by Jean Plaidy
‘There will be feasting today,’ said Adelisa; ‘and then the minstrels will play and there will be stories told down there. How I wish that I could be there.’
It was difficult to settle to lessons. Even the familiar stories which she liked to hear over and over again had little charm for her. There was too much excitement in the air.
‘There is something special about this visit,’ said Adelisa. ‘I know it.’
‘You will have to wait and see,’ said Cecilia, ‘and I shall pray that the visitor will be someone good and not someone who is going to plague our father so that he has to ride away to punish people.’
‘Listen,’ said Adelisa. ‘They are coming.’
That exciting sound of horses’ hoofs! The trumpet calls! This meant important arrivals. The grooms were waiting to receive the horses. Their mother was waiting in a low-cut gown that flowed gracefully to her feet; one thick golden plait over her left shoulder, the other hanging down her back. A veil covering her head and a glittering ornament holding it in place. And then their father rode into the courtyard with their guest. Adelisa gasped. Never had she seen such a beautiful being. Thus had she imagined the gods and heroes who had figured in her stories.
This man who rode beside her father was not so much a prince as a god. The sun made a golden halo of his hair; he was so beautifully clad in his embroidered robe; tall, slender, smiling.
He must be one of the heroes stepped out of her stories but never had she imagined one as beautiful as this.
Adelisa was bewitched.
She crept out of bed and hoped her sisters would not hear. She must peer down into the hall where they would be feasting. She must see him, hear him. He had spoken to her father. His voice matched the rest of him. It was soft and musical. How undistinguished everyone was compared with him, even her own father of whom everyone was in awe. They were earthy; he was heavenly. Could he be really flesh and blood? Could there be such beauty on the earth?
Her parents were excited by him. She had never seen them so pleased with any of their guests. She was glad. It would be unfitting for anyone not to pay him the homage his beauty demanded.
She retreated up the stone stair which circled as it ascended. She dared not be seen. She dreaded her father’s anger as they all did, even Rufus, although he pretended not to; and even Robert, although he pretended even more. Richard of course would never incur it.
Now even if she could not see she could listen and perhaps from the sound of voices identify that sweet one.
She crept back to bed and dreamed of him.
She could not attend to her lessons. Whenever he rode out, as he did often with her father, she was at the window.
Once her mother found her there. Her shoulder was caught in a firm grip. Adelisa was as much afraid of her mother as she was of her father. She was unsure of her, even more than of her father. His anger was terrible and fierce and punishments were meted out for disobedience and wrong conduct but the children were aware of why they displeased him and they could avoid that displeasure. Their mother was not so easy to understand.
Now she said: ‘Ha! what do you here? You are always prying at our guest.’
A hot blush crept into Adelisa’s cheeks. Then she had been observed!
Matilda caught her ear and pinched it.
‘It would seem to me that you have a high fancy for Earl Harold.’
‘I . . . I thought him good to look upon.’
‘You are not alone in that, child. He is one of the handsomest men most of us have ever seen. Your father is very happy to have him with us.’
Adelisa looked pleased.
‘Why, he has bemused you! You have begun early, my daughter, in giving your affections to men.’
‘Only to this one, Mother.’
That made Matilda laugh and again Adelisa was not sure whether she had pleased her mother or whether she was in disgrace.
‘He is a mighty man in his own country, Adelisa.’
‘It is clear,’ said Adelisa, unable to stop herself. ‘It is only necessary to look at him to see that he is . . .’
‘A great lord,’ supplied Matilda, ‘in fact a king.’
‘Is he a king?’ asked Adelisa excitedly.
‘I believe he imagines himself to be . . . almost that.’ She laughed again. ‘Why, Adelisa, I believe that if he offered to ride away with you on his charger you would go. You would leave us all for him.’
Adelisa was distressed and feared that her mother was really angry. The thought of this god riding off with her on a charger was intoxicating bliss; but of course a good daughter should not wish to leave her family.
Matilda pinched the ear a little harder.
‘’Tis natural,’ she said. ‘These people are attractive.’ A faraway look came into her eyes and it was replaced suddenly by a look of fierce anger. ‘They set a high price on themselves, Adelisa, but never forget you are the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Normandy.’
Her mother left her. There were no threats as to what would happen if she were caught spying again; there was no reproach because she had implied she would willingly ride away with him on his charger.
She was free to indulge her imagination and Harold, Earl of Wessex, continued to fill her thoughts.
In spite of his easy manners, Harold was far from happy. It was an ill fortune which had thrown him up on the coast of Normandy. He did not trust Norman William and he well knew what his ultimate aim was. Harold had set out for the Court of Flanders, there to negotiate for the return of his brother and nephew. How unpredictable were the storms about the coast of England! If he had known he would find himself in Rouen, the honoured guest, which meant the prisoner of the Duke of Normandy, he would never have set out.
His dignity had been outraged by his treatment at the hands of Guy of Ponthieu and considerably restored by William the Duke; but he knew that although he was accorded the respect by the latter which had been denied him by the former, his position at Rouen was no less hazardous than it had been at Ponthieu.
The fact was that he was the leading earl of England and that Englishmen were looking upon him as their future king and that William of Normandy believed that crown would be his by right on the death of Edward. The lavish hospitality, the friendly smiles of the Duke and his wife did not deceive him at all. He was wary and waiting for the outcome of this visit and wishing with all his heart that he was on the high seas bound for home.
Edith had tried to persuade him not to come. The mother of his children, Edith Swanneshals, which meant ‘Edith of the Swan Neck’, had been faithful to him for many years and she was his wife in everything but name. No woman could have been more faithful and more beloved; their sons and daughters were his beloved family and he could rely on them all, Godwin, Edmund, Magnus, and his girls Gunhild and Gytha and even the young baby boy little Ulf. The longing to be with Edith and his family was great. When Edward died and he had the crown, Edith would be as his Queen and Godwin should follow him to the throne. That was his dream; but this ambitious and powerful Duke dreamed also. And what went on in that subtle mind while William behaved as though he were an honoured guest?
And Matilda? She was even more of an enigma. The Duke often left him with his wife. Why? Was he hoping he would indulge in some indiscretion? He could not understand what these two were planning although he knew that their ultimate motive was to rob him of the crown of England.
This he was determined they should not do. Before he had died so suddenly at the King’s table his father Earl Godwin had said to him: ‘Harold my son, I have been King of England in all but name. But you shall wear the crown. This is what I have striven for beyond aught else. My son to be King of England.’
He would be King of England and no one must be allowed to stop him. His brother Tostig had always been jealous of him. He would have to watch Tostig, for where he was there would be trouble; but the people wanted him for King and when Edward died – which must surely be soon – he was going to ru
le England.
But in the meantime he was a prisoner in the hands of the Duke of Normandy and his first concern was to extricate himself from the friendly but firm hands of the Duke and return to England where he must be ready when the moment arrived.
The Duke wished to show him Normandy; they hunted together; in the castle they talked of their battles and they worked them out on the table, Harold showing how he had defeated the Welsh, William giving an account of his battles against the French. Pleasant days and companionable evenings, but Harold was restive and uneasy, and most of all perhaps when he was left with Matilda. William retired early. He was a man who was wide awake at dawn when most other men were drowsing in their beds, but at an early hour in the evening he would wish to sleep. Harold would be invited to sit with Matilda and those evening sessions were a mystery to him. She would sit opposite him, leaning forward to show finely formed breasts, her long hair often released from its plaits. She was an attractive woman and he was as susceptible as most; he was yearning for his swan-necked Edith and he knew of course that there was some deep-rooted and detrimental motive in Matilda’s mind.
Matilda enjoyed these sessions. She was attracted by Saxons. They had a quality which appealed to her. He reminded her in a way of Brihtric. Not only was there a similarity in these Saxons but they were both reluctant to accept the friendship she was offering; and while they acknowledged her to be an attractive woman they both made it clear that their affections were not free.
Not that she wished to indulge in any entanglement with Harold. She grew cold at the thought of William’s anger. Moreover what if there was a child? How could a bastard be introduced into the family of Normandy? No, she had William’s interests at heart and this man was vital to them. She was as interested in his downfall as William was, but that did not prevent her enjoying the intrigue she was building up between them.
She was attracted by his undeniable good looks and his fair beauty did appeal to her. The soft-voiced Saxon tongue was musical; the Normans did in truth seem rough by comparison. She hated the Saxons too because they would always remind her of that humiliating interview with Brihtric. After all these years she could remember it vividly when anything happened to recall it. And this man with his fair looks and soft voice reminded her of Brihtric.
Now as she bent towards him she said: ‘How glad I am that you stay and keep me company.’
‘It is a great pleasure,’ replied Harold.
‘You Saxons have such beautiful manners.’
‘I am glad we please you, my lady.’
‘I cannot tell you how happy we were when we heard you were in Normandy.’
The lifting of the eyebrows, the lilt in the voice – there was something mischievously malicious about them.
‘They will be expecting me to return ere long,’ he said tentatively.
‘Oh, my lord Earl, we are going to protest about that. Having you here pleases us so much. We shall not let you go easily. Depend upon that.’
Said in a friendly voice but the note of mockery was there. Nay, he thought, you will hold me prisoner here and when shall I ever get away.
‘I wish you could have seen William’s face when he heard that you were in Normandy. Rarely have I seen him express such pleasure.’
‘He is a good host.’
‘And you are the perfect guest to stay up and entertain the wife of a sleepy husband. Tell me about England. I love to hear of it. It seems so close to us. I wonder if I shall go there one day? How I should enjoy that.’
‘You and the Duke must be my guests as I have been yours.’
She nodded slowly.
‘I should like our families to be joined. We have come to love you, Earl Harold. Have you noticed I have daughters?’
‘I have indeed remarked your fine family.’
‘There is nothing like healthy sons and daughters to delight the heart,’ she said. ‘I remarked to William that I would like to see our families united. He agreed with me. My little daughter Adelisa – oh a child, no more – has fallen deeply in love with you. Oh, but we all have. Yet Adelisa has done so with a candid charm which the young possess. The child thinks you are like a god.’
‘I have noticed her. She is a delightful girl.’
‘I am glad you think thus highly of her. She will swoon with delight when she hears. Would it not be agreeable if our family ties were strengthened by this visit of yours?’
‘I am many, many years older than your charming daughter.’
‘You are a young man. I never saw any to compare in strength and health with you – except perhaps William. But then a wife would think thus in her husband’s favour, would she not?’
‘I am sure you are devoted to his interests.’
She leaned forward, smiling at him seductively. ‘I trust I am his good wife. You have no wife, Earl Harold. No consolation can compare with the pleasures of family life.’
‘I know it,’ he answered, thinking of Edith and the children and the solace he found with them when he was weary.
‘My husband would be so happy if you agreed to a betrothal between yourself and Adelisa. I think only then would he be reconciled to losing you because he would know that in truth he was only saying a temporary farewell.’
So it is an ultimatum, thought Harold. Submit to a betrothal and you may go home.
He was excited. Could that really be the implication? If he agreed to take Adelisa would they release him? It might be that William had no designs on the crown of England for himself but was seeking a peaceful compromise by making his daughter Queen of England when the time came.
If this was so there was no reason why he should not become betrothed to Adelisa. Betrothals were not binding; and if by submitting to William’s proposal he could get home, then submit he must.
No one at home would consider binding any promise he had made under duress. Nor would he.
Harold rode beside William into the forest, their falcons on their wrists, the company behind them. Harold enjoyed the exercise as much as William did but he had learned that he must be on guard in the company of the Duke even when they were on some pleasure jaunt. William often chose such times to put a question the answer to which needed a great deal of care.
As they rode through the forest William said: ‘The Duchess tells me that you find our daughter charming.’
‘I find the entire family charming,’ replied Harold cautiously.
‘But in particular the little Adelisa, my favourite daughter.’
Was that true, or had the child become his favourite because he had seen her as a good bargaining counter?
‘A charming child.’
‘Children grow up, my lord Earl. And how quickly! Girls are soon marriageable. I should put no obstacle to the marriage.’
‘I fear she might.’
‘The Duchess tells me you have bewitched her.’
‘The Duchess is gracious.’
‘She speaks truth. You have an unmarried sister. I would like to see her married to one of our Norman barons. Give her to the one I shall choose and in return you shall have Adelisa. Come, my lord, what say you?’
‘I should need to discuss this with my family.’
‘My lord, I know well that you are the head of that family. You do not ask your family what you should do any more than I do. Come, tell me you think the plan a good one and we will settle this matter as early as may be. I dare swear it would be necessary for you to go to England to make preparations for these marriages. Well, that is not a bad idea.’
Take Adelisa then in exchange for freedom. What could he say?
William went on: ‘I would be generous with you, my lord Earl. I will not deny that you have captivated us all with your gracious manners. My wife finds you enchanting; you have bewitched my daughter; and I feel that you are a man whom I could trust. There are few in the world, alas. It is good when one finds one.’
‘You are determined to be gracious to me.’
William leaned forwa
rd. ‘And will be more so. King Edward is ailing, is he not?’
‘He has never been strong.’
‘But of late he grows more feeble. It will not be long before he will be in his tomb. That makes me grievous sad for I love the man. Did you know, Harold, that we saw much of each other when I was a boy?’
‘I knew that he spent many years at the Court of Normandy.’
‘Happy years for Edward. He was grateful to my father and then to me. He is more Norman than English.’
‘A fact which does not please the English.’
‘But they learned to think highly of him. They think him a saint. Edward the Confessor! Why I hear that he has virtue in his hands and in touching his subjects heals them.’
‘He is greatly revered.’
‘I was in England not long ago.’
‘I remember it well.’
‘Then King Edward told me that when he died he would name me as his successor.’
There! It was out. Harold hoped that his expression did not betray him. His indignation was such as to make him choke. He had known this from the moment he had been brought into the presence of the Duke of Normandy but this was the first time it had been put into words.
Harold heard himself speaking and was not quite sure what he said. It was something like: ‘The English would not wish for a Norman king.’
‘But you are a power in the land. You are well loved. People respect you. They must always respect the wishes of their king. Edward has named me as his successor. Harold, I swear to you that if you will do all in your power to help me to the throne, there is nothing you may not ask of me.’
Harold was silent, and William pretended to take this silence as agreement.
‘As soon as Edward dies I shall land in England,’ went on William. ‘Take Dover Castle and have it ready to deliver into my hands. Do this. Serve me and I promise you shall regret nothing. Your brother and nephew shall return to England. You shall be as my son, for you shall have my daughter.’
Still Harold did not speak. William did not look at him. He acted as though the matter was settled and turned his attention to his falcon.
