The Bastard King (14 page)

The night air was cold on his insufficiently clad body and as he came along the road he heard the sound of galloping horses' hoofs. He turned his horse into a wood and waited
there. He knew that the party, with murder in their hearts, were riding on to the inn.

He was never to forget that ride through the night; on he went, his bare legs and feet frozen, wondering what would happen to him if he came face to face with his enemies now – unarmed as he was, his horse wellnigh spent.

Good fortune was with him.

A man was riding towards him. How strange he must look. What would this fellow think?

‘I believe I am on the road to Falaise,' he said. ‘But I am unsure. I have urgent business there.'

Urgent business clad only in a shirt and a cloak!

With what joy did he hear the man's reply.

‘My lord Duke, I am your loyal subject. Pray tell me what I may do for you.'

‘First give me some warm food and clothes, then a horse.'

‘Follow me, my lord.'

William learned that he had the good fortune to meet with Hubert de Rye, one of his loyal subjects. In a short time he was in warm clothing, was fed and a horse had been provided for him.

Hubert de Rye's three sons then rode with the Duke back to Falaise.

Another narrow escape.

Oh, Guy, thought William, so you would murder me then.

He could think of nothing but Guy. During his life he had known many traitors but none like Guy. There were times when he felt bitterly wounded and at others he was filled with a searing hatred. He was going to punish Guy. He was going to show him what it meant to betray the Bastard.

He would make war on Guy and the rebels.

At this time, true to his word, the King of France came to William's assistance. William had won his spurs; he had proved himself skilled in the arts of war; he was not without learning either; in fact he was capable of governing. The King, at this time, desired a peaceful neighbour and he thought that
here was a good opportunity to show William that the matter of the frontier fort had not impaired their friendship. He offered to help the Duke rid himself of trouble-makers. He wanted a peaceful Normandy, for war was infectious; and it was not good that rulers should be overthrown by their rebellious subjects. It happened therefore that as William was preparing to go to war against Guy and his supporters, he was joined by Henry at the head of a company of French soldiers.

Now were William and Guy facing each other in earnest. Guy was not the only traitor but it was of Guy that he thought. The lust for battle was upon him; he was going to prove to himself and to all traitors that he was indeed the Duke of Normandy.

How right his teachers had been! All that he had learned over the years of training stood him in good stead. He knew no fear. It was as though Rollo rode beside him.

William was in the heart of the mêlée. How many died from his lance that day he did not know. All he knew was that with every thrust, every clash of steel he was showing his cousin Guy what it meant to go against the Duke of Normandy. In every man he killed he saw his cousin Guy.

The French acquitted themselves well; and the enemies of the Duke were no match for him and his allies.

His first victory! He had emerged with honour; moreover, he had taught his rebellious subjects a lesson.

His first thought was to send a message to his mother for he knew what her agonies would be.

‘This day,' he wrote, ‘I have shown the rebels who is Duke of Normandy.'

It was true; but as he stood with the King of France surveying the field of victory and listening to the groans of the wounded and the dying, he deplored the need for such action and fervently prayed that in time he would bring peace to Normandy.

‘There is no profiting in wars,' he said. ‘But traitors must be taught and how else can this be done but with blood?'

Guy had been there among his enemies. But where was he now? Somewhere among those bloody bodies?

He sent one of his men to find Guy de Brionne and bring him before him.

But Guy was not to be found. He had escaped, it was believed, and was taking refuge in that fortress which his Duke had given him.

‘Does he think he will escape me there?' cried William. ‘By God's Splendour, he will learn that the castle I gave him will not give him refuge from my scorn and anger.'

The King of France left for his own country but William's task was not over.

Men were rallying to his banner after the victory and there were many who declared that Rollo and Richard the Fearless had been born again.

They should not be disappointed in him. They should know him for the stern just man he intended to be, and so should Guy.

What a beautiful castle was that of Brionne! Its grey walls rose seemingly impregnable, defiant, jaunty almost. Brionne, Guy's city, which went with the castle, was enclosed in its stone wall. From the ramparts arrows could be poured down on an invader.

Inside the castle Guy would be rubbing his hands with glee.

Brionne was impregnable, he believed. No one could take it. It was built to hold out against the invader.

William looked at it and saw that the advantage was with Brionne. How storm such a fortress?

In his mind he saw the sly face of his cousin and he knew that he was saying: ‘The Bastard can never break us. He will give up the attempt and then we will go after him, and kill him. The attempt failed in the inn but we shall not fail again.'

Now was William's chance to prove himself. Was he going to give up? Was he going to let Guy laugh at him, let him say: ‘There is your Duke. He is beaten. But what can you expect of a bastard?'

There must be a way, and William would find it.

He did. He built two towers on the banks of the river; thus he himself had a fortress to face that other. From these
towers he bombarded the city and the castle and nothing was allowed in or out. The siege of Brionne had begun.

So they faced each other, he and Guy, and victory for one would be the end of ambition for the other.

Often William stood at the top of his tower and looked to that of the castle. Was Guy there watching, thinking of him? It was almost certainly so.

And when he and Guy met face to face what would he say to him? Would there be any necessity for words? What should he do, hang him from one of his own turrets? Or pierce his heart with his sword?

He shuddered. Commander of armies that he was, he did not care to kill. When a mad rage was on him he would kill without thought; but he regretted his rages and had always tried to curb them.

Guy must die. But he hoped not directly by his hand.

Guy was entrenched in his castle, well equipped for a long siege, and William saw that the only manner in which he could take Brionne was to starve those within its city walls.

The weeks began to pass. It was winter. William chafed against the delay. He was joined by more and more loyal supporters, for the knights of Normandy were realizing the power and strength of their Duke.

From his camp facing Brionne he often went hunting; it was his favourite sport and always had been. It kept his soldiers happy and whenever they supped from a fine boar or delicious venison William would think with grim satisfaction of what was happening within Brionne and how Guy and his supporters would smack their lips if they could smell the spoils of the hunt.

It was a time for brooding. His temper might be hasty but he was possessed of patience. It was a waiting game he must play with his cousin and as long as he realized that he could not fail. He talked now and then with those he trusted of what he intended to do for Normandy. Building fascinated him; even the construction of those two towers had given him a deep satisfaction. He wanted to make a good life for his people; he wanted to make rules which would give them justice.

‘But first of all,' he would end, ‘we must have peace. To be a Duke is not as my cousin Guy may think – receiving the homage of one's people, performing feats of equestrian skill, riding among them in magnificent robes. Nay! It is governing well, giving them good rules that they may live in peace and know the meaning of justice.'

The winter passed.

William said: ‘We remain inactive here yet to remove ourselves would be a victory for my treacherous cousin. I have a plan. I will leave a garrison here while I go off to regain that which was taken from me. There is Domfront which the Count of Anjou took from the Bellêmes and holds against me; there is Alençon. While we wait here I will regain these two towns.'

He began with Domfront which was unprepared for the siege and quickly gave in. He then turned his attention to Alençon. The speedy surrender of Domfront had not prepared him for a show of strong resistance at Alençon.

Moreover the citizens attempted to sneer at him. They had hung the walls with hides and as William approached made pretence to beat them with their lances.

‘Hides, hides for the bastard tanner.'

William's calmness deserted him. He had been ready to show mercy to the Count of Anjou and had allowed him to escape when he took Domfront but now his temper was aroused. This was too much.

‘By God's Splendour,' he vowed, ‘they shall regret this.'

He led a furious onslaught on the town. Burning pitch was thrown at the walls. Fury blazed within him no less violently than the walls of Alençon.

‘They shall wear neither hands nor feet again when I have conquered them,' he vowed.

The battle was short and swift. Never before had the Duke of Normandy fought so furiously. He hated the people of Alençon as he had never hated enemies before.

How quickly they realized their mistake so to taunt the Duke of Normandy. Men might betray him, attempt to murder him, and be forgiven; but to sneer at him as Bastard was more than he would tolerate.

The prisoners were brought to him. He looked on while his orders were carried out. And when those people screamed for mercy he had none. They had committed the unforgivable. They had called him Bastard.

He looked on with grim satisfaction while their feet and hands were cut off and thrown over the walls of the city that all might see what befell those who dared to sneer at him.

He was alone. Would he ever forget the sight of those writhing bodies? Would he ever be able to shut from his mind the memory of those eyes raised to his? He would dream of writhing bodies and bloody stumps of arms and legs – men who would never walk again, never work. Useless bodies! They would curse him for ever.

‘But they called me Bastard,' he justified himself. ‘They deserved death, but I was merciful, I took but their hands and feet.'

A ruler must be harsh at times. He was fighting for his life. They could not say that he was not a bold and courageous man. But they could say he was a bastard.

Men must learn what it cost them to speak thus against their Duke.

He must forget the men of Alençon.

Domfront and Alençon in his hands, he turned back to Brionne.

It was summer now. For many months now they had held the siege. Surely they could not last much longer?

One of his commanders met him as he rode to Brionne.

‘The castle is on the point of surrender,' he was told. ‘Several have already come over to us. They say they are dying of starvation.'

William smiled. His tactics had been correct. Guy would learn now with whom he had to deal. How easy it would have been to make a spectacular onslaught on the castle and to have been beaten.

He had done right to wait and to take Domfront and Alençon in the meanwhile. News might have been smuggled into Brionne as to what had happened to the men of Alençon. How
were they feeling there now? Were they shivering in their fear? Were they studying their precious hands and feet?

He rode up to the castle and as he did so the drawbridge was lowered and a figure appeared, a wretched starving man who could scarcely walk.

Could that be Guy?

William approached him and looked at him.

‘Cousin,' he said. ‘My traitor cousin.'

Guy was on his knees before William.

William threw him from him. Poor abject cousin, the young arrogant cock of the schoolroom. Guy! What had he planned for him! He was not sure. Some dire punishment which he would have to work out. But what could he feel for this poor abject creature but pity.

Guy raised his eyes to William's face, and for the moment they looked at each other.

Guy was too sick from lack of food to care what became of him. But oddly enough William cared.

He raised up Guy.

‘You're a bag of bones, cousin,' he said.

‘And you will kill me.'

‘Kill you,' said William. ‘That would mean I feared you. I fear none, cousin – not even a poor starveling such as you.'

‘What will you do with me?'

Fleetingly William saw those footless and handless bodies; he saw the stricken looks of the watchers as the warm and bloody feet and hands were thrown among them.

‘I shall take back your castles,' said William. ‘They are fine castles and will now be mine. As for you, you may go where you will. But let me not see your face again.'

They said it was strange that one who had played him so false should escape while the citizens of Alençon for jeering at him had been so mutilated.

Victorious he came to Rouen; and when his mother embraced him, he remembered once more that she wanted him to take a wife.

A wife. He had not thought much of women. There had been little time in a life which had been so taken up with
treachery and wars, sudden death and the need to learn to govern.

He thought of his father's returning to the castle and the joys of his reunion with Arlette. He thought of the children who delighted his mother and he remembered his father's joy in him.

He needed a wife who would love and teach him the comforts of homecoming. He needed sons who would follow him.

He wanted that. He wanted closer bonds with his own people.