The Winter Mantle (11 page)

In the morning the Norman army gathered before the walls of Exeter in full array and William demanded that its citizens yield their town into his hands. Upon the Roman walls, outlined in the red winter dawn, a soldier lifted his tunic, turned his exposed backside towards the Normans and waggled his hips. As William's jaw tightened, missiles began to fly over the battlements — cabbage stalks, clods of dung, rocks and stones. Horses skittered and shied. The Norman ranks developed ragged holes as men fought with their mounts and drew back out of range.

'Ut, ut, ut!' surged the English battle roar, a sound not heard since the October confrontation on Hastings field. 'Ut, ut, ut!'

Amidst the chaos William sat as still as an effigy on his black Iberian war horse. He stared expressionlessly at the walls, and the more the volume of the shouting increased the greater became his control. At last he tugged on the bridle and urged his horse out of danger's way.

Watching from the back of the line with Edwin and Morcar, Waltheof swallowed. Something bad was going to happen. He could feel it all the way down his spine.

A pity one of their slingers didn't get him while they had the opportunity,' Morcar said softly.

Hold your tongue, fool,' Edwin muttered, glancing round.

'There is no one to hear except sympathisers,' Morcar growled. 'Is that not so, Waltheof?' His eyes gleamed with challenge and malice.

'Indeed, I have great sympathy for the people of Exeter,' Waltheof said grimly. 'Judith told me a story about William as a young man. The people of Alençon taunted him by waving hides from their walls, reminding him that his grandsire was a common tanner. Some lived to rue the day and the rest were butchered.' He lowered his voice. 'That slinger could not afford to miss, any more than that fool on the battlements could afford to bare his arse.'

He drew back as a dozen Norman soldiers arrived and shoved their way through the ranks. Their mail gleamed like dull water, reflecting the steely dawn. Waltheof's gut clenched. Moments later the men returned, escorting the hostages that had been given by the city's elders in token of their good faith.

'Dear, sweet Christ,' Waltheof whispered and crossed himself. There were ten men, including Osric who was the youngest and yet to reach his majority, and five women, high of rank and gowned in deep-dyed wool, rich with embroidery.

Waltheof nudged his horse forward, intending to follow, but more Norman soldiers swiftly barred his way.

'No, my lord earl,' said one of them and grasped Waltheof's bridle close to the headstall. 'You cannot go.'

It was Picot de Saye, the Norman whom he had defeated at arm wrestling on that first evening in Rouen, and it was obvious from the look on his face that he was enjoying the moment. Waltheof was tempted to dig in his heels and ride the man down, but knew that he would not live much beyond the deed.

'But you can watch,' Picot added lazily and shifted his fist to the cheekstrap, the force of his grip preventing Waltheof from wrenching his horse around and riding away. 'So are all traitors brought to justice.'

Waltheof swore in English at the Norman. De Saye absorbed the insult without a flicker. 'Watch,' he said, his lip curling. 'Watch and learn your lesson."

King William was staring dispassionately at the clutch of hostages. Raising his mace, he pointed it with brutal decision at Osric. 'Bring him before the walls and put out his eyes,' he commanded.

Without demur, two of the escort plunged among the Saxons, seized the youth and manhandled him towards the towering city defences. Osric's expression was pale with fright, but he knew no French and thus did not understand the portent of William's words.

De Saye might have had a tight grip on Waltheof's bridle, but he had no control over Waltheof's voice. 'No, my lord king, you cannot!' he roared. 'In God's name, have mercy, I beg you!'

William turned his head. The sharp eyes appraised Waltheof and they were impassive. Neither pity in them, nor anger, nor irritation. Nothing but a brown so dark that it was almost black and merged with the pupils. 'Save your pleading, Lord Waltheof, and be thankful that I have not ordered the blinding of all,' he said icily and, reining away, rode off to see the sentence earned out.

Osric screamed like a hare in a trap. The sound, high-pitched and keening, went on and on until it wound itself permanently into the coils of Waltheof's brain. His gorge rose and it took all his will not to unman himself and spew over his mount's withers. From Exeter's walls came a response of angry yells and a renewed barrage of missiles. The Normans sheathed their bloody knives and retreated out of range, leaving Osric to groan and writhe in the wet, reddening grass.

From the Norman camp the sound of Osric's moans continued long after the early winter dusk had fallen, growing gradually more sporadic and faint as blood loss and cold took their toll. Finally, not long after Compline, the sounds ceased. Waltheof had spent the time on his knees in prayer for Osric's soul. There was nothing else he could do for William was as implacable as granite. No one was to go to the hostage's aid. Any breach of William's command and a second hostage would be blinded too.

'Not so fine now, your Norman lord,' sneered Morcar in passing. 'What price now your desire to be a Frenchman?'

Waltheof's hands clenched on his prayer beads as he fought the desire to round on Morcar and use his fists to pummel away his grief and anger.

'Leave me be, Morcar,' he said raggedly. 'I cannot pray to God while you disturb me.'

'You think prayer is the answer?' Morcar mocked. 'Truly you should not have strayed from your cloister, "Brother" Waltheof.' Wrapping his hands around his belt, Morcar sauntered off to join his brother.

Waltheof bowed his head and whispered the Psalter over and over, seeking the path through and between the words towards communication with God. But tonight it was difficult, the way stumbling and strewn with lurid, bloody images that tripped and felled him.

The morning dawned and still the citizens of Exeter howled defiance at the Normans. Under cover of darkness a handful of them had crept out and brought Osric's body back into the town, leaving only a depression in the grass and dark bloodstains on the pallid winter blades.

William summoned Waltheof and brought him before the walls. In the early light, sappers were toiling to undermine a section of the massive stone battlements. Screens of wattle hurdles protected the men and Norman archers kept the defenders on the walls pinned down. William's half-brother, Robert, Count of Mortain, was supervising the activity, the harshness of his voice carrying on the frosty morning air.

Waltheof bowed stiffly and then stood at William's side to watch the industry. 'They did not open their gates, sire,' he said, making oblique reference to yesterday's atrocity. He wondered why William had requested his presence. Was he going to be forced to view another blinding in order to 'learn' his lesson?

'They are stubborn,' William replied, 'it is because they are harbouring the remnants of the Godwinsson family. They would not be so ready to defy me if they had naught but their own hides to defend.' He slanted Waltheof a dark look. 'You think me harsh, Earl Waltheof?'

'I could not have done as you did, sire. It would fester on my conscience.'

William gave a contemptuous grunt. 'A king cannot afford to have a conscience when his lands are threatened. Sometimes a single act of savagery saves time. I destroy one man for the sake of saving others. If the people of Exeter had opened their gates yester eve, they would have spared themselves a deal of pain.'

Waltheof could not prevent a shiver of foreboding. 'What will you do when you have broken down the walls, sire?' There was no doubt in his mind that Exeter would eventually fall. There was not an Englishman left in the land who could match William's iron discipline and military leadership.

'You suspect I am going to order a massacre?' William said dryly.

'It had crossed my mind, sire.'

'That depends on how swiftly they learn their lessons. What I did yesterday was not from anger but necessity. If I had let their defiance go unpunished they would have seen it as a weakness and it would have bolstered their resolve.'

'But they did not open their gates to you, sire,' Waltheof pointed out again.

'That would have been a weakness on their part. But when the sappers bring down their wall and my soldiers ride through the breach I doubt their boldness will continue. No one wants to see their child maimed, blinded or trampled beneath the hooves of a warhorse.'

Waltheof could not prevent the shudder that rippled down his spine. William's words had brought to mind the memory of Osric's screams and he was filled with a revulsion so strong that he felt sick.

'This is the way of a leader, Waltheof,' William said, nailing the young earl with a shrewd and ruthless stare. 'You have to make harsh judgements and overrule all other men with your will. Even if your choices burden your conscience, you do not cry out but shoulder them without sign of weakness.' He took up a bullish stance - planting his feet wide and folding his arms. 'I am not justifying myself to you, but explaining the role of a leader in wartime.'

'Why should you do that, sire?' Waltheof asked stiffly.

'Because you are an earl and the son of an earl. Because you have never been blooded in battle or had your abilities tested to the limit.'

Waltheof flushed. 'I have been your hostage for a year. How can I be tested when I kick my heels at court?'

William looked at him steadily, his eyes obsidian dark. 'It is all a matter of trust, is it not?' he murmured. 'If I take my fist off the leash and let you go, will you be loyal, or will you muster an army and make war against me? I have small doubt that your companions would whet their swords the moment they were out of my sight.'

'You would release me, sire?' A note of eagerness entered Waltheof's voice.

'I did not say that. I said that it was a matter of trust. How trustworthy are you, Waltheof?'

'I gave you my oath at the Christmas Gemot in Winchester, sire.'

'As did the others. I did not ask about your oath, but about your trustworthiness.'

Waltheof swallowed. How loyal was he? Could he follow a man who would blind a youth for political expedience? If he couldn't, then he faced worse than blinding himself. If he could, then perhaps William might let him have Judith. 'I am trustworthy, sire,' he heard himself croak. 'Only let me go from court and I will prove it to you.'

William rubbed his palm across his jaw, considering. Finally, he nodded. 'Stay with me until Exeter is taken, and then I give you leave to depart until the Easter feast at Westminster.'

Elation coursed through Waltheof, sweeping aside all other considerations. It was only later that he remembered Osric and felt ashamed that the gift of his own freedom should so easily have overwhelmed his revulsion at William's deed.

Exeter fell, the mined walls rumbling down and an initial charge of Norman cavalry pouring through the breach to terrorise the citizens into capitulation. Following hard upon that first warning assault, William sent in his most disciplined troops. There was to be no looting, no burning, no harassment. A Flemish mercenary caught in the act of rape was summarily hanged.

Waltheof watched the masterly taking of Exeter, the way the population now pleaded with William for mercy and how he gave it. Not only that, but the orderliness of his troops and his implacable attention to discipline gave the people an anchor. They were not going to be butchered in their homes, everything was going to be all right. William might be a Norman conqueror, but he had won the right to be their king.

The remnants of Harold Godwinsson's family escaped by boat at the last moment, but William was sanguine about the matter. There was no one to truly challenge him from that clan. Their best had died on Hastings field.

He gave instructions for land to be levelled and a castle to be built. That this involved the destruction of several English houses and garths was the only damage wrought on Exeter apart from the broached wall.

True to his word, William gave Waltheof leave to depart the city and return to his lands. Edwin and Morcar were furious, but impotent. Threats to leave William of their own will were met with courteous but firm counter threats. The promise of marriage to Agatha was dangled before Edwin's eyes together with the insinuation that Mercia would suffer if William had to go chasing north in pursuit of renegades. Perhaps later, he hinted; perhaps after the Easter feast.

'You must have had to lick his arsehole all the way to his throat for this,' Morcar sneered as Waitheof mounted his chestnut stallion and prepared to leave the city. He had a safe conduct in his pouch from William and an escort of Norman knights and English mercenaries.

'My lands are not as great as yours,' Waltheof answered. 'He risks less in letting me go than you or Edwin. Besides, this is only a trial. If I renege, William will throw me in the deepest dungeon he possesses.'

Morcar fixed him with a look of utter loathing and turned away. Edwin stepped forward and looked up at Waltheof through sun-narrowed eyes. 'Enjoy favour while you may, son of Siward,' he said with a curled lip. 'It will not last.'

There was nothing more to say. Waltheof knew that if he extended the hand of friendship, he would be shunned. Clicking his tongue to the horse, he reined about, heading for Exeter's city gates and the road home.

He had to pass the remnants of the burned-out houses that were being flattened to make way for the castle. Under the watchful gaze of Picot de Saye, English labourers toiled with shovels, their expressions wearing a blank neutrality that Waltheof was coming to know too well. More eloquent than resentment, more subtle than resignation. He averted his head from the sight and the acrid stink, fixing his gaze instead on the ragged blue sky and the pale sun, forerunners of the spring. He promised himself that in his own earldom no man should ever look upon him thus.