by Jean Plaidy
Robert laughed.
‘Well, I am going to conquer the land which rightly belongs to them. I am going to give it back to them.’
‘I think they would rather stay here, Father.’
Robert was silent but pleased with his son.
‘You will come down to the coast with your mother to watch us sail. There you will see a truly marvellous sight. The ships of Normandy, my son. Remember always that we are men of the sea. We are great fighters. Our knights in armour are a worthy sight, are they not? But first we are seamen. We owe all we have to the sea. Our ancestors left their own lands in search of others and they came in the long ships. We are invincible on land. But the sea belongs to us.’
And indeed it was a goodly sight – those long ships with their prows painted to look like dragons breathing fire as they plunged through the waters! So had their ancestors ridden the waves – Harold Blue Tooth and Giant Rollo. They struck fear into the watchers on the shore as they approached. And so would it be in England – the native land of the beautiful Atheling cousins.
The fleet sailed to wage war on England and William returned with his mother to await his father’s return.
That which William had believed impossible had happened. His father’s enterprise had failed.
Could it really be that the long ships had been defeated? Indeed it was so, though not defeated by another fleet, but by the elements.
As Robert’s fleet had sailed towards the English coast a storm had arisen and the great ships had been scattered and Robert’s own ship in which had sailed the Atheling cousins was washed up on the shores of the Island of Jersey.
What a sorry sight it must have been to witness the wreckage of those fine ships! Robert could only gloomily await the arrival of one of his captains whose ship was sufficiently seaworthy to carry himself and the Atheling cousins back to Normandy.
It was a sad homecoming. Robert was despondent. There was no feasting that night in the castle, for Robert had no taste for it. The songs of the minstrels could not charm him. He did not want to hear of the exploits of great Viking seamen when his own had failed so wretchedly.
In their chamber he buried his face in his hands.
‘My ships lost,’ he mourned. ‘My enemies will be laughing at me this day.’
‘It was the storm,’ soothed Arlette. ‘Who could stand against such?’
‘It was defeat,’ insisted Robert. Then he stood up and looked long into Arlette’s face. ‘God is displeased with me,’ he said. ‘He will never forgive me until I have expiated my sin.’
‘A storm could arise at any time,’ insisted Arlette. ‘No seaman could withstand such a storm.’
‘It happened to me,’ said Robert.
His gloom continued. It hung over the castle. In the great hall the cooks stirred their cauldrons in silence. Nobody mentioned the enterprise, and for William it was a great discovery. His father could suffer defeat.
At least, he reminded himself, the Atheling cousins would not be sad. He was certain that they were delighted to be back in exile.
Robert came to a decision. He told Arlette first what he intended to do.
‘I have committed many sins,’ he said, ‘and it is clear that God is displeased with me. I must show Him that I intend to lead a good life and dedicate myself to my country.’
‘He will know it,’ replied Arlette.
‘Yes, He will know it. But sins must be paid for. I shall go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. There my sins will fall from me like a wearisome burden. I shall feel free again. He has shown me clearly by sending this storm to destroy my ships that He is displeased with me.’
‘How could you leave Normandy?’
‘Only by leaving another in my place.’
‘You would appoint one of the seneschals?’
‘I would appoint my successor . . . our little Duke.’
‘William!’
‘Why not? I have decided that none but he shall follow me.’
‘A child not yet seven years old!’
‘A fine boy and old beyond his years. I will make a Duke of him. I will prepare all to accept him when I am gone.’
‘Do not speak of such things. Are we not happy now together? Why should we wish for anything different?’
‘You do not understand, my Arlette. I am heavy with my sins. I fear retribution if I do not seek forgiveness.’
‘Then ask it here . . . ask it on your knees.’
‘It is not enough. I must make sacrifices. I must leave what I love most . . . you and the boy and the girl. My home, my love, my little ones. I must leave you all and go to the Holy Land. I will be back, my love, purged of my sins.’
‘I fear,’ she said. ‘I fear greatly.’
‘It must be, Arlette.’
‘What if you do not return?’
‘You will have a son to protect you.’
‘A little boy. Even William could not do that.’
‘You shall have protectors, my love. But I must think on this. When I saw my broken ships I knew that this was a sign. I cannot pass it over.’
And Arlette was filled with great foreboding.
William had ridden out into the forest, Thorold beside him as ever. There was something going on in the castle, he knew. His father looked strange and remote and no more confidences were exchanged between them now, although sometimes he would find his father’s eyes fixed upon him in a kind of wondering stare. His mother was silent too. Sometimes she would seize him and hold him tightly against her. He wanted to wriggle free but did not care to hurt her by doing so. They were both acting strangely and he believed it had something to do with the great defeat and the disintegration of the fleet. He wanted to remind them that at least the Athelings were happy. They did not want to go out and conquer England and regain the throne.
But all this could be forgotten in the fresh air and to ride through the green forest was a delight. Thorold had said he must give up ponies and master a real horse and this he had done after a while, although it had not been easy. There was so much to be learned; he must be a pupil in chivalry and the mastering of a horse however fiery must be quickly accomplished.
The bearers had carried the venison home. It was a fine beast. There would be rejoicing when it reached the great hall; but doubtless there would be the same solemnity at table as there had been since the return of his father.
They left the forest and rode into the town and as they did so a heavy, broad-shouldered man dismounted his horse and swaggered towards them.
There was something terrifying about this man; William had been aware that the few people he had seen had disappeared into their homes. The man was evil; there was no doubt of that. It was in those small lively eyes, that thin cruel mouth. On his face was the mark of a thousand debaucheries and it was evident that those eyes had looked on sights from which all decent men should turn away.
Thorold had laid a hand on William’s bridle so that their horses were still close together.
‘Count Talvas,’ said Thorold, ‘I present to you the son of your Seigneur.’
William felt the colour in his face. This was the man of whom he had heard such tales. This was the most wicked, the most cruel man not only in Normandy but in the whole of the world.
He knew that what he had heard had been only half of the atrocities this man had committed; he knew that he had strangled his own wife with his bare hands because she had begged him not to practise such cruelties; he knew that he had married another and at his wedding feast committed such odious and sickening torture on his victims that he had shocked even those who followed in his footsteps.
To be unprepared for such a confrontation left him bewildered. He had dreamed of this man whose name was a byword. Grown up people and children lived in terror of being taken into his dungeons and submitted to the most nauseating and obscene torture.
What had his father said? ‘If you fear look straight into the face of your fear. Then perhaps you will be less afraid.’
>
That was all he could do now.
For several seconds the man and the child looked into each other’s faces; it was the man who dropped his eyes. He turned away, muttering to himself: ‘A curse on you. You and yours will destroy my house.’ He was clearly afraid to look into William’s face.
Thorold was astounded.
‘What happened to you?’ he said.
‘I merely looked at him and, Thorold, I was not afraid. It was he who feared me.’
It was astounding. It was like a miracle. What power had this child to subdue such a man?
When Arlette heard an account of what had happened, she said: ‘It was the innocent goodness of the child against the wickedness of the man. It is a sign. Once before I had a sign when I dreamed that a great tree came from my body and covered the whole of Normandy and beyond. This is another sign. My son will soon be proclaimed a Duke of Normandy and he will be the greatest Duke that Normandy ever knew.’
Duke Robert sent for his son and when William arrived he drew him to the stone window-seat which was cut out of the thick wall of the castle, and putting his arm around him bade him look down on the land.
‘Normandy,’ said Robert. ‘Our land, my son. Our dear, dear land.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘You are nearly seven years old, William, but as I have told you before, you are old for your years. You are as advanced as any boy of ten in my dominions.’
William glowed with pride and his father went on: ‘This pleases me, for I have something of great importance to say to you. I am going on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.’
‘Shall I go with you?’ asked William seeing himself smiting the Saracens, planting the Christian cross on lands where it had never been before.
‘Nay, William. You will stay here and guard your mother and Normandy.’
‘Can I do that?’
‘You will do it because before I go I am going to name you my successor. You will be a Duke of Normandy and the knights and barons will swear fealty to you.’
‘Would they do this?’
‘They would do it if I commanded them.’
‘Perhaps they would say I was over young.’
‘They may say what they will as long as they obey.’
‘Father, what must I do to be a Duke?’
‘You must learn your lessons; you must become strong, ready to be a leader of men.’
‘It seems no different from what I do now.’
‘First you must be educated; you must learn with a new zest.’
‘So it is to be still learning.’
‘I want you to understand the importance of this. I shall be far away. I had promised myself that I would be here to watch over your upbringing, but it cannot be. Now, my son, you will understand that a boy of seven cannot alone govern a great domain. My good friend, Alain of Brittany, will be Regent in your absence.’
‘My absence, Father?’
‘You are to finish your education at the French Court and have as your guardian none other than the King.’
William was filled with dismay. ‘Do you mean I am going away?’
‘Only for the time that I am on my pilgrimage.’
‘What of my mother?’
‘She will be safe and happy here.’
‘Safe and happy. Without you . . . without me.’
Robert smiled. How could he tell this boy how he feared for his safety when he was not there to protect him. How could he tell Arlette that his journey was a dangerous one and it might well be that he would never come back to them?
He feared for them both; but his guilt was greater than his fear. He could not rest until he had expiated his sin and the only way he could do this was through this pilgrimage.
He would make every possible arrangement for his loved ones. He trusted Henry of France. Had he not been responsible for placing him back on the throne? Henry must needs respect his vows of friendship; he must have gratitude for the one who had been of such great use to him. He would care for the boy; he would recognize him as Duke; William would be safer at the Court of France than anywhere else in the world.
As for Arlette he had plans for her. She would need a man to care for her and he had already instructed Herlwin of Conteville, one of his most trusted knights, to marry her and care for her for the rest of her life if death should overtake him.
‘Tomorrow we shall leave for Rouen and there the knights and barons will swear fealty to you. They will give their solemn oaths that they will accept you as their Duke. When this is done I shall go away content that all is well.’
To ride to Rouen beside his father, to see lying before him that great city of Normandy – this was an experience he would never forget.
There flowed the River Seine, silver in sunlight. The city was like an enormous castle shut in by its walls and the moat, its spires and roofs dominated by the square tower of the Cathedral and the keep-like edifice known as Rollo’s Tower.
The Castle itself was bigger than that of Falaise and this was their destination. Never had he felt so proud as he did riding into Rouen with his father. The people came out of their cottages to see him pass and raise a cheer for him.
The Duke smiled his approval.
‘Look, William,’ he said, ‘the people love you already. Always must a ruler cherish the love of his people.’
William was thinking: To go away, far from my mother, far from home. To the French Court. He tried to remember what the French King had looked like when he had ridden out to do battle for his throne; he could remember nothing of him. He thought: I shall have to leave my dogs, my horses, my falcon. I want to stay here.
He could have wept, but how could a Norman weep, especially one who had been told he had no time to dally in childhood?
His mother was subdued and sad; she did not wish his father to go to the Holy Land and her son to go to France.
In the great hall the knights and barons were assembled. His father led him to the throne which he alone used and bade him sit upon it.
Robert then addressed the assembly.
‘Behold your Duke.’
There was a silence that seemed to go on for a long time. Then there broke out a murmuring. William’s sharp ears caught the whisper: ‘Bastard.’
It was like a dream such as those he had had of Domfront Castle and almost as frightening. He had noticed since he had come to Rouen that people looked at him strangely. They whispered and stopped when he approached. ‘He is young.’ they said, ‘and a bastard.’
His cousin Guy, boasting of his legitimacy, had used the word as though it were something unpleasant; and now he had discovered that he was one.
His father’s face was angry suddenly and when he looked so he had the power to silence any of his vassals; they were quiet as he explained that he was going on a pilgrimage and that he was leaving them their Duke – his own son William. He might have seen but seven winters but from this moment he was their Duke and they were all to swear fealty to him.
Again there arose that titter and once more William heard the ominous whisper: ‘Bastard.’
‘He is my son.’ The words were like a clap of thunder. There stood Robert the Magnificent, Robert the Devil; and his words were a warning. ‘It is my will that you accept this boy. He is my chosen successor. Bastard he may be, but he is mine. You will all swear fealty to him.’
Another silence then someone – it was Osbern de Crépon – cried: ‘Long live Duke William.’
He stood before the altar in the great Cathedral while Archbishop Mauger, sterner than ever he was in the schoolroom, demanded of him: ‘William, will you in the name of God and the people of Normandy be a good and true ruler and guard your people from their enemies? Will you maintain truth, punish evil and protect the Holy Church?’
‘I will,’ said William. ‘So help me God.’
‘Kiss the gospel book,’ whispered the Archbishop, and this he did.
Two bishops then came forward and put about his shoulders the du
cal cloak of red velvet edged with ermine. It was so heavy it was difficult for him to support it. A golden coronet was placed on his head. It was so big that it fell over his brow; a sword was placed in his hands and thus encumbered he must make his way to the throne.
Seated there, weighed down by these heavy accoutrements he received the oaths of allegiance from the knights and barons.
‘Sire, I proclaim myself your vassal in word and deed. I swear loyalty to you and to preserve your laws as far as therein lies my power,’ pronounced each of them in turn.
Robert looked on triumphantly while this was done and never before had he so delighted in his son.
Thus William became Duke of Normandy; and a few days after the ceremony Robert left with his son for Paris.
At the Court of France
FOR THE FIRST weeks at the Court of France William believed he would never cease to mourn for the past. His father had taken a tender farewell of him – and how different he looked in the garb of a pilgrim! Not Robert the Magnificent at all. The King of France was kind; he had sworn to Robert that he would care for William as he would his own son; but William, recently a Duke who had received the oath of fealty from his vassals, found it hard to accept the fact that he was a vassal of the King of France.
Before he left, his father spoke seriously to him. It had emerged that William was possessed of a hot temper. He would scarcely have been his father’s son if he was not. But he must curb it. He must share his possessions. It had also been noted that there was a certain avaricious streak in his nature. All Norman failings. Duke Robert was condemning them now because his mind was occupied with spiritual matters. At one time he would have thought it not such a bad thing that a leader could grow suddenly fierce and that he should regard his possessions with some affection.
Avarice had brought him to this pass. Had he not coveted his brother’s dukedom? If he had been content to take second place he would not be setting off on a pilgrimage now.
The King of France talked to William on the day his father left and told him that at his Court he would be instructed in the art of chivalry; he would hunt with his falcon; he would have his dogs and horses and he, the King of France, would do all in his power for the son of a man who had befriended him in his hour of need.
