The Bastard King (36 page)

What was the fatal attraction of these Saxons? He remembered the face of the swan-necked Edith who had begged for her lover's body. Adelisa had drifted into death because she had not wished to live without Harold. And Matilda . . . his own Matilda . . . had desired a Saxon and for years when she was William's wife she had not forgotten him.

It was no passing fancy. That much was clear. One did not remember passing fancies for years. She had brooded on her loss. She had taken William because her Saxon would not have her.

Whom could one know? Whom could one trust? She had been a faithful wife. He would swear to that. But had she been faithful in her thoughts? How often when they were together had she in her mind substituted him for Brihtric?

He was not a great lover, he knew that. He was a soldier. He had never philandered with women.

He remembered Osbern's telling him, ‘Many rulers have frittered away their realms through their love of women. Beware. Marry, and find what you need in your wife. That is the way to make good strong sons, legitimate sons whose succession none can dispute.'

And so much had this Saxon been in her thoughts that one
of her first acts on coming to England had been to take her revenge.

Fresh from devastating the North he rode through his dominions. He wanted the people to see him, to talk of the trail of devastation he had left in his wake. He wanted them to understand: This is the reward of all who defy me.

And as he rode he thought of Matilda, who all those years when they were together had thought of her Saxon. If this Saxon would have married her, she would have taken him. Why had she turned so quickly to William? From pique? To show the Saxon that there were some who wanted her?

So he, William the Conqueror, had taken second place to an insignificant Saxon.

He thought of the years of fidelity. It was not that he had any great inclination for other women; perhaps mildly now and then, but never had he indulged his whims. Nay, he had said, the bond between us two is sacred.

And all the time she had been thinking of the Saxon!

It was while he rested at Canterbury that he noticed the beautiful daughter of one of the canons of the Cathedral.

She was young; she attracted him. This would be a kind of revenge. After this he would not say: I have been faithful to Matilda all these years.

The girl was not unwilling. Or perhaps she dared not be. He had a reputation for being a tyrant. It was quite a pleasant experience and yet it taught him that he was not by nature a philanderer.

He was first ruler, then a family man. He wanted no distractions from his armies and his state affairs. They gave him all the excitement he needed.

But naturally this lapse, because it was so unusual, had been remarked on.

William was human after all.

The Governor of Winchester, Hugh Grantmesnil, was married to a woman who regarded herself as a great beauty, irresistible to men. When William had visited Winchester she
had determined to attract him, for she thought how interesting it would be to become the King's mistress.

The fact that he had at that time shown no interest in women made him all the more desirable in her eyes.

So when William had gone to Winchester she had done everything in her power to attract him. As Governor her husband must entertain the King and she had had the honour of sitting beside him at table, while her husband stood behind him waiting on him.

She had dressed herself in a low-cut gown, heavily bordered with gold embroidery and which revealed her fine bosom. Her long fair hair was worn loose about her shoulders and she was indeed a beautiful woman.

William had taken no more notice of her than if she had been the chair on which he sat; he had been far more interested in the men's talk of rebuilding an abbey and he discussed the plans for the Tower of London all through the meal.

Lady Grantmesnil was furious. That man, he is no man, she declared to her servants; and from then on did everything she could to harm the King. Not that there appeared to be much she could do, but she had discovered long before that insidious gossip and scandal – even if it was not the truth – could cause trouble.

This William for all his arrogance was not very firmly on the throne. He had come to England, taken it from King Harold, but that did not necessarily mean it was his. He relied a great deal on the goodwill of the people and his supporters must be loyal. A people such as those of this land were not easy to subdue. There were going to be continual risings and who knew, one of these one day might push the new King into the sea.

Serve him right, thought Lady Grantmesnil. He deserved no more after refusing the considerable favours she had so blatantly offered.

What could she do? She could not raise an army. She could talk though. She was known throughout Winchester as possessing one of the most vicious tongues of the day.

She began by discussing the Norman knights who seemed
to find the ladies of England very much to their taste. How amusing to think of those Norman wives sitting at home in their castles. No wonder their husbands did not want to return. Why should they? They were having a very happy time in England.

Messengers were constantly going back and forth between England and Normandy and it was not long before such news began to be circulated. The Norman ladies were incensed. They wrote urgent letters. Their husbands must return without delay, they wrote. Their estates needed them . . . and so did their wives.

The effect of this began to be seen.

Lady Grantmesnil was delighted every time she heard that some Norman knight had slipped back to Normandy.

When she heard of William's infidelity with the canon's daughter she was incensed. So this simple little girl had achieved what she had failed to do!

It was unforgivable.

She wondered whether Queen Matilda was aware of her husband's infidelity.

‘If she has not already heard,' vowed Lady Grantmesnil, ‘she soon will.'

The letter was unsigned. The messenger said he did not know how it had found its way into his pack.

Matilda read it and a wild fury possessed her. He had sent her back because he had feared for her life, he had said. He had sent her back so that he could indulge his lust with this Canterbury girl.

She had been insulted. No sooner had she avenged one humiliation than another was heaped upon her.

And William too! She would have trusted him because he had never looked over much at women. She had believed he had been completely devoted to her.

Often he had told her that no one else had ever attracted him.

And had she not been faithful to him?

Theirs had been the perfect marriage until he had spoilt it through his lust for this woman.

What was she like? Young, she supposed. She had not borne children. A girl younger than his own daughters. It was shameful!

But she would be revenged. There were many who would be ready to carry out the wishes of the Queen of England. She had her friends everywhere. It was significant that they were her friends and not William's.

She wanted that girl dead; and she was going to have her dead. She wanted her face mutilated in the killing because that was the face which had attracted William.

Lady Grantmesnil was delighted with the effects of her whispering campaign.

Moreover the mother of Harold, who would never forget that awful moment when she had looked into the hard face of the Conqueror and begged for her son's body, delighted in circulating rumours about his misdeeds. It was true that William had since ordered that the body of Harold should be given decent burial in the church at Waltham and that there had been Normans in his funeral processions to do honour to him; and it was clear that he refused on the battlefield, not because he wished to deny the mother's request but because he did not want it to be presumed that Harold was a martyr. Once William was firmly on the throne he was ready to concede a King's burial.

But Gytha, his mother, never forgot nor forgave; so with delight she repeated rumours of his harshness and realizing that the desertion of the Normans who were filtering back to Normandy was disastrous to him, she made sure that the stories of the orgies attended by Normans in England went back to their wives.

When William heard that the young girl who temporarily had been his mistress had been murdered, he went to see her body. Her face had been horribly mutilated and he set up an enquiry to discover her murderer.

He did but he did not punish the man for he had learned on whose orders he had been acting.

So Matilda had discovered. And she would wonder why he, the faithful husband, had suddenly changed.

She should know.

What a woman she was! How fierce in her hatred! He had always known that she had a spirit to match his own.

He felt a horrible revulsion as he looked down on that once lovely face. Poor child. It was no fault of hers. He would reward her father. Not that that could compensate him.

He went away and thought of Matilda and wished she were with him.

How furious she must have been when she heard the rumours, how magnificent in her anger! Hurt, bewildered and furiously, murderously angry, because William who was hers had momentarily strayed.

His days were full. He had had little time to brood on Matilda's deeds. Lanfranc had come to England and been made Archbishop of Canterbury; there was one friend in England then on whom he could rely.

Those were the fighting years. There was rebellion everywhere. These Saxons were a stubborn race.

There had appeared on the Isle of Ely a mysterious and romantic figure: Hereward the Wake. His estates had been taken from his family while he was away on the Continent and on learning of this he had come back and because he had succeeded in driving out the Norman to whom William had given his family's estates, a legend had grown up around him.

He had set up a banner to which men flocked; it had begun to be said that there was a mysticism about him and that Heaven had chosen him to drive out the Norman invader.

The marshy fen country which was often enveloped in mist was known as the Isle of Ely. The unwary traveller venturing into this strange place would find himself sinking into swamps and lakes which were often stagnant; it was dangerous country, the home of wild fowl whose cries, sounding weirdly through the mists, were said to be the voices of spirits.

Because of the nature of this part of the country it was not easy for the Normans to rout out the rebels and because Hereward continued to harass them, he became known as England's Darling and stories circulated about his daring
exploits. Legends grew up around his name and many adventures were attributed to him.

When a Danish force sailed up the Ouse, Hereward and his followers joined with it and together they raided the Abbey of Peterborough and stole its treasure, which Hereward rather naively believed he was saving from the Normans. The Danes were naturally delighted to gain so much for so little trouble but proved themselves false allies for, when William offered to leave them unmolested and allow them to keep all the spoils they had managed to amass during their stay if they would desert their friends of the Fen Country, gleefully they accepted and sailed off with the Peterborough treasure, leaving Hereward to his marshy Fens.

No one gained anything from this adventure as a storm destroyed most of the Danish fleet before it reached Denmark and although the treasure was saved it was lost in a fire which broke out when those who survived the expedition were celebrating their return.

William was determined to rout out Hereward. He was well aware that a legend could be more difficult to displace than an army. To burn down castles was nothing to William. To march at the head of an avenging army, to lay waste towns and villages – that was fighting he knew well. But to lead an army through the misty marshes was another matter.

Often his men were lost in the mists; some were sucked down into the marshes. They developed a horror of what they called the haunted country; and Hereward was allowed to live on in defiance of the King.

But William was not the man to be daunted. It was imperative that he drive Hereward from his stronghold and most important of all he must prove to the people that Hereward was a man no less; ay, and as a mere man could not hope to stand against the might of the Conqueror.

As he stood looking over those marshes and listening to the weird call of the wild fowl he realized that he could not take the place with land troops. He would have to build bridges over swamps; he would have to make firm roads. Once he had done this he would rout out Hereward the Wake.

His attention to detail was meticulous; but even he was disturbed by the strange atmosphere of that marshy wilderness. Yet he would allow nothing to stand in his way. He commanded that a tower be built and in this he installed a witch whose duty it was to drive off the evil spirits.

In due course it was as he had known it would be. He conquered Ely as he had conquered all; Hereward fled the country and was heard of no more.

Even then there were fresh outbreaks of rebellion. The Scottish King marched into England; William met him and drove him back. So terrified was Malcolm when William the Conqueror set foot on his soil that he immediately swore to become his vassal.

William marched south, the triumphant conqueror. When men were tempted to rebel against him they would consider what had happened to those who had made the attempt.

The people of England were beginning to accept the fact that William was their King, that he was determined to remain so and that they would be well advised to accept his rule.

There was peace – if an uneasy one – in England. William had been fighting for four years. It had passed quickly for there had been so much to do – so much marching from place to place. He had fought Hereward in the Isle of Ely and marched up to Scotland to subdue Malcolm.

England was quieter; he could safely leave it for a while. He would go to Normandy, see his family.

‘By God's Splendour,' he said, ‘four years is a long time to stay away.'