King's Man

by Tim Severin

  The fisherman hawked to clear his throat, turned his head and spat a gob of phlegm accurately through the door of his shack. 'That's my cousin now, coming along with the ass and cart. You better get moving.'

  'Bless you,' said my companion. 'Thrice bless you. You have done a Christian act today, for which God will reward you.'

  'More than the duke would. He's a mean sod,' commented the fisherman sourly.

  The little cart made slow progress. Its ill-shaped wheels wobbled on a single axle, and the vehicle lurched and slewed as it bumped across the tussocks of sea grass. I felt so sorry for the struggling donkey that I slid down from the pile of damp and smelly nets and walked beside the tailgate, holding on to the cart for support. I must have given the impression that I had recovered from my near drowning, because my companion could no longer restrain his curiosity.

  'How came you to be upon that ship, and what is your name, brother?' he asked.

  I had been expecting the question and had prepared what I hoped was a satisfactory reply.

  'My name is Thangbrand. I have been preaching in the northern lands on behalf of our community in Bremen, though I fear that the word fell on stony ground.'

  'Bremen indeed. I have heard that the bishop there holds authority over the northern kingdoms. But you are the first of his people that I have met.'

  I relaxed. I doubted there were any survivors from the shipwreck who could throw doubt on my story.

  'But you did not say why you were aboard the boat that wrecked.'

  'The bishop sent me to seek out more recruits for our mission.

  The northerners are a stubborn people, and we need help if we are to succeed in spreading the word of our Redeemer.'

  My companion sighed. 'How true. Minds and ears are often closed to the magnificent and awesome mystery. Truly it is said that Christ was facing westward when he hung from the cross. All can see how in that direction the word of God has spread most easily. His almighty right arm pointed to the north which was to be mellowed by the holy word of the faith, and his left hand was for the barbaric peoples of the south. Only the peoples of the east are condemned, for they were hidden behind his head.

  'And you, brother, how came you to be on the beach in my hour of need?' I asked, anxious to turn the conversation away from my own background and learn more about my pious companion.

  'My name is Maurus and I am named for the assistant to the teacher of the Rule. I come from the region of Burgundy where its governance has long flourished.'

  Baffled by his reply, I remained silent and hoped that he would provide a few clues as to what he was talking about.

  'I was on my way to the Holy and Undivided Trinity to present to Abbot John a chronicle which celebrates the life of his predecessor, the saintly Lord Abbot William. I do this on behalf of the chronicler himself as he is no longer able to travel due to advancing years and ill health.'

  'And this chronicler?'

  'My mentor and friend, Rudolfus Glaber. Like myself he is from Burgundy. For years he has laboured compiling and writing a Life of Lord Abbot William. In addition he has written five books of Histories to relate the lives of the other important men of our time. Even now he is engaged in writing a sixth book, for he is determined to leave a written record for posterity of the many events which have occurred with unusual frequency since the millennium of the Incarnation of Christ our Saviour.'

  I took a closer look at Maurus. He was, I guessed, somewhere between forty and fifty years old, small and sinewy, with a brick-red complexion that was either scorched by long exposure to the sun and wind or was the result of too much strong drink.

  'Forgive me for my ignorance, brother,' I said, 'but this Rule you mentioned. What is that?'

  He looked mildly shocked by my ignorance. 'That the brethren of a monastery obey one common will, are equal in agreement, and work and follow a uniform way of prayer and psalmody, eating and dress.'

  'That makes them sound like soldiers,' I commented,

  He beamed with approval. 'Exactly, servant soldiers of Christ.'

  'That is something I would like to see.'

  'You shall!' Maurus said enthusiastically. 'Why don't you travel with me to the Holy and Undivided Trinity? The monastery is second only to my own monastery of Cluny for the renown of its strict rule and discretion, the mother of virtues.'

  It was precisely what I hoped he would say, because to travel in the company of a genuine priest would be excellent camouflage. His next words were even more encouraging.

  'The monastery is at Fecamp, in Duke William's lands.'

  THIRTEEN

  IT TOOK US a week to reach Fecamp, walking by day and taking rides on farm carts when they were offered. At night we stayed with village priests, and twice we slept under hedges as it was now early summer and the night was mild. Throughout our journey I looked about me, trying to assess the resources which might allow Duke William to launch an invasion of England. What I saw impressed me. The countryside was fertile and well farmed. Rolling hills were cultivated for large fields of wheat, and every village was surrounded by carefully tended orchards. There were also large tracts of forest, mainly oak trees, and frequently we passed groups of men carrying saws and ropes, or we heard the sound of axes in the distance and encountered timber wagons drawn by oxen and piled high with raw logs, sawn baulks of wood, and the crooks and roots of large trees. I could recognise boat-building timber when I saw it, and I noted that the timber cargoes were all heading north, towards the coast of what the local people called 'the sleeve', the narrow sea separating Frankia from England.

  Several times small groups of heavily armed men passed us. The weapons they carried looked well cared for, and I guessed them to be mercenary soldiers. Eavesdropping on their conversation as they passed, I identified men who came from Lotharingia,

  Flanders, and even Schwabia. All of them were seeking hire by Duke William. When I commented on this to Maurus, he grimaced and said, 'Just as long as they keep their swords sheathed while they are among us. With the Duke you never know. He has brought peace to this land, but at a cost.'

  We had reached the crest of a low hill and were beginning our descent into the far valley. In the distance a small walled town straddled the banks of a river.

  'I once passed through a town just like that one over there,' Maurus recalled sombrely. 'It was border country, and the townsfolk had made the mistake of denying the duke's authority. They gave their allegiance to one of his rivals, and quickly found themselves under siege from the duke's men. They thought their walls could not be breached and compounded their error by insulting the duke himself. Some of the bolder citizens stood on the town walls, jeering and calling out that the tanner's daughter was a whore. The duke tightened the siege, and when food within the town ran out and a delegation of burghers came to beg for clemency, he had their hands cut off, then had them hanged from a row of gibbets erected opposite the main gate. The town surrendered, of course, but he showed no mercy even then. He gave his soldiers leave to put the place to the sack, then to set it on fire. There were only ashes and blackened house frames when I passed through.'

  Duke William the Bastard, I thought to myself, was a match for my lord Harald when it came to being ruthless.

  'Did not the town priests intervene, asking for their flock to be spared?' I asked.

  'There is God's mercy, and the duke's mercy,' stated Maurus bleakly, 'and the sins of the earth can rise even to the heavens. The calamities we have suffered since the millennium of the Incarnation of Christ our Saviour are a sign that we have strayed from the path of righteousness.'

  'It is true that there has been famine in the northern lands,' I commented, thinking of Runa's pitiful death.

  'Famine, and worse, is our punishment,' said Maurus gloomily. 'My friend Glaber has written of it. For three years the weather was so unseasonable that it was impossible to furrow the land and sow crops. Then the harvest was destroyed by floods. So many died of hunger that the corpses could n
ot be shrived in church, but were thrown into pits, twenty or thirty at a time. In their desperation men and women began to dig up and eat a certain white earth like potter's clay which they mixed with whatever they had by way of flour or bran to make bread, but it failed to allay their hunger cravings. Others turned to eating carrion, and to feasting on human flesh. Travellers like ourselves became victims of brigands who killed us in order to sell our meat in the markets. One trader even sold human flesh ready cooked. When arrested, he did not deny the shameful charge. He was bound and burned to death. The meat was buried in the ground, but another fellow dug it up and ate it.'

  Maurus paused, and for a moment I wondered if he was imagining what human flesh tasted like, for I had noted that he paid the closest attention to his food and drink. Even in the humblest home he would encourage the housewife to improve her dishes with sauces, and he was constantly complaining about the standard of cooking in Normandy which, if he was to be believed, compared unfavourably with what he was accustomed to "in Burgundy.

  'But that is all in the past,' I ventured. 'Today the people look well fed and content.'

  'We must not ignore portents which foretell a great tragedy,' Maurus responded. 'In a certain town in Auxerre, the wooden statue of Christ in the marketplace began to weep tears, and a wolf entered the church, seized the bell rope with his teeth, and began to toll the bell. And you can see for yourself the blazing star which appeared in the night sky in late April, and now burns every night, moving slowly across the heavens.'

  Years earlier my teacher, a learned drui in Ireland, had told me about this wandering star and predicted its appearance. But to have told that to Maurus would have made it seem that I had learned witchcraft, so I said nothing.

  'The world is tainted with blind cupidity, extreme abominations, thefts and adulteries,' he continued. 'The devil's assistants show themselves boldly. I myself have seen one. In my own monastery in Burgundy, he appeared to me in the form of a mannikin. He had a scrawny neck, jet-black eyes and a lined and wrinkled forehead. He had a wide mouth and blubbery lips, and pointed hairy ears under a shaggy mop of dirty hair. His lower legs were covered with coarse brown fur and he dribbled. He shrieked and gibbered at me, pointing and cursing. I was so terrified that I ran into the chapel, flung myself face down in front of the altar and prayed for protection. Truly it is said that the Antichrist will soon be set free, because this foul mannikin was one of his harbingers.'

  But when we reached Fecamp and the monastery of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, it seemed to me that Maurus's fellow monks did not share his pessimistic view of the future. They were busy refurbishing their church in a manner clearly intended to last for years to come. The huge building swarmed with stoneworkers, labourers, carpenters, glaziers and scaffolders. The central feature was the tomb of the Lord Abbot William, whose Life had been written by Rudolfus Glaber. It was the scene of miracles, so a monk told me in hushed whispers. A ten-year-old boy, gravely ill, had been brought there by his despairing mother and left before the tomb. The child, looking around, had seen a small dove sitting upon the tomb, and after watching it for some time had fallen asleep. 'When he awoke,' the monk told me, 'he found himself perfectly cured.'

  His pious tale was of less interest to me than the cloister gossip. The monks of the Holy Trinity were remarkably knowledgeable about what was going on in the duchy. They had their informants everywhere, from the smallest hamlets to the ducal court itself, and they discussed avidly the war preparations that Duke William was making — how many ships each of his great lords was expected to supply, the number of men-at-arms needed if the venture was to be a success, the quantity of wine and grain being hoarded in great bins, and so forth. The monks were very enthusiastic about the forthcoming campaign, and listening closely I discovered why: the monastery of the Trinity owned rich farmlands in England, and after Harold Godwinsson took the throne, they had ceased to receive any income from their property. Now they wanted Duke William to restore what was theirs, once he had supplanted Harold as king of England. The monastery had even pledged to supply Duke William with a warship for his fleet, paid for from the monastery's ample funds.

  I commented to Maurus that some might see it as a contradiction for the house of God to be providing instruments of warfare, and he laughed.

  'Let me show you something which is an even more useful contribution to his campaign. Come with me; it is only a short walk.'

  He led me out of a side gate to the monastery and down a rutted lane until we came to an orchard. Unusually, the orchard was surrounded by a strongly built stone wall.

  'There!' he said, pointing.

  I peered over the wall. Grazing under apple trees were three extraordinary animals. I recognised that they were horses, but they did not look like any horses that I had ever seen before. Each animal was broad and heavy, with short muscular legs like thick pillars, and a back as broad as a refectory table.

  'Stallions, all three of them,' explained Maurus approvingly. 'The monastery will donate them to William's army.'

  'As pack animals?' I queried.

  'No, no, as destriers, as battle chargers. Each can carry a knight in full armour. There is not a foot soldier in the world who can withstand the shock of a knight mounted on a beast like that. Our monastery specialises in the breeding of these animals.'

  I thought back to the incident outside the walls of Syracuse when I had witnessed Iron Arm, the sword-wielding Frankish knight, use his brute strength to destroy a skilful Arab rider mounted on an agile steed, and I had a vivid picture of William's heavy cavalry mounted on their destriers, smashing down a shield wall of infantry.

  'But how will William manage to transport such heavy animals on his ships and land them safely on the English shore?' I asked.

  'I have no idea,' admitted Maurus, 'but there will be a means, that's for sure. William leaves nothing to chance when he wages war, and he has expert advisers, even from this abbey.' I must have looked sceptical, for he added, 'Do you remember meeting the monastery's almoner yesterday? He sat near us during the evening meal in the refectory, the gaunt-looking man with three fingers missing from his left hand. That's a war wound. Before he entered the monastery, he was a mercenary soldier. He's a member of Duke William's council and helps in planning the invasion. The monastery owns a parcel of land on the coast of England, just opposite the shortest sea crossing. It will be an ideal spot for William's troops to come ashore, and the almoner - his name is Regimus — will accompany the fleet so he can point out the best place to beach the boats carrying our troops and, of course, the heavy horses.

  I was thoughtful as I walked back to the monastery. Everything I had heard about the Duke of Normandy indicated that he was serious about invading England, and that he was preparing his campaign with close attention to detail. I had the impression that when William the Bastard decided on a course of action, he followed it through and made sure that it was a success. It was not 'devil's luck' which had brought him this far; it was his determination and shrewdness, coupled with his ruthlessness. My earlier misgivings that Harald might be foolhardy in seeking an alliance with William came seeping back. And this time I also had to ask myself whether I too was being rash in involving myself so closely with these Christians who seemed so self-confident and pugnacious.

  I made my excuses to Maurus, telling him that I intended to travel onward to Rome carrying the bishop of Bremen's request for more priests to be sent to the northern lands. Maurus was content to remain at Fecamp, and now that I had had the experience of travelling with him, I was more confident in my disguise as an itinerant preacher for the White Christ. However, when I left the monastery early on a bright summer morning, I did make one important adjustment to my costume. I stole a black habit and a white gown from the laundry, leaving in their place my travel-stained robe of brown. From now on, I would pretend that I was a follower of the Rule.

  Looking back on that theft, I realise that it was perhaps another sign that I was now too old
to be a successful spy, and that I was becoming careless.

  I needed a private audience with the duke at which I could propose the alliance with Harald of Norway, but I had failed to take into account how difficult it would be to gain access to him. William would be fully occupied with his invasion plans, and far too busy to listen to a humble priest, and his bodyguards would be suspicious of strangers, fearing that they were hired killers sent by the duke's enemies or even by Harold Godwinsson in England. So, recklessly, I had devised a stratagem which I hoped would lead to a meeting with the duke and only a handful of his closest advisers. This hare-brained scheme arose from a remark made by one of the monks at Fecamp. When Maurus had described how he found me half-drowned on the beach, the monks had told us that Harold Godwinsson had spent several months at the duke's court after a similar accident had befallen him. There Harold had been treated generously, and, in return, he had sworn allegiance to the duke and promised to support William's candidacy for the English throne. 'Godwinsson treacherously broke his oath by seizing the throne for himself. He is a usurper and needs to be exposed,' asserted one of the monks. 'There is a brother at the monastery in Jumieges who is writing a full account of this act of perfidy, and he will soon be presenting it to Duke William, just as brother Maurus here has brought to us the Life of Lord Abbot William, lovingly prepared by his friend Rudolfus Glaber in Burgundy. Duke William keenly appreciates those who write the truth.'