The Conqueror Read online

  The Duke slit open Baldwin’s packet, and ran his eye over its contents. He gave a short laugh, and crumpled the sheet in his hand. ‘Parchment! Give me a fair scroll of parchment!’ he said, and jabbed a quill in the ink-horn. ‘Raoul, where are you? Roll me that sheet, and set my seal to it. Here is a jest you will like. Read young Baldwin’s letter, and you will understand.’ He began to write upon a label.

  ‘There is nothing writ on the parchment, lord,’ one of the clerks ventured to remind him.

  ‘No, fool, nothing. Is it done, Raoul? Then bind this distich about the scroll, and let it be dispatched to my noble brother with all speed.’ He gave the label into Raoul’s hands, and turned back to his shipwright.

  Raoul read the distich, and laughed. The Duke had scrawled two crisp lines only:

  ‘Beau frère en Angleterre vous aurez

  Ce qui dedans escript vous trouverez.’

  ‘A right good answer,’ Raoul said, binding it round the scroll. ‘I wish that you had made it to all the others of his kidney.’

  The Duke made no reply, and with a heavy heart Raoul watched him at his work. Few princes, he thought, had earned for themselves greater names for upright dealing. It had been said of him always that he could not be bought, and favoured no man unworthily. The serf got justice from him as easily as the baron, and lawless vagabonds had short shrift under his rule. Yet with this obsession of a crown holding him in its grip he seemed to have grown reckless, even callous. Bad enough, thought Raoul, to lead a Norman army into England; to loose upon the land this horde of foreign mercenaries who had joined his standard urged by no loyalty but by hope of plunder alone, would be a deed to cry shame on through the ages.

  To Gilbert d’Aufay he said later: ‘Unruly, ravening, swine rootling for truffles – God, what an army have we mustered!’

  Gilbert said peaceably: ‘I know, but good Norman blood will stiffen the rabble.’

  ‘Yes, you know,’ Raoul answered. ‘Full well do you know that it will be beyond even William’s power to curb these masterless rogues once plunder is in sight.’

  ‘Well, I do not like it,’ Gilbert said in his calm way. ‘I am for Normandy, but as I see it I am bound by mine oaths of fealty to fight for the Duke, be it here or outremer. As for you’ – he looked up gravely – ‘you are bound by friendship, and I suppose that is why you hate it so.’ He wrinkled his brow, trying to find words to explain the vague thought in his mind. ‘You care so much for William, don’t you? Now, I am his man, but I have never been his friend. I have envied you sometimes, but I have come to see yours is no easy path. It is better not to be the friend of such an one as William, Raoul.’

  ‘Treason, my friend,’ said Raoul lightly.

  ‘No, only truth. What profit is there in that friendship? What comfort? None, I think. William thinks of kingdoms and of conquest, not of you, Raoul, nor of any man.’

  ‘No.’ Raoul glanced fleetingly at him, and away again. ‘I have always known that. William stands alone. I have not looked for profit in his friendship. But years ago, when he and I were boys, I took service with him, believing that he would bring peace and strength into Normandy. Trust I gave, not friendship. That came later.’

  ‘He did bring peace, and strength too.’

  ‘Yes, both of these. No man ever did more for this Duchy. You might give him fealty of body and soul and not fear to be betrayed.’

  ‘Still, Raoul?’

  ‘Always,’ Raoul said tranquilly.

  Gilbert shook his head. ‘I think ambition is changing that.’

  ‘You are wrong. As well as any man can I know him, Gilbert. A crown he may desire, but beyond that is something more. Now you see how great a fool I am, that knowing this I must still grieve to see him pick up weapons – unworthy of his chivalry.’

  Gilbert looked at him curiously. ‘What made you give your heart to him, Raoul? Often I have wondered.’

  A smile crept into the grey eyes. ‘One little corner of it? Is that by your reading my heart? No, Gilbert, William does not deal in such tender stuff. Worship I had for him in my grass-time. Lads feed upon such stuff. It could not last. It changed to respect, as deep and more enduring. Yea, and friendship also: a queer friendship, maybe, but still – enough.’ He got up, and strolled towards the door. ‘Hearts are given in exchange one for the other. At least, not otherwise does mine leave my breast.’

  ‘But – Raoul, this is strange talk on your lips. I did not know … If he loves any man that one is you, I am very sure.’

  ‘Ah!’ Raoul looked pensively at the door-latch. ‘I would rather say: As much as he loves any man he loves me.’ He looked up; the smile lingered in his eyes. ‘That, my Gilbert, is why –’ He broke off; his smile grew. ‘Just that,’ he said, and went out.

  All that summer Normandy hummed with activity, and no man talked of anything but the coming expedition. The fleet, numbering nearly seven hundred vessels, both large and small, was built and lay at its moorings at the mouth of the Dives. The army swelled to giant proportions; if many thousands of foreigners joined it, at least two-thirds of the force was composed of Normans, and however the mercenaries might conduct themselves in England, in Normandy they were kept under a discipline that allowed of no rioting, or plundering of the countryside.

  At the beginning of August the Duke received the tidings out of Norway for which he had been waiting. Tostig and Harold Hardrada meant to set sail for the North of England towards the middle of September. Their plan was to wrest Northumbria from Morkere’s hold, and to march southward on London with such English auxiliaries as they could prevail upon to join their force.

  ‘You serve me better than you know, friend Tostig,’ said the Duke. ‘Harold is not the man I think him if he does not march north to crush that army of yours.’

  Four days later, upon the twelfth of August, the Duke left Rouen for Dives. Twelve thousand mounted men were gathered there, and twenty thousand foot, and in the river-mouth hundreds of ships swung gently on their anchors with the tide. Chief among them rode the Mora, which Matilda had presented to her lord. Crimson sails hung from the masts, and the prow was carved in the form of a child about to loose an arrow from his bow. The boat was caulked with hair, and gilded, and had a cabin built in the stern which was hung with worked curtains, and lit by silver lamps.

  Near to the Mora floated Mortain’s ships, a hundred and twenty in number, beating by twenty his brother Odo’s donation. The Count of Evreux had launched eighty vessels, all nobly equipped, and the Count of Eu sixty.

  The Duchess and my lord Robert accompanied William to Dives. Robert was feeling important, because his name was joined with Matilda’s in the powers of Regency which the Duke had delegated for the period of his absence; but he would have preferred to have gone with the army all the same, and when he visited the camps, and had his eyes dazzled with the sparkle of sunlight on steel, or went aboard the Mora, he became so envious that at last he blurted out his wish to his father, and asked to be allowed to go too.

  The Duke shook his head. It should have been enough, but Robert was desperate. ‘I am no child. I am fourteen, my lord. It is my right,’ he said, staring up sullenly into the Duke’s face.

  The Duke looked him over, not ill-pleased to find him so eager. Behind Robert Matilda clasped her hands suddenly in her lap. ‘Rest you, wife,’ the Duke said, with a little laugh. ‘You are over-young for this encounter, my son, and besides that you are my heir. If I return not, you will be Duke of Normandy in my stead.’

  ‘Eh, William!’ The Duchess rose quickly, her cheeks grown pale.

  The Duke signed to Robert to leave them. ‘What, Mald, afraid?’

  ‘Why did you say that?’ She came up close to him, and laid her hands on his ringed tunic. ‘You will conquer. You have always conquered. William, my lord!’

  ‘I wonder?’ he said, with a kin