Crusade

by Stewart Binns

  ‘Amazingly, at no stage did he ever tell me what he thought, and he certainly never suggested what I should think. He just kept posing questions. He kept saying that life is a search for more questions, not a search for answers.’

  ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘I don’t know … Sweyn and I have a decision to make about Harold. He thrived on his grandfather’s mountain. He never got sick, ate like a horse and slept like a baby.’

  ‘He is a baby!’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I meant. When he’s older, I will be able to tell him in the smallest of detail and hour by hour about his time with his famous grandfather in his mountain eyrie. I’m so glad we had that time together.’

  ‘It must have been difficult to leave?’

  ‘Not really – we were both content, and my father had spent time with Harold. He took us to Messene and we said our farewells. There were tears, of course, but he is happy reflecting on his past and searching for more questions to pose from his mountain top. He is fit and strong; I think he will live for many years yet. As for me, seeing him again and spending that time with him was the fulfilment of an impossible dream. I am very fortunate; I feel blessed to have had my time with him and privileged to have known him as a father.’

  By the time we reached Westminster, Sweyn and Estrith had had their conversation and a decision had been reached about young Harold.

  While in Bourne, the monks from Ely had told Estrith about a new church, only four years into construction, in the Burgh of Norwich. She reminded us that, when we first met, she had been about to start work on Durham Cathedral. Norwich, she said, was a good place to resume her career as a churchwright, make her hammer-beam roof a reality, and a safe place to raise young Harold. Sweyn would visit whenever he could, but the facade of the child being Adela’s would remain in that Sweyn would formally entrust the care of the child to Estrith.

  We took steps to secure the boy’s future. Sweyn’s status at court meant that Harold would inherit his rank as a knight of the realm, subject to him passing the tests of knighthood at the appropriate age, and I bequeathed a few of my English holdings to him in a document that Estrith would hold until he reached adulthood.

  She also took a casket, to be handed to him when he reached his majority. It contained a large purse of silver, ten gold Byzantine bezants, a vellum scroll with the Oath of the Brethren of the Blood written on it and the names of its founding members, and St Etheldreda’s rosary that Estrith had carried with her since the fall of Ely.

  So, after our own fond farewells in Westminster, Estrith headed back the way we had come to Norwich, while Sweyn and I sailed for Normandy with all the panoply of the progress of a royal prince, but also with the onerous task of telling Robert the detail of the pact I had agreed with Henry on his behalf.

  When we reached Rouen, Robert and his entourage had just arrived. They had received news of Rufus’s death while in the Rhône Valley but had not hurried back, Robert preferring to show his bride the sites and introduce her to the lords and princes along the way. As I suspected and hoped, he had no real desire to claim the English throne.

  Telling Robert about his agreement with Henry turned out to be no hardship at all. He laughed heartily at my cunning and thanked me for moving so adroitly. He was particularly pleased about the Charter of Liberties; as I had said to Henry, Robert was a changed man as a result of the Crusade and his single priority was now Sybilla.

  ‘We are going to Mont St Michel to pray for our firstborn. Sybilla hasn’t conceived yet; the sea air will do her good.’

  Robert sailed to England in the summer of 1101 to formally ratify the pact with Henry. He took a large force with him, just in case his brother had had a change of heart, but when they met at Alton in Hampshire, there was an outpouring of what can only be described as brotherly love.

  Robert renounced his claim to the English throne and each acknowledged the other as their legitimate heir until they produced a son. Henry renounced all claims on territory in Normandy and agreed to pay Robert the huge sum of 3,000 silver marks as an annual tribute, about one tenth of his royal budget. This particular clause brought a distinct smile to Robert’s face. He told me later that, with part of the first instalment, he was going to buy Sybilla the biggest jewel in Christendom.

  Finally, they pledged their loyalty to one another and promised to come to one another’s aid. The agreement was signed and sealed at Winchester, and Sweyn and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  Henry and Robert travelled to London together, and they stayed together until Christmas – hunting, visiting the great Norman magnates of the realm, viewing their mighty churches and fortresses and reinforcing the power of Norman hegemony.

  The sea air of Mont St Michel had not enhanced Sybilla’s fecundity, but England’s temperate climes had, for shortly after we returned to Rouen, she announced that she was pregnant.

  Sweyn and I took great satisfaction in knowing that the child had been conceived in our homeland.

  Robert and Sybilla’s child, William Clito, was born on the 25th of October 1102, in Rouen. It was an occasion of great joy throughout the duchy. The boy was a healthy young heir to continue Normandy’s powerful dynasty.

  But prodigious joy soon turned to unbounded sadness.

  Sybilla never recovered from the birth and her condition slowly worsened. There were rumours of poison but, in truth, the birth had been difficult and she had become septic. She fought the ever-tightening grip of the infection in increasing pain until it killed her in March 1103. Robert was unable to cope with her death and, like his legacy from Palestine, was changed by it ever after.

  He had a white marble slab made for her like the one for his mother’s tomb, on which were carved the words:

  No power of birth, nor beauty, wealth, nor fame

  Can grant eternal life to mortal man

  And so the Duchess Sybilla, noble, great and rich,

  Lies buried here at rest, as ashes now.

  Her largesse, prudence, virtue, all are gifts

  Her country loses by her early death;

  Normandy bewails her Duchess, Apulia mourns her child –

  In her death great glory is brought low.

  The sun in the Golden Fleece destroyed her here,

  May God now be her source of life.

  My niece, Edith, now Queen Matilda of England, also produced an heir for her husband, in the autumn of 1103. He too was given the name William, and the suffix Adelin, a corruption of Atheling, in recognition of his English pedigree.

  Whether the birth of the young prince was the catalyst, who thus supplanted Robert as heir to the English throne, or Robert’s grieving over Sybilla, which left him paralysed as an effective leader, or Henry’s latent Norman predilection for more and more power and glory, it was difficult to tell, but it soon became clear that Henry was going to break the Treaty of Alton and that he probably never had any intention of honouring it in the first place.

  Henry started to turn the screw.

  Firstly, he failed to forego his holdings in Normandy and found various excuses for not paying Robert his annual tribute. Then, in 1104, Henry moved against William, Count of Mortain and Earl of Cornwall, the man whose father had been at Ely and who had taken care of Estrith and Gunnhild so well. The Count was Robert’s leading ally in England and a man widely respected by his peers. When Henry claimed some of his lands in the south-east of England, the Count took offence, which the King interpreted as treason, and used it as an excuse to seize all his holdings in Cornwall, forcing the Count to flee to Normandy.

  Henry then added insult to injury. He travelled to Normandy unannounced in August of 1104, visited several lords and counts he hoped would become allies and entertained them lavishly from his fortress at Domfront. Finally, he made a move that at first seemed laughably naive, but in fact revealed the extent of his manoeuvring: he let it be known that he was considering convening a court of all the nobles of Normandy to debate the failures of his brot
her’s rule of the duchy.

  Robert, ever generous and still inconsolable following Sybilla’s death, failed to respond. Sweyn and I tried to persuade him otherwise, but he always saw the good in people rather than the bad and, given that our warrior instincts were also diminished by our own recent experiences, we found it hard to disabuse him of such noble sentiments.

  We were getting older, Robert’s stalwarts in Normandy were getting older, while Henry and many of his supporters were in their prime.

  The King had taken great pains, and spent a great deal of money, to cultivate the young Prince Louis, heir to the French throne, whose father, King Philip, once our great friend and powerful ally, was also ageing, becoming more and more corpulent and distracted from the affairs of state by countless nubile concubines at court.

  On several occasions, we forced Robert to look at the noose that Henry was tightening around the neck of Normandy, but he chose not to react. Eventually, in exasperation, one night after dinner at his palace in Rouen, we confronted him. He had been in a better mood at table and I suspected he had been finding comfort with a strapping young maid at court, the daughter of a lord from Alsace. We used the comradeship of our Brethren to try to goad him, but Robert was dismissive of our concerns at first.

  ‘It has nothing to do with our Brethren – this is a matter between Rufus and me, and the people of Normandy.’

  ‘Robert, Sweyn and I are closer to you than anyone, please listen to us.’

  ‘I am listening.’

  ‘But you are not acting on our advice.’

  ‘Our friendship requires me to listen to your advice, but not necessarily to do as you suggest.’

  Sweyn rarely spoke when Robert and I were at odds over big issues, but this time he intervened.

  ‘Edgar is right, the threat is very real. You must make a move to protect yourself.’

  ‘Thank you, Sweyn, I respect your opinion – and yours, of course, Edgar – but my mind is clear. An invasion will come, it is as certain as the sun rising in the morning. But what will be, will be. When we hear that Henry is building ships, we will start planning. Edgar, we’ve been together through many battles and have fought men much more fearsome than my little brother. My father managed to invade England by sea and succeeded by the skin of his teeth. It will be much more difficult to invade Normandy and succeed. Don’t worry. If Henry does invade, when he’s lying dead on the battlefield and I become King, I will install you as my Prince Regent and England will be yours at long last.’

  While Robert’s promise might have seemed tempting, neither Sweyn nor I thought a victory for Robert a likely result. Henry had shown himself to be very much in his father’s mould – unlike Robert, who was his antithesis.

  If a shrewd man were to gamble on the outcome of the fight, it was obvious where he would place his wager.

  Robert was as stubborn as he was likeable, but Sweyn and I both felt anxious for him. It was almost as if he was hoping Rufus would take the heavy burden of Normandy’s dukedom from his weary shoulders.

  35. Battle of Tinchebrai

  Henry’s aggression in Lower Normandy escalated. Bayeux was burned to the ground, Caen was forced to open its gates to him, and then he moved on Falaise. The threat to Falaise, his father’s birthplace and home to his now legendary grandmother, Herleve, finally prompted Robert into action; but he did not summon his army, he went to negotiate.

  They met midway between Caen and Falaise. After two days of bitter argument, where Henry’s naked ambition was all too apparent, the two brothers parted acrimoniously, shouting insults at one another.

  Robert seemed to be newly invigorated by the abuse thrown at him and decided on a tactic worthy of the bold strategies of the Princes in the Holy Land. He decided to sail for England with only two dozen loyal supporters, walk straight into the King’s Hall at Winchester and get him to see sense by force of argument. No amount of hectoring on our part would convince Robert of the naivety of his plan and so, in late January 1106, we set sail.

  Inevitably, the King, although initially shaken by the sudden appearance of his brother, who literally hammered on the doors of Winchester at the break of dawn, was unmoved.

  ‘There is unrest all over Normandy at the stagnant nature of your rule. The sad loss of Sybilla has neutered you; Normandy has always needed strong leadership, and you are not giving it.’

  ‘Henry, you will not provoke me with insults and cruel comments about Sybilla’s death. The truth is, we have a treaty, which Edgar, your good friend and mine, negotiated. All I am asking is for you to honour it.’

  ‘My loyalty to my father and my ancestral homeland prevents me from honouring it. I am approached every day by men who beg me to give them leadership.’

  ‘My brother, you are deluding yourself, or engaging in a wicked scheme to serve your own interests. Please let it not be the latter.’

  ‘It is neither; my only interest is Normandy’s future security.’

  Henry’s implacability finally convinced Robert that there was no more to be said.

  We took the next tide to Normandy and prepared for war.

  Robert’s generosity – or, as some would put it, his impotence – in dealing with his brother’s threats soon began to exact a telling price. Henry had persuaded many of Normandy’s most powerful men that he was a better option for the duchy than its duke. To his dismay, when Robert called for his supporters to join him with their knights, few were forthcoming. Of the most senior men, William of Mortain, the deposed Earl of Cornwall, and Robert of Bellême, Earl of Shrewsbury, were the only ones to hear the rallying call.

  On the other hand, King Henry had built up a significant force, far outnumbering Robert’s army. He had returned to Lower Normandy shortly after we had, and immediately began to prepare for battle.

  Henry’s final provocation, the laying down of the gauntlet, came in September 1106. The King advanced south from Falaise with a large army towards the small settlement of Tinchebrai, part of the lands belonging to William of Mortain. He could have overwhelmed the fortress within the hour, but instead besieged it, as a lure with which to entice us. Count William immediately appealed to Robert for help and we duly rode west, preparing ourselves to withstand the jaws of the trap that had been set for us.

  Robert knew the trap was primed and that our prospects were not the best, but several layers of pride were steeling him for the encounter: his Norman ancestry, the legacy of Palestine, and his innate decency which compelled him to behave honourably.

  When we arrived, Robert demanded that Henry lift the siege, to which Henry responded by offering Robert an annual pension and a quiet life in exchange for Normandy.

  I looked at Sweyn; we were almost tempted to suggest to Robert that he should agree, but then thought better of it. First of all, it was hardly an offer worthy of a noble duke of any stature, let alone that of Robert, and secondly, Henry’s promises did not have much of a reputation.

  Robert did not even respond to Henry’s offer. Instead, he ordered that we make camp and meet to discuss our tactics.

  Our scouts had reported on King Henry’s disposition. We were outnumbered by about three to one. Robert had his personal squadron, the elite cavalry unit formed by his father – now called the Sybilla Squadron – and a strong deployment of archers and infantry. He would take the centre ground with Hugh Percy, Sweyn and I standing with him. William of Mortain would take the left flank, while Roger of Bellême took the right.

  We mustered 300 knights and 3,000 infantry.

  King Henry had nearly 1,000 knights and at least 8,000 infantry, many of whom were Englishmen.

  Early the next morning, the King took a position to the rear, with his reserves, while Ralph of Bayeux, Robert Beaumont and William II of Warenne led his centre, left and right flanks respectively. Helias, Count of Saint Saens, led Henry’s Breton and Manceaux cavalry.

  For Robert Beaumont, the highly respected, wily old campaigner, it must have been a particularly poignant moment.
Now sixty years old, a lifetime ago he had led the right flank of the army of Robert and Henry’s father at Senlac Ridge. Not only that, the date was the 28th of September 1106, forty years to the day since William’s army had first set foot on English soil at Pevensey Beach.

  This time, Beaumont was on the right flank of the King of England, whose wife was English, whose heir was called Atheling, and whose army contained thousands of English foot soldiers; and he was facing a fight to the death with the Duke of Normandy and his Norman army. Over the years, we had witnessed many strange paradoxes in England. Now we were witnessing another one in Normandy.

  Robert did not make a speech before the battle. For the first time in his reign, he raised the baculus of his Viking ancestors high above his head and bellowed, ‘For Normandy!’

  Robert’s simple but powerful war cry fortified our men, and Henry’s first attack was held – but at a fearful price. A second onslaught followed and then a third, until our numbers had been significantly reduced. The battle had raged for less than an hour and already our lines had become ragged and breached in several places. Then Henry unleashed a sustained cascade of arrows into our ranks, causing yet more confusion and heavy losses.

  Robert was already in the thick of the fighting, with Sweyn, Hugh Percy and I taking positions to protect his rear and sides, when disaster struck. Robert of Bellême, thinking that the day was lost, turned and fled, leaving our right flank completely exposed.

  Henry grasped the opportunity immediately.

  He committed his cavalry and ordered Count Helias to charge, letting loose a horde of knights from Normandy’s neighbours who had many scores to settle.

  Our position was hopeless.

  Sweyn turned to Robert and shouted at him, ‘We are being overrun; let us get you away before it’s too late.’