The Bastard King Page 17
She was not a soft woman but when the siege was finally broken and his starving uncle came to kneel before him and crave forgiveness, he gave it on Matilda’s advice.
‘He is your uncle,’ she said. ‘It is never wise to revenge oneself on blood relations. Let him go and he will think very carefully before he enters into a conspiracy again. He might even become your loyal subject.’
He agreed with her and the Count was allowed to keep his lands on which William had cast covetous eyes. But Matilda was right and what he needed more than anything was peace in Normandy. If the opportunity to go to England were to come, Matilda had stressed, how could he go and leave Normandy at war within itself? His first task was to unite Normandy and let the world know of the strength of its Duke. Only the strong could afford to be merciful.
But the King of France had his honour to avenge. He could not pass over the loss of some of his finest soldiers. Moreover William was too strong a ruler to please him. What he wanted was a dependent vassal.
He declared war on William and very soon William had a new battle on his hands.
‘Must there always be war to separate us?’ he said to Matilda during one of his brief visits to her. ‘When I was a boy I used to think old Mauger cast a spell upon me so that I could not do my lessons. Now I think he has laid another spell upon me. He dabbles in black arts, you know. He is not a true Christian.’
‘And he is your Archbishop of Rouen!’
‘He has held the post for so long. Remember he is my father’s brother.’
‘Bastard!’ growled Matilda.
‘And not the only one,’ said William, ‘as you once reminded me.’
‘Your bastardy is a credit to you. His a disgrace.’
‘And why the difference?’
‘Because you are my love, and my husband, and everything that is yours is precious to me.’
It was illogical reasoning but pleasant to hear.
‘I never was happy until I knew you,’ he told her.
‘Wait till I show you your son. Then you will know the greatest happiness.’
‘I long to see him.’
‘As I do, you can well imagine. He is a lively fellow and heavy to carry.’
‘That shows he will be a true son of his father.’
And very soon after that the child was born. As Matilda had prophesied her first-born could not be anything but a boy, and a boy this was. He was as lusty as his father would wish and it was true that William had never known such a proud and happy moment as when he stood looking down at Matilda with their child in his arms.
‘Let us call him Robert after my father,’ he said.
‘Robert the Magnificent,’ murmured Matilda. ‘This one will be magnificent, I promise you.’
He bent and kissed her. ‘And you are a woman who always keeps her promises. How I curse the King of France for taking me away from you and my son.’
‘Despatch him quickly and come back to us,’ said Matilda.
‘You may rest assured that the moment I have done so I shall be with you.’
It was a mighty force that came against him and at the head of it was the King of France.
William was not deterred; he could beat the French at any time, he was sure; but he must not allow himself to underestimate the enemy, and he knew that he had a major war ahead of him.
He was surrounded by enemies and the fact of his excommunication had given them fresh hope and fresh reason to displace him.
Often he thought of Edward in England and wondered how such a feeble king who could never be a warrior was able to live more peacefully than he. Always at the back of his mind was the thought that one day the call would come. And how could he go to England while Normandy was in turmoil?
He must get this excommunication lifted. When Pope Leo died suddenly his hopes were raised – until his successor pronounced his agreement with the excommunication.
Sometimes he was indeed sure that Mauger had set a spell on him.
One day wearily returning to his camp he came upon a man riding a lame horse. He recognized him as Lanfranc with whom he had long been acquainted and who had until recently been the Prior of the Abbey of Bec. Lanfranc was a man whom he had liked until he placed himself firmly on the side of the Pope and denounced the marriage because it was going against the Holy Father’s commands.
He had been angry, particularly as he had admired Lanfranc, and to find him among his enemies had so incensed him that he had told him to get out of Normandy.
Lanfranc had come to Normandy from Pavia and because he was a great scholar he had been given the Abbey; William had been good to him and, finding him ungrateful, in a sudden burst of anger he exiled him.
At that time, feeling weary of battle, longing for his home, he was far from pleased to see the Prior.
He called to him: ‘Hey, Prior. What do you here? Did I not order you from the land?’
‘My lord,’ answered Lanfranc, ‘you did so.’
‘Then, pray, why are you still here?’
‘As you see, my lord, my horse is lame. You have many fine horses in your company. If you will but give me one of them you will be rid of me the sooner.’
William smiled. He had always liked the man and he felt his good-humour returning.
He said: ‘I had not wished you to leave, Lanfranc, had you remained my friend.’
‘I have never been aught but a friend to you, my lord.’
‘You have sided with the Pope against me.’
‘I have said that if the Pope forbids the marriage, then marriage there should not be.’
‘God’s Splendour,’ cried William, ‘is that not what I say? You are no friend to me.’
‘Not so, my lord. If the Pope could be persuaded to give his consent, then would I support your marriage with all my heart.’
‘You seek to play tricks with words. Is that not what all my enemies would say?’
‘Your enemies rejoice in what you have done. I, your friend, deplore it. As your friend I would I might go to Rome and persuade the Pope that there is no valid reason why your marriage should not have taken place.’
‘I see that you blindly obey the Pope even if it goes against reason and the wishes of your Seigneur.’
‘That is my duty as a man of the Church, my lord, and my duty must be done.’
William narrowed his eyes.
‘A horse shall be brought for you and you shall return to my camp. I have decided I do not wish you to leave . . . in exile. What you may do is make arrangements to go to the Pope and explain to him the folly of this ban.’
Lanfranc seemed well pleased.
‘I believe I have the right explanations in my mind,’ he said.
‘Then go at once. For the sooner the ban is lifted the sooner my enemies will have one reason less to attack me.’
As a result Lanfranc left without delay to put the case of William and Matilda before the Pope.
The wars continued. His life was spent between the battlefield and the castle and his great joys were the days when he could be with Matilda.
Robert, their first-born, was flourishing and Matilda was pregnant again. In due course she gave birth to a daughter, Cecily; the pattern of life did not change. The war continued. As soon as one enemy was overcome another would rise.
Matilda gave birth to another daughter, Adelisa, and then a son Richard, and still the war went on.
William’s family was growing; he longed to be able to spend more time with them; he wanted to make Normandy prosperous; he wanted to indulge his passion for building which would enrich and beautify the countryside; but there must be continual war and devastation.
By the end of the decade, the pattern began to change. Henry of France, whom William had beaten back to his frontiers, died, and his successor, his son Philip, who was only seven years old, was placed under the care of Baldwin of Flanders. William naturally approved of having the young King in hands friendly to himself and when in France there was a rebellion aga
inst the young monarch, he went into battle which resulted in his forcing the French nobles to swear allegiance to their young King and his guardian Baldwin.
Most important of all, Lanfranc returned from Rome with the Pope’s decision that on certain conditions the excommunication would be rescinded.
Matilda and William were to set aside a sum of money to feed and clothe one hundred poor people; they were to build two abbeys – William’s was to be for monks and Matilda’s for nuns. If they did this God would forgive their disobedience to Holy Church and they would be taken back into the fold.
This was no hardship. Cheerfully Matilda set about founding Holy Trinity for nuns while William endowed St Stephens and as a reward for his good work set Lanfranc in charge of it.
Matilda was gleeful. She was pleased with a life which William, her children and her interest in affairs made exciting.
William’s devotion had not diminished; he was that unusual husband, a faithful one. It was well for him that he was, she told him, for she would not endure infidelity.
‘If you took a mistress there would be trouble,’ she warned him. Not that he needed the warning. He was content with Matilda and too concerned with his ambitions to think over much of women. Matilda supplied all he needed in that direction.
‘You would poison her, doubtless,’ he said.
‘Either you or her,’ she answered almost casually.
He laughed at her, for the idea was absurd. They were as one; one life; one ambition. To keep the Duchy of Normandy under control so that when the call came to take England they would be ready.
It was rarely that a great commander could discuss his affairs with a woman; but Matilda was no ordinary woman. She must know all his plans. She was his helpmeet. Often she gave voice to what was uppermost in his mind at that time so that it was almost as though they could communicate by means other than words. It was so in the case of Mauger.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘there is an opportunity of ridding yourself of Mauger.’
He nodded.
‘He worships the old gods. Yet he is your Archbishop. I have made some enquiries. It is true that he practises sorcery. If there was a trial, evidence against him could be produced. I know that.’
He nodded.
In a few weeks after that conversation Mauger was brought before his judges. How right Matilda had proved to be. It was discovered that he had numerous children whom he had favoured with benefices; he had sold preferments and robbed the church. Moreover it was proved that during the lavish banquets he gave, which often ended in sexual orgies, he had boasted that at his command he had a familiar, who could not be seen but who could be heard to converse with him. He called this spirit Thoret and declared he was an offspring of the god Thor. At his banquets the Archbishop and Thoret were said to have held amusing but rather lewd dialogues.
Matilda and William awaited the outcome of this trial; there were some who felt wary of condemning Mauger too harshly for his reputation as a sorcerer inspired them with fear and as he was in communication with Thoret he could certainly have special powers to cast spells.
Matilda soothed William’s fears in that respect. ‘He has a gift of throwing his voice,’ she said. ‘He can keep his lips still and make the voice appear to come not from his mouth.’
The result of the trial was that Mauger was dispossessed of his lands and exiled to Guernsey where he went with his wife, his son and his mistresses, there to end his days in the enjoyment of the lusts of the flesh.
‘This is the end of trouble in that quarter,’ said William.
‘Did I not tell you so,’ asked Matilda.
Yes indeed they were one. She was for William and her family against the rest of the world.
She it was who suggested that little Robert should be espoused to Marguerite, the young sister of the Count of Maine. Her reason was that Maine, one of the vassal states, had long been turbulent and caused William trouble, and she believed that if the families were united there would be friendship between them. She had a stronger motive. The Count of Maine was young but ailing and without heirs. If he died the estates would pass to his sister and if that sister were married to Robert, they would be in the hands of William and his family.
There was no objection to the marriage and little Marguerite came to Rouen to be brought up under guardians chosen by Matilda, there to await the day when Robert would be of an age to marry.
It so happened the Count did die, but Count Walter of Mantes, who was married to Biota, an aunt of the dead Count of Maine, declared that his wife had the greater claim.
Here was another cause for war, but William, heavily engaged elsewhere, sent troops to wrest Maine from Walter and this was one of the rare occasions when there was not an easy victory.
The Count drove William’s force out of Maine and set up his own victorious standard.
William was incensed. He could not endure failure. He discussed the matter with Matilda. She was astute. He could rely on her. His mother had supported him in all he did but simply out of love, loyalty and maternal pride. Not that Matilda was not loving and did not give her absolute devotion. She did – but she had something else to offer. She had an understanding of affairs which Arlette could never have; she was far-seeing, shrewd and never over-scrupulous where the good of William and Normandy were concerned.
‘Invite the Count here to talk over terms with you,’ she suggested, and there was a veiled look in her eyes.
William accepted her advice and the Count came with his Countess.
They dined with William and Matilda and the position of Maine was discussed. William expressed his desire to be just and to find some amicable way of settling the difference.
The Count was agreeably surprised.
But that night both he and his wife died in their beds.
Matilda smiled secretively when the news was brought to her.
That was not the end of trouble; but William was beginning to be feared throughout Normandy. It was believed that he could not lose a battle and if he did, as in the case of Walter of Mantes, evil forces worked for him.
He had overcome the excommunication. Archbishop Mauger had died shortly after being exiled by him. When out sailing between Guernsey and Normandy he had feasted too well and when the boat was brought ashore undid his belt to give his swollen stomach some comfort. This released his hose which fell to his knees, and thus encumbered he fell into the sea and although it was low water he, being much the worse for drink, was unable to arise and so he drowned.
‘A fitting end,’ said William.
‘No more to fear from that one,’ added Matilda.
When Arlette became ill and sent for her son, he lost no time in going to her bedside.
She lay back, pale but still beautiful, and he kissed her tenderly.
‘My William,’ she said. ‘I am so proud of you.’
‘And I of you,’ he assured her.
‘Of the tanner’s daughter?’ she asked with a smile.
‘You know I would not change her for the greatest Princess in Christendom,’ he answered earnestly.
‘Bless you, William. What a happy day it was for me when I washed my clothes in the stream and your father rode by.’
‘You have had a happy life, Mother?’
She nodded. ‘And you have been a source of greater happiness than any. I have seen you grow in power and I remember always my dream.’
‘It has not been fulfilled yet, Mother.’
‘It will be. I promise you.’
‘You saw the branches stretching out beyond Normandy, beyond the sea. You saw them over England, Mother.’
‘My son will leave his mark on the world. I have always known it. William, my well-beloved son, will you do something for me?’
‘It is done,’ he said.
‘Your sister and your half-brothers, Odo and Robert . . . will you care for them?’
‘With all my heart. Fear not, Mother. They shall have high places in the land.’
‘I will remember, Mother.’
‘Shed no tears for me, William. I bless you. May you be as happy in your family as I have been in mine. I am sorry that you are a bastard. But it could be nothing else.’
‘Set aside your sorrow. Know that I have come to be proud of the name. You know I use it on all my documents.’
‘William the Bastard! You have made it a title of honour. Good-bye, my dearest. My love for you has been great.’
‘I know it,’ he answered.
She was buried with all honours and her body was laid in the abbey at Grestain which she had founded.
William kept his promise. Odo became the Bishop of Bayeux and Robert was Count of Mortain. His sister Adeliz was married to a Count.
The years were passing.
Another boy was born to them. This was William, after his father. The family was growing; it was beginning to be realized that William the Bastard, with Matilda of Flanders beside him, was one of the most powerful men of Europe.
Adelisa in Love
IT WAS A year he would never forget. He was no longer young, being thirty-eight years of age. It had been a hard life mostly spent in fighting. He often said it was small wonder he was a great soldier since he had spent most of his life following that profession and there had been little time for anything else.
Often he talked to Matilda of how he would like to see the Duchy develop. There were so many better ways of living than fighting. He wanted to improve the farming lands; he wanted to set up glassworks; he admired fine works of gold or silver and wished to help the creators of these, but his greatest enthusiasm was for architecture.
‘Do you know, Matilda,’ he often said, ‘when I have to burn some grand castle I feel a pang of sorrow. I would like to see fine castles, cathedrals, dwellings, all over the land.’
‘And all in your possession, my lord,’ Matilda reminded him.
‘’Tis so. My mother used to say that once I had acquired something I never wished to let it go.’