by H A CULLEY
~#~
Robert de Cuille glumly regarded the walls of his tiny cell at the abbey of Solesmes. He was now a novice monk and found the tedium of the life and his lowly position almost unbearable. He wondered how his wife was. After being mistress of her own household she would hate idling away the days sewing and gossiping in Mortree Castle, where her mother was the chatelaine. He hoped that she missed him as much as he missed her. But his main worry was his son. He was fairly certain that Hugo must have been captured and was now held as a hostage; worse, he might be dead. Scarcely an hour went past when he didn’t think about him.
The bell for vespers rang out across the abbey and Robert trudged dejectedly from the dormitory block across to the chapel. Services came round with monotonous regularity. Almost as soon as vespers was over it would be time for compline. There would then be some respite until matins at two o’clock in the morning. That was the service he detested most.
Guests staying at the Abbey, mostly wealthy travellers and their servants, were also expected to attend worship in the chapel, except matins. Robert noted with surprise that one of the guests looked like a pedlar. Such folk normally stayed at a tavern or camped in the open. When vespers was over Robert was astonished to be beckoned over by the prior. He was the abbot’s deputy and managed the day to day affairs of the monastery.
‘Brother Robert, this man says he has some important news for you.’ He indicated the pedlar that Robert had noticed earlier. With that the prior swept out of the chapel.
‘Have you got news of my son?’ Robert asked eagerly once the two men were alone. The pedlar pulled him into the shadow of one of the huge pillars that supported the roof.
‘I come from Ranulph Peverel at Caen in Normandy.’ He spoke so softly that Robert could hardly hear him. For a moment Robert wondered why a pedlar would be working for a Norman viscount then it dawned on him that the man must be a spy. Presumably he was travelling around Maine so he could report back on the situation. ‘Yes, I have news of your son. He and his companion saved the life of Ranulph’s son, Guillaume, during a boar hunt and now Hugo is Guillaume’s squire. He wanted you to know that the boy is safe.’
A great feeling of relief swept over Robert. The despondency he had felt ever since he had arrived at Solesmes two months ago lifted and he felt almost euphoric.
‘Guillaume also said that, should you be able to escape from here and reach Caen, his father offers you a place in his mesnie until such time as you can recover Cuille.’ Before Robert could thank him the pedlar was gone.
He composed himself for a moment or two than walked out of the chapel. He was glad he had adopted his normal morose demeanour when he found Anselm, the sub-prior waiting for him.
‘Brother Prior wishes to know what that man wanted with you.’ Anselm sniffed and waved a hand towards the pedlar who was leading his laden donkey out of the stables and making for the gate.
‘He had sold my wife some ribbons at Mortree and had promised her that he would convey a message to me saying that her thoughts and prayers were with me.’ Robert had thought quickly and decided it was best not to say anything about Hugo, who was a still fugitive as far as the Angevins were concerned.
‘You must forget your previous life and your family. You are a novice monk now and all your thoughts should be about your Saviour’ the sub-prior intoned piously. ‘You will soon take your vows and become a monk, concentrate on preparing yourself for that great day.’
‘Yes, Brother Anselm, of course you are right’ Robert replied dutifully whilst his mind whirled at the news he had just received; all he could think about now was how he could escape.
He watched the prig of a sub-prior walk away and considered his options. As a novice he had to spend most of his time being taught with the other novices, mostly boys and youths, but there were a couple of much older men who had given all their possessions to the abbey in return for spending the end of their days praying for forgiveness. Robert despised them. They obviously thought that they could bribe their way into heaven. He had kept himself aloof from all of them so, consequently, he had no friends inside the monastery to help him. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about escape whilst Hugo might be a hostage but now he was free to act.
It would soon be harvest time when everyone: monks, novices and lay brothers, were expected to help in the fields. That would be his best chance to slip away without his absence being noticed for a while.
~#~
Duke William sat in the great hall of the new castle he was building at Caen. The hall was constructed of wood, as was the palisade and most of the buildings, though a few, like the stables, were wattle and daub. The one stone structure so far was the main gatehouse, which was nearing completion. The castle covered the whole of the plateau that stood above the town. When completed William intended it to replace Rouen as the seat of government for the duchy. It would also be large enough to contain a small army within the walls. At the moment it was occupied by a hundred or so tents housing his main nobles and their retinues but, such was its size, that the bailey was still fairly empty. He looked round at the council he had called to discuss the worsening military situation and wondered if he would ever be able to stabilise his duchy sufficiently to be able to put his ambitious plans into operation.
William had become duke at the age of seven when his father died whilst on pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Although some Norman lords remained loyal to William many rebelled or sought to seize the boy in order to rule in his name. It took twelve years of civil war before William crushed a major rebellion at the Battle of Val-ès-Dunes and could start to impose his authority on his duchy. King Henri of France, to whom he owed fealty, had supported the young duke in his minority but he had now become alarmed at his growing power and had joined with Geoffrey Martel, count of Anjou, to invade Normandy.
The twenty nine year old duke was initially reluctant to oppose his king on the battlefield but, as the combined French and Angevin army struck deeper into his lands during the summer, he concluded that he had little option and his nobles agreed.
‘Unless you take the field and defeat Henri and Martel all your struggles to unite the duchy over the past twenty years will be for naught.’ Ranulph Peverel slammed his fist down on the table to emphasise how strongly he felt.
‘I totally agree, William, we have been backed into a corner. You must send out riders to summon your vassals now before it is too late.’ Bishop Odo of Bayeux stood to indicate that there had been enough talking.
‘Sit down Odo. Even if I agree with you and the others we still need to decide our strategy.’ William sighed. ‘This battle needs to be decisive. No more invasions of Normandy or internal strife.’
‘According to our scouts they appear to be heading towards Caen my lord’ William de Warenne spoke for the first time. ‘To get here they will need to cross the River Dives at some point. Perhaps that would be a good place to attack them?’
A slow smile crossed William’s face. ‘Excellent idea Warenne. Ranulph, make sure our scouts let me know as soon as it is apparent where they plan to cross. Meanwhile we will assemble the army at Falaise.’ William stood to indicate that the council was over.
~#~
Hugo had settled well enough into his new role except that he did have a few problems with his fellow squires. Not only was he the youngest by a year but they were jealous of his service to one of the most popular and influential young knights at Caen. Furthermore he wasn’t even a Norman. At first they made him the butt of pranks, like sending him to Guillaume Peverel when he wasn’t needed. Then the pranks got more serious, such as wetting Guillaume’s helmet after he had spent an hour polishing it so it started to go rusty just before the knight needed it for a training session.
Initially Guillaume brushed Hugo’s apologies aside, suspecting what the problem was. Then he realised that they were beginning to reflect on him and he warned Hugo that he would have to get things sorted out. In a perverse way his salvation came when Rollo,
a seventeen year old squire, decided to pick on him. Rollo showed promise as a fighter but he was a bully and, like all bullies, attracted a following of toadies and sycophants amongst his own age group and those a little younger. Most of the older squires ignored him and the youngest ones went in fear of him.
One reason for this was his indolence. To save himself work Rollo got new squires to clean his knight’s armour and weapons whenever he could. The first time Hugo had refused so Rollo and his friends had given him a good thrashing. The next time he decided to be a little more subtle. The hauberk had a slit on the left hip for the end of the baldric to pass through. The baldric, worn over the right shoulder, was made of leather and held the sheathed sword. It was worn under the chainmail to protect the vulnerable leather strap with the end protruding through the slit. The sword and scabbard was then fitted into the end of the baldric. Hugo’s bright idea was to close up the slit. He didn’t think that Rollo would notice until he went to armour Sir Bertram for his guard duty the next day. He got out the wire that all squires carried to make temporary repairs to chainmail and threaded short pieces of wire though the links either side of the slit and twisted the ends together. He giggled to himself thinking of Rollo’s discomfiture when he went to arm his master and found out he couldn’t pull the end of the baldric through the slit in the hauberk; Sir Bertram would think that Rollo had done it deliberately. Hugo was so pleased with his little trick that he failed to consider what Rollo’s reaction might be.
He liked to get away when he could and watch the sun go down over the town below from the walkway which ran around the inside of the palisade. This was the only time he felt at peace. He regretted the fact that he had made no friends at Caen. He was a naturally gregarious child and he hated to feel so isolated. If he was honest he also craved the admiration and even jealousy of his peers. It made him feel alive. He did see Gilbert from time to time but the blacksmith’s son was now apprenticed to one of the senior clerks who served the constable and he was kept busy checking military supplies, copying guard rotas and learning to improve his reading and writing. Both boys had learned some Latin and basic reading and writing from the priest at Cuille. Sir Robert didn’t believe that such skills were beneath a noble, as most of his fellow knights and lords did. He knew that leaving everything to the bailiff or steward only allowed them to cheat their lord. So he had engaged the priest to teach Hugo what he knew, which wasn’t a great deal – village priests were not the most educated of men – and allowed Gilbert to join him to provide Hugo with some competition. Hugo was now too busy learning other skills, such as how to wield a sword and lance, when he wasn’t occupied looking after Guillaume’s arms, armour and war horses.
He sat wondering how his father was when he was aware of somebody climbing the ladder to the walkway behind him. It couldn’t be a sentry: they only went up and down when the watch changed and that wasn’t due for another half an hour. He cautiously crouched by the top of the ladder in case it was Rollo or one of his cronies trying to sneak up on him. He was therefore relieved to see that it was Tristan, one of the fourteen year old squires who trained with him. Although the lad had kept his distance from the new boy up to now he had never done him any harm or even teased him.
‘Hallo’ Hugo greeted him warily. ‘Are you looking for me?’
Tristan nodded. ‘I came to warn you that Rollo intends to do you serious harm.’ He looked around him. ‘We can’t talk here; too exposed. Meet me at the stables in ten minutes.’ With that he shot down the ladder and walked away.
Hugo was wary about entering the stables in case it was a trap. However, because of the number of horses kept at Caen, there were several stable blocks and Tristan didn’t say which one, which Hugo felt he would have done if anyone was lying in wait. Hugo eventually found Tristan on his own in the third one he tried.
‘What kept you? Never mind’ Tristan whispered ‘I overheard Rollo plotting with several of his cronies. I don’t know what you have done but he is furious with you. Anyway, you will be told this evening that Sir Guillaume wants you to take a message to someone at a tavern in the town. You will be given a written message and directions to the tavern but they plan to ambush you en route and take you into a quiet alley and kill you.’ He grimaced. ‘No doubt local thieves will get the blame. I don’t know you well and I’m not sure whether I like you or not but I can’t allow you to be killed, especially by that piece of dog dirt.’ He went to the door to make sure that they were still out of earshot. ‘Many of us have suffered at his hands and we detest him. So we have decided to help you.’ He paused. ‘The trouble is we don’t know how.’
Hugo smiled. ‘I am grateful for your offer of help.’ He looked Tristan in the eye. ‘It is good to know that I am not entirely alone.’
‘Let’s meet here again after we’ve eaten.’ Tristan left first and Hugo followed when he was sure no-one was watching.
~#~
‘You are to take this message from Viscount Peverel to Sir Guillaume. You’ll find him at the Coq Rouge on the Rue du Boucher. Go to the cathedral and take the street that heads north. The tavern is half way along.’ The squire’s face was impassive as he relayed the message. Hugo hadn’t seen him before so he presumed that Rollo had the wit to find an innocent dupe to deliver the sealed parchment that he was now handed.
As he set off towards the postern gate that was the only exit to the town after dark he saw Tristan in the shadows out of the corner of his eye. The other squire nodded to say that he had heard. Hugo lit his torch from the one in a sconce by the gate and slowly made his way to the cathedral. There were few people about after dark and so Hugo was fairly sure he wasn’t being followed. The cathedral square was deserted except for a few prostitutes on the lookout for trade. They ignored Hugo as far too young to attract their attention, though they piqued the boy’s interest. He had heard about them but never seen one before. Apart from a certain shabby garishness they appeared to look just like the servant girls in the castle.
He entered the Rue du Boucher which was in complete darkness apart from the meagre light from a candle behind a badly shuttered window in a hovel to his left. Hugo lifted his torch higher and started to walk down the narrow street. As he passed an alley off to his right he heard the faint sound of someone shuffling their feet. He smiled grimly to himself and walked on. Suddenly four figures emerged from an alley ahead of him. It was too dark to see who they were but he recognised Rollo’s taunting voice instantly.
‘Well what have we here? A little lamb lost in the street of the butchers.’ His three companions laughed dutifully, echoed by more behind him. He glanced behind him to find three more had emerged from the alley where he had heard the shuffling feet.
Rollo drew his dagger. ‘Time for the lamb to be led to the slaughter I think. You should have stayed in in the gutter where you belong, de Cuille. You’re not wanted here, especially not serving a fine Norman like Guillaume Peverel.’
‘You’ll be executed for this Rollo.’ Hugo tried to keep the tremor out of his voice but failed.
‘You think so? The watch will think it’s thieves. Even if they did suspect me my father is too powerful for them to risk doing anything. What are you? The son of a dispossessed monk from Maine.’
The utter distain in his voice was too much for Hugo to bear. Catching everyone unawares, he covered the distance between himself and Rollo in less than a second. He had intended to butt the older boy in the stomach but he tripped over a raised coble and, stumbling forward, he threw up his hands in an involuntary reaction so that the dagger in his right hand cut his tormentor’s cheek wide open. Rollo was prepared for the charge but the trip caught him unawares and, feeling his skin part like a pumpkin bursting, he stood there in disbelief for a second whilst Hugo recovered his balance. Then the pain hit and Rollo squealed like a pig, falling to his knees and clutching his ruined face. One of Rollo’s gang, recovering quicker than the rest, drew his own dagger and thrust it into Hugo’s chest, where it glanced of
f the chain mail vest he was wearing under his clothing. Suddenly the street was full of boys wielding clubs and beating Rollo’s companions about the head and body. Hugo saw one boy land a hefty blow on a shin and heard the crack of breaking bone.
Within a minute the street was left in the possession of Tristan and his friends as the older squires beat a retreat, half of them being helped by the other half. Then running footsteps and shouting announced the arrival of the city watch so the boys fled back through the cathedral square and past the startled prostitutes.
The next morning every squire in Caen was summoned to appear before the constable. Hugo was amused to see that Gilbert was there holding a portable desk so that the scrivener could take notes. One of the squires had his left leg in a splint, several had limped into the room and one sported a bandaged head. Rollo wasn’t present.
‘I have received a complaint from the city council that there was a brawl near the cathedral last night.’ The constable stared severely at everyone in the room. ‘It’s obvious that at least some of you were involved. The scrivener has noted down your names. Was anyone else there?’ He paused. ‘You,’ he pointed at the squire with the broken leg ‘who else was present?’
‘No-one. It was just us.’ The lad stared at him defying him to contradict him. ‘We had a drink or two and then an argument got out of hand.’
‘I see. I don’t believe you. The watch said that witnesses near the cathedral saw some younger boys fleeing the scene as well.’ He waited but no-one said anything. ‘We are about to embark on a campaign to expel invaders from Normandy and several of you are in no fit state to serve your masters. That is deplorable just when you are needed. No more fighting amongst yourselves or I will see that you cease to be squires. Understand?’ He turned to go.
