Crusade (48 page)

Whether the birth of the young prince was the catalyst, who thus supplanted Robert as heir to the English throne, or Robert’s grieving over Sybilla, which left him paralysed as an effective leader, or Henry’s latent Norman predilection for more and more power and glory, it was difficult to tell, but it soon became clear that Henry was going to break the Treaty of Alton and that he probably never had any intention of honouring it in the first place.

Henry started to turn the screw.

Firstly, he failed to forego his holdings in Normandy and found various excuses for not paying Robert his annual tribute. Then, in 1104, Henry moved against William, Count of Mortain and Earl of Cornwall, the man whose father had been at Ely and who had taken care
of Estrith and Gunnhild so well. The Count was Robert’s leading ally in England and a man widely respected by his peers. When Henry claimed some of his lands in the south-east of England, the Count took offence, which the King interpreted as treason, and used it as an excuse to seize all his holdings in Cornwall, forcing the Count to flee to Normandy.

Henry then added insult to injury. He travelled to Normandy unannounced in August of 1104, visited several lords and counts he hoped would become allies and entertained them lavishly from his fortress at Domfront. Finally, he made a move that at first seemed laughably naive, but in fact revealed the extent of his manoeuvring: he let it be known that he was considering convening a court of all the nobles of Normandy to debate the failures of his brother’s rule of the duchy.

Robert, ever generous and still inconsolable following Sybilla’s death, failed to respond. Sweyn and I tried to persuade him otherwise, but he always saw the good in people rather than the bad and, given that our warrior instincts were also diminished by our own recent experiences, we found it hard to disabuse him of such noble sentiments.

We were getting older, Robert’s stalwarts in Normandy were getting older, while Henry and many of his supporters were in their prime.

The King had taken great pains, and spent a great deal of money, to cultivate the young Prince Louis, heir to the French throne, whose father, King Philip, once our great friend and powerful ally, was also ageing, becoming more and more corpulent and distracted
from the affairs of state by countless nubile concubines at court.

On several occasions, we forced Robert to look at the noose that Henry was tightening around the neck of Normandy, but he chose not to react. Eventually, in exasperation, one night after dinner at his palace in Rouen, we confronted him. He had been in a better mood at table and I suspected he had been finding comfort with a strapping young maid at court, the daughter of a lord from Alsace. We used the comradeship of our Brethren to try to goad him, but Robert was dismissive of our concerns at first.

‘It has nothing to do with our Brethren – this is a matter between Rufus and me, and the people of Normandy.’

‘Robert, Sweyn and I are closer to you than anyone, please listen to us.’

‘I am listening.’

‘But you are not acting on our advice.’

‘Our friendship requires me to listen to your advice, but not necessarily to do as you suggest.’

Sweyn rarely spoke when Robert and I were at odds over big issues, but this time he intervened.

‘Edgar is right, the threat is very real. You must make a move to protect yourself.’

‘Thank you, Sweyn, I respect your opinion – and yours, of course, Edgar – but my mind is clear. An invasion will come, it is as certain as the sun rising in the morning. But what will be, will be. When we hear that Henry is building ships, we will start planning. Edgar, we’ve been together through many battles and have fought men much more fearsome than my little brother. My father managed to invade England by sea and succeeded by the skin of his
teeth. It will be much more difficult to invade Normandy and succeed. Don’t worry. If Henry does invade, when he’s lying dead on the battlefield and I become King, I will install you as my Prince Regent and England will be yours at long last.’

While Robert’s promise might have seemed tempting, neither Sweyn nor I thought a victory for Robert a likely result. Henry had shown himself to be very much in his father’s mould – unlike Robert, who was his antithesis.

If a shrewd man were to gamble on the outcome of the fight, it was obvious where he would place his wager.

Robert was as stubborn as he was likeable, but Sweyn and I both felt anxious for him. It was almost as if he was hoping Rufus would take the heavy burden of Normandy’s dukedom from his weary shoulders.

35. Battle of Tinchebrai

Henry’s aggression in Lower Normandy escalated. Bayeux was burned to the ground, Caen was forced to open its gates to him, and then he moved on Falaise. The threat to Falaise, his father’s birthplace and home to his now legendary grandmother, Herleve, finally prompted Robert into action; but he did not summon his army, he went to negotiate.

They met midway between Caen and Falaise. After two days of bitter argument, where Henry’s naked ambition was all too apparent, the two brothers parted acrimoniously, shouting insults at one another.

Robert seemed to be newly invigorated by the abuse thrown at him and decided on a tactic worthy of the bold strategies of the Princes in the Holy Land. He decided to sail for England with only two dozen loyal supporters, walk straight into the King’s Hall at Winchester and get him to see sense by force of argument. No amount of hectoring on our part would convince Robert of the naivety of his plan and so, in late January 1106, we set sail.

Inevitably, the King, although initially shaken by the sudden appearance of his brother, who literally hammered on the doors of Winchester at the break of dawn, was unmoved.

‘There is unrest all over Normandy at the stagnant nature of your rule. The sad loss of Sybilla has neutered
you; Normandy has always needed strong leadership, and you are not giving it.’

‘Henry, you will not provoke me with insults and cruel comments about Sybilla’s death. The truth is, we have a treaty, which Edgar, your good friend and mine, negotiated. All I am asking is for you to honour it.’

‘My loyalty to my father and my ancestral homeland prevents me from honouring it. I am approached every day by men who beg me to give them leadership.’

‘My brother, you are deluding yourself, or engaging in a wicked scheme to serve your own interests. Please let it not be the latter.’

‘It is neither; my only interest is Normandy’s future security.’

Henry’s implacability finally convinced Robert that there was no more to be said.

We took the next tide to Normandy and prepared for war.

Robert’s generosity – or, as some would put it, his impotence – in dealing with his brother’s threats soon began to exact a telling price. Henry had persuaded many of Normandy’s most powerful men that he was a better option for the duchy than its duke. To his dismay, when Robert called for his supporters to join him with their knights, few were forthcoming. Of the most senior men, William of Mortain, the deposed Earl of Cornwall, and Robert of Bellême, Earl of Shrewsbury, were the only ones to hear the rallying call.

On the other hand, King Henry had built up a significant force, far outnumbering Robert’s army. He had returned to
Lower Normandy shortly after we had, and immediately began to prepare for battle.

Henry’s final provocation, the laying down of the gauntlet, came in September 1106. The King advanced south from Falaise with a large army towards the small settlement of Tinchebrai, part of the lands belonging to William of Mortain. He could have overwhelmed the fortress within the hour, but instead besieged it, as a lure with which to entice us. Count William immediately appealed to Robert for help and we duly rode west, preparing ourselves to withstand the jaws of the trap that had been set for us.

Robert knew the trap was primed and that our prospects were not the best, but several layers of pride were steeling him for the encounter: his Norman ancestry, the legacy of Palestine, and his innate decency which compelled him to behave honourably.

When we arrived, Robert demanded that Henry lift the siege, to which Henry responded by offering Robert an annual pension and a quiet life in exchange for Normandy.

I looked at Sweyn; we were almost tempted to suggest to Robert that he should agree, but then thought better of it. First of all, it was hardly an offer worthy of a noble duke of any stature, let alone that of Robert, and secondly, Henry’s promises did not have much of a reputation.

Robert did not even respond to Henry’s offer. Instead, he ordered that we make camp and meet to discuss our tactics.

Our scouts had reported on King Henry’s disposition. We were outnumbered by about three to one. Robert had his personal squadron, the elite cavalry unit formed by his
father – now called the Sybilla Squadron – and a strong deployment of archers and infantry. He would take the centre ground with Hugh Percy, Sweyn and I standing with him. William of Mortain would take the left flank, while Roger of Bellême took the right.

We mustered 300 knights and 3,000 infantry.

King Henry had nearly 1,000 knights and at least 8,000 infantry, many of whom were Englishmen.

Early the next morning, the King took a position to the rear, with his reserves, while Ralph of Bayeux, Robert Beaumont and William II of Warenne led his centre, left and right flanks respectively. Helias, Count of Saint Saens, led Henry’s Breton and Manceaux cavalry.

For Robert Beaumont, the highly respected, wily old campaigner, it must have been a particularly poignant moment. Now sixty years old, a lifetime ago he had led the right flank of the army of Robert and Henry’s father at Senlac Ridge. Not only that, the date was the 28th of September 1106, forty years to the day since William’s army had first set foot on English soil at Pevensey Beach.

This time, Beaumont was on the right flank of the King of England, whose wife was English, whose heir was called Atheling, and whose army contained thousands of English foot soldiers; and he was facing a fight to the death with the Duke of Normandy and his Norman army. Over the years, we had witnessed many strange paradoxes in England. Now we were witnessing another one in Normandy.

Robert did not make a speech before the battle. For the first time in his reign, he raised the baculus of his
Viking ancestors high above his head and bellowed, ‘For Normandy!’

Robert’s simple but powerful war cry fortified our men, and Henry’s first attack was held – but at a fearful price. A second onslaught followed and then a third, until our numbers had been significantly reduced. The battle had raged for less than an hour and already our lines had become ragged and breached in several places. Then Henry unleashed a sustained cascade of arrows into our ranks, causing yet more confusion and heavy losses.

Robert was already in the thick of the fighting, with Sweyn, Hugh Percy and I taking positions to protect his rear and sides, when disaster struck. Robert of Bellême, thinking that the day was lost, turned and fled, leaving our right flank completely exposed.

Henry grasped the opportunity immediately.

He committed his cavalry and ordered Count Helias to charge, letting loose a horde of knights from Normandy’s neighbours who had many scores to settle.

Our position was hopeless.

Sweyn turned to Robert and shouted at him, ‘We are being overrun; let us get you away before it’s too late.’

Hugh Percy and I beckoned to as many of Robert’s Sybilla Squadron as we could to form a cordon around him and escort him from the field, but he would have none of it.

‘We stand! No retreat!

Moments later, Hugh Percy was unhorsed when his mount took an arrow in its shoulder. He was then beaten to the ground with a huge spiked mace wielded by a
Breton knight; he did not move, and seemed mortally wounded. Robert’s horse reared, tipping him off its back, and Sweyn and I dismounted to close ranks around him while the few survivors of his elite cavalry tried to shield us.

We were soon surrounded by a swarm of infantry and knights on horseback, their blades and lances raining blows down on us. I took a heavy blow to the top of my helmet, which brought a painful end to my role in the battle, rendering me unconscious for several minutes.

When I came round, Robert was on his knees with blood streaming down his left arm and face. He was one of only a few of our men left standing in what was a strange calm, disturbed only by the heavy breathing of the living and the moans of the dying.

I could not see Sweyn at first. But then I saw him sprawled in front of Robert, lifeless.

He had taken a Breton lance through his mail and deep into his chest. Blood was still pouring from his wound and forming a pool in the ground beneath him as Robert sank to his haunches and lifted his friend’s limp head on to his lap.

I moved to join them, but was again struck from behind, plunging me into darkness once more.

I never saw either of them again.

I was sent to the coast and put on a ship to England. My status as the Queen’s uncle saved my life, but I was banished from court, all my lands and money confiscated, save for a small allowance from the King, and I was required, under pain of death, to remain within the
boundaries of Northumbria for the rest of my days.

William of Mortain was blinded on the King’s orders and confined within the Great Tower in London.

Robert was paraded around Normandy as Henry’s vassal, before being sent to England to be incarcerated at the King’s pleasure, first in Wareham Castle and then, for a while, in the custody of Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, with whom he got on well. When the King heard of this, he sent him to the much less pleasant environs of Cardiff Castle. Apparently, he was not mistreated or locked in a dungeon, but he was allowed no visitors or any communication with the outside world.

Sweyn, our handsome, brave and noble brother-in-arms, was left lying on the battlefield with Hugh Percy and so many other loyal men, to be stripped of their weapons, armour and clothes and left as carrion for the crows.

He had insisted that Hereward was still alive and found his hero, as he said he would; he had married Adela, so that she could fulfil her dream; and he had avenged Mahnoor’s murder. His exploits in the Holy Land were unsurpassed by even the bravest of the Crusaders, and his belief in the ethics of the Mos Militum made him a chivalrous knight of the highest order. His service to Robert and to me was faultless, and he had become a friend and confidant to us both. Perhaps, most importantly, in his brief love affair with Estrith, he had sired Harold, Hereward’s grandson, a boy who, one day, may continue the noble legacy of the children of Bourne.