the pillars at the side of the hall. There was a mulish look on his face, he met the Duke’s eyes squarely enough, but his own held uncompromising disapproval.

  Robert of Picot de Say had followed De Bienfaite’s example and hoisted his bulk up on to a bench. ‘Nay, nay!’ he rumbled, ‘let us not forget the respect we owe the Duke’s grace! This is unseemly. Yet I must say in all duty and humility –’

  His voice was drowned. The vassals had no patience to waste on his tedious periods. Ives de Vassy elbowed his way to the forefront, and said loudly: ‘Where our duty calls us be sure we will go, but no duty calls us outremer. What! are our borders to be left open to the French while we go junketing forth upon such an errand?’

  Odo took a sudden step forward to the edge of the dais. His eyes flashed; his fingers worked nervously in the folds of his robe. ‘O Norman dogs!’ he said bitterly. ‘Must a man of peace show you the way?’

  The Duke moved. He spoke, but what he said no one heard but the Bishop. Odo gave his shoulders an angry shrug, and sat down plump in a carved chair behind him.

  The Duke rose. It was some little while before the clamour abated, for it was considered necessary by those in front that they should order those behind to be silent for the Duke’s grace, and three men thought it incumbent upon them to pull Richard de Bienfaite down from his bench.

  The Duke waited in unmoved calm for the lull. When it came, and everyone was anxiously watching him, he looked directly at the Lord of Turie-en-Cingueliz, and said on a note of command: ‘Tesson!’

  The Lord of Cingueliz started, and moved forward with a darkening brow. A passage was made for him; he advanced to the foot of the dais, and looked frowningly up at the Duke.

  A faint smile hovered on William’s mouth; he said blandly: ‘Give me your escort, Raoul Tesson.’

  ‘Beau sire –’

  ‘Your escort, Tesson.’

  The Lord of Cingueliz stumped up the steps of the dais, and sulkily followed the Duke from the hall. Those left behind looked at one another in surprise, and reflected that it was beyond the power of man to tell what the Duke would do next.

  In the room leading from the hall, Tesson took up a defensive position by the door, and eyed the Duke sideways.

  William unclasped the fibula that held his mantle together, swung the heavy fur-lined cloak from his shoulders, and held it out. The Lord of Cingueliz came forward, and took it. ‘Well, my friend?’ said the Duke.

  Tesson put the mantle down over a chair-back. ‘Beau sire, you shall not cozen me into giving you yea,’ he said bluntly. ‘You are a young man still, but I have left a young man’s rashness behind me.’

  ‘Will you stand against me, Tesson, denying me aid?’ inquired the Duke.

  ‘In plain words, seigneur, yes. If you go upon this chase you go alone.’

  ‘So?’ the Duke said softly. ‘Yet I remember one who rode up to me on the plain of Val-es-Dunes, and struck me on the cheek with his glove, saying: ‘Henceforward, seigneur, I will do you no other wrong.’’

  Tesson flushed, but shook his head. ‘Nor will I. If I refuse you now it is for your good, my lord, ill though you may like it. Young hotheads may follow you if they choose –’

  ‘Am I a hothead, Raoul?’

  The Lord of Cingueliz glowered. ‘No, seigneur, I have not thought so. But you have been victorious too often, which makes you reckless now. I who am arm-gaunt and grey-headed tell you I will bear no part in this madness. This I would not say out yonder in that rabble, look you, but now you have asked me, and that is mine answer.’

  ‘The years slip by, Tesson.’ The Duke moved towards the fire. ‘I had forgot that you have grown too old to venture forth with me.’

  Tesson began to bristle. ‘Old? That in your teeth, my good lord! Who says that I am old? I can still bear my part – yea, and something more than my part – in any joust or skirmish. You call me old? What, are my limbs wasted? Do you think my muscles are turned to fat, my strength all sapped, my blood thin as