Crusade

The archers, their work done for the day, stood and stared without a flicker of emotion. The whole of the Norman high command sat impassively. They had seen it all before. It was William’s way; it had always been so. Only Robert and his personal retinue of knights looked ill at ease.

We could hear the roar of flames and the screams of the dying and every time the wind created a gap in the veil of smoke we could see people staggering around, their clothes alight, trying to reach the river, or rolling on the ground to try to extinguish the flames.

‘After them!’

William suddenly bellowed and pointed to the south-east. Guy of Poissy was making a run for it towards Paris with a small group of knights from the rear of the fortress.

‘Some hunting at last!’

Despite the intense heat, with his Matilda Conroi trailing in his wake, he was off at a gallop like a young huntsman in pursuit of his quarry, shouting orders as he went.

‘Occupy the city! Offer no quarter! Spare no one!’

Then William’s age and bulk finally got the better of him. The dust was swirling around so prodigiously that it was difficult to see exactly what happened, but the mighty warrior had made his last charge. He had gone no more than 100 yards when he appeared to slump forward in his saddle. His mount stumbled and he plummeted over his horse’s shoulder and hit the ground heavily.

Robert rode off to help his father immediately. By the time he arrived, a large group of the King’s squadron was trying to get him to his feet.

‘Leave him be!’

Robert knew there may well be broken bones or internal injuries and ordered that a space be cleared so that his father could be laid flat and get some air. William was barely conscious and badly shaken. He complained of severe dizziness and started to retch. This gave him great pain in his groin, which he seemed to have ruptured on the pommel of his horse.

‘Send for the physicians, quickly!’

After several minutes of examination by his doctors, they concluded that William had had a seizure, which had caused the fall, and that his stomach had indeed been ruptured when his massive frame struck the pommel of his saddle. Taking Robert to one side, his senior physician, the learned Gilbert of Maminot, a former chaplain who William had made Bishop of Lisieux, explained that the seizure was not the first, but was a particularly severe one. Paralysis was a distinct possibility — at least, in some parts of the King’s body. The physician was also very concerned about the rupture. It seemed to be a deep one, and there was certain to be internal bleeding.

He added that, in normal circumstances, the King should not be moved, but given that he was lying on a battleground beyond Normandy’s borders, he recommended that William be taken to Rouen as quickly as possible.

Although a wagon was made as comfortable as possible for him, the journey to Rouen, a distance of over forty miles, was agonizing for William. When he was conscious, he was constantly sick and complained that the world was spinning around him. The pain in his groin and stomach was so great that he was unable to move, and his chest and jowls were so large that it was impossible to get a bowl under his chin, so new vomit replaced the old before his servants could remove it.

He was eventually taken to St Gervais, a priory on a hill to the west of Rouen, clear of the noise of the city and the heat of the lower reaches of the Seine Valley.

The great warlord, William, King of England and Duke of Normandy, the most fearsome figure of his age, languished in his bed, drifting in and out of consciousness for many weeks. He was in great pain from slow internal bleeding, which became more and more acute as time passed. There were surely many who thought a slow and painful death was what he deserved, given the suffering he had inflicted on others.

As he lay dying, the manoeuvring and scheming at court intensified. There were many scores to settle and debts to pay.

Robert was at the centre of it all and tried, as firstborn and regal Count of Normandy, to act as honest broker, but the ambitions were too great, the greed too excessive and the rewards too tempting to assuage — especially between Robert and his brothers, Rufus and Henry. Robert was now thirty-five. Rufus was twenty-nine and still a great trial to Robert, while Henry, aged nineteen, was old enough to be a real nuisance.

I gathered up Edwin, Sweyn and Adela and went to Robert to offer our support.

His mood was sombre.

‘There will be war. Even if I can keep the peace between myself and my brothers, there are too many powerful earls to keep in check. Odo is still in my father’s dungeon, but he is just one of many looking for an opportunity. My father has surrounded himself with the biggest gang of bullies in Europe, and now I am going to have to try to control them.’

As I had several times over the years, I felt truly sorry for my friend.

‘Has the King given any hint about his succession?’