Crusade

There was also a new ingredient in the regal mix. Henry Beauclerc, by now in his early twenties, was not without talent or ambition and had established a stronghold at Domfront, a towering fortress above the Varenne, in Normandy’s north-west. So, by 1093 a pair of quarrelling sons had become a trio and the dukedom was governed by one anointed duke and two pseudo-dukes.

We continued in the service of Duke Robert, a task that became more and more onerous as the plots and intrigues became more and more convoluted. Robert bore it all with good grace and continued to be thoughtful and generous.

Although Edwin remained steadfast and content, Sweyn and Adela had become restless. They no longer shared a chamber, but did share a tent on campaigns and were as close as they had always been. Their ambitions remained unfulfilled — they often said that the skirmishes and squabbles of spoiled dukes and kings should not be the preoccupation of chivalrous knights.

A familiar set of circumstances alleviated our tedium in the middle of 1093. Malcolm, King of the Scots, had taken advantage of the civil strife between the Normans at regular intervals to fill his treasury with barrels of English coins and cartloads of clerical plate. In 1091, I had been an intermediary and negotiated yet another settlement between him and the Normans when King Rufus sent a huge army and navy north of the border to threaten his realm.

Since then, the significant reinforcement of English fortresses at Carlisle, Durham, Newcastle and Bamburgh had led Malcolm to feel threatened and he now asked to see Rufus in Gloucester.

Once again, the King asked if I would play honest broker. As usual, Robert was generous to his brother and agreed that I could go. By the time we arrived in Gloucester, Malcolm had been escorted from the border with all the courtesies appropriate to a visiting monarch and had been welcomed to the Royal Burgh of Gloucester with due ceremony on King Rufus’s behalf by Alan the Red, Earl of Richmond.

Then the good manners ceased.

Rufus refused to see Malcolm in person, insisting that he negotiate with Alan of Richmond and Hugh, Earl of Chester. Malcolm was incandescent when I tried to persuade him to meet with the two earls.

‘Who does he think he is, the little sodomite!’

‘Malcolm, he knows exactly who he is — he’s the King of England. It would be wise to negotiate. Although Normandy is divided and the three sons fight all the time, they will unite against you if you give them enough cause — and they’re getting richer and stronger all the time.’

‘Where is Rufus? I hear he’s gone hunting.’

‘He may have done.’

‘You know damn well he’s gone hunting! Where are his hounds? They were here when I arrived.’

I had no plausible answer to give Malcolm.

‘Well, you can tell him that as he likes it up the arse, he knows what he can do with the negotiation!’

Malcolm did not wait for an escort. He summoned his retinue and was riding north for Scotland within the hour.

When I reported the outcome to Rufus — without, of course, Malcolm’s colourful invective — he smiled mischievously. His refusal to see Malcolm was a deliberate provocation, and it had worked perfectly. Instead of meeting the Scottish king, he had returned to Gloucester with his courtiers, their carts full of venison and boar, and had begun his regular regime of feasting and frolicking after a successful hunt.

Rufus had built a sumptuous new Great Hall in Gloucester and liked to go there as often as possible to enjoy the plentiful game in the nearby forests. The walls were covered in vast tapestries embroidered in Flanders and were lit by huge torches which, even on the darkest nights, bathed it so brightly that it was like daylight.

His hunting dogs took pride of place. The King’s high table was at the western end of the hall, with a huge hearth behind it. The eastern end was a mirror image, with its own massive fireplace, some thirty paces from its twin, except that it was the exclusive domain of his dogs. When all his guests were assembled and the entire court sat down after grace was said, Rufus demanded that his dogs be fed first, while his noble lords and ladies waited patiently for the regal dogs to finish. Only when the dogs had had their fill, and were lying farting and snorting by their fire, was the court allowed to begin its feast.

Rufus’s effeminate appearance had become impossible to ignore. He had grown his thinning red-blond hair, which he now parted down the middle, and wore even more outlandish jewellery and yet more ostentatious clothes. He was surrounded by his coterie of young men who fawned all over him, each trying to catch his eye.

Concerned for my sister in Dunfermline, with Malcolm almost certain to do something rash, I approached him and asked for his leave to travel north.

‘Sire, as you know, Margaret, King Malcolm’s wife, is my sister. I would like your permission to follow Malcolm to Scotland. He is very impetuous, but I’m usually able to placate him.’