by Jean Plaidy
‘You will do that.’
‘But if I were not here.’
‘But you will always be here.’
The Duke looked sadly at his son. ‘If I should not be I should like to leave her in your charge. Will you swear to me always to protect her?’
‘Father, I swear.’
‘So you need a strong arm and a good head. The out of doors will give you one but for the other you need all you can learn from Uncle Mauger.’
‘Then, Father, I will work hard at my books.’
‘It will please me if you make as good progress with them as you do in aught else. Remember though, it is a good Norman’s duty to defend his land at all costs.’
‘I know it, Father.’
‘Has Mauger taught of the history of Normandy?’
William’s eyes shone. He talked of Rollo – great Rollo, the Giant Walker, the hero who must walk because no horse was strong enough to carry him.
‘But a ship was,’ cried William, ‘and by God’s grace he came to Normandy. He sailed his ship up the Seine as far as it would go, and the King of France sat shivering on his throne . . .’
The Duke laughed. ‘So Mauger has told you that, has he?’
‘My mother tells me. She sings the old Norse songs to. me and so do many of the women.’
‘Never forget, my son, that you belong to that great race who settled here and founded Normandy.’
‘Never shall I!’ declared William.
‘You are of a tender age as yet, my son, but as you have learned you cannot dally long in childhood. A boy such as you must learn not only of his homeland but of those countries surrounding it. What know you of France, my son?’
‘France?’ said the boy puzzled. ‘My mother told me that the King of France would have great Rollo kiss his foot and that this Rollo refused to do. So he bade one of his henchmen do it for him and this man, being a good Norman who kisses the feet of none but his Duke, lifted his foot so high that the King fell backwards.’ William laughed. ‘It was a goodly thing to do,’ he added.
The Duke was silent. ‘You must understand this, William. We are in a measure vassals of the King of France.’
‘Could Normandy be the vassal of any?’
The Duke smiled. ‘My son, I would you were five years older. This small head has much to learn.’
‘It is a good head, Father, and eager to learn.’
‘I doubt it not. The King of France is powerful. He granted us this land and it is well for us to live in good friendship with him. If he called on us to help him and his cause were just, we should do so.’
‘But only if his cause were just.’
‘And to the good of Normandy.’
‘Yes, Father. I understand that.’
‘King Robert of France is a good man but a good man is not always a good King, my son. Robert Capet is of fine mien; he is a scholar, a musician and he loves poetry, but there is a weakness in him and he is at the mercy of his wife, Queen Constance. It is not good for a man to be ruled by women.’
‘Why does he let her rule him?’
‘Because he is a lover of peace.’
‘It is good to love peace.’
‘Only if it is a good peace. You must attend when your Uncle Mauger tells you of our neighbours. What know you of England, William?’
‘England.’ William wrinkled his brows. ‘It is across the sea, is it not?’
‘Is that all you know? You must know more because we have close ties with this land – stronger ones than those with France. Our Normans settled in that island even as they did in this land; and our friends are there, our own people, William. My father’s sister, my Aunt Emma, married the King of England. He was Ethelred, and at the time of the marriage was engaged in war with the Danes. Emma took many of our Normans with her to England when she went and such a marriage brings countries closer together. There were two sons of this marriage – Edward and Alfred. They are your cousins and they are in Normandy now.’
‘Why, Father?’
‘They are in exile, but more of that later. You will meet them and I wish you to be their friend.’
‘But I will, Father. I long to meet my English cousins.’
‘Now you must listen carefully for this is not easy to understand. Ethelred had married before and had a son Edmund. The Danes meanwhile had driven Ethelred and Emma from their throne and Sweyn of Denmark took possession of it. Canute, Sweyn’s son, reckoned he was King, but Edmund declared he was. There were battles and it was finally agreed to share the country between them; but when Edmund died Canute took his share and ruled as King of all England.’
William was bewildered but his father patted his shoulder.
‘You are young yet, William,’ he said. ‘But you will remember much that I have told you. I do wish you to be on good terms with your cousins Edward and Alfred, for one of them or both may rule England one day, and the ties between us are strong since your Aunt Emma married into the country. I must tell you now that she was not one to lose anything that she had won and she was determined to keep the English crown within her grasp, so when Ethelred died she married Canute. Now when she married him she made him swear that any child they had should inherit the throne. That excluded not only Canute’s son Harold Harefoot but also Edward and Alfred.’
‘But Edward and Alfred were her sons,’ said the puzzled William.
The Duke drew William between his knees and looked searchingly into his face.
‘The Danes were in control through Canute. Emma knew that her sons Edward and Alfred would not be accepted, so she turned her attention to her son by Canute and determined that Hardicanute should reign.’
‘Would you and my mother love other sons better than me?’
The Duke drew his son into his arms and embraced him fiercely.
‘Never, William,’ he said. ‘Never! Never.’ Then he was tender suddenly. ‘I would stuff too much into that young head of yours,’ he said. ‘Come, we will go into the courtyard and you shall show me some sword-play with your sticks and we’ll go riding with our falcons and mayhap we will hunt the boar.’
The boy’s eyes danced. He had momentarily forgotten the complicated family relationships which his father had attempted to make him understand.
In good time, the Duke promised himself, but I see I must wait awhile before I go on my pilgrimage.
The Duke’s visit was interrupted by the news of the death of King Robert of France. This was important to him for, as he said to Arlette, the safety of Normandy was bound up in that of France, ant the alliance between them which dated from Rollo’s day must be kept firm.
The messenger who brought the news was refreshed and given shelter in the castle and he had much to impart as to what was happening at the court of France.
Ever since she had come to France from Aquitaine, the Queen had made the poor King’s life a misery; she was so imperious, so malicious, and of such a governing nature that the meek King had been afraid of her. He never gave a gift to any of his servants without the admonition: ‘Pray do not mention this to the Queen.’ She was determined to have her way and her eldest son had never been her favourite.
The messenger’s account proved to be accurate for it was not long before a fugitive arrived in Normandy: King Henry of France.
William was told little of this. He went on practising outdoor skills with the stern Thorold whom the Duke had designated to teach him and he did his bookwork under the eyes of the even sterner Mauger; but Arlette was anxious because she was well aware that this new development at the French Court could mean war.
She was right.
In their bedchamber Robert talked to her of the matter.
‘Must there always be these wars?’ she asked.
‘There always have been,’ answered Robert. ‘I have given Henry sanctuary at the Abbey of St Jumièges.’
‘Where you keep all your exiles. The Athelings are there, are they not?’
‘Yes, they are. I want William to mee
t his cousins. I shall go to Jumièges to see Henry and I think it would be well if the boy came with me. It is time that he began to understand what goes on.’
‘You forget he is but five years old. You try to make a man of him before he is even a boy.’
‘I feel within me that he must grow quickly to manhood. He will come with me to Jumièges and that means, my love, that you will come too.’
‘And from there?’
‘I must needs ride out against the Dowager Queen of France and her upstart son. We Dukes have sworn allegiance to the Capet Kings and I could not stand by and see the younger brother replace the elder.’
She looked at him strangely and he would not meet her eyes. The death of his elder brother hung heavily over him.
Thus it was that William met his Atheling cousins. He was immediately attracted by them for they were so different from everyone he knew. They were not young, being some thirty years of age – men, in William’s eyes, older even than his father; but they did not appear to be so old because they were so gentle. They spoke softly; and they were so fair as to be almost white and they had the bluest eyes William had ever seen.
He was fascinated by those blue eyes. The brothers liked to read and write poetry, and they composed songs which they sang beautifully. Surprisingly to William, they found greater pleasure in these things than in sword-play and the hunt. They did not care for the hunt at all. William felt he should have despised them for this but how could he despise such noble-looking beings?
It seemed to him that in their presence some of his father’s men seemed awkward and rough. Edward and Alfred wore beautiful clothes and there were jewels at their throats and on their fingers.
Beautiful blue-eyed Athelings! thought William; and he was sorry for them because they were in exile.
There would come a day, his father told him, when they could be kings of England, for indeed they had more right to the throne than Hardicanute who was younger than they and had been born of their mother’s second marriage.
But at this time the Duke was more concerned with the rights of the exiled King of France than of the Atheling cousins.
It was an exciting day when the Duke rode out at the head of his army, the King of France beside him.
The Duke had told William on the previous night that he was going to set the King back on his throne. He was going to thwart the wicked Queen Constance, depose her young son and give back to King Henry what he had lost.
How thrilling it was to see the flag of Normandy flying in the breeze beside the golden lilies of France! And how excited William was to watch those gallant soldiers marching into battle, the knights wearing hauberks, their helmets and boots of shining steel flashing in the sun, their lances in their hands. The foot-soldiers too were well prepared with their feet bound in buckskins and hides about their bodies.
William danced madly round in his excitement.
His mother, standing beside him, seized his hand and held it very tightly. He looked up at her and saw how sad she was, and wondered how anyone could be sad to see such magnificence; and his father was the finest of them all.
He supposed she was sad because he was going away. He too would be sorry for that; but he was going to put the true King back on the throne and that was a good thing to do.
‘When I am a man,’ said William. ‘I shall ride just like my father does at the head of my armies.’
It was silent in the castle. Everyone was thoughtful; each day his mother went to the highest turret and waited there a long time.
William forgot his father for long periods because there was so much to be done. He wanted to have excelled in archery; to beat Guy at everything they did together, so that he could boast to his father when he returned.
Every time he performed some feat with extra skill he would say: ‘I will tell my father as soon as he comes home.’
The days passed quickly – except those hours with Uncle Mauger. Guy whispered that Uncle Mauger was not what he seemed, that although he was an Archbishop and supposed to be a Christian he worshipped the old gods, Odin and Thor, and that he practised sorcery.
‘Then he is a wicked man,’ whispered William.
‘If your father knew he would never allow him to teach you,’ said Guy.
‘Then it cannot be true, for my father knows everything there is to know and he would not allow Uncle Mauger to teach me if it were true that he were not a Christian.’
But he did not like Uncle Mauger and he would watch him suspiciously during lessons and strange pictures would come into his mind. He wondered what one did in practising sorcery. He had a clearer vision of the Count of Talvas of whom he thought now and then. Sometimes he dreamed of the hall of Domfront and terrible things happening to those who had been unwary enough to be caught.
In due course Robert came back to the castle. His armies had been victorious; he had routed the Queen Mother of France and her upstart son and he had set King Henry back on his throne.
There were the usual feastings and revelries to celebrate his return, but it was not long before he was considering a new project. He wished to do for the Athelings what he had done for the King of France.
William had an inkling of what was afoot. Since his talk with his father he had tried hard to discover all that he could of England. The country had a fascination for him, largely because it was the home of the beautiful Athelings. They had seemed oddly content with their seclusion at the Abbey of Jumièges. Robert visited them once more and William had been delighted to be in the company that went with him.
The cousins were a source of wonder to William. Their voices were soft; their hands white and beautifully shaped; their clothes were different from those of all others and William had an idea that they were transformed merely by being put on his cousins’ graceful figures. His father had told him that they were Saxons and this was why they were different. They grew fond of William and they would tell him stories of England and they told them beautifully after the manner of the old Norse sagas; these were not so much of conquests and bloodshed, but of peace and the spread of learning. They enjoyed talking of their ancestor the great King Alfred who, although a peace-loving man, had done much to defy the Danes and so ensure a period of peace. He had cared passionately for the betterment of his people and spent his time not in feasting and debauchery but in discovering how best he could promote learning in his country. He made just laws and instituted a system of fines for offenders, for he knew that the most effective manner of punishing offenders was through their purses. If a man deprived another of a leg or an eye he was fined fifty shillings, which, explained Alfred, was a great sum of money. There was a grade of these fines. For cutting off the ears a fine of twelve shillings was imposed and the loss of a tooth or a middle finger would cost the man who inflicted such damage four shillings.
William thought again of Talvas and decided that if such a system existed in Normandy, Talvas could lose all his fine estates for the injuries he had inflicted on his victims.
Yes, Alfred was a great King.
‘Yet a humble one,’ said Edward, ‘for with greatness comes humility.’
That was something William could not understand but he liked the story of how Alfred, when flying from the Danes, found shelter in a cowherd’s cottage and while seated at the fire preparing his bows and arrows, the cakes which the cowherd’s wife had set down to cook began to burn, whereupon the woman loudly abused the King – having no inkling of who he was – and cried out that he was too lazy to turn the cakes when he saw them burning but would be ready enough to eat them when they were done. And how had the great King behaved? He had sat still, humbly accepting the abuse and even asking for forgiveness, because, although he had brought wise rule to the country he governed, he had allowed the old woman’s cakes to burn.
That was humility, explained Edward. And Alfred had been rather a saint than a king.
William remembered that his father had said that a saintly man was not necessarily a king
ly one; but he was assured this did not apply to great King Alfred.
But Alfred had died and the good he had brought to his country had not in every case lived on after him. The Danes were a perpetual menace to peace, and how could any country survive without that? The English had lived through troublous times and in due course Ethelred had come to the throne, he who was known as the Unready because he was never prepared in time to meet the invader. And he had married Emma who for her beauty was known as the Flower of Normandy.
The result of this union were Edward and Alfred themselves.
But Ethelred could not stand against the mighty Danes and Sweyn of Denmark drove them from their thrones and into exile where Edward and Alfred had been ever since.
Nor were they sad to be in exile, William noted. They loved the life of the Abbey. Could it be possible, wondered William, that his Atheling cousins preferred the peaceful scholarly atmosphere of the Abbey to the warlike state of their own country? They had spoken with more reverence for their ancestor’s preoccupation with learning than for his skill in driving the Danes from his country.
They were strange, these Atheling cousins, and they made a deep impression on him.
Soon William realized why they had come to the Abbey. Robert had set the King of France on his throne and now he was going to recover the throne of England for the Athelings.
He told William something of this when he said farewell to him.
‘Those whom we help will be our friends,’ he said.
‘Will they remember, Father, that we have helped them?’
Robert tousled his son’s hair affectionately. ‘You have a point there, son. You will find that those we help are often ready – nay eager – to forget the service we have done. But there may be some grateful men in the world and we must hope those we choose to aid will remember.’
‘The Athelings would remember, Father.’
‘You have a fondness for these cousins, eh?’
‘I like to look at them. I like to listen to them. They have such beautiful blue eyes.’
