That night the lady of Langston stood upon the walls of the keep, silently watching the midsummer fires. She could see the shadowy figures of the dancers nearest the keep. It was a primitive celebration, and Belle, knowing what all the passionate dancing would lead to, longed for her husband. Alette, however, through the early weeks of her confinement and beginning to show just the faintest of bellies, was placid and content as Isabelle had never seen her.
“How can you be so calm not knowing what is happening?” she demanded irritably of her parent. “There could have been some horrendous battle. Hugh and Rolf might be horribly wounded!”
“Then they would be brought home so we might nurse them,” Alette responded reasonably. “If you are not going to eat that dish of cherries, Isabelle, I would be obliged if you would give them to me. They are absolutely delicious. Why, you haven’t even tasted them.”
“I don’t want them, madame,” Belle replied shortly. She hated not knowing what was happening. When her father had gone with Duke Robert on his crusade, she had not cared, for she was but a heedless child, but now it was her husband who had gone off, and she loved him. She couldn’t understand how Alette, if she really loved Rolf, could be so composed and so tranquil. It was absolutely aggravating! Still, the entire countryside seemed wrapped in summer, and very placid.
And it was peaceful. The king’s position was a relatively strong one. He had made alliances with both King Philip of France and the Count of Flanders, a relation. Neither France nor Flanders wanted to see England and Normandy united again. It was best that the warring brothers be kept separate, and each in his own domain. Henry’s other ally was the Archbishop of Canterbury, Anselm, who had been exiled during most of William Rufus’s reign. One of Henry’s first acts had been to recall the archbishop, who preached in favor of Henry’s claim to England’s throne. The king’s enemies, however, were some of the most powerful of the Anglo-Norman lords. They hoped that with Henry deposed and gone, and Duke Robert, a fine soldier, but an incompetent ruler who would more than likely remain in Normandy, in his place, they would be free to rule England. The most dangerous of these lords was Robert de Belleme, who held the Welsh marches. He was both ruthless and cruel, and cared only for his family’s advantage.
In July word came via a passing peddler that the Norman fleet had been sighted. Their current course would bring them to England in the vicinity of Pevensey. Duke Robert, instead, landed to the south at Portsmouth on July 19. He and his army headed for London, but Henry, a fierce fighter and far better tactician than his eldest brother, quickly moved his forces to check Duke Robert. William the Conqueror’s two surviving sons met on the London road. Archbishop Anselm stood between them, negotiating the treaty that would spare England another fruitless war.
King Henry would concede his Norman holdings to Duke Robert, and pay his brother two thousand marks of silver each year. Those who had turned traitor against Henry would be pardoned, and their lands restored. Whichever of the brothers died first, and without legitimate male issue, the survivor would inherit his sibling’s holdings. Since Queen Matilda was with child, this last was thought irrelevant, especially as Robert’s duchess was also young and would surely bear sons.
The king, his face long and sad, waited with bated breath for the duke to accept the terms as dictated by Archbishop Anselm. Take the terms, my dull-witted elder brother, Henry silently prayed. He sighed gustily, and was hard put to keep from shouting his triumph when Duke Robert, grinning, certain he had bested his little brother, said, “Done, by God!”
“God bless you both, my sons,” the archbishop said piously. “You have saved us all much suffering. Both Normandy and England will praise your names. My clerks will draw up the compact between you, and you will sign it in the morning. For now, let us eat together.”
An enormous tent had been set up in the center of the English camp for the nobles to feast together. A rough high board had been fashioned, and three chairs were set behind it. Archbishop Anselm sat in the center, the king to one side of him, the duke on his left hand. Below, tables and benches were placed, and with much merriment the celebration began. Servants ran back and forth bringing trenchers of bread and pitchers of wine. Outside, whole sheep, sides of beef, and whole pigs roasted over open fires. Musicians moved about this temporary hall, playing and singing. For all the supposed goodwill, the king’s adherents stayed on one side of the tent and the duke’s men on the other.
Henry was feeling quite mellowed now. He had avoided a very nasty conflict by virtue of his own cleverness. Two thousand marks of silver was little enough to pay for England’s throne. Not that he couldn’t have beaten Robert in a contest of arms. His foolish brother’s withdrawal, Henry thought, would give him time to consolidate his position further. The northern border with Scotland was secured by his marriage to the sister of Scotland’s king. And England would be further secured by the removal of those traitors who now sat eating his meat and drinking his wine, comforted by the belief that he had pardoned them. Well, he would not destroy them for this particular fault. But he would find others, and he would rid England of men like Robert de Belleme, who held the Welsh marches in his tight grip. Shortly he would not. And I will have Normandy, too, Henry thought coldly. Not today, and perhaps not tomorrow, but I will have it all the same within five years. He smiled to himself, his eyes sweeping about the room, mentally noting the disloyal, and those loyal to him as well. He saw his childhood friend, Hugh Fauconier, with Rolf de Briard. They had answered his call, and come with twenty men who were well provisioned and, from the look of them, well-trained.
The king whispered to his page, “Go to Sir Hugh Fauconier and tell him that I would see him and Sir Rolf de Briard in my tent when this evening is over.”
“Yes, my lord,” the boy replied, and hurried off to do his master’s bidding.
Henry saw Hugh nod curtly in answer to the page’s summons. He smiled. Faithful Hugh. He remembered his mother telling him as a child that Hugh, treated with courtesy and respect, would be the best friend he would ever have. He could almost hear his mother’s sweet voice even now, over the din in the tent. He could see her pretty face. Her youngest child, he had been her favorite, the one to whom she had left all of her English holdings.
“Hugh Fauconier may not be a great lord, or the son of a great lord, Henry,” his mother had told him, “but he has good breeding. The line of Merlin-sone descends from a younger son of the kings of Mercia. His father’s people were cousins of the lady Godiva, the Earl of Wessex’s wife, which is why they followed Harold Godwinson into battle at Hastings. Once they pledge their loyalty, they are true to it. Hugh’s maternal grandfather pledged his faith to your father as King Edward’s heir long before the battle which won your father England. They are not a powerful family, nor have they great riches. Their strength is in their loyalty, and their honesty. Gain Hugh Fauconier’s true friendship, Henry, and this Saxon lordling will always serve you well. You will find as you grow older, my son, that good and faithful friends are as rare as hen’s teeth.”
Henry Beauclerc had accepted his mother’s word. She had never lied to him or played him false. He trusted her as he trusted no other. Besides, he had liked the young Saxon boy come to court to be his companion. Unlike so many of the little Norman boys he knew, Hugh Fauconier was friendly and fair. He did not cheat, and when others did, Hugh would shake his head and invariably say, “ ’Tis no victory if it is not won honestly.” At first the others would mock him, but gradually they ceased their cheating because Hugh’s simple words shamed them. There was something about this tall, plain-faced Saxon boy that made them want to please him, become his friend. Hugh, however, while courteous to all, chose his own friends. Prince Henry was one, and Rolf de Briard the other. And as his mother had promised him, Hugh Fauconier served the sons of William of Normandy faithfully.
After the feasting was done, Hugh came to the king’s tent with Rolf. The three men greeted each other affectionately. A page brought
goblets of good wine, and the trio sat together for the first time in many months as old and cherished friends.
“Tell me how Langston pleases you, Hugh,” the king said. “Your missive told me little more than the plain facts.”
“I found the estate in good condition, my lord. Belle had managed it well in her father’s absence, for Robert de Manneville had scarcely left England when the old steward died. Everything was as it should be. The most amazing thing was that because she could neither read nor write then, she kept the records of everything done, and the figures, in her pretty head.”
“Then you need have no fears for Langston in your absence,” the king noted. “Is it a pretty place?”
“Great stretches of fields, and softly rolling low hills, my lord. Some forest. Aye, a very sweet land. I thank you for returning it to me. There are still some serfs alive on it who remember my family.”
“And the lady, Hugh?” The king’s eyes twinkled. “Is she as fine as the land? She sounds a most competent and perhaps even a frightening lady for one as young as she.”
Hugh laughed. “The serfs used to call her Belle from Hell, my liege,” he said. “She has a fierce temper, and would not allow them any quarter. She is strict in her judgments, but none ever called her unfair. I think they resented her most because she was a female. I find her a good wife, however. I am content with Belle.”
“Father Bernard is happy?” the king asked politely.
“We are building him a church, and his own house,” Hugh said. “I think he enjoys ministering to Langston’s folk far more than he enjoyed being one of your many chaplains, my liege. He is filled with energy at all he must do and the many duties that claim him.”
“And you, Rolf.” King Henry turned to his other companion. “Are you pleased with your position as Langston’s steward? You will be looking for a wife soon, I have no doubt, now that you can afford one.” The king chuckled.
“I have already remedied that lack in my life, my liege,” Rolf told Henry. “When we first came to Langston, I fell in love at first sight with Robert de Manneville’s widow, the lady Alette. She became my wife, and we are expecting our first child around the feast of the Nativity. Hugh is building us a house within the bailey of the keep.”
The king laughed heartily. “You are a sly fellow, Rolf de Briard, and a fortunate one, too, I think. Is the widow pretty, then?”
“My mother-in-law is a beauty,” Hugh told Henry. “Prettier than my Belle, though she be lovely, too.”
“I am pleased that it has all gone so well for you, my lords,” the king said to them. “I need a strong England, and loyal knights. I know I can count upon you both now that this matter with my brother has been settled for the time being.”
Hugh and Rolf immediately understood the king’s emphasis, and nodded silently. “We are always here for you, my liege,” Hugh told him. Then, lowering his voice, he asked, “What will you do with the disloyal? You have after all promised to pardon them.”
The king smiled wolfishly. “Indeed I have, but there are other ways of containing the rebellious, and their rebellions, my friends.”
“We are with you, my liege,” Hugh replied firmly.
They spoke on until finally the king admitted to being tired, and his companions left him. In the morning the king’s men and the duke’s men came together to witness the signing of the peace accord between the two brothers. Afterward the king called to Hugh Fauconier.
“Come and pay your respects to Duke Robert, Hugh. He wishes to speak with you about your hawks.”
Hugh came forward and bowed before the duke, a handsome man with strong features and mild blue eyes. “How may I serve you, my lord duke?” he inquired politely.
“Henry tells me you are now raising those fine birds that your grandfather once raised. Is this so, my lord?”
“My mews is but newly built, my lord duke,” Hugh said. “My grandfather still raises his hawks in Worcester. I have several breeding pairs, and some young birds this year, but little else.”
“I want a gyrfalcon,” Duke Robert said. “It must be snowy white and trained to hunt cranes. Can you supply me with one?”
“Not until next spring, my lord duke,” Hugh answered honestly. “I have a fine young bird, born two months ago, of snow-white parents. Her mother is the best gyrfalcon I have ever owned. Her offspring should be even better once she is trained, but the training will take time.”
Duke Robert nodded. “I am willing to wait for a bird trained by the line of Merlin-sone, Hugh Fauconier. When she is ready, bring her to me yourself so that you may personally instruct my falconer in this bird’s care and feeding. Such a creature is true royalty.”
Hugh looked to the king. “With my liege’s permission, my lord duke,” he said.
“You have my permission, Hugh, to take the bird to Normandy. Let it be a gift from me to you, Robert,” Henry said graciously.
The duke inclined his head toward his younger brother. “My thanks, Henry. It will be an expensive gift, I think.” Then he smiled.
The king laughed. “What will you take for the bird, Hugh? Will a quarter knight’s fee do you?” He then turned to his brother. “Hugh’s estates at Langston are worth two knights’ fees to me each year, plus the service he renders me. He is a faithful man.”
“Langston?” The duke thought a moment, and then he said, “Henry, I must speak to you about Langston. The son of the previous lord is disputing its ownership. He has asked me to speak to you about it.”
“Is he here?” King Henry asked.
“Aye, he is,” Duke Robert said.
“Call him forward, and we shall settle the matter now,” the king said. Then he winked at Hugh, for he had heard the previous evening about Richard de Manneville’s visit to Langston.
Richard de Manneville came from among the ranks of the duke’s men, bowing first to his liege lord and then to the king.
Henry noted the younger man’s error, or was it sly discourtesy? “What is your claim to Langston manor?” he asked Richard de Manneville in a stern voice.
“Langston was given to my father outright by your father, sire. I am my father’s sole surviving, legitimate heir. The manor is mine by right of inheritance,” the Sieur de Manneville told the king.
“Your father made a will, my lord, leaving Langston to your sister Isabelle to be her dower, and an inheritance from him. A copy of that will was among the papers of my brother, William Rufus, then the King of England, for it was written here at court and approved by him. I learned of your father’s death before you even thought to inform your sister. As king it was my right to claim the wardship of such a young, innocent, undefended maiden. So I did. In my capacity as your sister’s guardian, I gave her in marriage to my own man, Sir Hugh Fauconier. Your sister is content with the arrangement, as am I,” the king finished. His tone was final.
“That being the case,” Duke Robert said, “the Sieur de Manneville can surely offer me no further objection, or make any claim upon this manor.” Duke Robert was a fair man.
Richard de Manneville’s dark eyes were angry, but he knew he had no other choice than to accept the decision rendered by England’s king, and his own duke. He bowed to the two men with ill-disguised bad humor, but the king was not yet finished with him.
“Come, my lord,” he said in jovial tones. “You have not yet met your sister’s husband.” He drew Hugh forward. “My lords, greet one another, and give each other the kiss of peace.”
Hugh, amused by the situation, did his king’s bidding. His brother-in-law was stiff with anger, but Hugh pretended not to notice. “Come, Richard de Manneville,” he said, “and let us share a cup of wine together. I am sorry I was not at Langston when you called. My good lady wife, of course, informed me of your visit.”
“And did the bad-tempered wench tell you that she would not even offer me a night’s hospitality beneath your roof, my lord?” Richard de Manneville said irritably. “I had hoped marriage would mature my sister, b
ut I see you are as lax with her as was our father.”
“My wife is a unique creature, Brother Richard,” Hugh said, pressing a goblet of the king’s wine into the Sieur de Manneville’s hand. “She did not trust you, I fear, but I am certain ’twas just foolishness upon her part, eh? Women are such skittish creatures.”
“That is true enough,” Richard de Manneville agreed grudgingly, raising the goblet to his lips and drinking deeply.
“Then it is resolved between us, and we are friends?” Hugh said with a smile.
Richard de Manneville shrugged. “Very well,” he said. “Besides, it is unlikely we shall ever meet again, Hugh Fauconier. There is little need for me to leave my estates but for my service to Duke Robert each year. I have a son now, and the promise from my wife of other children. I wish you the same good fortune. I hope my sister will prove a better breeder than my stepmother, the lady Alette. She could only give my father Isabelle in all the years that they were married. Perhaps it was for the best, however.”
Hugh raised his own goblet to Richard. “I wish you a safe journey home to Normandy,” he said quietly.
When the two men had emptied their goblets, they parted.
“So that is the end of it, then,” Luc de Sai murmured, coming to Richard de Manneville’s side.
“How little you know me, Luc,” was the reply. “It may take a bit of time, but Langston will be mine one day. Let my sister and her husband believe that they have won. Let them be lulled into a sense of false security. In the end I shall triumph. Be patient.”
“And your sister will be mine?” his companion asked.
“If you want her, aye,” Richard de Manneville answered.
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