by Jean Plaidy
‘Illustrious lady,’ wrote the hermit, ‘do not rest in your endeavours to bring peace in Normandy. If you do not you will find misery and death for your Duke, and the ruin of your country.’
What have I done? Matilda asked herself. I have worked against him, the greatest man of his age, who is my life and my husband.
But Robert is my son.
Was ever a woman in such sad case?
She could not sleep. She wandered about the castle by night. Her women found her at the turret window watching for riders who would bring tidings which she feared would be evil.
They took her shivering to her bed.
Then one day when they went to awaken her they found her unable to rise.
They sent for William.
He sat by her bed and held her hand.
‘William,’ she said, ‘how is it in England?’
‘Well,’ he told her, ‘all is well.’
‘And safe for you to leave and come to me?’
‘I should have come in any case.’
‘This is the last time, William.’
‘Nay,’ he said. ‘You will get well.’
‘You command it. Oh, William, God is one even you cannot command and Death an enemy you cannot overcome.’
He did not answer; she saw the tremor of his lips. ‘William, beloved William,’ she said, ‘forgive me.’
‘Forgive you for being my love, my life, the only one I ever cared for or ever shall?’
‘’Twas so, was it not? Am I forgiven my sins?’
‘They shall be forgiven. We will make such offerings . . .’
‘So you will command them in Heaven. My sins lie heavy on me, William.’
‘Nay, you have been a good woman . . . a good wife and mother.’
‘Sometimes it is difficult to be the two.’
‘You did well,’ he assured her.
‘William . . . you and Robert . . .’
‘He does well in England.’
‘Let it remain so, then I shall die happy.’
He pressed her hand. ‘Should you not rest, my love?’
‘It makes no difference, William. This is the end for me. You will miss me, William.’
‘I beg of you . . .’
‘I see tears in your eyes, William. They are the first you ever shed . . . and for me.’
‘For whom else should they be shed?’
‘William, come close to me. Tell me it is the same as it ever was . . . tell me nothing is changed.’
‘I loved you through life and shall do so till death.’
A faint smile touched her lips so that she looked like the old mischievous Matilda of her youth.
‘No more beatings . . . no more loving . . . Oh, William!’
His emotion would not let him speak.
He sat by her bed holding her hand until she died.
Then he rose, strode away and none dared look at him.
He shut himself into his chamber and gave way to his paroxysms of grief.
When he emerged he was the strong man again. Whatever tragedy he had to face there was a Dukedom to hold, a Kingdom to govern’.
A Game of Chess
HE WAS OLD and fat and weary of life without Matilda. His doctors warned him that he must eat less or his corpulence would be the death of him. He could still ride to the hunt but the fast steeds were no longer for him. He must judge a horse by its ability to carry him.
He had made England prosperous. His Doomsday Book was completed. The people might rail against this and what it meant to them but when a Danish invasion was threatened he explained to his people that for once it was better to buy off the Danes. Because of his wise government his exchequer was full and a settlement with the Danes which would keep them out of the country, would be less costly than a war.
William had foreseen what would happen. The Danes fought among themselves for the gold he gave them. Their King and leader was killed and only half their number went back to Denmark. A wise move it was seen to be, for William had the means to fight and was never afraid of a battle; but on this occasion he had avoided bloodshed and in his own manner defeated the Danes.
‘They’ll never come back to England,’ prophesied William, and he proved to be right.
There were occasions when he must take to his bed. His doctors ordered this. Then he must drink the potions they prescribed for him and eat frugally. After such treatment he found he had lost a little weight and therefore agreed with them, for his huge body was becoming a burden, and he was often out of breath.
He was still hunting frequently, usually with Rufus. Rufus was his great comfort now, although he enjoyed a discussion with Henry.
After his mother’s death Robert made no pretence of friendship; he left his father and went back to Normandy. William expected trouble from him daily.
Often from his bed he thought over his life and assessed what he had done. He knew that he was the greatest ruler of his age. He had stern ideas and had put them into practice. He believed that England was a better country than it could have been under Harold. He had been fair to men who had obeyed him, and harsh with those who had not.
England was not the lawless place it had been when he came and conquered. Now it was said that a man could travel fearlessly on the lonely road with a purse of gold. No man dared slay another for that crime would be met with the direst punishment. William had abolished the death penalty. The putting out of eyes was a punishment often inflicted. A man should not have the comfort of dying, declared William, if he had broken his laws. He should live to suffer and be an example to others. William had always been a firm upholder of chastity. Any man who violated or attempted to violate a woman was punished by the cutting off of his sexual organs.
Such were his laws and from them he never diverged. He was determined to impose his will on the land and at last the people had come to realize that this could make life more comfortable for them in many respects.
His great weakness was his love of hunting and it was true that violating his beloved forests would rouse his anger to an extent far in excess of other crimes.
His thick dark hair had receded considerably and his enormous bulk encumbered him, but he still had that quality to command with a word and seated on his horse he looked indeed one of the finest figures of his day.
The change in him after Matilda’s death was noticeable. He was morose, given to moods of fury; his temper was easily aroused. This he cooled by those jaunts in the forest.
He had subdued Wales, and the Scottish King was little more than a vassal. He had brought greatness to England.
Passionately devoted as he was to the country he had conquered, he was happiest in his native Normandy. There was always some reason for going. England he had conquered and somehow convinced the people that harsh as his rule was it was fundamentally good rule. But in Normandy there would always be trouble.
The French King was at heart an enemy; and, although he had not indulged in actual warfare, trouble was always about to break out.
That province of the Vexin was at the centre of trouble. When William’s father had gone to the aid of the King of France this province had been given to Robert the Magnificent in gratitude for his services; but ever since, France had sought to take it back from Normandy. Previously there had been a treaty concerning this and this gave one section of it – that between the Epte and the Oise – to the French Counts of Mantes and the Normans held the land between the Epte and the Andelle. But the King of France to show his appreciation to Robert the Magnificent had agreed that Count Drogo of Mantes should be a vassal of Normandy. Some years before, the Count had died and the King of France had taken back Mantes, and from the castle the French began a series of raids into Norman territory.
William was at Rouen resting on his doctor’s orders, and endeavouring at the same time to decrease his bulk.
Peace in England, he thought. I would there was peace in Normandy.
He thought of the stratagem he had used wi
th the Danes. That had surprised many, he was sure. He, William the Conqueror, who had never been defeated in battle, to buy off his enemies!
He laughed into his pillow.
A great general was first a strategist and that way had proved the right one. It had cost good gold, true, but how much more would a war have cost! And not a drop of English or Norman blood shed. What a stroke of genius to get Dane fighting Dane. They would never venture again to England.
And now the King of France. He would try to make some compromise with him . . . at least until he was well enough to rise from his bed.
He had two good sons: Rufus and Henry, and they were here with him at the time.
He sent for them.
‘Here is a mission for you both,’ he said. ‘You will have need of your diplomacy.’
The young men brightened a little. They found life a little dull waiting on their father.
‘Where, Father?’ asked Rufus.
‘To the Court of France.’
‘To our enemies,’ cried Henry.
‘My son, you will learn that sometimes it is necessary to parley with our enemies.’
‘I don’t trust them,’ said Henry.
‘Do you think I do? Nay, go there, make yourself agreeable, discover the mood of the King of France. We will see if we can dispense with the costly business of war.’
He talked for a long time to his sons. He wondered about them when they were gone.
Rufus was rough but clever, in his way. Henry might be shrewd. He was a brilliant scholar. It would be amusing to report to Lanfranc whether Henry had been able to combine diplomacy with learning.
William settled down to await the outcome of what he called his embassy to France.
The King of France received the sons of the Duke of Normandy with a show of affection. The King’s son, Prince Louis, a rather plump boy of fourteen, had been amused when he heard that William’s sons were paying a visit. There was a theory in the French Court that the Normans were nothing more than pirates, rough in manner and ill-educated.
Louis, who was a very arrogant young man, was looking forward to having a little sport at the expense of Normans.
Rufus with his red face and ruddy locks was perhaps what they might have expected; Henry was a different type and, although his reputation as a scholar had preceded him, the young Prince of France refused to believe that, being a Norman, he could be anything but uneducated.
Philippe was extravagant in the extreme and after the almost parsimonious manner in which their father insisted his court should be run, the young men found that of the French very pleasant.
There was hunting, of course, at which Rufus excelled, and the young Princes gave quite good account of themselves at the joust.
Louis laughed at them in secret and said those were pastimes at which pirates might excel. He fancied himself as a chess player and invited Henry to a game.
He did not realize that Henry had played chess with Lanfranc and his father and that he was of such a nature that he had quickly mastered the game. Slyly he had kept quiet about his skill and had rather mischievously allowed Louis to believe he was a novice.
Louis was fourteen; Henry nineteen; but as the young French boy said to his attendants, he would trounce him completely and then he could send the scholar back to Normandy to tell the tale. He had arranged that several of his friends should watch the game.
Rufus was among them, and knowing of his brother’s skill at the game was prepared to enjoy himself.
Louis, very confident, sat down at the board. He won the advantage and started with white. He was smiling happily, confident in his supremacy.
Alas for Louis. They had made half a dozen moves when Henry had his knight. Nonplussed, Louis concentrated on the board.
‘Ha!’ cried Rufus. ‘My Prince, you are about to lose a castle.’
Louis glowered. It was true. He was cornered. Angrily he moved and Henry took the castle. Louis’ face grew dark and petulant while Henry sat calm and impassive. Those watching were silent with dismay because it was clear that Henry was a master of the board.
‘Check,’ challenged Henry.
‘A thousand curses,’ muttered Louis.
A few more moments passed and then came the inevitable checkmate. When Louis saw no way out and realized that he was beaten, his face puckered in anger.
He had been so certain that he would win; and here he was defeated and humiliated . . . and by the son of the Duke of Normandy who should remember that even if he were the King of England, as Duke of Normandy he was a vassal of the King of France.
Louis had been over-indulged. He hated to be crossed and no one at Court ever dared do so. This fool of a Norman should have had the grace to let him win even if he was such a superior player.
In a sudden rage he picked up a handful of the chess men and threw them into Henry’s face.
Henry laughed. ‘That, monseigneur,’ he said calmly, ‘is not the way to play chess.’
‘Silent . . . son of a bastard.’
Henry had heard from Lanfranc the truth about his father’s birth; he knew how that word had haunted and disturbed his youth and how when he had married Matilda he had used it proudly to sign documents. But . . . this ill-tempered, ill-mannered little boy who thought he was so superior to Normans had used it in a derogatory form and Henry was not going to allow a fat, pimply, over-indulged coxcomb to utter a word against the greatest ruler in Europe.
Calmly he picked up the chessboard, scattering the rest of the pieces and brought it down on the Prince’s head.
Louis screamed at him. ‘How dare you . . . Norman vassal . . . how dare you touch the Prince of France.’
‘How dare you speak disrespectfully of the King of England.’
‘That . . . bastard . . .’
Henry rose. The Prince of France lay on the floor; Henry was on top of him, pummelling him while Louis screamed.
Those watching did not know what to do.
Louis screamed: ‘Arrest him. Arrest this knave who has dared to insult France.’
Rufus was quick; he had seen the danger they were in.
‘Come, Henry,’ he said. ‘Quick.’
Henry looked at his brother and saw the urgency in his face.
He rolled Louis across the floor into the group of watchers; then affecting to stroll he followed Rufus out of the room. They ran down the stone stairs into the courtyard and through to the stables.
‘Not a moment to lose,’ panted Rufus. ‘We could be held as hostages.’
They sprang on to two horses and galloped off.
Henry realized how quickly Rufus had acted, for as they passed through the castle gates they heard the alarms sounding throughout the castle.
‘To Pontoise,’ cried Rufus. ‘A Norman town. We’ll be safe there.’
They rode on and would not stop their sweating horses until they came to the friendly city. Rufus explained what had happened and commanded that a force of men be ready for him. Then he and Henry rode out with them and as they did so a small troop which the French King had sent out to bring the Princes back to him came galloping towards them. Rufus and Henry sprang out of their ambush with the men of Pontoise. There was a fight in which the French were outnumbered and to Rufus’s great glee they were soon retreating.
Rufus led the troop after them right back to the gates of the castle; then they returned, burning a village on the way to let the French know that it was a victory for Normandy.
When they presented themselves to William he had already heard the tale. He laughed heartily. He was proud of them. Rufus had acted as he would have done in his youth and he was glad Henry had won that game of chess.
‘It’s the end of the peace talks, though,’ he said. ‘Now we must prepare for war.’
Furious at the insult he and his son had received at the hands of the Princes of Normandy the King of France gave vent to insults.
‘So the Duke of Normandy lies abed to rid himself of his fat!’ he said.
He described with some wit, what it must be like in the Ducal castle with the great man lying in his bed with a swollen belly.
‘By the Holy Mother of God,’ he went on, ‘the King of England takes longer over his lying in than do the women of France.’
This jest was repeated throughout the Court and it was not long before it reached William’s ears.
William was furious. That the young King whom he had helped to his throne should so speak of him now that he was an old man, was unforgivable.
He would see whether there was anything womanish about William the Conqueror.
‘When I go to my churching,’ was his answer, ‘I will make the King of France an offering of a hundred thousand candles that will set his country ablaze.’
It was war.
One Hundred Thousand Candles
RUFUS CAME TO him.
‘Father, let me take on this in your name. You should not leave your bed.’
‘What say you?’ cried William raising himself to glare at his son.
‘I can command your troops. I am your son. It is for me to fight this battle.’
‘The King of France and you would make me an old man. Nay. Let me tell you this: today I feel as young as I ever did. I am going to take Mantes. I am going to burn it to the ground. I am going to teach the King of France to choose his jests most carefully.’
Rufus could see that there was no dissuading him. It was useless to point out to him that he was no longer young and agile; that the only horse which could carry him was no longer of the calibre he was accustomed to taking into battle.
William rose from his bed and when they helped him into his armour he cried: ‘I feel better than I have since the Queen died. I feel as I did when I was a young man going into battle.’
His attendants looked at him in astonishment.
It was true that on his horse he was magnificent. He looked invincible – William the Conqueror.
Mantes was blazing.
One hundred thousand candles burning for the King of France. This would teach him what an adversary he had in the King of England.
The lust for battle was with William. He had been inactive too long. He must listen to his doctors; he must rid himself of this unwanted flesh. Then he would be as a young man again.
