The Bastard King (24 page)

‘So he would wish my father to bargain with you?'

‘It seems reasonable. Don't forget your father is the father-in-law of his brother, Tostig. I wish that marriage had never taken place.'

‘Well,' said Matilda, ‘we have him here. The first step is to bring him to you. Let him be your
guest
.'

‘As soon as the messenger is refreshed he shall ride back to Ponthieu with my orders.'

‘I never trusted Guy of Ponthieu.'

‘Nor I. But since he rebelled against me and I forced him to swear fealty he can do nothing but obey.'

‘If he does not,' added Matilda, ‘methinks it could go ill with him.'

‘Let us hope he realizes that as well as you do.'

The messenger, refreshed, rode back with William's orders that Earl Harold was to be brought with all speed to Rouen where he would be the guest of the Duke of Normandy.

It seemed however that Guy of Ponthieu had not learned his lesson. The messenger came back with yet another communication. The Counts of Ponthieu had always considered that what was thrown up on the shores of their estates belonged to them. The Count realized that this particular piece of flotsam was somewhat valuable and in view of this he was asking a large ransom. Whether this was paid to him by Harold's family or the Duke of Normandy mattered not to him. All he asked was his dues.

Such a reply was enough to infuriate William. He was ready
to march on Ponthieu. It was Matilda who restrained him.

She signed to him to dismiss the messenger and, knowing that her opinion was always worth considering, William did so.

‘Harold must believe himself to be a
guest
,' she insisted. ‘If you are ready to go to battle to take possession of him he will realize how eager you are to have him here and that he is more prisoner, than guest. Nay, he must come here and we will show him friendship. We must have banquets and sports for him and while he is here we will discover what is happening in England – how long Edward is likely to live and how much support Harold has in England. You might even persuade him to be your vassal.'

‘Persuade him?'

‘Gently at first. I can be very persuasive.'

‘I shall settle Ponthieu in my own way.'

‘I pray you, don't have fighting over this matter – only as a last resource. Threaten Ponthieu but at the same time give him an opportunity of extricating himself gracefully. Offer him a choice. If he insists on holding Harold you will burn down his castle, take from him what he has and punish him with death. Let him give up Harold and you will reward him. You will pay the ransom and you might even give him certain lands in addition to what he holds already. This is the way to do it. You may be sure he is trembling in his shoes now, having incurred your wrath. He will think he has come out of the matter most happily.'

‘There is wisdom in this,' said William, realizing that Matilda was right.

In a very short time a message came from Ponthieu. Earl Harold had been released and the Count with Harold and his retinue was setting out to meet the Duke.

Unable to curb his impatience William rode out with a glittering cavalcade to meet Harold.

In a field of Picardy they came face to face. William was somewhat dismayed by the sight of the man who for some time had been very often in his thoughts. He had expected a replica of Alfred and Edward Atheling. Far from it. This man
was every inch – and there were a good many inches for Harold was almost as tall as William – a warrior. That he was extremely handsome there was no denying. His was the kind of face which demanded attention and held it. His golden hair glistened in the sun; his eyes were deep blue, his features finely cut; his entire bearing charming. He must be some forty years of age, William calculated, but he looked younger than William. He lacked William's bulk, being very slender. William, although not exactly fat, was showing signs of a corpulence to come. His robe was embroidered. William thought grimly, Matilda will be interested in that. The Saxons were noted for their needlework. On Harold's wrists were gold bracelets and there were rings on his fingers. Noticing these ornaments William reminded himself that Harold was a seasoned warrior for all his finery.

‘Well met,' said William. ‘And welcome to Normandy.'

Harold thanked the Duke for his hospitality.

William threw a glance at the Count of Ponthieu, and said: ‘We must make up for your harsh reception.'

He had since heard that Guy de Ponthieu had kept Harold in a dungeon. Well, as Matilda said, perhaps that was not such a bad thing for now he would the greater appreciate the kind hospitality of the Duke.

‘I am glad to find the Duke more chivalrous than his vassals,' said Harold.

William cast a cold look at Guy and invited Harold to ride beside him.

‘The Duchess was horrified when she heard of your treatment,' William told him. ‘Pray do not judge Normandy by some of our churls.'

‘Such rustics, alas, exist in all countries,' replied Harold. ‘It could well have happened that had you, my lord, been washed up on our shores, some lout might have imprisoned you in a dungeon.'

‘Happily we may dismiss that unfortunate beginning of your visit from our minds. We shall have much to talk of. Recently your King gave me great hospitality in his country; now I am going to endeavour to do the same for you in mine. Let us
spur our horses. The Duchess will be impatiently awaiting our arrival.'

Something exciting was happening. Adelisa knew it. The smell of roasting venison filled the castle. It often did but there was a difference today. There was such a bustle everywhere, and Father had ridden off with a band of important people and Mother was excitedly awaiting his return.

Important visitors there often were but this was something even more.

Adelisa loved to watch from a window the comings and goings at the castle. Sometimes a messenger came, travel-stained, his horse sweating. That meant important news. There had been such a coming a few days ago and now whatever was going to happen was a result of it.

Constance and Adela kept asking questions. Cecilia, who was a little self-righteous, thought they should wait until they were told what was happening and not watch from windows and listen at doors. Adelisa supposed she was right but the temptation to discover was too great to be resisted.

‘There will be feasting today,' said Adelisa; ‘and then the minstrels will play and there will be stories told down there. How I wish that I could be there.'

It was difficult to settle to lessons. Even the familiar stories which she liked to hear over and over again had little charm for her. There was too much excitement in the air.

‘There is something special about this visit,' said Adelisa. ‘I know it.'

‘You will have to wait and see,' said Cecilia, ‘and I shall pray that the visitor will be someone good and not someone who is going to plague our father so that he has to ride away to punish people.'

‘Listen,' said Adelisa. ‘They are coming.'

That exciting sound of horses' hoofs! The trumpet calls! This meant important arrivals. The grooms were waiting to receive the horses. Their mother was waiting in a low-cut gown that flowed gracefully to her feet; one thick golden plait over her left shoulder, the other hanging down her back. A veil
covering her head and a glittering ornament holding it in place. And then their father rode into the courtyard with their guest. Adelisa gasped. Never had she seen such a beautiful being. Thus had she imagined the gods and heroes who had figured in her stories.

This man who rode beside her father was not so much a prince as a god. The sun made a golden halo of his hair; he was so beautifully clad in his embroidered robe; tall, slender, smiling.

He must be one of the heroes stepped out of her stories but never had she imagined one as beautiful as this.

Adelisa was bewitched.

She crept out of bed and hoped her sisters would not hear. She must peer down into the hall where they would be feasting. She must see him, hear him. He had spoken to her father. His voice matched the rest of him. It was soft and musical. How undistinguished everyone was compared with him, even her own father of whom everyone was in awe. They were earthy; he was heavenly. Could he be really flesh and blood? Could there be such beauty on the earth?

Her parents were excited by him. She had never seen them so pleased with any of their guests. She was glad. It would be unfitting for anyone not to pay him the homage his beauty demanded.

She retreated up the stone stair which circled as it ascended. She dared not be seen. She dreaded her father's anger as they all did, even Rufus, although he pretended not to; and even Robert, although he pretended even more. Richard of course would never incur it.

Now even if she could not see she could listen and perhaps from the sound of voices identify that sweet one.

She crept back to bed and dreamed of him.

She could not attend to her lessons. Whenever he rode out, as he did often with her father, she was at the window.

Once her mother found her there. Her shoulder was caught in a firm grip. Adelisa was as much afraid of her mother as she was of her father. She was unsure of her, even more than of
her father. His anger was terrible and fierce and punishments were meted out for disobedience and wrong conduct but the children were aware of why they displeased him and they could avoid that displeasure. Their mother was not so easy to understand.

Now she said: ‘Ha! what do you here? You are always prying at our guest.'

A hot blush crept into Adelisa's cheeks. Then she had been observed!

Matilda caught her ear and pinched it.

‘It would seem to me that you have a high fancy for Earl Harold.'

‘I . . . I thought him good to look upon.'

‘You are not alone in that, child. He is one of the handsomest men most of us have ever seen. Your father is very happy to have him with us.'

Adelisa looked pleased.

‘Why, he has bemused you! You have begun early, my daughter, in giving your affections to men.'

‘Only to this one, Mother.'

That made Matilda laugh and again Adelisa was not sure whether she had pleased her mother or whether she was in disgrace.

‘He is a mighty man in his own country, Adelisa.'

‘It is clear,' said Adelisa, unable to stop herself. ‘It is only necessary to look at him to see that he is . . .'

‘A great lord,' supplied Matilda, ‘in fact a king.'

‘Is he a king?' asked Adelisa excitedly.

‘I believe he imagines himself to be . . . almost that.' She laughed again. ‘Why, Adelisa, I believe that if he offered to ride away with you on his charger you would go. You would leave us all for him.'

Adelisa was distressed and feared that her mother was really angry. The thought of this god riding off with her on a charger was intoxicating bliss; but of course a good daughter should not wish to leave her family.

Matilda pinched the ear a little harder.

‘'Tis natural,' she said. ‘These people are attractive.' A
faraway look came into her eyes and it was replaced suddenly by a look of fierce anger. ‘They set a high price on themselves, Adelisa, but never forget you are the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Normandy.'

Her mother left her. There were no threats as to what would happen if she were caught spying again; there was no reproach because she had implied she would willingly ride away with him on his charger.

She was free to indulge her imagination and Harold, Earl of Wessex, continued to fill her thoughts.

In spite of his easy manners, Harold was far from happy. It was an ill fortune which had thrown him up on the coast of Normandy. He did not trust Norman William and he well knew what his ultimate aim was. Harold had set out for the Court of Flanders, there to negotiate for the return of his brother and nephew. How unpredictable were the storms about the coast of England! If he had known he would find himself in Rouen, the honoured guest, which meant the prisoner of the Duke of Normandy, he would never have set out.

His dignity had been outraged by his treatment at the hands of Guy of Ponthieu and considerably restored by William the Duke; but he knew that although he was accorded the respect by the latter which had been denied him by the former, his position at Rouen was no less hazardous than it had been at Ponthieu.

The fact was that he was the leading earl of England and that Englishmen were looking upon him as their future king and that William of Normandy believed that crown would be his by right on the death of Edward. The lavish hospitality, the friendly smiles of the Duke and his wife did not deceive him at all. He was wary and waiting for the outcome of this visit and wishing with all his heart that he was on the high seas bound for home.

Edith had tried to persuade him not to come. The mother of his children, Edith Swanneshals, which meant ‘Edith of the Swan Neck', had been faithful to him for many years and she was his wife in everything but name. No woman could
have been more faithful and more beloved; their sons and daughters were his beloved family and he could rely on them all, Godwin, Edmund, Magnus, and his girls Gunhild and Gytha and even the young baby boy little Ulf. The longing to be with Edith and his family was great. When Edward died and he had the crown, Edith would be as his Queen and Godwin should follow him to the throne. That was his dream; but this ambitious and powerful Duke dreamed also. And what went on in that subtle mind while William behaved as though he were an honoured guest?

And Matilda? She was even more of an enigma. The Duke often left him with his wife. Why? Was he hoping he would indulge in some indiscretion? He could not understand what these two were planning although he knew that their ultimate motive was to rob him of the crown of England.

This he was determined they should not do. Before he had died so suddenly at the King's table his father Earl Godwin had said to him: ‘Harold my son, I have been King of England in all but name. But you shall wear the crown. This is what I have striven for beyond aught else. My son to be King of England.'