The Bastard King (2 page)

He was also not the one to see a desirable girl and pass her by because she did not come to him when he beckoned – unless there were so many waiting for him at the castle.

She could not be indifferent to him, for he was powerful and goodly to look upon; and she, who loved so much to sit at the feet of her grandmother and listen to the stories of the great gods and heroes of the Northlands, believed that she had seen one of them by the river that day.

In the hall of the castle, Robert was restless. There was only one fire on this day as it was summer and over that, at one end of the hall, hung the great cauldrons in which the food was cooking. The scullions hovered over it, anxious to placate Robert's ill-humour; the smoke rose up to the vaulted roof and escaped through a louvre there. It was cool and dark in the hall for the thick walls which kept out the heat kept out the light as well; the windows were narrow slits open to the elements.

Robert was still thinking of the maiden in the stream and was angry with himself for not taking the girl and settling the matter there and then; when he was angry with himself he vented his wrath on others, and his servants were afraid to approach him.

Not so his squire, Osbern de Crépon, a young man of a
dignity which matched his own, a friend whom he trusted. Osbern came to him and asked what had happened to put him into an ill-humour and before long Robert was telling him about the girl he had seen that afternoon.

‘A maiden!' cried Osbern. ‘When have you not known how to deal with a maiden?'

‘She had an air . . . unlike any I have seen before.'

Osbern laughed. ‘What has happened to you? Was she a sorceress?'

‘Of a kind,' answered Robert moodily.

‘Come, we cannot have you sad. This is a simple matter. Send for her.'

‘Would she come, think you?'

‘Are you not lord of Falaise?'

‘In truth I am and would have every man know it.'

‘And woman too. What's stopping you? Who is the maid?'

‘She is beautiful.'

‘So you said. Thanks be to God there are many such in Normandy.'

‘A true Norman. Hair like gold and a proud spirit. She is the daughter of one Fulbert, a tanner.'

‘Ha, would you be so squeamish about a tanner's daughter!'

Robert laughed. ‘Nay,' he cried. ‘Send for her. Have her brought to me this night.'

The linen had dried well that day. She had brought it into the cottage and folded it. Her father – the finest tanner in the town of Falaise – watched her as she laid it aside and went to the pot which was boiling over the fire.

A fine girl, his Arlette; each day she grew more and more beautiful. He would have to find a husband for her; he wanted to see his grandsons before he died.

She was thoughtful today; silently she went about the cottage room. She could not get out of her mind the memory of the bold man who had stopped by the stream to look at her.

So clearly he had brought back to her mind the stories her grandmother told her of the great Duke Rollo who was so big
that no horse was strong enough to carry him, of William Longsword and Richard the Fearless. These were his ancestors and they lived again in him. They were descendants of the men who had come in their long ships – the great men of the sea, the explorers, the conquerors. In their own land whence Rollo had come, they had worshipped the gods and heroes – Odin and Thor, Beowulf and Sigurd. They had been fearless, brave and bowed to no man.

She had seen one of their like today; and she knew that she would never forget him. So she was sad, thinking that ere long some man would speak for her; perhaps it would be one of her father's apprentices, and she would spend the rest of her life among the odour of skins; and something told her that she would never cease to remember the day when one of the heroes of the land had stopped briefly to admire her.

Darkness had fallen when the sound of a horse's hoofs came near to the cottage. Someone was at the door. Could it be that he had returned?

Her father had stood up, shielding her. The man had stepped into the cottage. She began to tremble because she knew that it was a servant who had been sent from the castle.

‘What do you wish?' asked the tanner and she could hear the tremor in his voice.

‘You have a daughter,' was the answer.

Her father was silent, but she stepped before him and said: ‘I am the daughter of Fulbert, the tanner.'

‘I have a message for you. You are to come with me to the Castle.'

‘Who sent you?'

‘My seigneur.'

‘Why does he send for me?'

She was aware of the smirk on the man's lips and her spirit was in sudden revolt. She rejoiced that he had not forgotten her, yet she knew what this meant. He had not come to her in person; he had sent his servant. She would be taken into the castle when it was dark and be returned to her father's cottage before sunrise. It had happened to others before. But it must not happen to her. This was different. Why had he
ridden away after he had seen her? She was sure that never before had he done such a thing. He had desired her; she was aware of that. And she had never been so deeply moved, bewildered and uncertain in the whole of her life. This was important to her; it must be important to him.

She would not be taken to his castle to be returned to her father's cottage and sent for again mayhap if he could find none better to amuse him. No. Some instinct commanded her.

She said: ‘Go back to your master. Tell him that if he wishes me to come to his castle, I will do so – but not by stealth. I will not be taken in by some postern gate as a woman who is of no account. If he wishes me to come willingly I will come to him by daylight. He must lower the drawbridge and I will ride into the castle on a horse he will send for me. He will furnish me with an escort. That is the only manner in which I shall ride to your seigneur.'

The man laughed at her.

‘The seigneur is in an evil mood,' he warned her.

‘I have said my say,' she retorted.

He bowed and rode away.

The tanner looked at his daughter. ‘What came over you?'

‘I know not. It was as though something spoke for me.'

‘I fear. I fear for you, and for myself.'

‘He will not harm us, Father.'

The tanner shook his head.

He had seen many a hand nailed to a door. He looked down at his own which he stretched out before him. How could he carry on his work without it? Perhaps they could fly. To Rouen? They could be followed there. What of his trade? He was well known in Falaise . . . the finest tanner in the town. What had come over Arlette? She might bear a bastard it was true, but it would be a noble bastard. The Dukes and their family were good to their women. But they did not care to be flouted. And Robert – he whom some called Robert the Devil – others Robert the Magnificent – was a proud man.

As for Arlette her moment of triumph had passed. She sat in a pile of skins in the corner of the room and thought of
what she had done. Would he send for her? Would he take her by force? Would he burn down her father's cottage? Or would he ignore her? No, never that. He would surely not allow an insult to pass.

Through the night she did not sleep. Nor did her father. At every sound they started up.

And at last the sun rose and it was day again. They had lived through the night; but what would the day bring?

Throughout the morning none from the castle came near the tanner's cottage. But an hour after noon, a party of men rode up.

The tanner shut the door and drew the heavy bolt but Arlette cried: ‘Do you think that will save us! Let us at least show good spirit.'

She opened the door and stood there, the sunlight gleaming on her golden braids, her tall figure erect, her blue eyes flashing.

The leader of the party had dismounted. He came towards her leading a richly caparisoned horse.

He bowed before her.

‘My lady,' he said, ‘we have come to escort you to the castle, over the drawbridge, in full light of day.'

She smiled; she had never known such triumphant joy.

She turned to her father who was cowering behind her in the cottage.

‘Father,' she said, ‘I go to the Seigneur with honour. This is a day to rejoice.'

She mounted the horse and surrounded by a fine array she rode across the drawbridge into the castle of Falaise.

They were well matched – the tanner's daughter and the descendant of the Dukes of Normandy. She had both beauty and spirit; she was Brunhilde to his Sigurd; and, in the weeks even before their child was conceived, they were aware of this.

There was an unusual dignity about her; it was as though she had spent all her life in castles; any slights which came her way, for many believed that her power over the seigneur
was, by nature of their relationship, transient, were met by indifference and disdain. Robert was surprised by his own emotions. He delighted in her. He sought no other woman and it quickly became clear to the members of his household that it would go ill with them if they did not pay true respect to the Lady Arlette.

When she knew she was with child she was exultant.

‘Now,' she told Robert, ‘I shall always have someone to remind me of you.'

He passionately declared that she would need no reminder because he always intended to keep her at his side.

She shook her head for, although she believed then in his vows of lifelong fidelity, they lived in dangerous times; and Robert was not a peaceable man and was even now living precariously in a castle he had taken from his brother.

But for the first few weeks after their meeting there was nothing to disturb their love; and with each passing day the bond between them strengthened. Robert was to find a depth in Arlette which delighted him; as for Arlette, Robert was for her a figure of romance and legend. He had stepped straight out of one of those stories which her grandmother had told her; he was Rollo and Sigurd all in one.

Robert was indeed a colourful character. A man of great contrasts, he was capable of acts of devilish cruelty and considerate kindness. He was extravagant; he loved finery and he could be chivalrous. This side of his nature was brought out through his connection with Arlette. He was a strong man and there were many who fervently agreed that it was a tragedy for Normandy that his less spectacular brother Richard should have been their father's first-born. There mingled in him many characteristics of his sea-roving ancestors with a fervent desire to be a good Christian. Young – he was only seventeen years old at the time of his meeting with Arlette – he was tall, handsome, vital; he was not known as Robert the Magnificent for nothing.

When he knew that Arlette had conceived he was overcome with delight. He wanted a son in his own image.

He would in due course be obliged to marry, to get an heir who could well be a Duke of Normandy. Robert was certain
that his feeble brother could not remain in possession of what should surely have been his by right of everything but the year of his birth.

So he rejoiced with Arlette.

One night Arlette had a strange dream. She awoke in terror calling out: ‘No . . . it is a child I bear . . . not this great tree.'

Robert, awakened, soothed her tenderly and she lay against him telling him of her strange dream.

In this her time had come and the child was about to be born; eagerly she waited to hear its cry. But instead of a child there came forth from her a great tree which spread its branches across the town of Falaise on to Rouen and it grew and grew until it covered the whole of Normandy and beyond.

‘It is a sign,' said Robert. ‘This child within you is no ordinary one. He will be a great man. As great as mighty Rollo perhaps.'

She was soothed, contented, and passionately she longed for the birth of her child.

She was sure it would be a boy and that Robert would do his duty by him. But would he in truth raise his bastard son to rule over Normandy? Of one thing she felt certain: he would if he could. If it were within his power the fruit of her body should stand side by side with the Dukes of Normandy.

Arlette often visited her father's cottage. There her old grandmother sat at the spinning wheel, as she had in the days when Arlette was a child. It was at her feet that Arlette had sat and listened to the stories of the past.

To her grandmother she went to tell her of her strange dream.

‘The child within you will be a boy,' said the old woman. ‘He will be born to greatness.'

‘He will be a bastard,' said Arlette. ‘Robert must needs marry. What of the sons he will have by his true wedded wife?'

‘Our dukes have ever loved their mistresses more dearly than their wives. William Longsword was a bastard and have you forgotten the case of Richard the Fearless?'

‘Tell me again,' said Arlette; and there she sat in the darkened cottage while the distaff was idle and her grandmother talked of the old days.

‘And Richard the Fearless out hunting in the forest came to a cottage and there he saw a beautiful woman. He passionately desired her and though she was the wife of one of his foresters, he reminded the man of the
droit de Seigneur
.'

Arlette nodded. How many a young girl had been taken to the seigneur that he might deflower the virgin before her marriage.

‘Now the forester's wife loved her husband dearly and she determined that no lord on earth should take his place. So she went to her sister Gunnor, as beautiful as herself, and she said: “When it is dark go you to the Duke's chamber and lie with him in my place, for you have no husband and will betray no man.” This Gunnor agreed to do; and by the time Richard at length discovered the deception he was so deeply enamoured of Gunnor that he laughed and bore no grudge against his forester's faithful wife.'

‘But he married the daughter of the King of Paris.'

‘And loved her not. She bore him no children and when she died he married Gunnor; and Gunnor bore many children and one of these was Richard, the second Duke of Normandy, who was the father of your own Robert.'