Of the Ring of Earls (Conqueror Trilogy Book 1)

by Juliet Dymoke

  The whole court was thrown into turmoil of preparation and inevitably at the appointed time William rode out at the head of a long procession of barons and knights and men-at-arms. It was bitterly cold but they made a brave show on this winter day, the bright colours of the banners and gonfanons streaming in the wind.

  Richard of Rules was among them. He had been added to that select band of knights who guarded their King’s body, and the warmth of his pleasure that he might accompany his friend to England cheered Waltheof.

  ‘I am glad you are to join us,’ he said with equal warmth, ‘but I fear your mother will miss you sadly.’

  Richard shrugged. ‘Perhaps, but she knows men cannot sit by the fireside.’

  His presence, his tact and kindness were doubly welcome now, and Waltheof wished only that it might have been supplemented by Ivo’s absence, but the lord of Taillebois also was among the company, his arrogance increased since the affair in the stables.

  The Englishmen rode together. Edwin was in a sullen mood for he was returning home without the promised bride, but Morcar talked of their land and what might be done once they were on their own soil again, where men would rally to them for being of the house of Leofric. Rebellion was clearly running in his head, but for the moment Maerlsweyn the Sheriff was thinking only of his wife and children and that at last he would sit in his hall again in his own town of Lincoln. Hakon dreamed of his girl at Fotheringay and Ulf thought happily of the tales he would tell to his sisters at Gelling. Edgar the Atheling prince said goodbye to the King’s sons with regret for he had enjoyed their company more than that of men who expected too much of him; and Thorkel rode beside Waltheof, thankful beyond measure to be leaving this land that had brought them little good. Outy Grimkelson, maintaining his usual silence, was nevertheless not ignorant of his lord’s state of mind and he shared Thorkel’s relief at the end of their exile.

  Waltheof himself, holding Balleroy’s reins loosely in his hand for the long column moved slowly, was remembering William’s remark to him at supper last night.

  ‘Let us hope, Earl Waltheof, that once in England we shall find no discord at our court, nor in the field. There is peace only where there is one master.’

  It was true, and as they set out for home, he knew suddenly how it would be. They were a conquered people and no amount of elaborate hospitality or veneer of friendship could make it otherwise. He wished he had never set his hands between William’s, never submitted his life into William’s keeping; he wished he had gone into exile, or kept up the fight in the north rather than ridden meekly to Berkhamstead that December day a year ago. What had possessed him to accept as lord – nay, almost as friend – this man whom he now knew for what he was, a ruthless master, an alien king. Yet he knew his destiny could not have been otherwise for it had led him to this grey-green land and to Judith.

  Once on board ship he stood beside a silent Thorkel watching the coast of Normandy fade as the distance lengthened, separating him further and further from the place that held his love, and, he thought all that was best in him.

  The biting wind whipped his hair about his face and he drew his furred mantle tightly about him. He remembered it had once lain about Judith’s shoulders in the forest hut, and he held it close, trying to draw some contact with her from the fur that had touched her body.

  Would he ever see her again? The spray blinded him momentarily, and when he looked towards the coast Normandy had disappeared into the mist.

  BOOK III

  THE TERROR BODING BATTLE SIRE

  November 1068 – September 1070

  ‘The terror-boding battle sire,

  Let burn to death in dreadful fire,

  One hundred of King William’s host . . .

  Waltheof’s Poem by Thorkel Skallason

  CHAPTER 1

  William Malet bound for York to join King William, and Richard de Rules for Huntingdonshire, left London together and rode part of the way on the same road for company. Both had a considerable attendance of men-at-arms with them for it was not considered safe as yet to ride with a mere handful as one could do in Normandy.

  ‘But at the rate the King is going, his justice will soon stretch from the southern coast to the border with Scotland.’ Richard said.

  It was a dull day, heavy rainclouds scudding up from the east and the last of the leaves were falling in the woods on either side of the old Roman road that led to the north.

  Malet grinned. ‘Our William moves at such a rate that he raises his eyebrows if one does not travel hell for leather too.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Richard agreed, ‘but you must admit that if he had not descended on the rebels at York far sooner than they had thought possible, they might have had the courage to hold out longer. All in all the whole affair was a rash piece of folly on their part.’

  ‘And you are glad Earl Waltheof had no part of it,’ Malet put in shrewdly. ‘But how will he view that parchment in your saddle bag?’ Richard shrugged, but he was not as easy in his mind as he wished to appear. ‘I cannot suppose he will object strongly. And you are right – I am glad he did not join Edwin and Morcar when they took to the field this summer. They may think themselves lucky to be pardoned and back at court.’

  ‘In their silken fetters,’ Malet said. No one, he thought, could help finding Edwin good company, for the Earl of Mercia could charm a blackbird from an apple tree if he were so minded, but Malet was surprised at William’s indulgence. Gospatric, who had bought the vacant northern earldom from William and promptly joined the rebels had now retreated to Scotland, taking with him the Sheriff Maerlsweyn, and Edgar Atheling with his mother and sisters, and the whole affair had come to nothing.

  ‘If you don’t oppose William he is a good lord,’ he said, voicing his thoughts as if Richard had been able to read them.

  ‘I know,’ Richard said, ‘but he is our master not theirs – and that’s the difference.’

  Malet grunted. They were riding through a village that straggled on either side of the road. Several serfs were scratching at the earth in the narrow pieces of land about their cottages; they looked up to stare sullenly at the strangers and one or two women came out to watch the cavalcade. One girl was young and pretty and a man-at-arms leaned over to pinch her cheek and plant a kiss on her rosy mouth. There was a low growl from the men and a movement forward. The Norman horsemen gripped their spears menacingly and Malet called them sharply to order.

  ‘Fools,’ he said under his breath. ‘I want no trouble.’

  ‘When you are Governor of York you’ll have that in plenty,’ Richard told him, keeping a wary eye on the villagers. One never knew when a stray stone might be flung or an arrow loosed from the protection of the trees.

  ‘Aye but at least I’ll share the burden with FitzRichard and Gilbert of Ghent, stout men both, and William has built a second castle on the other bank of the river that runs through the city. We should keep all safe.’

  ‘I hope so. With the Earls both at court, Waltheof at home, and the rest gone to Scotland, only that wild man Edric Guilda flouts the King, but he seldom ventures far from his Welsh hills.’

  The road led downwards now to marshy flats and there they could see a small town huddled about the river. Richard heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I’m glad to see some reasonable habitation – what did you say this place was called?’ ‘Bedford. You are in Waltheof’s earldom now.’

  ‘Oh?’ Richard glanced about him. ‘Yet we cannot trust his tenants as we would him and the night is no time to be wandering about in a strange countryside.’

  ‘No. Yet,’ Malet glanced curiously at him, ‘you wanted land here.’ Richard was silent for a moment. Away to the west the wintry sun was well down on the horizon, the sky vivid and lighting the tops of the forest trees. He could not say why he felt so drawn to this land – he only knew that it was here that he would set down the roots a man needed. Perhaps because he was a younger son he had never thought of the lands near Falaise as his; now he would leave the
m to the management of his steward and turn all his care to his new possession. ‘Well, it seems we are here to stay,’ he said, half-smiling, ‘and William, being William, will have order soon. He was pleased when I asked for it.’

  Malet nodded. ‘Too many of the best men have gone home. Did you hear that Grandmesnil and some others are returned to Normandy? It appears they are more afraid of their wives than they are of William, for those ladies were threatening to seek their pleasures elsewhere if their men did not return.’

  Richard’s shoulders shook. ‘I can imagine it. What of your good lady, William?’

  ‘She is coming to join me as soon as maybe, with our children.’ Malet shook his head ruefully. ‘Either she does not trust me or else she would show Grandmesnil’s lady that it is better to follow the lions into battle than to stay grumbling at home. They never liked each other.’

  ‘Women!’ Richard said. ‘Trouble always.’

  They were entering the town now, a small place, scarcely worthy of the name but it had a church and a priest’s house and it was here they begged hospitality for the night, their men seeking quarters where they might. It was given grudgingly, but there was no open hostility.

  In the morning their ways parted. Malet went north urging Richard to follow him as soon as possible and Richard branched eastwards towards Huntingdon and the vill of Ryhall. It was afternoon when he came to the gates of the stockade. The two men on guard there looked at him uneasily but had clearly been given instructions to admit him, and as he was dismounting Waltheof himself came down the outer steps of the hall.

  ‘Richard, my friend, you have come in good time. Your messenger only reached me yesterday.’

  ‘Malet was anxious to get to York.’ He stretched himself stiffly and clasped Waltheof s outstretched arm. ‘It will be good to lie comfortably tonight.’

  ‘Come in to the fire,’ Waltheof said, ‘and refresh yourself with some of our home-brewed ale. I’ll swear you’ve never tasted better.’

  He swept his guest inside, leaving Osgood to see to the quartering of Richard’s men. When they were seated by the burning logs where Waltheof’s dogs lay asleep as usual, Richard accepted the horn of ale and drinking deep studied the face of the friend whom he had not seen for near six months.

  Waltheof had changed, he thought, matured in some way that was not at first obvious but which he sensed. Those first months in England again, still at William’s court, had not been easy, he knew that, and the relations between the King and the Earl were not what they had been before the controversy over Judith. Even the glittering occasion of Matilda’s coronation had softened neither of them – nor did Judith or her mother attend that spectacle. Then in the summer when William departed on a castle-building expedition into the midlands, which successfully frightened Edwin and Morcar from their attempted rebellion, Waltheof had quietly gone home to put his lands in order. When so much was lost or given away, nothing of his had been touched and that surely, Richard thought, was matter enough for gratitude.

  Waltheof’s welcome now was warm enough and he asked eagerly for the latest news.

  ‘The Queen is great with child,’ Richard said. ‘She should be delivered any day now – the first of the King’s children to be born in England. Please God it will be a prince for both nations.’

  ‘Amen,’ Waltheof said absently. He was leaning forward, an elbow on his knee, his chin on his hand, wondering if he was succeeding in hiding the repressed eagerness of his enquiry.

  Richard went on. ‘Robert de Comines – a thick-set fellow you may have seen in Rouen – is made Governor of Durham, but from all I hear he’ll find that wild country none too easy to order – and old Roger of Beaumont’s son, Henry, has the new castle at Warwick.’ He broke off, ‘Tell me, my friend, did you never build castles in England?’

  ‘No. It was not our way.’

  ‘Well, it makes a deal of difference in warfare. You can subdue a land quicker from a castle than a camp or even a stockaded hall such as this.

  Waltheof shifted his position. Richard was speaking like a conqueror now and there was something ominous in the words. Rather than discuss it, he said, ‘What else?’

  ‘That devil, Ivo Taillebois, is to be lord of Holland, which is near here, is it not?’

  This jerked Waltheof out of his preoccupation. ‘Of Holland? Are you sure?’

  ‘I saw the deed. He was only to anxious to show it and boasted of what he would do when he took possession.’

  ‘Then God defend us all,’ Waltheof retorted bitterly. ‘He will be neighbour to Croyland Abbey and the lands of Deeping.’ He got up suddenly, disturbing the dogs and Bors lifted his head alertly, prepared to follow his master out into the woods. But he saw his god merely pacing and lowered his head on to his paws again, only his affectionate eyes on the Earl. Waltheof himself was fighting the desire to explode into wrath, to forget that his guest was a Norman, to pour out all his rage at the state of things. At the moment he wished all Normans in hell. But there was one question he must ask and he came back to his stool.

  ‘Well?’ His voice, he knew, sounded harsh. ‘Will you not tell me? Is she wed?’

  ‘No. She is neither wed, nor betrothed, though there is always talk, of course.’ Richard paused, glancing anxiously at his companion’s face in the firelight. ‘But I do beg you to put away all thoughts of her. It would be for your peace to do so.’

  ‘I cannot,’ Waltheof said, but he did not pursue the subject. Thorkel came to join them and the talk turned to general matters.

  After supper, he conducted his guest up the narrow stair leading to his own chamber. ‘The best bed I can offer you is my own,’ he said, and Richard, throwing down his mantle, yawned heavily. ‘I am so weary I could sleep on a bench tonight.’

  He sat down and ran his fingers through the white bearskin in a manner that reminded Waltheof of Alfric, and because of Alfric, of the days before the Normans had come. Suddenly his friendship with Richard seemed a tenuous thing, born of liking but with no basis of home or kindred or nation. He thought of Alfric, of Leofwine and Harold, and all the rest who lay in the earth because men of Richard’s kind had come plundering a land that was not theirs. He thought of the plain slab that marked Leofwine’s tomb at Waltham. He had visited this at last, only a few months ago on his way home, and the night he had spent in vigil there and the mass offered for Leofwine were fresher in his mind than Richard’s live presence.

  It was unfortunate that it was at this moment that de Rules broached the reason for his diversion to Ryhall. ‘I am ordered to York,’ he began tentatively, ‘to serve as second in command to Malet, but I begged to be allowed a few days to come here on the way.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Waltheof said. He was undressed now and climbed into bed, drawing the covers and the bearskin up to his chest. ‘I can show you some good hunting tomorrow.’

  ‘There is something more I have to do. You remember that the Breton, Hugh of Evermue, died in June?’

  Waltheof glanced at him in surprise. How should he need reminding that the lord of Deeping, his kinsman by marriage, was dead? Athelais, Hugh’s daughter, was under his guardianship now and he did not need a Norman to tell him of his own affairs. ‘Of course I know,’ he said, a slight chill in his voice.

  ‘Well, it seems Hugh held the land of the Crown in King Edward’s day and that on his death it reverted to the Crown to be bestowed at the King’s pleasure.’

  ‘The land is the lady Athelais’s inheritance.’

  ‘She is a woman and young, and cannot rule if it is not the King’s will, surely? Or he may dispose of her hand with it?’

  ‘She is young,’ Waltheof retorted, ‘but the land and the rights of sac and soc and a great dowry as well are all hers.’ If he spoke coldly he could not help it.

  Richard was laying down his clothes with meticulous care on the long chest. ‘I don’t understand your laws but by ours you, being her guardian, would of course dispose of her in marriage. As for the land, it is the
King’s to give.’

  Waltheof sat up sharply. ‘What is Norman law to us? This is England and William swore a holy oath when he took the Crown to uphold our laws.’

  Richard had his back to the bed, fumbling in his saddlebag. ‘That’s as maybe, but he will not have young unwed girls in charge of land.’

  ‘What does he want then? To give it to yet another of the grasping hangers-on who came here only for plunder?’

  His tone was distinctly antagonistic and Richard turned, a parchment in his hand. ‘If you look at it like that, yes. But we are not all reivers. Some of us are learning to love this country.’ He held out the parchment. ‘William has given Deeping into my hand.’

  Stunned, Waltheof stared at him. He did not need to take the parchment to believe the truth of it. ‘You?’ he asked baldly. ‘Why to you?’