The Bastard King

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘And why should you, if it were hard-won?’

  ‘Matilda, has it ever struck you how alike we think, we two?’

  ‘Why should we not think alike? We are working towards the same goal.’

  ‘’Twas a happy day for me when I gave vent to my ill-humour and rolled you in the mud.’

  ‘And showed me a strong man. None but a strong man would have done for me.’

  He, who was never demonstrative with any but her, took her hand and kissed it.

  ‘You have given me so much happiness in my home and my family.’

  He liked to talk about their sons. Richard was his favourite, Robert hers.

  There was, however, a little discord between them over Robert. Her first-born, her darling. Was he beginning to mean more to her than William himself? Richard of course was a good boy. He learned his lessons and was a credit to his tutors; he rode well; he was of a sweet and docile temper; he was handsome too, more like his father in looks than either Robert or little William.

  The girls did not count in the same way as the boys. William had fiercely wanted boys and she had wanted them because she must show William that never could he be disappointed in her. Cecilia, Adelisa, Constance and Adela – four charming girls who stood in great awe of their father and of whom he was very fond, although he was not the man to show this. Cecilia was devout and Adelisa loved stories of romance; the others were too young as yet to show much preference for anything.

  Of the boys they talked constantly.

  Richard was the safest topic, for William could not find fault with him; but Robert who was now twelve years old was already showing signs of rebellion. He had all the spirit of his parents but he was more reckless than William had ever been and was constantly boasting of what he would inherit, and that he was going to be Duke of Normandy – which was rather irritating to his father.

  ‘Remember, boy,’ William reminded him. ‘I am not yet in the tomb.’

  Robert was good looking with his light chestnut-coloured hair and blue eyes, but he was short of leg, a fact which did not please William. He admired tall men like himself and Robert’s legs were so short in comparison with the rest of his body that William knew he would never have the look of a Viking. He was a Fleming, not a Norman.

  ‘And what is wrong with that?’ demanded Matilda.

  ‘It is becoming in a woman to be small and dainty,’ said William. ‘I would have liked him to have the height I expect of my son. Nay, Matilda, you have given me a Robin Curthose for a first-born.’

  Matilda was not pleased. Height was not everything she would have him know; and the Flemings were none the worse if they were on average shorter than the Normans.

  They might banter but resentment was growing in her towards William. Their first big disagreement was over their first-born.

  As for Robert he was inclined to be saucy. ‘Never fear my father’s anger, Mother,’ he said. ‘He cannot change me for Richard though I fancy he would like to. I am the first-born.’

  ‘He could dispossess you,’ she reminded him. ‘We shall have to take care of that.’

  Already, though he was but twelve years old, she was siding with him.

  Robert strutted in the children’s apartments. He was good-tempered when not crossed and indulgent to his sisters. They were often visited by the Saxons, Wulfnoth and Haakon, who had come to Normandy as hostages when Godwin had gone back.

  William had been discussing these two boys with Matilda.

  ‘I have often thought,’ he said, ‘that on the death of Godwin there is no real purpose in our holding them. At least I can see a purpose but Harold I should have thought would have asked for their return by now.’

  ‘Doubtless that man is so full of his own affairs that he has no time to think of a young brother and a cousin. How much longer can Edward live?’

  ‘Not long surely. And then . . .’

  They smiled at each other.

  ‘King of England,’ she said.

  ‘And Queen.’

  ‘While yet Duke of Normandy,’ she added.

  ‘I have a fancy for the place. I would fortify it. I would put it in order. Edward has been too weak.’

  ‘I think of Harold. Now he will be making himself liked and winning the people to his side.’

  ‘I have spent most of my life fighting for what I must hold. Do you think I shall hesitate to go on doing so?’

  ‘I have the utmost faith in your power to take all that you want.’

  ‘Did I not get you?’

  ‘I trust England will fall as willingly into your hands as your wife did.’

  They had their tender moments but he did suspect her of hiding Robert’s misdemeanours from him and she thought him over-harsh with her favourite.

  In their bedchamber little Adelisa was telling the younger ones the story of how Ragnar slew the dragon.

  Grandmother Arlette had told it to her as her grandmother had told her. ‘That,’ had said Grandmother Arlette, ‘is how the great stories of our heritage are handed down to us.’

  The little girls listened attentively; William, whom they called Rufus, partly to distinguish him from their father and partly because he had a thatch of wiry red hair and very rosy cheeks, said he would rather have been the dragon than Ragnar. ‘I wish I could breathe fire. I’d breathe it all over you and burn you up.’

  Adelisa was shocked. ‘But, Rufus, the dragon was bad. Ragnar was good and it was good really slaying evil.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ declared Rufus. ‘I’m a dragon. I’m breathing fire. You’re all burnt up.’ Adelisa went on with the story. They were used to Rufus so they ignored him.

  ‘He was beautiful,’ she said. ‘He had long golden hair and rings on his fingers and bracelets on his arms. He was strong and brave.’

  ‘Our father is strong and brave but he doesn’t have rings and bracelets.’

  They all laughed at the idea of their father in rings and bracelets.

  ‘He has a gold crown for his head,’ said Adelisa. ‘I’ve seen it.’

  ‘I’ve seen it,’ boasted Rufus. ‘I’ve worn it.’

  ‘You must not tell lies,’ said Adelisa. ‘You will go to hell if you do.’

  Rufus considered going to hell and decided he would like the adventure.

  He went on: ‘And his mantle. I’ve worn them. I’ve sat on a throne and . . .’

  ‘Rufus is lying again,’ said Adelisa sadly.

  Rufus pulled her hair, and the little girls looked frightened.

  ‘I’ll tie you up by your plaits and leave you hanging,’ said Rufus. ‘Yes, I will. Right till you die.’

  ‘You would be punished,’ said little Constance.

  ‘I’ll hang you up too.’

  ‘Don’t let him, Adelisa. Don’t let him,’ screamed Constance.

  Rufus crept stealthily towards her and she screamed with terror. Rufus liked to frighten his sisters; he had a violent temper too and would lie on the floor and kick if displeased. Only the thought of his father’s displeasure and stern punishment was able to deter him.

  Fortunately Richard heard the screams of his sisters and came in.

  Richard was tall, with his mother’s good looks and his father’s physique, but the temperament of neither. He was gentle and kind and the little girls adored him.

  Constance ran to him and flung herself against him.

  ‘Now, Rufus,’ said Richard, ‘what is this?’

  ‘Silly girls,’ said Rufus. ‘Only a game.’

  ‘You shouldn’t frighten them.’

  ‘They shouldn’t be frightened.’

  ‘It is your duty to look after them. Did you not know that, Rufus?’

  ‘I won’t,’ declared Rufus.

  ‘Then you will never be a pupil in chivalry.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘Then you will never win your golden spurs.’

  ‘Oh yes I will. I’ll win thousands and thousands . . .’

  ‘He won’t, will he?�
� said Adelisa clinging to her brother’s hand and looking up at him adoringly. Richard was beautiful and she loved beautiful people. Richard was like a knight from the old romantic stories which Grandmother Arlette used to tell. Beautiful, kind and coming to the rescue of ladies in distress. How she wished that Grandmother Arlette had not died; she had loved her dearly, more so than she did her other grandmother who was so important, being the daughter of a King. Daughters of tanners it seemed were more beautiful and more kind and loving. Richard reminded her in a way of Grandmother Arlette. Yes, although he was a man and tall he had a look of her.

  ‘I fear he won’t unless he mends his ways,’ said Richard. Then he turned his beautiful smile on Rufus. ‘But I think he will. For he is a very clever little boy, our Rufus, and he will do what is best for himself.’

  A slow smile spread across the rosy face of Rufus. He liked to hear that description of himself and of course he knew that he must win his spurs and that a knight did not torment little girls even though they were his sisters.

  As he had done so many times before, Richard was restoring order in the nursery. He was about to continue with the lesson when the sounds of arrival below could be distinctly heard. The children all ran to the window and clustered round it.

  A man had ridden into the courtyard; his horse was steaming and had clearly ridden far.

  The rider leaped from the saddle and, as a groom took his horse, he said in a loud and commanding voice: ‘Take me to the Duke.’

  William and Matilda bent over the chessboard. It was a game William enjoyed in his rare leisure moments. Nothing could thrill him as hunting did and when he was not engaged on state matters and the defending of his realm he indulged this pleasure with all the enthusiasm of which he was capable; but there were times when it was not possible to hunt; then he liked to sit down at the chessboard. The game with its implications of warlike strategies appealed to him and from his early days he had enjoyed pitting his wits against a worthy opponent.

  On this occasion as he sat over the board one of the servants came running in from the courtyard.

  ‘My lord Duke, a messenger from Ponthieu. He asked immediate audience. He says it is news of the utmost importance.’

  ‘Bring him in,’ said William.

  The messenger came; he bowed hastily and said: ‘My Lord, Harold, Earl of Wessex, has landed in Normandy.’

  ‘By God’s Splendour,’ cried the Duke.

  ‘He is the prisoner of Count Guy. It seems he was shipwrecked off the coast of Ponthieu and the Count is now holding him for a ransom.’

  ‘Harold, Earl of Wessex . . . here in Normandy!’

  Matilda had risen, her eyes brilliant.

  ‘He must be brought to me without delay,’ said William.

  The messenger hesitated and the Duke went on: ‘Come, tell me. Do not fear. What has your master said?’

  ‘He is holding the Earl of Wessex for a ransom.’

  William laughed, a harsh laugh which his subjects and his children had learned to dread.

  ‘A ransom, eh? The Count of Ponthieu was never a good vassal of mine. The Earl of Wessex here in Normandy and held prisoner by one of my vassals.’ He looked at Matilda. Her eyes were veiled. ‘I will have a message for you to take to your master,’ went on William. ‘You have ridden far and need refreshment. You shall be given this and a fresh horse.’

  When the man had gone William cried: ‘What great good fortune!’

  ‘You must bring him here. We must entertain him. We must keep him here until we have his promise not to oppose you.’

  ‘You speak my thoughts.’

  They smiled at each other.

  ‘How did he come to be shipwrecked off our coast?’

  ‘I would guess,’ said William, ‘that he was on a voyage to your father.’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘It may have been to negotiate with me through him for the return of Wulfnoth and Haakon. Edward must be growing feeble and Harold wants no hostages here.’

  ‘So he would wish my father to bargain with you?’

  ‘It seems reasonable. Don’t forget your father is the father-in-law of his brother, Tostig. I wish that marriage had never taken place.’

  ‘Well,’ said Matilda, ‘we have him here. The first step is to bring him to you. Let him be your guest.’

  ‘As soon as the messenger is refreshed he shall ride back to Ponthieu with my orders.’

  ‘I never trusted Guy of Ponthieu.’

  ‘Nor I. But since he rebelled against me and I forced him to swear fealty he can do nothing but obey.’

  ‘If he does not,’ added Matilda, ‘methinks it could go ill with him.’

  ‘Let us hope he realizes that as well as you do.’

  The messenger, refreshed, rode back with William’s orders that Earl Harold was to be brought with all speed to Rouen where he would be the guest of the Duke of Normandy.

  It seemed however that Guy of Ponthieu had not learned his lesson. The messenger came back with yet another communication. The Counts of Ponthieu had always considered that what was thrown up on the shores of their estates belonged to them. The Count realized that this particular piece of flotsam was somewhat valuable and in view of this he was asking a large ransom. Whether this was paid to him by Harold’s family or the Duke of Normandy mattered not to him. All he asked was his dues.

  Such a reply was enough to infuriate William. He was ready to march on Ponthieu. It was Matilda who restrained him.

  She signed to him to dismiss the messenger and, knowing that her opinion was always worth considering, William did so.

  ‘Harold must believe himself to be a guest,’ she insisted. ‘If you are ready to go to battle to take possession of him he will realize how eager you are to have him here and that he is more prisoner, than guest. Nay, he must come here and we will show him friendship. We must have banquets and sports for him and while he is here we will discover what is happening in England – how long Edward is likely to live and how much support Harold has in England. You might even persuade him to be your vassal.’

  ‘Persuade him?’

  ‘Gently at first. I can be very persuasive.’

  ‘I shall settle Ponthieu in my own way.’

  ‘I pray you, don’t have fighting over this matter – only as a last resource. Threaten Ponthieu but at the same time give him an opportunity of extricating himself gracefully. Offer him a choice. If he insists on holding Harold you will burn down his castle, take from him what he has and punish him with death. Let him give up Harold and you will reward him. You will pay the ransom and you might even give him certain lands in addition to what he holds already. This is the way to do it. You may be sure he is trembling in his shoes now, having incurred your wrath. He will think he has come out of the matter most happily.’

  ‘There is wisdom in this,’ said William, realizing that Matilda was right.

  In a very short time a message came from Ponthieu. Earl Harold had been released and the Count with Harold and his retinue was setting out to meet the Duke.

  Unable to curb his impatience William rode out with a glittering cavalcade to meet Harold.

  In a field of Picardy they came face to face. William was somewhat dismayed by the sight of the man who for some time had been very often in his thoughts. He had expected a replica of Alfred and Edward Atheling. Far from it. This man was every inch – and there were a good many inches for Harold was almost as tall as William – a warrior. That he was extremely handsome there was no denying. His was the kind of face which demanded attention and held it. His golden hair glistened in the sun; his eyes were deep blue, his features finely cut; his entire bearing charming. He must be some forty years of age, William calculated, but he looked younger than William. He lacked William’s bulk, being very slender. William, although not exactly fat, was showing signs of a corpulence to come. His robe was embroidered. William thought grimly, Matilda will be interested in that. The Saxons were noted for their needlework. On
Harold’s wrists were gold bracelets and there were rings on his fingers. Noticing these ornaments William reminded himself that Harold was a seasoned warrior for all his finery.

  ‘Well met,’ said William. ‘And welcome to Normandy.’

  Harold thanked the Duke for his hospitality.

  William threw a glance at the Count of Ponthieu, and said: ‘We must make up for your harsh reception.’

  He had since heard that Guy de Ponthieu had kept Harold in a dungeon. Well, as Matilda said, perhaps that was not such a bad thing for now he would the greater appreciate the kind hospitality of the Duke.

  ‘I am glad to find the Duke more chivalrous than his vassals,’ said Harold.

  William cast a cold look at Guy and invited Harold to ride beside him.

  ‘The Duchess was horrified when she heard of your treatment,’ William told him. ‘Pray do not judge Normandy by some of our churls.’

  ‘Such rustics, alas, exist in all countries,’ replied Harold. ‘It could well have happened that had you, my lord, been washed up on our shores, some lout might have imprisoned you in a dungeon.’

  ‘Happily we may dismiss that unfortunate beginning of your visit from our minds. We shall have much to talk of. Recently your King gave me great hospitality in his country; now I am going to endeavour to do the same for you in mine. Let us spur our horses. The Duchess will be impatiently awaiting our arrival.’

  Something exciting was happening. Adelisa knew it. The smell of roasting venison filled the castle. It often did but there was a difference today. There was such a bustle everywhere, and Father had ridden off with a band of important people and Mother was excitedly awaiting his return.

  Important visitors there often were but this was something even more.

  Adelisa loved to watch from a window the comings and goings at the castle. Sometimes a messenger came, travel-stained, his horse sweating. That meant important news. There had been such a coming a few days ago and now whatever was going to happen was a result of it.

  Constance and Adela kept asking questions. Cecilia, who was a little self-righteous, thought they should wait until they were told what was happening and not watch from windows and listen at doors. Adelisa supposed she was right but the temptation to discover was too great to be resisted.