by Jean Plaidy
He took him to his private chamber in the monastery at Gloucester where he had asked William to join him. It resembled a cell in simplicity.
He cannot have many years to live, thought William speculatively.
‘You would have been happier to stay at Jumièges I believe,’ he said.
‘Ah, that may well be so,’ Edward replied. ‘In the days when Alfred and I were there together, my life was one of contentment.’
‘Although you were exiles from your native land.’
‘Normandy had become home to us. We were so young when we were taken there and could remember little of England.’
‘I see much that is Norman here.’
‘They blame me for being too Norman in my tastes. Poor simple folk, I only introduce Norman customs when they are better than the Saxon ones.’
‘This man Godwin is in Flanders.’
‘I know. A traitor. Long may he stay there.’
‘Are the people with him?’
‘He has a following. He and his sons. Harold is the most dangerous. He is in Ireland now. They say he is gathering an army there and will come here and bring back his father.’
‘You hate Godwin,’ said William.
‘I am a Christian and hate no man. I have tried to forget that he was behind the murder of my brother Alfred, but I find it difficult.’
‘They are ambitious, this family.’
‘They want the crown.’
‘Who would you nominate as your successor? The sons of this man? Harold? Tostig?’
‘Never.’
‘Could they say they had a claim?’
‘Doubtless they could. His daughter is my wife.’
‘Whom you have put from you?’
‘She was never my wife and now she is in a monastery. I have never taken a wife nor any woman. Godwin insisted on the marriage but he could not make me consummate it.’
‘He says that he brought you to England, that he made you King, that you could not have come without his support.’
‘I suppose that is true. But power such as that man has is corrupting, particularly when he was not born to it.’
‘He is formidable. Are his sons equally so?’
‘Harold is strong, a serious young man, ambitious like his father. Tostig is too wild; so is Sweyn who is in exile. He is a man who would never be accepted. He has been twice exiled. Previously because on his return from an expedition into Wales he passed a convent and sent for the Abbess. He thought it amusing to violate her and he lingered with her for some time before sending her back to her convent. Such lewd behaviour I would not tolerate so I sent him away. His father, of course, used his influence to have him brought back but no sooner was he back than he killed his cousin and then even his father did not attempt to plead for him.’
‘So it is Harold or Tostig whom Godwin will try to put on the throne.’
‘Harold, I think. The eldest son, a man of courage, of action and beloved by the people. But you will understand, William, that I have no wish to see the son of my brother’s murderer on the throne.’
‘I see it, Edward. But what will you do?’
Edward turned his misty eyes on William. ‘I would like to see Normandy and England under one strong ruler.’
William felt the faint colour rising in his cheeks.
‘I would bring strong rule to this country,’ he said.
‘I know it. I have heard of all the dangers that have beset you in Normandy and I have applauded the manner in which you are succeeding. Yours was a difficult part, William. Duke when an infant. What dangers you have come safely through and I hear that you have not frittered away your strength in debauchery. Yes, William, I have had this in mind for a long time. Because of your strength, and the virtuous life you have led, I wish the next King of England to be you.’
He could scarcely wait to get back to tell Matilda, but first he wished to see something of this land which he was now determined one day to rule.
He begged that he might explore the country incognito, taking with him a small band of men who would look like a group of ordinary travellers.
He was excited by what he saw. Here was good fertile land; here were forests in which deer and boar lurked. He hunted a little and was delighted with what he found. He discovered that the many excellent laws introduced by Alfred the Great still remained. The monasteries which his pagan ancestors had destroyed had been rebuilt; the roads, many of them which had been built by the Romans, were good; and there was, for the traveller, the occasional house which was given the Saxon name of inn. There were other places where one could refresh oneself and these had the name of gest-hus or gest-bur and in many of them they kept a chamber in which a number of people might rest for the night; they were placed at points on the road where they could be easily found. The ruling body was the Witenagemot; this was as the name implied in the Saxon language: the meeting of the knowing. It had supreme authority because it was made up of various witans from all over the country. It met once a year – or twice if the need arose. William decided that to a king such as Edward this was admirable. A ruler such as he was himself would prefer to have no restrictions.
As Edward had introduced so much that was Norman into the country, the people’s manner of eating and enjoying their leisure was very similar to that which he had always known.
During the journey through the English countryside he conceived a great love for it and the desire to rule it obsessed him.
He was torn between a wish to linger and to go back to Matilda to tell her what he had seen and heard.
Flushed with the triumph of his visit to England William decided that Pope or no Pope he would wait no longer for Matilda. He rode to Lille and there he was joyfully received by her. He told her immediately what Edward had said to him.
‘He has promised you the crown,’ she said. ‘He must make it clear that it is to be yours.’
‘He will do that. It is for him to name his successor. But I may have to fight for it. I have seen much of these Saxons. They are a stubborn band and I believe could be good fighters. I heard nothing but praise from them for Godwin’s son Harold.’
‘When they know you, my love, they will have nothing but praise for you.’
‘They will first have to know me.’
‘How long can Edward live?’
He laughed. ‘You go too fast. First Edward must die and there is the most important event of all which must take place – our marriage.’
‘And the Pope’s threats?’
‘We will set them aside.’
‘You mean that, William?’
‘I mean I will wait no longer, come what may.’
She threw back her head and laughed.
‘Why have we waited so long, William?’
‘Because I could not ask you to marry me if I were without a land to rule and there were so many trying to wrest it from me. Only the defence of my land prevented our marrying. Then I took my trip to England.’
‘Which I urged you to do. That time was not wasted, William. Did you not come back with Edward’s promise, the promise of a pious old man. He took one vow that he would have nothing to do with women and how well he has kept that! We must see that he keeps this other promise – to make William of Normandy King of England. Oh, William, the future is ours. But first I must tell you what has happened here. Godwin has left for England. Edward has received him but is sending his son Wulfnoth and his nephew Haakon to Normandy as hostages for Godwin’s good behaviour. I have heard through Judith that his son Harold has raised an army in Ireland. He will meet his father on English soil and then the Godwins will resume their old position in the country.’
‘But I am to have the hostages. I’ll guard them well. It’s ill news, Matilda, that Godwin is back. But never fear, when the time comes I shall be ready for him and his sons. But that is for the future. Now without delay, our marriage shall take place. Lead me to your father. I will tell him that I will wait no longer.’
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��I will come with you,’ said Matilda gleefully, ‘and add my voice to yours. Come, my William. The waiting is over.’
Who but William and Matilda would have dared marry with the threat of the Pope’s displeasure hanging over them?
It was the month of May and the wedding ceremony was to take place in the first city of Normandy. Rouen was gay on that day. Banners fluttered everywhere; the bells rang out and the people thronged the streets.
All the chiefs, knights and barons were present. Arlette, the happy mother, was there with the members of her family, all men of substance now; Matilda’s parents rode with her. She was very beautiful in her white gown, decorated with tiny pictures etched in gold thread and bordered with gold and precious stones. On her head was a glittering circlet of gems.
The people gasped in admiration no less for William than for his bride. He had always carried himself with dignity but on this day in his mantle of spun gold and his tunic of glittering gems he looked like a god, and the people of Normandy were proud of him.
There was one notable absence. Archbishop Mauger, who would in the natural course of events have officiated, was not present. But it had not been difficult to find a priest to be his substitute. The ceremony took place in the porch where all might witness it and hear the firm responses of the bride and groom. The ring was on Matilda’s finger. She was now the wife of William of Normandy.
They had been married in the eyes of the people and then it was time for them to celebrate mass, so they walked over the flower-strewn nave to the altar.
The ceremony over, there was feasting and revelry. This continued with games and dancing far into the evening; but the hour had come for which the bridal pair had long been impatient.
In the bedchamber the scent of flowers filled the air; they had been strewn on the floor as they had been in the church. Matilda’s ladies came to her, undressed and prepared her for the wedding night.
Matilda was no reluctant bride. Joyously she awaited William.
Lanfranc goes to Rome
THESE WERE THE happiest days William had ever known. He threw aside his restraint; he forgot he was the Duke of Normandy. Thus, he thought, must my father have felt when my mother came to him and he loved her from then on to the end of his life.
So did he love Matilda. Her ready wit, her fearlessness, her strong nature and determination to have her way, delighted him. She resembled him in many ways. She excited him – not only physically but mentally. Here was a woman who would understand immediately his aims and desires – and help him to achieve them.
She had changed his life. He could now laugh at his anger when people had insulted him because of his birth. He cared nothing for that. Let them insult him all they wished. Nothing could undermine his confidence any more.
Papers were brought to him to sign. He penned a signature he had never used before. ‘William the Bastard.’
He looked at the words and laughed aloud. He was proud of them. Yes, he, the bastard, the result of love such as he now knew to be all transcending. Better the son of such parents than the offspring of two who had been put together because their union meant the sealing of a treaty. To be born of love was nothing to be ashamed of; and to be ashamed was an insult not only to himself but to his mother – the one he loved best in the world next to Matilda, who had never had aught but his good at heart.
He, the bastard, was a duke of Normandy (he believed in his heart that he would one day be King of England); he was married to one of the noblest Princesses in Europe and she had married him for love, not because she had been forced to do so. He was in love with her and she with him, with William the Bastard.
He was a great ruler and a happy husband. Bastardy had not prevented his becoming that. It was not a title to hide away. It was one to be proud of. He would flaunt it. He should be known from now on as William the Bastard.
Within a month Matilda was pregnant. She was overcome with joy.
Had she not always known it would be thus? She was married to the most important man in Europe – or so she insisted – and she was considering the future. Poor Judith, married to Tostig who believed he might have a hope of the crown of England. Ha! with William there to take it! and now their union was to be fruitful. They would have a son. Yes of course they would have a son. How could William and Matilda do aught else?
Very soon after their wedding news came of the death of Godwin. On his return to England he was joined by his son Harold and the Saxons, still smarting from Edward’s favouritism towards the Norman population, flocked to his banner. Harold was their hero. He was not only brave but handsome in the Saxon manner and he had many loyal supporters. Edward’s horror of civil war induced him to make a speedy peace and reinstate Godwin. Now the tables were turning and many Normans were arriving in Normandy to live in exile for it was clear that their enemy Godwin was back as strong as he ever was.
William, deep in the happiness of his honeymoon, refused to be perturbed by these events. Clearly if Godwin had remained an exile his chances would have been the greater; but he was not a man to flinch before difficulties and when the time came he would be ready.
He was not sure that Godwin’s death was good news, for this meant that Harold, the idol of the Saxons, was now at the head of the Godwin family. He had become governor of Wessex, Sussex, Kent and Essex. Soon after Godwin died, Siward, the Earl of Northumbria, died too. Siward had been a man of great power in the north. He it was who had helped Malcolm of Scotland to his throne after the usurpation of MacBeth. On Siward’s death Tostig was then given the earldom of Northumbria, thus ensuring the important counties of England were in the hands of the Godwin family.
This was dangerous, William conceded. But the manner of the old Earl’s death reflected no credit on him and would be remembered against them, for Godwin had died suddenly as though struck down by God for his misdeeds and it was generally believed that this was what had happened.
He and Edward were dining together when one of the servants carrying two large tankards, slipped and seemed as though he would throw the contents of the tankards across the board. One leg appeared to have doubled under him, but with the other he restored his balance. Such an odd and skilful piece of contortion did it seem that it set the company laughing.
Godwin said: ‘It is well the fellow has two legs. They are like two brothers. When one is in difficulty, the other comes to his aid.’
This seemed like a reference to his sons who, he was implying, would come to the help of each other if any one of them was attacked.
Edward, who had never ceased to mourn his brother Alfred and constantly brooded on the terrible manner in which he had died when, it was said, with Godwin’s connivance his eyes were put out, retorted: ‘I think constantly of my brother and I pray that God may one day avenge him.’
Godwin turned a shade paler but assumed an air of innocence. He could not ignore the King’s remark for the look which accompanied it was significant.
‘Why do you look at me thus when you speak of your brother?’ he asked. ‘If I had aught to do with his death, may God stop me from swallowing this morsel.’
With that he took a piece of bread, chewed it and attempted to swallow it, but as he did so he began to choke: his face was suffused with violent colour and in a few moments he was dead.
An awed silence fell on the company. Many believed that they had just witnessed the vengeance of God, and Godwin had been struck down for the part he had played in the murder of Alfred Atheling.
Harold might persuade the country that the Earl was ageing; he had recently suffered exile; he had been failing in health for some time. Had they not seen men before struck down at the board? And if it were true that God was wreaking his vengeance why should he have waited all these years for it when He could have put it into effect years ago?
But no matter what was said, people still believed that the Earl of Godwin died because he had asked God to strike him down if he were guilty of the murder of Prince Alfred, and this was
God’s answer.
The blissful days of the honeymoon were not allowed to continue.
At the instigation of Archbishop Mauger a declaration was read in all the churches throughout Normandy to the effect that the Duke and his Duchess were excommunicated because they had disobeyed the command of the Pope and married when forbidden to do so.
‘To the devil with the Pope,’ said William. ‘I’d not go back on what I’ve done for all the Popes or any man in Christendom.’
Matilda was in agreement with him and they continued their idyll until the news was brought to them that William’s uncle, the Count of Arques, his grandfather’s illegitimate son who was therefore his uncle, had set himself up as the Duke of Normandy. He had extended his estates and fortified his castle.
‘By God’s Splendour,’ cried William, ‘I’ll teach the fellow a lesson. He is going to take me away from you and that I find as hard to forgive as his treachery.’
He left Matilda to pray for him and begin embroidering garments for her baby. Finding solace as ever in the needle, she turned to it now.
Rarely had William shown his military genius so clearly.
Spurred on by his desire to return to Matilda, he laid siege to his uncle’s castle, preparing to starve him and his followers out as he had done on other notable occasions, when news was brought to him that the King of France was coming to the aid of the Count of Arques; he had sworn to rescue him from his besieged castle and set him up as his vassal to work for him. In exchange he should be given the title of Duke of Normandy in the place of his nephew who was a bastard just as he was.
With all the skill at his command William contrived to lay an ambush which he commanded having left a garrison at the castle to hold the siege, and thus was able to cut down the French contingent before it arrived. Henry’s best men were killed and he himself was obliged to return to France.
William wrote frequently to Matilda giving her details of what was happening. It was a condition she had insisted on. He was glad of it; it kept them in touch; moreover her advice was valuable. So deeply had she his affairs at heart that he always gave heed to what she had to say and delighted in her counsel.
