The Bastard's Crown

by H A CULLEY

  His hall house was the only stone building in the manor. It was surrounded by a wooden palisade with a stout gate but the village was unprotected. It sprawled to the west of the hall and was home to some two hundred bondsmen, villeins, freemen and their families. About fifty of these kept weapons at home in case of attack, mainly crossbows, hunting bows, spears and daggers. Only professional soldiers had the expertise to wield a sword and shield properly.

  By the time that Sir Robert had reached the parapet by the gate he could see that part of the village was already in the hands of the attackers. A party of about ten mounted knights and sergeants was heading up the main track towards him. The rest of the attackers were slowly being engaged by more and more villagers.

  The mounted party halted out of range and one man rode forward holding up his hand as a sign that he wanted to talk.

  ‘Sir Robert, I regret that we meet under such circumstances. I am Sir Guy de Vihiers in the service of Geoffrey Martel, the count of Anjou and Maine.’

  ‘Herbert Basso is the only count of Maine I recognise.’ Sir Robert folded his arms as if that was the last word on the matter.

  ‘Then you are a fool. He is the prisoner of William of Normandy and to acknowledge Basso as overlord is tantamount to bending the knee to the Bastard’ Sir Guy retorted, referring to the duke’s illegitimate birth.

  ‘Rather a bastard by birth than one by nature.’ Robert regretted the words as soon as he had uttered them. Guy de Vihiers mouth tightened at the insult.

  ‘Very well. You will surrender yourself and your manor or you and everyone who owes you loyalty will be put to the sword. You have little choice in reality; however much of a fight your people are putting up at the moment we are only a small advance party; Martel’s army follows.’ He inclined his head towards the main track from the south from where a dust cloud was slowly building. ‘It’s time this part of Maine learned who now rules the county.’ Sir Robert knew then that he was beaten and told one of his men to toll the bell slowly to indicate his surrender to the villagers.

  He turned back to the Angevin knight. ‘What are your terms?’

  ‘You and your family will obviously have to leave. You personally have a choice: you can be imprisoned at Mayenne as a traitor or you can apply to enter the monastery at Solesmes as a monk, in which case you will hand over your son Hugo to act as surety for your future good behaviour.’ Sir Guy smiled thinly then continued ‘your wife may return to her family. In return the lives of your people will be spared provided they accept their new lord.’

  ‘And who is that pray?’

  Sir Guy smiled again for an instant before snapping ‘me. Now produce your son.’

  Tancred, his chief man-at-arms, came up and whispered in Sir Robert’s ear. It was his turn to smile. ‘He’s not here.’

  ~#~

  The boys’ first instinct was to run but they had enough sense to realise that would be fatal so they stood their ground. When the first soldier reached the crouching Hugo he had unwisely raised his spear to stab downwards at the boy. Hugo lifted the shield and the spear point glanced away, giving him the opportunity to stab the sword upwards, under the bottom of the man’s Gambeson and into his groin. Blood spurted all over Hugo’s sword arm and shield before the man collapsed screaming in agony. The third soldier hesitated for a moment, then Gilbert stepped from behind Hugo and pointed the crossbow at his head.

  ‘Oh shit.’ With that the man turned tail and ran back towards the village.

  ‘Why didn’t you shoot him?’

  ‘Because I didn’t have time to reload it.’

  Both boys burst out laughing, more in relief than anything. Hugo reluctantly discarded the sword and shield as being too heavy and cumbersome but picked up the spear that had so nearly ended his life. Gilbert found a dagger on one of the corpses and gathered up their fishing bags and the trout.

  ‘What are we going to do now, Hugo?’

  ‘Well, you heard the bell. I think it must mean that we have surrendered, but I need to find out what happened to my parents; and to your family as well’ he added hastily. His mind had been on his own plight and he now felt a little guilty that he had hardly spared a thought for Gilbert’s family.

  ‘If we go back to find out we will have to be very careful; the place with be crawling with the brutes and there is no point in getting caught just when we have escaped. In any case the soldier who ran away will have alerted others to come after us.’ Hugo thought for a moment, then he brightened up. ‘Why don’t we go to the old oak: we can see right into the village from the top.’

  Hugo was the better climber and a few minutes later he reached a branch from where he could see into the bailey. Ten minutes later he scrambled down quickly.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Gilbert impatiently.

  ‘Your parents are fine. I saw them amongst the other villagers.’

  Gilbert whooped with relief.

  ‘Shut up, you idiot. They aren’t that far away.’

  ‘Sorry. What about yours?’

  ‘My father was led out of the bailey with his wrists bound, sitting on a packhorse and accompanied by three sergeants. He didn’t appear to be wounded or anything. I just worry where they are taking him.’

  ‘And your mother?’ Gilbert prompted.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she will be safe, at least I think so. She got into a covered cart and headed off escorted by Tancred and our men-at-arms. I can only think that she is returning to Mortree where my grandfather lives.’

  ‘What do you think we should do now?’

  Just at that moment they heard the sound of several horses making their way through the woods

  ‘We need to get out of here. It sounds as if they are making for where we killed those soldiers.’ Hugo looked around. ‘I suppose our best bet is to head north towards Normandy where my grandfather lives. He might have heard what has happened to my father. If we make for Vitre first we can seek out our old bailiff who lives there with his son. He should be able to tell us how to get to my grandfather at Mortree. I went to Vitre with my father once but after that my geography is a little hazy. ’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t even know where in Normandy Mortree is.’

  They turned east and ran along the river and towards the border with Brittany and then crossed over. Once out of Maine they felt safer and slowed to a walk. Although there was occasionally cross-border trouble they didn’t think that the Angevins would want a dispute with Brittany as well as conflict with Normandy and the anti-Angevin faction in Maine at the same time. They walked until the sun started to set and then sought out a hollow for the night. Hugo had a tinder box and flint in his bag and they felt a little better once they had a meal of slightly charred trout inside them.

  The boys put out the remains of the fire and settled down to get some sleep. The next morning they found some berries for breakfast and had a perfunctory wash in a stream. They gathered up their gear and were just about to leave the hollow when they heard the faint sound of voices and the whinny of a horse. Then came a sound they dreaded most of all: the excited barking of a dog. The Angevins must be tracking them after all.

  ~#~

  Conan, count of Brittany, was suspicious. Much as he enjoyed hunting boar he had more important things on his mind at the moment. He had become count at age seven so his uncle, Odo of Rennes, was appointed regent, a position he enjoyed so much he refused to give it up when Conan reached his majority. Conan had eventually managed to overthrow his uncle and seize power for himself when he was twenty five. To consolidate his position he had his uncle thrown into a dungeon in chains. This had proved unpopular with some of his nobles who owed their own positions to Odo’s patronage. Conan had therefore been forced to embark on a tour of Brittany accepting the fealty of his loyal barons and either winning over or replacing those of Odo’s faction. He had now reached Vitre on the eastern border of his county. He suspected that Alain Lassay, Lord of Vitre, was not only disloyal but that he was in the pocket of William of Normandy.

/>   Alain had readily welcomed him to Vitre and shown Conan every respect, laying on today’s hunting for his enjoyment; but the presence of a young Norman knight called Giullaume Peverel as a guest was disconcerting. It was widely rumoured that Giullaume was the duke of Normandy’s son but, whether he was or not, he was a trusted and favoured member of the duke’s inner circle. Conan looked again at the Norman who was riding beside Alain, chatting away as if he didn’t have anything else on his mind except that day’s boar hunt, and wondered why he was really here.

  Guillaume himself didn’t know the truth of his parentage. He didn’t look like either Ranulph Peverel, who he called father, or Duke William, though he had the latter’s nose. The rumour was that the young duke had an affair with the daughter of a Saxon noble called Maud after she had fled to Normandy with her father in 1038 because of an argument with King Harold Harefoot. Having got her pregnant, William had arranged her marriage to Ranulph Peverel. Guillaume had heard that Ranulph had been granted several manors and been made a viscount in return for his accepting him as his son. As a viscount was a noble who assisted a count and was specifically responsible for tax collection and dispensing justice, this was a significant step up the social ladder for a relatively minor noble before his marriage. Privately the young man thought that gossip was probably correct; nevertheless he still thought of Ranulph as his father.

  William had enough to worry about with intrigue in his own duchy and the dispute with Geoffrey Martel, abetted by the king of France, so he preferred to have a weak and disunited Brittany on his other border. He had therefore sent Guillaume to Vitre with a large bribe to keep the pot boiling. The arrival of Conan with a large escort had been unfortunate as negotiations were just reaching a conclusion.

  Guillaume glanced across at Conan and wondered how effective a count he would prove to be.

  ‘What do you make of him?’ Alain nodded in the direction of the party surrounding his overlord.

  ‘To be honest, I’m not sure. He has acted decisively to seize power and to consolidate his position but he seems rather self-centred and perhaps a little impetuous.’

  ‘I think you are shrewder that you pretend, my friend.’ Alain studied the knight for a moment. He was handsome apart from his nose and that dreadful haircut that Normans affected. He was also young to be a knight: only seventeen when most had to wait until they were twenty one. He looked again at the shaven back half of Guillaume’s head and wondered why the Normans did it.

  At that moment one of dogs started barking, having picked up the scent of a boar, and the chase started. As expected, the quarry headed for where the undergrowth was thickest and those on horseback were forced to find a path through the forest and try and pick up the dogs and the huntsmen, who were on foot, further on. Guillaume and two companions took a path towards the south whilst the rest headed further west. At first the going was easy but then the trees closed in and one of his companions was swept off his horse by a low branch, breaking his collar bone. Leaving the other man to attend to him, Guillaume pressed on alone.

  ~#~

  Hugo and Gilbert lay under a bush at the edge of the hollow where they had spent the night. They were concealed but could see across the small clearing in front of them. Suddenly a large boar crashed through a line of shrubs and stood for a moment, its chest heaving, before turning to face two alaunts that leaped out of a thicket and landed on its back. The boar shook them off and speared one with its tusks, ripping its belly open and gouging out its intestines. As the other dog got to its feet several huntsmen arrived with two more dogs. One put the dazed dog on a leash and then all three dogs were allowed to tease the boar but were pulled back by their leashes if they got to close. It was the huntsmen’s job to keep the boar at bay until the nobles arrived to make the kill.

  But boars weren’t like stags. They were unpredictable and very dangerous. Boar spears had a sizeable cross piece below the point as a mortally wounded boar had been known to fight its way along a spear embedded in its body to reach the man holding it and kill him before it died. The cross piece stopped that happening but it also meant you could only thrust a spear so far into its body and thus had to get the point of entry right in order to pierce the heart.

  Suddenly a horseman rode into the clearing. Hugo was surprised to see that he was obviously a Norman by his haircut. He thrust his spear at the boar but it leaped to the side at the last minute and the point merely glanced off its tough hide. The horseman had thrust with all his strength and the deflection of the spear caused him to overreach and tumble out of his saddle, landing a few yards in front of where the two boys were hiding. Luckily for him the boar had decided to attack the horse which screamed as a tusk ripped into its underside. The man scrambled to his feet but his spear lay several feet away. The boar peered around and spotted him. There was little the huntsmen on the other side of the clearing could do. By the time they had unleashed the alaunts it would be too late.

  Instinctively Hugo was on his feet before he realised what he was doing and holding his spear as tightly as he could he ran and thrust it into the side of the boar aiming for the heart. The wounded animal squealed in pain and turned towards its tormentor, ripping the spear out of Hugo’s hands. He was certain that he was about to die, and die painfully, when a crossbow quarrel smacked into its head, killing it instantly. Hugo turned to thank Gilbert but then his knees gave way and he fell to the ground in a faint.

  When he came to a few seconds later the Norman was cradling his body and trying give him some water to drink.

  ‘You saved my life. I thought I was doomed until you burst onto the scene – and your friend of course.’ He nodded towards Gilbert who was standing by the bush under which they had hidden with the crossbow dangling at his side looking completely stunned. ‘Who do I have to thank?’ He looked at Hugo enquiringly. He hadn’t missed the quality of the boy’s tunic, even if it was rather dirty, had a few tears and was splattered with blood.

  It took the boy a few seconds to find his voice. ‘My name’s Hugo de Cuille; from Maine’ he added after a pause. Before he could ask the name of the knight several other horsemen arrived and then he was forgotten as Guillaume related the saga of the slaying of the boar. Hugo wondered if he and Gilbert could slip away whilst all the attention was elsewhere but then one of the horsemen dismounted and shook his hand.

  ‘I have you to thank for saving my guest it seems, Hugo de Cuille. But, if my memory serves me correctly, Cuille is a few miles away across the border in Maine. What are you and your servant doing on my land?’ Hugo thought that it probably wasn’t the moment to point out that Gilbert wasn’t his servant but the son of the blacksmith at Cuille.

  ‘Yesterday the Angevins attacked Cuille my lord and we only escaped because we were down by the river fishing.’ He thought it was probably best not to mention that they had killed three men in order to escape; it would sound like boasting and he probably wouldn’t be believed in any case.

  Startled gasps greeted this news followed by excited chatter.

  ‘Silence!’ Conan of Brittany pushed through the crowd. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘About fifty Angevins attacked Cuille at dawn yesterday my lord. My father, Sir Robert, didn’t have had a chance of defeating them and as we made our escape we could a see a large dust cloud to the south so it probably wasn’t an isolated group.’

  ‘Thank you. This is the first I’ve heard of this. We need to get back to Vitre and consider this news.’

  ‘What about these two my lord?’ asked Guillaume as Conan went to mount his horse.

  ‘I should arrest them for trespass in Brittany without permission but they saved your life so I’ll leave it up to you what you do with them.’ With that the cavalcade rode away.

  The huntsmen slung the boar on a pole to cart it back to Vitre and a groom brought up a spare palfrey for Sir Guillaume.

  ‘By the way I’m Sir Guillaume Peverel.’

  Hugo relaxed and smiled. ‘My grandmother was a Pever
el, Agnes Peverel.’

  Guillaume nodded. ‘My great aunt. Of course, I knew the name de Cuille rang a bell.’ The knight thought for a moment. ‘How old are you Hugo?’

  ‘Thirteen. Why?’

  ‘I’ve only recently been knighted and the son of one of my father’s vassals was due to join me as my squire when I return to Normandy. I’m sure my father can find him another post. How would you like to become my squire?’

  Hugo beamed with pleasure. The day had started so dismally but now it couldn’t be better. Then he noticed Gilbert standing forlorn and forgotten at the side of the clearing.

  ‘What about Gilbert?’ Hugo asked, again feeling guilty that he had forgotten about his friend who had saved his life twice now. Perhaps he was beginning to learn something about himself.

  ‘I owe Gilbert for my life too. I’m sure that my father can find him a suitable position. What is your trade?’

  ‘I’m to be apprenticed to my father the blacksmith next year.’ He paused and looked at the ground for a moment. Then, making his mind up, he added ‘but what I would really like is to be apprenticed to a steward.’

  ‘Well, you don’t ask much’ Guillaume laughed. There was all the difference in the world between a blacksmith, who was a skilled artisan, and a steward, who managed the detailed business side of a lord’s estates. ‘I can’t promise that, even if I do owe you my deepest gratitude. I am only a young knight, not a great land holder. But I will talk to my father, who is.’