The Bastard King (37 page)

SHE WAS WAITING
for him, as eager as she had always been. Four years! he thought. And she was beautiful still.

She was smiling at him, unusually soft and tender, her eyes brimming over with her delight.

Of course she loved him. How foolish to doubt it!

‘You have grown fat,' she cried. ‘Too much good living in England.'

‘There was no good living for me when you were not there.'

They were lovers. They would always be lovers.

But there were shadows between them.

He said to her: ‘I know of this man Brihtric.'

‘He whose estates I took?' she said lightly.

He caught her arm and swung her round to face him. She had forgotten how rough his gestures could be.

‘What was he to you?' he demanded.

‘He was a man whose estates I took.'

‘And why?'

‘Because I wanted them.'

‘Because you wanted him and he would have none of you.'

She flushed scarlet. ‘So you have set your spies on me. How dare you!'

‘I dare as I will,' he answered. ‘And if I wish to know aught of my wife I will know it.'

‘And if I wish to know of my husband . . .'

‘Doubtless you will know that too.'

‘How much do I know,' she cried passionately. ‘How much is there to know? I know of the whey-faced whore of Canterbury.'

He laughed at her, maddened by the thought of her desire for Brihtric, so strong that she, a Princess of Flanders, had asked him to marry her.

‘A very respectable maiden,' he said, ‘the daughter of a canon.'

‘Respectable no longer after her lecherous King had passed that way.'

‘Should you reproach me? What of you and your Saxon?'

‘I took his lands. He took nothing from me.'

‘You cared enough for him to have him murdered.'

She turned pale. ‘Who has told you this?'

‘I have made it my affair. Matilda, you are a dangerous woman.'

‘Has it taken you all these years to find out that?'

‘You took his lands. Why? You did not want them.'

‘I am like you, my King, a lover of lands.'

‘And of handsome Saxons.'

‘Not such a lover of them as you are of Canterbury whores.'

‘All these years you have been thinking of this Saxon. When we were together you thought of him. You preferred him but he would have none of you so William of Normandy would serve instead.'

She narrowed her eyes and said, ‘Believe that if you will. And how often have you deceived me with your women?'

‘You murdered him.'

‘I was nowhere near his prison.'

‘But you murdered him none the less. One does not have to be near a victim to be the one who will stand before God accused of murder.'

‘You to talk of murder! How many men have you slain with your own hands? How many have been done to death through you . . . at your orders?'

‘What I have done I have done for my country. What you have done has been done for your pride.'

‘And when you cut off the hands and feet of the citizens of Alençon was that for your country? Nay, William of Normandy, King of England, William the Conqueror of all – or so you think . . . but you never shall be of me . . . Nay, William, that was for your pride. They called you Bastard. They reminded you that your mother was the daughter of a tanner. That was why they lost their hands and feet. Oh, assuage your pride, do as you will, but pray do not take such a lofty attitude with me. I know you too well.'

‘As I am beginning to know you. You had him murdered . . .
that man whom you had loved. Matilda, I saw that girl afterwards . . .'

‘And tell me, did you still desire her?'

He lifted his hand suddenly and smote her across the face.

She fell to the floor and lay there laughing at him. ‘Come,' she said, ‘beat me. It will not be the first time. Do you remember how you rolled me in the mud because I said I would not marry a bastard.'

‘I would to God you never had.'

She was on her feet suddenly. ‘You mean that?' she asked. ‘William, do you mean that you wish you had never married me?'

She was clinging to him, her face upturned and suddenly his temper had disappeared. This was Matilda . . . his Matilda, the only person in the world for whom he truly cared.

His arms were round her and he was saying: ‘No, never . . . never. Whatever you are . . . whatever I am . . . we were meant for each other.'

She was laughing now. ‘No one else in the world would have done for me. Brihtric the Saxon! Bah, that puny lily-livered churl. Had I married him I would have murdered him for other reasons than I did when you came along. It was because he had insulted William's wife that he must die. The Queen of England, wife to William the Conqueror, could not allow him to live. Are you fool enough not to know that?'

He looked into her face at the red mark on her cheek which his hand had made. He kissed it.

‘You are heavy-handed, William,' she said. ‘But I like well that you have marked me with your hands. On that other occasion the bruises stayed for weeks and I would use no lotions, no unguents, to soothe them because they had been made by you.'

‘I was maddened when I heard what you had done.'

‘You cared so much about a miserable Saxon!'

‘I thought only that you had wanted him.'

‘I was a child, William. A foolish girl. Nay, I have never wanted any other but you since I set eyes on you. That is why the news of your love for this girl maddened me.'

‘'Twas not love. It was anger . . . anger against you and Brihtric. You need not have treated her so cruelly.'

‘She took you from me.'

‘No one has ever done that. No one ever shall.'

‘It seemed so. I shall never forget when I heard of it. I could think of nothing but revenge, and revenge I took.'

‘On an innocent girl.'

‘Pray cease to mourn for her or I shall believe that you truly loved her.'

‘We should never have been separated.'

‘For,' she added, ‘clearly I cannot trust you.'

‘You can always trust me as long as I know that you love me and that I am the only one for you as you are for me.'

And then it was between them as it had ever been.

He prayed that all would go well in England for he wanted to stay in Normandy. The differences between himself and Matilda had been wrought by their separation; they only had to meet face to face and all was well.

Now it seemed to him that they were happy as they had been in the very beginning of their marriage. Matilda was once more pregnant, and he was delighted.

Easter came and Cecilia was about to take the veil. It was some years since she had entered the convent and she had passed through her novitiate.

The great ceremony was attended by William and Matilda.

‘It is good,' said William, ‘to give a daughter to God.'

In the privacy of their chamber they talked of the children. Richard was in England.

‘Lanfranc tells me he is a good student. He will make a good king to follow me,' said William.

‘He will be less harsh.'

‘Let us hope that by the time he comes to the throne I shall have made England so secure that there is no need of harshness. Robert shall have Normandy. His fingers itch for it now.'

‘And Rufus? And Henry?'

‘It seems to me that you have given me too many sons.'

‘You have often said that a King could not have too many.'

‘I doubt not we shall find possessions for them. And it is well for Kings and rulers to have brothers. They should be more able to put their trust in brothers than in strangers.'

‘Yet the trouble in Normandy has been with members of your blood. And in England had Tostig stood by Harold there could have been a different story.'

‘I would wish my sons to be good brothers one to the other. Many of those who rose against me did so because I was a bastard. I saw their reasoning. Had my father married my mother and I been his legitimate son much less blood would have been shed over Normandy. And had Tostig been as good a brother to Harold as Gurth and Leofwine were, then Harold might still be King. So you see why my sons must have more wisdom than others have had. They must remember that united they will be strong, in discord they are weak.'

‘I pray with you that there may never be discord between them.'

‘I have decided Adela shall be given to the Count of Blois. He will be a good ally to Robert when he governs Normandy. I want to see the children settled in their niches, which I shall before I die.'

‘I beg of you do not talk of dying. You are a young man yet.'

‘When I am with you I feel so,' he answered. ‘And now we have Cecilia, a holy nun. I trust she will remember to pray for the good of her family.'

‘I am sure she will do that.'

‘I have decided on Alan, Duke of Bretagne, for Constance. He has been a good ally and it will strengthen our friendship.'

‘Soon they will all be settled,' sighed Matilda.

There was much to be done. Triumphant tours, matters of state, visits to his various castles – all this exhilarated him. He was particularly interested in the magnificent piece of tapestry which was not quite finished. It depicted the scene of William's conquest from the landing of Harold in Normandy to his fall at Hastings and was worked on a canvas which was sixty-seven yards in length though but nineteen inches wide.

He admired it and said that when it was completed it
should be set up in the Cathedral of Bayeux and he would often come to look at it.

‘Turold the dwarf has done his work well,' said Matilda. ‘He is a fine artist but you should see him strut whenever the tapestry is mentioned. I have rewarded him.'

‘Doubtless you will employ him to design more of your canvases.'

‘Doubtless I shall for I could not find a better designer.'

William could not take his eyes from the work – everything was brought back so clearly. Harold being delivered into his hands, the blazing comet, the landing in England and the battle of Hastings.

It was a monument to his victory; it would live through the ages as surely as his great Tower of London which would be erected by the time he returned.

But he did not want to think of returning. For a period here he could perhaps forget rebellion. He wanted a little respite, to stay cosy in the heart of his family.

Matilda's child proved to be a girl. They called her Gundred.

‘Perhaps 'tis as well,' said William. ‘Had it been another boy what should we have given him? Daughters are good for marrying and making strong alliances.'

‘Pray do not talk of my children as though they are pawns on your chessboard.'

He smiled at her. ‘What a brood we have given ourselves, Matilda! I come to think that Richard is the best. He will make a good king of England. Lanfranc tells me that he has all the qualities.'

‘You should not have favourites.'

‘You to talk of favourites! What of Master Curthose? Is he not the darling of your heart?'

‘He is my first-born and I beg of you do not call him by that name. He does not like it.'

‘Then he must needs endure it. By God's Splendour, Matilda, I have had enough of his arrogance.'

‘Since he is your son, what do you expect?'

‘Come, let us talk of pleasanter matters. Henry will be for
the church. I may take him back to England with me and put him in the charge of Lanfranc.'

‘He astonishes his tutors, William.'

‘Odd that we should have given birth to a scholar. Curthose will never be that.'

‘He will be a fine general of his armies which is perhaps more useful.'

‘I am weary of hearing you sing his praises. Rufus is growing up a brave fellow.'

‘A shadow of yourself. The devil's temper and a passion for the hunt.'

‘Oh come, I have other qualities, would you not say?'

‘I doubt whether Rufus will ever be anything but a shadow of his father – nor will any of them,' said Matilda seriously.

He smiled at her tenderly and she said quickly, ‘Robert is of a different nature completely.'

‘Well, I must perforce make allowances for a mother's prejudices.'

‘Remember it,' she told him.

Robert was restive. He wished his father would go back to England. He hated William. From his childhood he had felt inadequate in his presence. ‘Curthose', William had called him and given him the nickname he hated. Why should a man have to be tall to be a great one? Were inches of such importance? Rollo was too big for his horse, Richard the Fearless, Robert the Magnificent, William the Conqueror, to the devil with them all. So proud of their Viking ancestors. It was time they started to be themselves instead of shadows of the past. He was weary of the name of Rollo. He himself was half Flemish half Norman and he felt closer to the Flemings than the Normans, closer to his mother than to his father. His mother could be relied on; she was sympathetic and understanding. He knew she pleaded his cause with his father.

Here he was, nineteen years old. Old enough to be a ruler in his own right. He was to have Normandy. When? Was he to wait until his father died? By the look of him he had years left to him. And while he lived he, Robert, must be of no
importance, except that he was the eldest son, but always in leading strings.

‘The trouble with my father,' he had told his mother, ‘is that he cannot bear to give up anything. He has to own everything within his reach and keep it.'

Matilda said: ‘It has been hard-won.'

‘He has Normandy and England. How can he govern both? When he is in England he needs rulers in Normandy and so in England. What way is that to go on? He has chosen England. He likes better to be a King than a Duke. Very well, he is the almighty one, the all-powerful one. Let him have England. But Normandy should be mine.'