Despite weeks of investigations and many arrests, no-one was ever brought to trial for the murder of Hugues. The culprit seemed to have vanished into thin air. Henri vows to find the murderer but the more time went by the less likely it seemed that the perpetrator would be caught.
The homicide left Henri’s second son Eudes as his heir. However his only son Renaud was already dead as was one daughter, leaving two other daughters as his only offspring. Which means that that second in line to the ducal throne is Henri’s third son Robert. His only child is a daughter, Adelaide. So third in line is Henri’s fourth son, Renaud, as yet unmarried. And finally comes Henri’s fifth son, young Henri who at the tender age of 16 is now married to Adele de Flandre, niece of Henri’s old friend Baudouin Count of Flanders, who has managed to regain his hold over that county. She shows excellent potential for intrigue despite her youth.
If Duke Henri thought that the death of Hugues would ease the troubles with his children, he was to be sadly mistaken. Later in 1081 young Henri lets it be known to anyone who will listen that he would be a better steward than the current incumbent, Ermesinde. Not only does this fail to impress the duke, but young Henri and Ermesinde become rivals. And just to reinforce the absurdity of young Henri’s claims, duke Henri decides to appoint his new daughter-in-law Adele as spymaster.
She is by now with child and in December 1081 she gives birth to a girl, Marie.
Throughout early 1082 young Henri persists in the belief that he is a better steward. The duke continues to rebuff his son with increasing disdain.
Relations between the two men do improve slightly though but for the saddest of reasons, when young Henri’s infant daughter Marie dies unexpectedly in July 1082.
Death is an evil master. Capricious, unbidden, unwelcome, uncaring. It matters not to him who he takes, or when. Young or old, sick or healthy, noble or peasant, rich or poor; all are the same to Death. His only concern is to maintain his remorseless tally.
In January, two days before the feast of the Epiphany a messenger arrives at Dijon with news of the death of Henri’s old friend Baudouin of Hainault. In March, Bishop Gerard dies; Henri reappoints Bertrand of Beaujeu to replace him.
And then in April of the same year, just before Easter, duchess Sybilla dies. She was 48 years of age, and simply fails to wake up one morning. Henri is philosophical about his loss. He loved Sybilla in life and mourns her in death. The impact upon young Henri is much more marked. His mother’s death is the final straw that tips him over the edge into insanity.
The harvest of 1083 is a bumper one and seems to prove the effectiveness of steward Ermesinde who oversees the work of duke Henri’s direct peasantry. She informs the duke that the introduction of a two field system, rotating the crops grown year by year seems to give greater yields.
It is a week before the start of Advent in the year 1083. Bishop Bertrand has asked for an audience with the duke.
“Father Bertrand. What ails thee?”
“Your Grace, it is a most delicate matter.” He shuffles nervously and wrings his hands together.
“Perhaps we can be seated?”
“Of course” says Henri and leads the bishop to a pair of chairs set beside the open fire that burns brightly in the middle of the hall. It is smoky and the bishop catches his breath before continuing.
“My lord, I must speak to you regarding your brother Robert. For some time now I have heard whisperings of strange goings on and possible heathen malpractices concerning the marshal. I have had him watched in secret thanks to the assistance of spymaster Adele.”
“Go on” says Henri “what evidence do you have?”
“He has been consorting with known practitioners of the black arts. We saw him purchase some quack remedies from one of their number, a certain Gilbert of Dijon. And then there are the bloodstains. The floor of his chamber is covered in marks left by blood, and one of the servants found a severed cockerels head beneath his couch one day last week. And he has not attended mass since the Michaelmass feast.”
“Anything else?”
“No my lord. Apart from the rumblings and murmurings that continue around the court. Men say that he is a follower of Satan and a known exponent of black magic.”
At this, Henri lets out a large guffaw.
“Black magic!? I have never heard anything so daft. It is true that the deaths that have occurred this year have affected Robert more than most. He was ever a more sensitive soul and it seems his faith in God may have been shaken somewhat, but I will not believe that he is involved in black magic. Never.”
“Your Grace.....”
“Enough Bertrand. I will hear no more of this nonsense.”
“So be it, my lord. But I must report the matter to his holiness in Rome, as you must know.”
“Do what you must sir cleric, but I will not believe my brother to be anything other than a true son of Holy Mother Church.”
One month later, a messenger arrives from the Papal Curia with a bull of excommunication against marshal Robert. He and his brother the duke burn it unceremoniously. Henri’s piety diminishes.
Whilst Robert was undergoing this ordeal duke Henri had surprised his whole court by taking another wife. And not any old wife. In fact a very young wife. She was Blodwen ap Siesyll from the Welsh duchy of Deheubarth. People wondered why the macth had been made, but had they seen her curves and high cheekbones and experienced the youthful bloom upon her cheeks, they would have surely understood. Henri is wise enough though not to claim any marriage duty though such is the unpopularity of the match.
In short order, Blodwen is pregnant.
Most outspoken of the critics is steward Ermesinde. She has served Henri well for a number of years, but he is not prepared to tolerate such open dissent and having a more than able candidate available he now dismisses Ermesinde. In her stead he appoints a 16 year old fosterling, Alienor of Blois, daughter of the Count of Champagne.
Duke Henri is aware that he has a large number of sons for whom provision must be made. For a long time now he has had his eye on the neighbouring county of Neuchatel. He has chancellor Irmeltrud draw up documents addressed to Ulrich, count of Neuchatel, demanding that he become Henri’s vassal. Privately he does not for a minute believe that this will happen, for Henri is gruff by nature with little of the diplomat about him, and even Irmeltrud’s skills in this department cannot make up for Henri’s limitations. On the other hand, Henri has a fearsome reputation as a warrior, and so at the same time as Irmeltrud’s diplomatic mission is underway, the duke has marshal Robert step up preparations for a possible assault on Neuchatel.
In April 1085 the expected rejection arrives from Ulrich. Respectfully he declines to become Henri’s vassal.
On the 19th day of the same month, Blodwen is delivered of a baby girl whom the couple name Ide.
And in the same month, Henri’s nephew, Simon’s eldest son Bouchard, is sent as a fosterling to Xavier, duke of Dauphine.
Months pass by. Preparations for war continue, and Henri meets with his counsel on a regular basis. He is particularly close to spymaster Adele, his daughter-in –law, wife of the crazed young Henri, and mother to two young sons, Henri the even-younger, and Raymond. Young Henri has become increasingly jealous of his wife’s success and influence at court whilst his father continues to marginalise him from all but the most menial of duties about the court.
It is the night of 17 September 1085. In the dim torchlight, a small, hooded figure could be seen creeping towards the end of a small passageway that leads to the great hall of Dijon castle. In this hall, limited provision has been made for the duke’s many children. Small cells have been created each with a woollen curtain for some privacy during the night. The duke himself sleeps in the wooden keep of the castle along with his wife Blodwen and 2nd surviving son Robert along with his two infant daughters, Adelaide and Euphrosine.
The figure slips silently into the hall by means of a small door used in the daytime to carry meats and drinks from the adjacent kitchen to the high table at that end of the hall. Inside the building the figure knows its way around and makes its way purposefully but oh so silently towards the first of the curtained off spaces at the dais end of the hall. Casting a furtive glance over its shoulder, it slips beyond the curtain, only to emerge a few minutes later before making its way out of the building the same way it had entered. A guard sees something out of the corner of his eye and shouts out a challenge, disturbing more than one of the servants fast asleep on the hard packed earth of the hall floor. By the time the guard reaches the door, there is no-one to be seen outside in the dim starlight of an early autumn Dijon night.
At daybreak the guard reports his experience to marshal Robert who orders an immediate search of the hall. Ever a practical man, the marshal joins in the search himself. And for the second time in four years, Robert finds himself confronted with the corpse of a nephew, for in the first curtained off space he enters, there lies the dead body of young Henri. At first the cause of death is not obvious, but a swift examination of the body shows that the left wrist has been slashed open, and the lifeblood of the young man has gushed out to stain the dark earth beneath the couch on which he lies.
The marshal crosses himself and sends word to the duke and to young Henri’s widow, spymaster Adele. Both arrive within ten minutes, and the duke’s grief is all too apparent. Adele on the other hand seems very detached. The marshal is suspicious, all the more so because he knows the figure seen by the guard was said to be small of stature and nimble of foot, and possibly a woman.
It is later the same day and duke Henri is sitting in his bedchamber within the wooden keep. He is accompanied by three large dogs, one of which barks at the sound of someone approaching. As the person enters the room though, the dog falls silent, recognising the newcomer.
“Adele, my dear. Please be seated. We have been been greatly shocked today by the senseless murder of my son, your husband and good lord, Henri. Much as it pains me, there is something I must ask you.
“A guard claims he saw someone matching your description fleeing secretly from the hall late last night. Do you know anything about this? Was it you?”
“My lord, I am most shocked and hurt that you ask such a thing.” Adele catches her breath here and puts her right hand to her forehead.
“It was not I. My newborn Raymond, your grandson, could not sleep last night and I was attending him along with his wet nurse. You can ask the girl if you like, if you do not believe me.” Adele now bursts into tears.
“Come now madam, cease your blubbing. Of course I believe you, but you will know why I had to ask. I have to be certain. But is seems we need to look elsewhere for our murderer. Adele, I am placing you in charge of the investigations. Do you report back to me when we have caught the culprit. I will not have another son die unavenged.”
“My lord, it shall be as you command. And now if you will excuse me, I must attend to the body of my late lord.”
She executes a deep curtsey and leaves the duke’s presence expelling a huge sigh of relief.
