The Bastard King (11 page)

This could not be. But there were still men who remembered their oath to him and to his father. He was their Duke and they would serve him with their lives. They would wage war against his enemies but it was too dangerous to have him roaming the country. Narrowly he had escaped assassination; both those brave men – Thorold and Osbern – had died in his service. He could not hope to escape every time.

It was explained to him. ‘You are a figurehead. As yet you are too young to be the Duke in aught but name. You remember how important your father always thought it that you should be trained in every way to fit your position.'

He knew what that meant – going back to the schoolroom, studying the arts of war not in practice but with his teachers.

Of course they were right. He was but twelve years old. If only he had been born ten or even five years earlier. But what was the use of railing against that?

He agreed to go back to his mother.

SHE WAS AT
the top of the turret as he had known she would be. She told him this when he rode into the courtyard for by that time she was down there.

‘My boy,' she cried. ‘Thank God you have come home to me.'

She took him into her arms; she wept shamelessly. He feared that he too might show a womanish emotion. But how good it was to be home!

She had a warming stirrup-cup waiting for him; he was thin, she complained.

‘William, my love, I am going to feed you. You have the best chamber in the castle. Come, I will show you. And then you will meet your sister Adeliz and your brothers. Odo cannot wait. I'll swear he is peeping out at you from one of the windows. He has heard such tales of you. Even little Robert knows. Herlwin, my husband, has sworn to serve you with his life and you know your father gave him a large estate that he might care for me and be your faithful vassal. On this estate everyone is for you . . . every man, woman and child.'

Yes, it was comforting to enjoy the luxuries of Conteville. He could almost believe he was back in Falaise.

He embraced his sister Adeliz who had grown since he last saw her. He liked the children. Odo was a bright little fellow,
who liked to stand at his side and gaze at him as though he were one of the heroes of his favourite legend, for his mother had told these stories to him as she had to William.

For a day he gave himself to the pleasure of being with his mother, his stepfather and the children. They were his family on whom he could rely with as much certainty as he had on Thorold and Osbern! Having experienced the uncertainty of not knowing who was a friend, it was good to sink back on a couch of security.

There were dogs and horses and falcons at Conteville.

‘Choose what you will,' said Herlwin. ‘We get some good hunting here.'

He rode far from the castle with Herlwin. ‘These people you see are loyal to a man,' said his stepfather. ‘They depend for their livelihood on me and would not dare raise a hand against my stepson even if they wished to. But they do not. They are with you.' And it was true that people, seeing them together called a loyal ‘Long live the Duke.'

He began to sleep as he had not done since that terrible morning when he had awakened to find Osbern's bloody body beside him.

He would return to the castle tired but exalted from the hunt. There was feasting in the castle hall as there had been at Falaise with himself at the head of the table as his father used to sit, and his mother on his right hand, his stepfather on his left.

He would lie on the grass beside the moat with young Odo and tell him how they had struck down the stag with their arrows and what a fine big animal he was. He would carry his little half-brother on his shoulders and trot round the courtyard with him; he would take him out on his pony; the boy adored him.

But he was in little mood for merry-making after the feast; he did not wish to hear the ballads and stories of heroes because they reminded him of Thorold and Osbern. So he and Herlwin would sit together over a game of chess.

His mother looked on, smiling at them both. It was as it had been many years and even more adventures ago when his father had come home.

A few days after his arrival at the castle he returned from a ride with his stepfather to find his mother waiting for them in the hall.

She was smiling in a manner which told him that she had a surprise for him and that it would please him.

‘There is someone to see you, William,' she said. ‘He has come to beg to be taken back into your service.' She turned and called: ‘Come, Gallet.'

And there was Gallet the Fool kneeling before him kissing his hands.

He must control his emotions. There must not be any foolish tears. Why should they come to his eyes at the sight of that slight figure kneeling there, and the rather vacant eyes looking up at him as though he were one of the gods or heroes of the Northlands?

‘Gallet,' he said, ‘you are welcome . . . you old fool.'

Gallet understood in spite of the fact that he was such a fool.

‘You'll have a fine sparrow-hawk for me to train, Master?' he asked.

‘Welcome, Gallet,' said William. ‘It pleases me to have you in my service.'

But days were not to be spent in sport and family pleasures. He was at peace here, but his realm was in turmoil. Loyal men were fighting for his inheritance. Although he could not join them he must do as they wished, which meant he must go back to the schoolroom as well as perfect himself in arms.

He must resume his studies under Uncle Mauger, which did not please him. But although he was no longer a child, he was not yet a man, and he must tolerate this cynical tutor who was reckoned to be one of the most learned men in the Duchy. Raoul de Vacé, the Constable and Regent of Normandy, was also his tutor, and William was expected to give as much attention to learning as he did to the study of arms. He would never be as good a scholar as he would be a man of action, that much was clear; but a leader could not be ignorant; as Mauger said, rulers must be acquainted with the past for then they would be aware of the mistakes of their
predecessors and could profit from their knowledge, so avoiding the same errors themselves. There was wisdom in that and in spite of his dislike for his uncle, William had to admit that he was a wise man.

His stepfather's son by a previous marriage came to the castle as a companion for William. He was Raoul de Tancarville to whom William took an instant liking. It was pleasant to have a companion. His sister Adeliz, although he was fond of her, could clearly not join in his lessons and pastimes as a member of his own sex could.

He had not been at Conteville a week when his cousin Guy arrived. What a joy it was to see him! Guy was the son of Duke Robert's sister and they were friends from the old days.

He said: ‘I am to take lessons with you, cousin. It will be as it was at Falaise.'

William was delighted. He realized that was what he wanted, to get back to the happy days at Falaise, to forget the horror and misery he had witnessed, to sleep peacefully in his bed at night, his quarrels to be arguments with Guy and Raoul, his battles a round of fisticuffs about which they laughed afterwards.

There was one occasion when he bloodied Guy's nose. The incident followed one of those moments when William – as he did now and then – remembered that he was Duke and their master.

‘Remember,' he had said to Guy, ‘that I am older than you.'

‘By not much,' retorted Guy. ‘Besides, I'm my mother's legitimate son. You are a bastard.'

That hated word! William's fiery temper, as easily aroused as it ever was in spite of his efforts to restrain it, flared up and Guy was sent sprawling on the cobbles of the courtyard.

Guy was on his feet, in a devilishly irritating mood, dancing round William, from a safe distance chanting: ‘Bastard! Bastard! William the Bastard!'

He could have killed Guy, for in that moment he hated his cousin. He might have done so too if his stepfather had not parted them.

‘Now, William! Now, Guy! What is this?'

William glared at Guy as though daring him to say that word which was the cause of the quarrel. Guy said nothing.

‘Two boys who cannot guard their temper,' said Herlwin sadly. ‘When will you grow into men?'

William was sorry he had lost his temper. Osbern and Thorold had always told him he must restrain it if he was to govern well.

Then Mauger came out to the courtyard and said that as a penance they should do an extra Latin exercise.

Side by side they sullenly sat in the schoolroom. Outside the sun was shining. They should have been practising their sword-play or archery or riding with the dogs at their heels, any of which was preferable to struggling with this tiresome Latin.

Guy looked at William with that crinkling of his eyes which was rather beguiling.

‘Idiot,' he said. ‘Who cares if you are? I wouldn't mind being one if I were Duke of Normandy.'

William laughed. They were good friends again.

They compared exercises. They would help each other the sooner to get out into the fresh air.

These were happy years – boyish delights were enjoyable. Within the walls of the castle of Conteville what went on in the outside world seemed far away. Suffice it that his loyal supporters were holding their own against the rebels. Skirmishes there were and battles, defeats and victories; but those men who remained loyal to the wishes of Robert the Magnificent grew stronger. Their symbol was the boy who was growing up in safety at Conteville.

Arlette was almost as happy as she had been with Robert, and felt more secure. He, by nature of his position, was constantly leaving her; she had suffered constant fear when he was away from her, which may have compensated for the ecstatic joy they shared together. Now she had passed into a peaceful happiness. It was true she could not look too far ahead. There would come a time when William would go away, but for the next few years she had him with her; she
had her daughter, Adeliz, and her little ones, Odo and Robert; she had her kind good husband; and in the wide estates of Conteville, William could ride out even alone without fear of the assassin's knife.

William had become a young boy again. He no longer awoke to feel for the blood-soaked body of Osbern beside him. His concern was trying to ride faster than Guy, shoot his arrows farther. This rivalry between them was something they both enjoyed, though there were occasional fights. Guy had learned that he only had to mouth the word ‘bastard' to make William fly into a passion. So he would use the word slyly. ‘Oh, the poor fellow's a bastard.' And then open his eyes in innocent astonishment when the red colour flamed into William's face. He could infuriate William but the rivalry between them gave a zest to life.

Herlwin encouraged William to mingle with the humble people on the estate. ‘It is necessary that a ruler should understand all his people – humble or noble,' he said.

So often William would ride out with Guy and a party and they would call in at the cottage of humble folk. Because they were near the coast many of these were fishermen and William would listen attentively when they talked to him of their catch. He could put them at their ease; he was able to talk to them far more easily than Guy ever could. Guy was too conscious of his rank, of being the legitimate son of a daughter of a Duke of Normandy. He could never forget that Richard the Fearless was his great-grandfather as well as William's.

Herlwin was pleased that William should be so liked by the humbler folk.

‘It will stand you in good stead, William,' he told him.

When they were at the coast, if the day was very clear, they could see the outline of land.

‘England,' said William. ‘I remember well my Atheling cousins. Such beautiful young men! Poor Alfred. You know what became of Alfred?'

‘They put out his eyes,' said Guy.

‘He had the most beautiful eyes I ever saw. Except Edward's. They were beautiful too.'

‘Beautiful eyes will not get them a throne.'

‘Poor Alfred will never have a throne now. They killed him. They put out his beautiful eyes and the knife pierced his brain.'

‘'Twere better that he should die. I'd rather be dead than live without my eyes.'

‘Edward is still in Normandy. I should like to see him again. My good cousin.'

‘Mine also, William. They are the true heirs to England. They come before this Hardicanute. They are the true
legitimate
heirs.'

He cast a sly glance at William and went on boldly, ‘They should come before the whims and . . .'

The colour had started to come into William's face; his jaw projected even more than usual, his lips had thinned. These were the danger signals.

Guy looked mischievous. No, he had better be careful. He continued: ‘Before the whims and wishes of those who oust them. I think our old kinswoman Emma is something of a terror. What think you, William?'

‘She is a woman who will fight to keep what she has won. She is a Norman.'

‘Well, now she has her son Hardicanute on the throne – for I hear he has returned from Denmark and now governs that land over there. He has learned good drinking habits in Denmark and spends his time in drinking and feasting which may make our doughty Emma wish that she had not made her pact with Canute and her son Edward might be the King.'

They pulled up their horses and stood looking across the sea.

‘How calm it is today,' said William. ‘On such a day as this my father would have conquered it and Alfred would never have lost his eyes.'

‘Who knows what will happen now,' said Guy. ‘Mayhap Edward Atheling will go back there after all these years in Normandy. They say he would like better to live the monk's life he does here than be a King on a throne. Yet it is right that he should be King, for he is the
legitimate
heir . . .'

He glanced at William and touched his horse's flanks. He was away, William in pursuit, out-distancing him, riding
ahead, showing him as he did many times a day that a bastard can be a better man than one legitimately born.