Conquest

Sitting upright on his mount, William did not smile at his subjects, only giving a perfunctory nod to a particularly loud greeting, or to a face that seemed familiar. The crowd was impressed by his physical presence; he was clearly someone born to rule and rule firmly.

William was not his father’s legitimate son. The old Duke, Robert I, had fallen for a beauty called Herleve, the daughter of a humble tanner from Falaise. No one had been surprised that he had bedded her, but his long-term affection for her and the acceptance of their son, William, as his heir, had caused outrage.

Following the death of his father, Duke Robert, on the way home from a holy pilgrimage to Jerusalem, William became the Duke of Normandy in July 1035, at the tender age of eight. He was placed in the care of disciplinarian tutors and even harsher martial instructors, watched over day and night by knights loyal to his father, and he was denied any female or maternal presence in his life. His mother died when he was still a teenager, leaving William with few memories of a woman who had shown him little affection. Most boys would have wilted under the pressure, or snapped, but William was strong of body and resolute of mind. He increasingly developed into the role of powerful warrior and leader that had been ordained for him. He became uncompromising, like his tutors, and durable, like his instructors.

His life had been a long and bitter struggle against internal intrigue and external threats. As he struggled to forge Normandy into the most powerful presence in Europe, he was aided by his two half-brothers: Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, one of his most loyal and trusted confidants, and Robert, Count of Mortain, another close ally.

When the Duke reached the Bishop of Rouen for his anointing, he surveyed the most powerful subjects in his realm with the air of a man totally at ease with his position as their lord and master.

The Norman warrior tradition was potent and remorseless, and he was its apotheosis.

Duke William went hunting immediately after his anointment as Lord of Maine, and it took Hereward and his male companions almost two weeks to gain an audience with him.

The Duke read Hereward’s parchment of recommendation with a stony face. It was going to be a difficult audience.

‘This is an outstanding recommendation, Hereward of Bourne. I know of Guiscard; he is a man not renowned for his excessive generosity, so his testament bears much weight. I see you refused to be dubbed knight, but carry the Order of the Cotentin.’

‘I choose to carry my name by birth, your Grace. I like to live a modest life.’

‘So do I. I like that in a man. Modesty and discipline are vital to a long life as a warrior. Would you expect to serve me as a knight?’

‘I would, your Grace.’

‘But without the title?’

‘Yes, your Grace.’

‘You answer directly; I like that. And what of these men?’

While the Duke looked them up and down, Hereward introduced Einar, Martin and Alphonso, outlining in detail their various martial talents. Hereward was impressed to see that William was looking at their weapons, checking their appearance, assessing the condition of their clothes and armour and even checking the trim of their hair and beards. The Duke understood soldiers well, and knew how to tell the difference between good and bad.

‘They would be my men-at-arms. I would pay them out of my allowance from you, my Lord Duke.’

William of Normandy smiled for the first time. ‘You amuse me, Englishman. I don’t usually pay my knights; their service comes to me as a tithe through the obligation owed from the grant of their lands and titles.’

‘But they are your kinsmen, your Grace. I would serve you as a mercenary.’

‘Mercenaries usually serve as infantry or levies, not as knights.’

‘But I am an exceptional soldier.’

‘Perhaps you are; you certainly don’t lack confidence.’

The Duke rose from his ornately carved chair and stood directly in front of Hereward. He carried his Baculus with him, resting it in the bend of his right arm, and Hereward realized immediately that the Duke was left-handed.

‘There aren’t many men who can look me in the eye, Hereward of Bourne. I like my warriors to be big men; it puts the fear of God into the enemy. Do you see this? It has been carried by my family for many generations. Our Viking ancestors carried it on their conquests across the northern seas and it is spoken of in their sagas. It never leaves my side and is now the ducal mace of Normandy. My son will carry it, as will his son and grandson. By then, it will be the mace of England, the mace of a king.’

‘Your Grace?’

‘Yes, Hereward of Bourne, very soon, your England will be mine.’

‘You intend to invade?’