The Bastard's Son

by H A CULLEY

  In fact it worked out better that he would have dared hope. All but two of the men-at-arms guarding the gate were asleep and, having crept up and disposed of the two dozing men who were meant to be awake, they had cut the throats of the rest in their beds without the alarm being raised. Doubtless there were other sentries up on the parapet but, if so, they didn’t see Hugo and his men labouring up the steep path to the gates. Hugo bent over with his hands on his knees for a minute trying to recover from the climb and then led the way across the bailey to the small gate let into the wall of the shell keep. To his amazement it wasn’t locked and he led the way inside. Once the last of his men was through it he bolted the gate shut. If there were more French soldiers in the bailey or on the palisade they no longer mattered. In fact, there were only two patrolling the parapet and both had already been killed. The rest were slumbering in the great hall on the other side of the bailey.

  The door into the keep itself was locked but it was made of relatively thin planks of wood designed more to keep the wind out that an enemy and a few men carrying battle axes soon demolished it. The first man inside was skewered by a crossbow quarrel so Hugo called his own bowmen forward and a couple of volleys soon persuaded those inside to retreat to a higher floor. It was hard work fighting their way up the staircase and Hugo and Tristan lost three knights and several soldiers doing so, but eventually the defenders were cornered on the top floor.

  ‘Surrender or we will set this keep ablaze and leave you to burn to death,’ Tristan called up the final flight of stairs.

  It was only later that he realised that they didn’t have the means to carry out his threat. Hugo wondered why he hadn’t thought of doing that earlier; had he done so three floors down he might have saved several deaths on both sides.

  After five minutes of arguing amongst themselves the constable and his companions agreed and Hugo allowed Tristan the honour of accepting the castle’s surrender.

  The next morning there was an excited buzz in the English camp just after the pale fingers of dawn crept over the surrounding hills. William Rufus walked outside his pavilion in his nightshirt to see what the excitement was all about. At first he didn’t notice anything, but then Walter Tyrell pointed out the banner flying above the keep. It depicted three golden leopards couchant on a red field – the royal standard of England.

  -X-

  Hugo shifted uncomfortably on his seat in the king’s pavilion. Not only had William Rufus changed his opinion of Hugo, he had been so impressed by his capture of Gisors that he had rewarded him by making him a member of his war council. Hugo would rather have had another manor or two or a purse full of gold to help defray the expense of maintaining his troops in Normandy. Sitting on a hard bench for hours discussing strategy seemed like a poor substitute. Nevertheless it was a great honour, he supposed, to be included in the same company as William de Ypres, Earl of Kent, Hugh Bigod, Earl of Norfolk, and, surprisingly, Stephen, Count of Aumale; surprising in that he was the supposed rival for the English Throne when Robert de Mowbray had rebelled. Evidently Stephen had managed to convince Rufus of his innocence and was now one of his closest confidents.

  Hugo was pleased to see that the odious Walter Tyrell was nowhere in evidence. One or two of the council had nodded to him when he sat down but none had spoken to him. Then Guillaume Peverel entered the pavilion and, after acknowledging the greetings of the others, came and sat by Hugo’s side.

  ‘I expect they’ve been ignoring you,’ he whispered in Hugo’s ear. ‘Don’t worry, they’re just jealous that you managed to take the castle when they couldn’t.’

  The last person to enter was the Chancellor, the elderly Bishop of Salisbury who also held the titles of Count of Sees in Normandy and Earl of Dorset, though he was never a soldier. They all stood as the king entered. William nodded briefly to the table at large and sat at its head.

  ‘Where’s Flambard?’ he demanded, referring the Treasurer of England.

  ‘Trying to think of new ways to screw money out us, no doubt,’ muttered Hugh Bigod sotto voce, but not quietly enough to escape the king’s ear.

  He glared at Bigod for a long moment and the tittering by those sitting beside the earl quickly died away; however, William evidently decided to ignore him. Just at that moment the treasurer came rushing in, bowed briefly to the king, and then spoke without first taking his seat, contrary to protocol.

  ‘Sire, excellent news. There’s enough silver in the cellars of Gisors Castle to pay the army for at least another three months.’

  Rufus was running short of coins to pay his mercenaries and, because they had completed their obligatory service to him, several of his nobles as well. It was a major concern to him and to his treasurer. Money, or the lack of it, had caused the rift between William and the Archbishop of Canterbury, though there were other reasons for that as well. He was therefore delighted by Flambard’s discovery, but less delighted by the fact that he had blurted it out in council. Now those to whom he was in debt to would demand payment.

  ‘You will take your seat, Flambard, apologise to me for your tardiness and wait until I call upon you to speak. Your behaviour is more suited to an overexcited page than that of one of my most trusted advisors,’ he told the treasurer with some asperity.

  Ranulph Flambard took the reprimand to heart; he felt both chastened and somewhat resentful. Others had found the barrels of coins and word of their existence would soon spread around the camp, so little had been lost by his revelation.

  ‘Now my lords,’ the king continued. ‘With Gisors secured we have two options: we can head north and recover Gournay-en-Bray or we can head for Giverny on the River Seine. The latter would threaten the trade to Paris along the river from the sea and therefore might make the French more inclined to negotiate a peace favourable to me. It also threatens the Ile-de-France more directly.’

  The members of the war council debated the two alternatives hotly but Hugo said nothing. Eventually William held up his hand for quiet.

  ‘Our newest member of the council has yet to venture an opinion. I would be interested hear what de Cuille has to say.’

  Hugo shifted even more uncomfortably on the hard bench.

  ‘Well, sire, it seems to me that first of all we need to decide what our ultimate objective is. If you wish to drive the French into a full scale war, then by all means threaten the Île-de-France and the French capital. However, what do you hope to eventually achieve by this? As we’ve heard, our funds are scarcely inexhaustible and the French will be fighting to protect their country. They have much more to lose than we have and will therefore be prepared to commit vastly more resources to the fight than we can. On the other hand, if you merely wish to safeguard Normandy by taking back that part of the Vexin that your brother Robert has lost to the French over the years, then head for Gournay-en-Bray. Once that is secured, build a castle there and you will have re-established the borders of the Duchy of Normandy as it was in your father’s day.’

  Hugo’s little speech was greeted by stunned silence until the king spoke again.

  ‘Well said. Now why didn’t you say that earlier? It would have saved all of us a great deal of wasted time. Very well; we’ll head for Gournay-en-Bray as soon as the castle here is garrisoned and provisioned by Robert de Bellême, to whom I have given Gisors. I have no doubt the French will try and re-capture it. Let’s hope that they don’t have a bunch of acrobats who can climb walls, eh?

  The council laughed dutifully at the weak joke and then dispersed.

  ‘Wait a moment, de Cuille.’

  ‘Yes, sire?’

  ‘I gather that you are without a squire at the moment?’

  Hugo’s heart sank. He hadn’t been impressed when he learned that his old nemesis, de Bellême, had been given the place he had captured, and now he was certain that the king was going to lumber him with some arrogant scion of the nobility who he wouldn’t either like or want. William would think that he was doing him a favour and it would be impossible
to get rid of the boy if he proved to be useless. He had to think quickly.

  ‘I was, sire, but I’ve just taken into my service the lad who bravely climbed the palisade and killed the sentry at the top, this enabling us to capture Gisors.’

  The king looked surprised. ‘Really? I was told he was only ten or something, and a peasant boy to boot.’

  ‘He’s twelve, sire, which is young for a squire, I grant you, but I felt that his brave exploits deserved proper recognition. I’m certain that he will make a fine serjeant, if not a knight, some day.’

  ‘Very well, it’s your decision of course, but I have been asked by the Earl of Chester to find one of his illegitimate brood a post. I’m happy to oblige him and I gather that he’s fond of the boy. However, as he’s illegitimate I can’t ask one of my barons to take him on. You’d have been a perfect fit for him I suspect.’

  Hugo didn’t know quite what to make of this statement. Was the king suggesting he was somehow inferior? In any case he vaguely recalled meeting the boy in question once when he was a page and he hadn’t been impressed then by his attitude. He hadn’t intended to make Oskar his squire but he was committed now. Tristan’s serjeants wouldn’t be pleased either; they’d have to find themselves another servant.

  Needless to say Oskar couldn’t believe his good fortune. Not only was it a tremendous step up for him, but Sir Hugo was known to be a good master. He mounted his new rouncey with some trepidation as he wasn’t used to riding anything more demanding than a baggage cart. However, Hugo had selected a gentle mare for him to start on and got one of the other squires to give the boy some elementary lessons before they broke camp. Oskar rode out of Gisors behind the knight carrying the de Cuille banner and next to that knight’s squire. He’d worried that the other squires would bully him and make fun of his humble origins but, much to his surprise, he found himself something of a hero and, being two years younger than the most junior of them, they actually felt protective towards him.

  He thought that the only thing that could have made the day more perfect was if his dead parents could have seen him now.

  Chapter Sixteen – An Uneasy Peace

  1099 to 1100

  Ranulph Flambard felt like skipping like a young boy. He didn’t of course. He was nearly forty and somewhat corpulent so he might well have damaged himself, had he been so foolish. At long last he had achieved his ambition of securing a bishopric, and not just any diocese either. As Bishop of Durham he was both a lord spiritual and a secular magnate as well. His estates included much of the county of Durham as well as the enclave along the border with Scotland from the Holy Island of Lindisfarne in the east to the boundary with the manor of Wark in the west.

  Of course, he had held the appointment temporarily when William de Calais, the previous bishop, had fallen into disfavour during the rebellion of 1088 but that ceased after a year when de Calais was restored to favour. Now the lucrative post was his permanently.

  Ranulph was by nature a man of business and his main concern was the loss of income to the Durham Enclave along the Tweed should relations with the Scots deteriorate and border raids re-commence. Even with the friendly Etgair on the throne north of the border, isolated incursions still occurred and Scotland was notorious for changing its monarchs quite frequently. The next one might not be an ally. He therefore intended to put the plan to build a castle at Norham to guard the main crossing point over the Tweed into action as quickly as possible.

  He was well aware that there was also a ford at Wark further west along the river and that Hugo de Cuille was tasked by the king to build a castle there, which so far he had singularly failed to do. He was uncomfortably aware that he had urged him to delay several years ago, but now things had changed and he needed him to get started to coincide with the construction of his own fortress. Flambard’s first priority was therefore to see Hugo.

  Hugo and Tristan had returned from Normandy in the spring of 1099 along with William Rufus. The Vexin had been restored to the latter’s rule, as had the County of Maine. King Philippe of France, nicknamed l'Amoureux, had fallen in love with the Countess of Anjou, Bertrade de Montfort, and had abducted her. He had subsequently married her despite the fact that he and Bertrade were both married already. As a result Phillipe had been excommunicated by the Pope for bigamy. He was therefore more concerned with resolving his complex personal life, and with the recovery of Bourges, whose viscount had revolted against him, than he was with either the Vexin or Maine. William could turn his undivided attention back to England and the problem of the wretched Welsh.

  ‘You know, we could have been back here last year if William hadn’t been a chivalrous fool,’ Tristan remarked to his father as they disembarked at Dover.

  ‘I agree. His mistake was releasing Count Helias along with the other Mainard prisoners as part of his treaty with Fulk of Anjou. Helias even warned him that he would try to regain Maine if William let him go. I was there when Helias made his promise. All William did was to tell him he couldn’t take the threat seriously as the man was no better than a jester. He actually said ‘sod off and do your worst. If I can’t beat you again I won’t remind you of the favour I’m doing you now.’ Perhaps William was enjoying fighting on the Continent too much to bring it to an end?’

  ‘Perhaps, although it was the height of folly. Not only has our return been delayed unnecessarily but William would have had more than air in his purse.’

  The last year of campaigning had been expensive in terms of both gold and men.

  ‘Well, we’re back now. I can’t face going to Edale yet; too many memories. Robert is building me a new stone hall but he tells me that it won’t be ready for a few months. I’ll come north with you and then return to Edale in the summer when it should be finished.’

  ‘Will you live there on your own?’

  ‘Oh yes, I think so. I’m sure I could find a pretty young maiden to warm my bed and act as chatelaine but I’m getting too old to need to fornicate too often and I’ll not risk having my heart broken and pride dented again.’

  Tristan laughed. ‘You’ll never be too old to make the beast with two backs, father. How’s young Oskar getting on?’ he asked to change the subject. The image of his father making love was not one he wished to dwell on.

  Hugo glanced behind him where the boy was approaching with Hugo’s destrier and his own rouncey, having seen them unloaded safely from the cog in which they’d crossed the Channel.

  ‘Fine. He’s thirteen now and his manners and speech have become, if not gentlemanly, at least less coarse, so he looks and acts more like a squire. He’s quite handy with most weapons, given his small stature, and he’s popular with his fellows. He’s still mischievous, of course, which is one of the reasons he’s popular. He has the sense to pick only on those who’ll take it in good part. That’ll need watching. His pranks are humorous at the moment; I wouldn’t want them to become malicious.’

  Tristan nodded. ‘I think my serjeants have nearly forgiven you for pinching him from them!’

  He grinned at his father who smiled back. Hugo was too well liked by those who served him and his sons for any of them to hold a grudge. Besides which, the men were delighted for Oskar in the main and didn’t begrudge him his lucky break.

  The two men and their retinue headed north-west towards London on the first stage of their long journey to Harbottle as soon as the last horse had been unloaded and wagons for the baggage purchased. Hugo wasn’t looking forward to the long journey; he knew that his muscles would ache at the end of each day and sometimes he could hardly walk after a day in the saddle, but he gritted his teeth and persevered.

  -X-

  Feeling more secure now, William had even become reconciled with his brother Henry. The two had never got on that well. William derided his younger brother’s love of learning and ability to read and write. William could do neither. For his part, Henry didn’t understand his sibling’s complex character. The two couldn’t be more dissimilar, except in app
earance. Both were short, stocky and barrel-chested with black hair worn down to their shoulders. Henry was cunning and clever, unlike his flamboyant and mercurial brother. He planned well in advance and he was careful. That didn’t make him a bad soldier; on the contrary, he won because of his meticulous planning and preparation, and his strategic brain. His problem was that he didn’t have the support or the resources to prove himself on the battlefield.

  One day in the summer of 1099 William invited several of his courtiers, including his brother and Walter Tyrell, to go hunting with him in Richmond Park. The area was a royal forest which was full of red deer and the occasional boar. William liked hunting deer but his preference was for boar; they were the more dangerous quarry and he preferred the taste of their meat. By this stage Henry had decided that his brother should meet a hunting accident. It was the way that their brother Richard had died and it would arouse the least suspicion. The trouble was hunting boar didn’t really lend itself to assassination masquerading as an unfortunate mishap. Boar were hunted with a special spear and that could hardly end up killing someone accidentally. The boar might well attack someone with its tusks, but that couldn’t be engineered. No, a deer hunt would be better as an arrow was often used to end the life of a stag once it had been brought to bay. A clean kill meant that the meat was less tough.

  On this occasion they found a sow with piglets. Normally a sow provided less sport than a boar but one protecting it’s young, especially newly weaned shoats as this one was, were just as dangerous, perhaps more so. Once the chasing boar hounds had exhausted the sow, she turned on the huntsmen and they leashed their dogs. William claimed the honour and, hefting his spear, dismounted and approached the sow standing in front of its squealing shoats. He watched the sow’s small eyes carefully, looking for the sign that it was about to attack. When he saw them narrow he gripped the spear more tightly and, as the sow leaped forward to rip open his stomach with her tusks, he thrust the spear into her chest. The momentum of the animal’s fierce charge forced him back several paces as the maddened sow struggled to reach him, despite the spear point tearing into its innards.