The White Hart
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So Morcar is dealt with. His only chance was getting Eadwin on his side anyway.
And now we get the potential of an heir! But based on your earlier warnings about how queens go in this AAR, I am slightly concerned for Maior and how this pregnancy may end.
And now we get the potential of an heir! But based on your earlier warnings about how queens go in this AAR, I am slightly concerned for Maior and how this pregnancy may end.
Chapter 27: A question of faith
King Richard -Evening, The Feast Hall, London, 8th October 1068
Candles were lit and torches blazed all around the feast hall and the great men of England all sat at their tables, eating and drinking to their hearts content. Richard and Maior sat at the royal table, raised above all the rest whilst the Lord Chamberlain stood before them a few steps down offering small purses off gold to each of the waiting guests.
In an unusual display of generosity, Richard had opened the royal coffers and had decided to hand out gifts to those subjects whom had shown their loyalty to him and his reign. His wife however, now expecting a baby in the coming year had been given the most expensive gift off all. For the Queen of England and future Mother of the next King, he had ordered a beautiful new crown to be made. It was off a most delicate design, made from welsh gold, the interlocking, oak leaf crown inset with small rubies was a testament to the skill of the royal goldsmiths. It sat softly upon her head and dressed as she was in a deep brown bodice with an autumnal orange skirt she looked every bit the living image of the seasons; her ripening belly symbolic of the spring to follow.
The Earl of Surrey stepped away from the Chamberlain, his gold in hand and the Duke of Lancaster stepped forward, bowing graciously. Richard looked at him carefully, checking to see if he would be gracious enough to accept such a small gift but it did not surprise him at all when the Duke put forth his hand and refused to take the purse.
“My Lord Duke, do you have another gift you would have from your King to celebrate the Queens condition?” Richard glanced over to one of the tables on the far end of the room, Morcar, yet to be put on trial sat, nibbling on a grouse. He was flanked by the Kings guards and despite the Councils insistence that having him in attendance was distasteful, the Queen had insisted that showing the Duke in the Kings’ custody and being well treated would send an equally powerful message. ‘A royal pardon for your brother perhaps?’
‘Nay my Lord, my brother must face the consequence off his actions as and when you see fit’ Richard sighed softly, relief washing over him ‘I do however, have a request though I mean no offence in declining your purse.’
The King glanced around the room hoping that the entire court would see he could be gracious, even in the face of an obvious insult ‘Speak then your Grace, what would you have from me?’
‘Brother Egbert my Lord, the monk taken in custody alongside my brother. I would have him released into my custody, I know him and have known him for many years, I will stand as witness to his innocence.’ The Duke cast his eyes to the floor, bending to one knee in the hope of appearing humble and Richard cast his eyes over him, seeking to know his mind.
‘Very well my Lord, if you yourself will stand as his advocate then I will release him’ the Dukes head snapped up and his eyes passed from the King to the Queen and back ‘But understand if any future fault emerges in this man’s character you yourself will be held accountable.’
‘My King I am confidant no such issue will arise, but I thank you wholeheartedly.’ The Duke smiled and moved to rise but the Kings words halted him for a moment.
‘He shall be set at his liberty at the end of the month, when I have had chance to arrange alternative arrangements for your brother’s spiritual needs’ he could see that the Duke wished to argue, but he did not and simply nodded in acceptance and went to return to his table.
King Richard -Morning, The Kings Study, London, 9th October 1068
Wulfstan lowered himself into the chair, accepting a cup off wine offered him by the serving girl. Richard was pleased to see he had attended upon him so quickly, though the Bishop had clearly risen early to prepare as he was freshly shaved and dressed in the full regalia of his office.
“My Lord Bishop, thank you for coming so promptly, I know it is early” the King gestured to a small sideboard ‘Can I tempt you with a little something to break your fast?’ there was some cooked meat, bread and cheese on a wooden plate but the Bishop quietly declined. ‘I have asked you here to discuss a matter that I hope is but a shadow of paranoia but then it is nonetheless important.’
‘My Lord I am your servant and your council, I will help were I can as always.’ The Bishop of Worcester looked clearly nervous, for it was not often he received a private summons; that honour was most often the Baron of Beaumont’s.
Richard took a moment, picking at the soft meat of the quail’s leg on his plate and he smiled at such obvious extravagance feeling the need to explain ‘The Queen has developed a taste for quail eggs and I find for myself that the royal kitchens cook its meat very well.’ He popped a slither into his mouth, turning it over and taking a light sip of his own wine ‘to business then, if you will not eat. The Duke of Lancaster as you know asked me to release a monk found in his brothers’ company and again as you know I have agreed.’
‘The brother Egbert my Lord, he is from Lindisfarne I am told.’ Richard nodded and waved the remark away.
‘Before I release him I would have you speak with him for me.’
‘My Lord?’ Bishop Wulfstan looked somewhat confused as to why he a senior Bishop should have reason to speak with a mere monk.
‘It is probably nothing, but it concerns me that the Lord Duke should be so determined to secure the release of a monk whom from what I can see is off no real importance and lacking in any real skill.’
‘A friend of the family my lord? Brother Egbert joined the church of Lindisfarne but if I am correct his family come from the same estate on which both Dukes grew up as boys? Sentimentality no doubt my lord.’ Richard nodded, accepting the statement as he sliced carefully through a piece of cheese.
‘A worthwhile suggestion maybe, but do men who offer up their own brothers to the headsman’s axe are rarely sentimental’ he let that sink in for a moment ‘I hope Bishop I am wrong and indeed I trust you will prove that I am, but look into it won’t you?’
Wufstan rose from his chair and made for the door turning to offer a bow ‘I will set to work at once my King and pray that your worries, whatever they maybe are unfounded.’
King Richard -Mid-day, On the Road to Canterbury, 23rd February 1069
Snow was thick on the ground and Richard buried himself deep in his fur-trimmed hood, to try and escape the biting wind. He and Baron William were riding with a small escort for Canterbury; news having arrived the day previously that Bishop Stigand had taken ill and given his age, alongside the terrible cold few expected him to live until spring.
“I am telling you my boy, you should have kept that bloody monk under lock and key until the Bishop had something useful to give to you” the Baron was right off course and Richard had hoped he could find a reason to keep the brother under arrest for a little longer, but he had publicly promised to free him within the month and so his hands were tied.
“The good Bishop assures me that it is wiser to set the man at his liberty, he hasn’t told me exactly what it is he has found, but I do know he thinks my concerns may be justified.” He had received a letter from the Bishop of Worcester the week before asking for permission to question several people under a royal warrant and Richard had agreed, although he was not completely happy with the idea off issuing such warrants without knowing all the facts.
‘If the Duke finds out you are poking about in his business before you have a chance to arrest him you realise it will be war again?’ the King had considered that option but then he had ordered the Bishop to be the very definition of discretion and given the Councillors cautious nature he was sure that that would be the case.
‘Only if I have cause to arrest him Baron, there is nothing confirmed as yet and beside whilst Morcar lives, Lancaster will find it difficult to risk rebellion if it means his brothers immediate execution’ the Baron burst out laughing at that remark and the guards riding ahead turned sharply in their saddles to see what caused the outburst.
‘You’re a ruthless little bastard at times you know? I thought you had kept the pup alive so you could put him on trial not to hamstring his brother.’ Richard laughed in reply, kicking his horse forward, snow flicking up as it moved into a trot.
‘Whichever comes first my friend, trial or execution’ he laughed louder ‘whichever comes first.’
King Richard -Mid-day, Outside the Queens Chamber, 18th March 1069
She was not what any of them had hoped for, the entire Kingdom had longed for a Prince. Bishop Stigand had even dragged himself from his sick bed to lay before the altar of Canterbury to beseech the Almighty for a son and heir. But looking at her now, still covered in the filth of her mother’s labours, her skin creamy white and soft as silk, how could anyone believe she was a disappointment.
Margaret would be her name, it meant pearl and it suited her perfectly. She had been conceived in the normality of human lust and within her mother’s womb she had been cleaned and shaped to be something so valuable that Richard could find no words to describe it. Were some would worship before a piece of the true cross, he would worship her.
His Margaret.
Richard had carried his little bundle of perfection out into the corridor so that those courtiers in attendance might see England’s future; the Queen, his wife was exhausted, lathered in sweat from a hard labour and desperate for sleep. And so he had ordered the room emptied except a mid-wife and handful of servants.
He kissed the princess gently on the forehead and she wriggled a little, though she did not stir from slumber. “For you my girl, I will bend the earth and move the stars.”
King Richard -Late-morning, The Kings Study, 20th March 1069
“Whats the matter good lady?” Richard looked down at the little princess, stroking her cheek as she slept. She should by rights be in the nursery already or with her mother but the Queen had still not recuperated and so the King had ordered his daughters cradle brought into his own rooms and the wet nurse kept in constant attendance.
The little girl kneeling before him had lily white skin and her cheekbones were exceptionally well defined, she was called Wynnflaed and her mother was the Queens lead maid-of-honour. She did not speak and Richard noted her hands shaking ‘Dear child as much as I might wish it, I do not read minds now speak what is the matter?’
She went to speak and her voice failed for a moment, but then the King noted her draw on her inner reserve and force the words forward “The mid-wife my King……….the mid-wife begs you attend the Queens chamber at once.”
Richard rose from the chair, smiling at the pretty little girl as be leant over to pick the Princess up from her cot but the pleasant little maid stopped him almost at once ‘That would not be wise Highness………the Queen has not awoke nor does mama think she shall, you must come at once.’ The young girl did not wait to be dismissed but stood quickly, turning on her heel and marching from the room at brisk pace as Richard followed her little doe steps in hot pursuit, fear teasing at the corners of his heart.
The pair walked at pace down the long corridor, the gentle morning sun piercing through the gloom. The King stopping for a moment as he noted the dust dancing in the sun beams. He stood stock still watching the little dancers, swirling through the light paying special attention those unfortunate particles that had enjoyed their time in the light and moved onward into the shadows. A little hand gripped his own palm and dragged him out of his momentary reverie “There is no time my Lord, you must hurry.”
Either this child had no sense of her position or else what awaited them through the oak door now looming before them gave no thought itself, to rank or title. The little, lady pushed the door open and the King took a deep breath as he passed into the shaded gloom.
His eyes did not first turn to the bed but locked on to the hooded man stood by the top of the birthing bed, Richard could not see his face though he noted immediately the skeletal hands brushing away a piece of hair from the Queens cold, sweat covered face. A phantom, nothing more. It turned to look at him and though he wished to meet its gaze he looked swiftly away searching for the mid-wife who sat slumped in a chair in the corner of the room, obviously desolate and exhausted from her own work. Passing his eyes over the bed he noted the deep, red stained sheets and the limp, lifeless frame of his wife and mother of his most sacred possession. He turned back to the mid-wife, tears streaming down his face and hers.
“A bleed my King, a bleed I could not stop” Richard sobbed allowed ‘we tried my Lord and she fought hard but nothing was to be done.’
He looked around the room, noting the maids and servants retreating as if into the walls themselves ‘Nobody told me she was unwell?’
The midwife bowed low, dropping to both knees ‘We thought she was fine, simply tired. It was only this morning in the very early hours we noticed the bleeding.... there was nothing to be done.’ Richard looked aghast, locking eyes on the shaded figure still stroking his late wife’s hair as he launched himself from the room, nausea filling his stomach as sorrow welled within him.
He flew back down the corridor at speed, tears streaming down his face though he was trying desperately to steel himself. He pushed open the door to his study. A guardsman shot to attention at once, terrified. He had been cooing over the little Princess in her cot and the King registered embarrassment on his face though he cared not.
‘Fetch the wet nurse, take her from my sight’ his heart was aching, the thought that his greatest joy had robbed him of his Queen pained him. The guardsman clicked his heels but did not go to carry out his orders immediately. Richard turned at him, sorrow and rage mixing in equal measure. Now was not the time for disobedience.
The man looked terrified but he did not flinch “Bishop Wulfstan wishes entry to your private quarters my King, he says it is off great importance.” Would nothing ever wait, less than five minutes from his wife’s death and the Kingdom rolled on regardless. Richards anger subsided as quickly as it rose and he slumped down, back into his chair.
‘Fetch the wet nurse and take the Princess to the nursery’ he put his head in his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes as if he could bar the world from his mind simply by their touch.
‘And the Bishop my King?’
Richard took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair, glancing up at the ceiling ‘Tell him to come back tomorrow’
Duke Eadwin of Lancaster -Noon, The Great Hall, 1st June 1069
Brother Egbert stood before the raised table and Eadwin noticed his shoulders shaking slightly. He himself stood between two heavily armed guardsmen. Gone were the feast tables that filled the hall during the courts celebrations and instead three rows of pews filled the left and right of the hall on either side. To his left the Bishops of England sat in their full regalia and to the right, the Earls sat, come to see another Duke off House Hwicce fall.
It was not the King who sat though in the place of judgement, for it were he would not fear for his life; his brother Morcar still under arrest. Justice this day would not come from the King, for sat before him on the raised dais and now questioning brother Ecbert relentlessly sat the three most powerful clergymen in the entire realm.
At the centre, Cardinal Ethelwine in his blood-red cassock. To the Cardinals left the near ancient Bishop Stigand of Canterbury and two the Cardinals right, the wolf who had laid him low, the Bishop of Worcester, Wulfstan.
Eadwins stomach ached though he smiled at the irony of his position. He had given his brother up to the headsman and in so doing thrown himself on to the heretics’ pyre.
King Richard -Evening, The Feast Hall, London, 8th October 1068
Candles were lit and torches blazed all around the feast hall and the great men of England all sat at their tables, eating and drinking to their hearts content. Richard and Maior sat at the royal table, raised above all the rest whilst the Lord Chamberlain stood before them a few steps down offering small purses off gold to each of the waiting guests.
In an unusual display of generosity, Richard had opened the royal coffers and had decided to hand out gifts to those subjects whom had shown their loyalty to him and his reign. His wife however, now expecting a baby in the coming year had been given the most expensive gift off all. For the Queen of England and future Mother of the next King, he had ordered a beautiful new crown to be made. It was off a most delicate design, made from welsh gold, the interlocking, oak leaf crown inset with small rubies was a testament to the skill of the royal goldsmiths. It sat softly upon her head and dressed as she was in a deep brown bodice with an autumnal orange skirt she looked every bit the living image of the seasons; her ripening belly symbolic of the spring to follow.
The Earl of Surrey stepped away from the Chamberlain, his gold in hand and the Duke of Lancaster stepped forward, bowing graciously. Richard looked at him carefully, checking to see if he would be gracious enough to accept such a small gift but it did not surprise him at all when the Duke put forth his hand and refused to take the purse.
“My Lord Duke, do you have another gift you would have from your King to celebrate the Queens condition?” Richard glanced over to one of the tables on the far end of the room, Morcar, yet to be put on trial sat, nibbling on a grouse. He was flanked by the Kings guards and despite the Councils insistence that having him in attendance was distasteful, the Queen had insisted that showing the Duke in the Kings’ custody and being well treated would send an equally powerful message. ‘A royal pardon for your brother perhaps?’
‘Nay my Lord, my brother must face the consequence off his actions as and when you see fit’ Richard sighed softly, relief washing over him ‘I do however, have a request though I mean no offence in declining your purse.’
The King glanced around the room hoping that the entire court would see he could be gracious, even in the face of an obvious insult ‘Speak then your Grace, what would you have from me?’
‘Brother Egbert my Lord, the monk taken in custody alongside my brother. I would have him released into my custody, I know him and have known him for many years, I will stand as witness to his innocence.’ The Duke cast his eyes to the floor, bending to one knee in the hope of appearing humble and Richard cast his eyes over him, seeking to know his mind.
‘Very well my Lord, if you yourself will stand as his advocate then I will release him’ the Dukes head snapped up and his eyes passed from the King to the Queen and back ‘But understand if any future fault emerges in this man’s character you yourself will be held accountable.’
‘My King I am confidant no such issue will arise, but I thank you wholeheartedly.’ The Duke smiled and moved to rise but the Kings words halted him for a moment.
‘He shall be set at his liberty at the end of the month, when I have had chance to arrange alternative arrangements for your brother’s spiritual needs’ he could see that the Duke wished to argue, but he did not and simply nodded in acceptance and went to return to his table.
King Richard -Morning, The Kings Study, London, 9th October 1068
Wulfstan lowered himself into the chair, accepting a cup off wine offered him by the serving girl. Richard was pleased to see he had attended upon him so quickly, though the Bishop had clearly risen early to prepare as he was freshly shaved and dressed in the full regalia of his office.
“My Lord Bishop, thank you for coming so promptly, I know it is early” the King gestured to a small sideboard ‘Can I tempt you with a little something to break your fast?’ there was some cooked meat, bread and cheese on a wooden plate but the Bishop quietly declined. ‘I have asked you here to discuss a matter that I hope is but a shadow of paranoia but then it is nonetheless important.’
‘My Lord I am your servant and your council, I will help were I can as always.’ The Bishop of Worcester looked clearly nervous, for it was not often he received a private summons; that honour was most often the Baron of Beaumont’s.
Richard took a moment, picking at the soft meat of the quail’s leg on his plate and he smiled at such obvious extravagance feeling the need to explain ‘The Queen has developed a taste for quail eggs and I find for myself that the royal kitchens cook its meat very well.’ He popped a slither into his mouth, turning it over and taking a light sip of his own wine ‘to business then, if you will not eat. The Duke of Lancaster as you know asked me to release a monk found in his brothers’ company and again as you know I have agreed.’
‘The brother Egbert my Lord, he is from Lindisfarne I am told.’ Richard nodded and waved the remark away.
‘Before I release him I would have you speak with him for me.’
‘My Lord?’ Bishop Wulfstan looked somewhat confused as to why he a senior Bishop should have reason to speak with a mere monk.
‘It is probably nothing, but it concerns me that the Lord Duke should be so determined to secure the release of a monk whom from what I can see is off no real importance and lacking in any real skill.’
‘A friend of the family my lord? Brother Egbert joined the church of Lindisfarne but if I am correct his family come from the same estate on which both Dukes grew up as boys? Sentimentality no doubt my lord.’ Richard nodded, accepting the statement as he sliced carefully through a piece of cheese.
‘A worthwhile suggestion maybe, but do men who offer up their own brothers to the headsman’s axe are rarely sentimental’ he let that sink in for a moment ‘I hope Bishop I am wrong and indeed I trust you will prove that I am, but look into it won’t you?’
Wufstan rose from his chair and made for the door turning to offer a bow ‘I will set to work at once my King and pray that your worries, whatever they maybe are unfounded.’
King Richard -Mid-day, On the Road to Canterbury, 23rd February 1069
Snow was thick on the ground and Richard buried himself deep in his fur-trimmed hood, to try and escape the biting wind. He and Baron William were riding with a small escort for Canterbury; news having arrived the day previously that Bishop Stigand had taken ill and given his age, alongside the terrible cold few expected him to live until spring.
“I am telling you my boy, you should have kept that bloody monk under lock and key until the Bishop had something useful to give to you” the Baron was right off course and Richard had hoped he could find a reason to keep the brother under arrest for a little longer, but he had publicly promised to free him within the month and so his hands were tied.
“The good Bishop assures me that it is wiser to set the man at his liberty, he hasn’t told me exactly what it is he has found, but I do know he thinks my concerns may be justified.” He had received a letter from the Bishop of Worcester the week before asking for permission to question several people under a royal warrant and Richard had agreed, although he was not completely happy with the idea off issuing such warrants without knowing all the facts.
‘If the Duke finds out you are poking about in his business before you have a chance to arrest him you realise it will be war again?’ the King had considered that option but then he had ordered the Bishop to be the very definition of discretion and given the Councillors cautious nature he was sure that that would be the case.
‘Only if I have cause to arrest him Baron, there is nothing confirmed as yet and beside whilst Morcar lives, Lancaster will find it difficult to risk rebellion if it means his brothers immediate execution’ the Baron burst out laughing at that remark and the guards riding ahead turned sharply in their saddles to see what caused the outburst.
‘You’re a ruthless little bastard at times you know? I thought you had kept the pup alive so you could put him on trial not to hamstring his brother.’ Richard laughed in reply, kicking his horse forward, snow flicking up as it moved into a trot.
‘Whichever comes first my friend, trial or execution’ he laughed louder ‘whichever comes first.’
King Richard -Mid-day, Outside the Queens Chamber, 18th March 1069
She was not what any of them had hoped for, the entire Kingdom had longed for a Prince. Bishop Stigand had even dragged himself from his sick bed to lay before the altar of Canterbury to beseech the Almighty for a son and heir. But looking at her now, still covered in the filth of her mother’s labours, her skin creamy white and soft as silk, how could anyone believe she was a disappointment.
Margaret would be her name, it meant pearl and it suited her perfectly. She had been conceived in the normality of human lust and within her mother’s womb she had been cleaned and shaped to be something so valuable that Richard could find no words to describe it. Were some would worship before a piece of the true cross, he would worship her.
His Margaret.
Richard had carried his little bundle of perfection out into the corridor so that those courtiers in attendance might see England’s future; the Queen, his wife was exhausted, lathered in sweat from a hard labour and desperate for sleep. And so he had ordered the room emptied except a mid-wife and handful of servants.
He kissed the princess gently on the forehead and she wriggled a little, though she did not stir from slumber. “For you my girl, I will bend the earth and move the stars.”
King Richard -Late-morning, The Kings Study, 20th March 1069
“Whats the matter good lady?” Richard looked down at the little princess, stroking her cheek as she slept. She should by rights be in the nursery already or with her mother but the Queen had still not recuperated and so the King had ordered his daughters cradle brought into his own rooms and the wet nurse kept in constant attendance.
The little girl kneeling before him had lily white skin and her cheekbones were exceptionally well defined, she was called Wynnflaed and her mother was the Queens lead maid-of-honour. She did not speak and Richard noted her hands shaking ‘Dear child as much as I might wish it, I do not read minds now speak what is the matter?’
She went to speak and her voice failed for a moment, but then the King noted her draw on her inner reserve and force the words forward “The mid-wife my King……….the mid-wife begs you attend the Queens chamber at once.”
Richard rose from the chair, smiling at the pretty little girl as be leant over to pick the Princess up from her cot but the pleasant little maid stopped him almost at once ‘That would not be wise Highness………the Queen has not awoke nor does mama think she shall, you must come at once.’ The young girl did not wait to be dismissed but stood quickly, turning on her heel and marching from the room at brisk pace as Richard followed her little doe steps in hot pursuit, fear teasing at the corners of his heart.
The pair walked at pace down the long corridor, the gentle morning sun piercing through the gloom. The King stopping for a moment as he noted the dust dancing in the sun beams. He stood stock still watching the little dancers, swirling through the light paying special attention those unfortunate particles that had enjoyed their time in the light and moved onward into the shadows. A little hand gripped his own palm and dragged him out of his momentary reverie “There is no time my Lord, you must hurry.”
Either this child had no sense of her position or else what awaited them through the oak door now looming before them gave no thought itself, to rank or title. The little, lady pushed the door open and the King took a deep breath as he passed into the shaded gloom.
His eyes did not first turn to the bed but locked on to the hooded man stood by the top of the birthing bed, Richard could not see his face though he noted immediately the skeletal hands brushing away a piece of hair from the Queens cold, sweat covered face. A phantom, nothing more. It turned to look at him and though he wished to meet its gaze he looked swiftly away searching for the mid-wife who sat slumped in a chair in the corner of the room, obviously desolate and exhausted from her own work. Passing his eyes over the bed he noted the deep, red stained sheets and the limp, lifeless frame of his wife and mother of his most sacred possession. He turned back to the mid-wife, tears streaming down his face and hers.
“A bleed my King, a bleed I could not stop” Richard sobbed allowed ‘we tried my Lord and she fought hard but nothing was to be done.’
He looked around the room, noting the maids and servants retreating as if into the walls themselves ‘Nobody told me she was unwell?’
The midwife bowed low, dropping to both knees ‘We thought she was fine, simply tired. It was only this morning in the very early hours we noticed the bleeding.... there was nothing to be done.’ Richard looked aghast, locking eyes on the shaded figure still stroking his late wife’s hair as he launched himself from the room, nausea filling his stomach as sorrow welled within him.
He flew back down the corridor at speed, tears streaming down his face though he was trying desperately to steel himself. He pushed open the door to his study. A guardsman shot to attention at once, terrified. He had been cooing over the little Princess in her cot and the King registered embarrassment on his face though he cared not.
‘Fetch the wet nurse, take her from my sight’ his heart was aching, the thought that his greatest joy had robbed him of his Queen pained him. The guardsman clicked his heels but did not go to carry out his orders immediately. Richard turned at him, sorrow and rage mixing in equal measure. Now was not the time for disobedience.
The man looked terrified but he did not flinch “Bishop Wulfstan wishes entry to your private quarters my King, he says it is off great importance.” Would nothing ever wait, less than five minutes from his wife’s death and the Kingdom rolled on regardless. Richards anger subsided as quickly as it rose and he slumped down, back into his chair.
‘Fetch the wet nurse and take the Princess to the nursery’ he put his head in his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes as if he could bar the world from his mind simply by their touch.
‘And the Bishop my King?’
Richard took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair, glancing up at the ceiling ‘Tell him to come back tomorrow’
Duke Eadwin of Lancaster -Noon, The Great Hall, 1st June 1069
Brother Egbert stood before the raised table and Eadwin noticed his shoulders shaking slightly. He himself stood between two heavily armed guardsmen. Gone were the feast tables that filled the hall during the courts celebrations and instead three rows of pews filled the left and right of the hall on either side. To his left the Bishops of England sat in their full regalia and to the right, the Earls sat, come to see another Duke off House Hwicce fall.
It was not the King who sat though in the place of judgement, for it were he would not fear for his life; his brother Morcar still under arrest. Justice this day would not come from the King, for sat before him on the raised dais and now questioning brother Ecbert relentlessly sat the three most powerful clergymen in the entire realm.
At the centre, Cardinal Ethelwine in his blood-red cassock. To the Cardinals left the near ancient Bishop Stigand of Canterbury and two the Cardinals right, the wolf who had laid him low, the Bishop of Worcester, Wulfstan.
Eadwins stomach ached though he smiled at the irony of his position. He had given his brother up to the headsman and in so doing thrown himself on to the heretics’ pyre.
Two positive events both turned bitter ... there is a nice symmetry there, how both scenarios echo each other, if in different ways.
I do quite like the fact myself that both threads there end on quite the downward beat.
I can never tell if its my game playing or what have you, but the Roth don't seem either in this incarnation or the earlier one to be much inclined toward stablity
The poor queen. She had such potential - I don't know if another will be able to fill the void left behind. The king will have to navigate turbulent waters without that support.
Unfortunatly for Richard.....Margaret will not be enough to secure his reign and so a new marriage must follow soon
Chapter 28: The Crown Never Waits
King Richard -Mid-afternoon, The Kings Study, 3rd July 1069
Richard placed the oak-leaf crown gently down into the cushioned box and sealed the lid, bidding the servant to take it from his desk “See that it is put somewhere safe my Lord Steward” Gaufrid had been seeing to the valuation of all the late Queens belongings and though it pained the King to look upon the crown it was the one piece he was determined to keep.
The Lord Steward was growing rather large around the waist and struggled to bow “Yes my Lord, if that is all? I can collect the treasury books tomorrow if it pleases you?” He had come to collect the Queens crown but had swapped it with a rather hefty pile of tax ledgers for the King to look at. Richard waved him away.
‘I will make a start on them tonight and send for you when they are done’, Gaufrid offered another bow and left the chamber, leaving the King alone, surrounded by paperwork. Five months his wife had been dead now, her funeral conducted in a most private affair and yet he had not really had a single day to mourn. It seemed the crown had no sense of its wearers humanity, uncaring off his grief and ever in need of attention. Where he not a man like any other? Did his heart not feel pain as normal men did.
Here in his private rooms, he was a widower and now a single parent but to the world at large he was already regarded as a bachelor and in need off a wife. He took a sip from his goblet and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he tried to collect his thoughts. So much to do.
Cardinal Ethelwine had sent him an update on the Duke of Lancaster’s trial and it seemed as the King had suspected he was up to his eyes in mischief. Whilst he stood on trial for heresy in truth his actions acquainted more to treason than anything else. It seemed he had been using his brother’s confessor as a go between, betwixt himself and the German anti-pope. The Kaisers own choice for Holy Father having promised to acknowledge the Duke as King if he managed to remove Richard from his throne and then brought England into alliance with the Emperor. To support a schism was heresy and the argument was being had that it was a form of apostasy so heinous as to warrant burning, but thus far Richard had tried to urge simple revocation off titles rather than the fires off absolution.
There was more though, much more. The Earls were pressing for the Duke of York to be put on trial for treason, no doubt in the belief his lands would be divided between them. He had put off proposals to begin searching for a betrothal for his daughter though he had been unable to put of talk off his own re-marriage. Already negotiations were moving toward completion between the crown and the Norwegian ambassador. The King of Norway, had a widow for a sister and he was eager to have her wed and the King being a widower himself, it seemed was the obvious match.
Ingregard -Noon, The Thames, The Royal Quay 12th August 1069
The oars struck the water hard, pulling against the current and Ingregard noticed the royal court assembling on the quayside, no doubt at the groups head would be her future husband. On the opposite bank of the river a great column of black smoke was rising and somewhere amid the warren of streets a huge crowd could be heard cheering; a bonfire in August? In the middle of the day?
She sat stock still, her chin up and hr shoulders straight casting an eye over the water, the Bishop of Worcester and the Earl of Surrey, her sponsors in this match sat either side off her trying to engage her in conversation, though English still sounded strange to her ears. She had tried hard to get at least a basic understanding off it.
Her brother claimed this was a worthy and much needed match, but for her it seemed more an exile from the land of her birth and the throne that was rightfully hers. Worse still the man she was going to meet, and no doubt marry sat upon the throne to which her own father had had a claim but had proven incapable of taking.
Less than three years this man had been King, his realm unquiet and already onto his second wife, heretics and traitors abound and her she was coming to be his wife and Queen. The oars were being banked and the barge was gliding gracefully toward the quay as drums rolled out.
The crewmen drew the barge alongside the landing and jumped ashore with rope and line to tie it off as Bishop Wulfstan gestured for her to rise, she caught sight of the Norwegian ambassador stood beside a man dressed in a simple tunic and riding boots, not at all looking like an expectant groom. Hratha on the other hand, servant off her late father was dressed in his finery, tall and broad with a bright gold chain around his neck, he was a magnificent specimen of her people.
Ingregard rose, lifting her skirt and stepped forward moving to the barges side and taking the Norwegian ambassadors hand as he lifted her from the boat, welcoming her in her native tongue. She clucked her teeth quietly, speaking to him under her breath “English ambassador, we must speak only in English or else how am I to learn.”
The ambassador nodded and accepted her rebuke, leading her away from the water’s edge. They stopped before the plain clad man and Ingregard took him in completely with a single look, he was most defiantly handsome albeit it a little older than she imagined and he was as tall as she, ‘Princess, allow me to introduce you……’ the man interrupted.
‘Queen, she is as off this moment my Queen ambassador.’ He smiled at her, his face all warmth and welcome ‘My lady, I am Richard, welcome to England. I trust your journey was a pleasant one?’ As first impression went this had begun remarkably well and he was certainly trying, though the slight rings under his eyes belied how difficult this must be for him.
“The journey was easy enough my lord, the seas are calm, and the Thames estuary is a pleasant enough route.” She offered him a courtesy and glanced across the assembled crowd picking out faces to whom she assumed the names matched. The ambassador had been most diligent in providing her with information on the royal court. ‘May I ask what the commotion is on the other side of the river? Are bonfires not best seen at night?’
Richard grimaced, and she noted several awkward expressions flushing around the gathered courtiers as her question hung in the air for a moment. ‘Believe me when I say lady, everyone who needs to see that pyre today will do so, regardless of it being day or night’ She understood instantly, the Duke of Lancaster had gone to meet the devil. Warm and welcoming he may wish to appear, but she realised nearly straight away he was not a man to be tested. He waved the comment away and forced a smile to his face, offering his hand ‘Shall I show you inside? The ladies of the court are eager to meet you.’
‘As I am eager to meet them’ She lied of course, her father and now her brothers’ court was one filled with men and the petty knife fights-of-ladies in waiting was not to her liking.
Ingregard -early-afternoon, The Queens Chamber, London 12th August 1069
As they walked through the palaces interior, Ingregard couldn’t help the slight feeling of anxiety rising in her gut. Ambassador Hratha’s letters detailing the players in the English court had not mentioned women and as she understood it due to the turbulence of the last few years, the court had essentially had one woman only and she had been the former Queen. The news that now at last the courts ladies had gathered should have reassured her that Richard was at least comfortable on his throne, but she liked facts and details and now she had none.
They passed into the royal apartments, a guard at each side of the door and progressed down a long corridor through to a small door and Richard led her inside. Ingregard had not quite expected the crowd that had assembled within though she composed herself and forced a smile as the gaggle off courtiers fell silent and turned to face her.
At their centre, a doll or at least a woman would could be mistaken for such. Wearing a rather heavy looking headdress and in huge, flamboyant skirt covered in semi-precious stones stood an aging lady, four foot nothing. This lady’s very presence seemed to command the entire room and all those assembled stood at her back. She stepped forward and offered the new Queen a deep courtesy, smiling at Ingregard and then to Richard ‘Your Highness.’
Richard stepped forward, bending down to lift the old lady from her repose ‘My lady wife, allow me to introduce the Lady Mathilde, Baroness of Beaumont, wife of my most trusted servant and your new Mistress of the Robes.’ Ingregard examined her a little further, noting the quartz rosary hanging at her side and the rather obscenely large crucifix around her throat, before offering a courtesy off her own.
‘A pleasure Baroness’ the two ladies eyes met, and a spark flashed almost imperceptibly between them ‘You are dressed so fine one would mistake you for a Duchess.’
‘Oh my dear I hope not’ her accent was not English or French, it surprised Ingregard to realise she was dutch, ‘Duchesses have such an unhappy time off late’ Somewhere in the recesses of her memory, the new Queen recalled that this woman was the daughter of the Duke of Flanders. ‘Allow me your Highness to introduce to you my children.’
A whole cohort of courtiers stepped forward in line, varying in age from full grown to maids in their last blossom of childhood. The Baroness stood between two fine young men pushing them both forward slightly ‘I have three son’s but my eldest, Robert is about the Kings business’ one of the men was obviously a Bishop and Lady Mathilde was clearly proud of them both ‘nevertheless I give to you my second son, Richard, Bishop of Evron and William my third son.’
She nodded to them both, offering the most reluctant of curtsies and smiled again at the elder lady ‘The Lord has blessed you with a fine following Baroness.’ She turned to the line of young ladies then, stood in a row and all offering a deep bow as her eyes fell upon them.
The Baroness stepped forward again gesturing at the little line up ‘My daughters and your new ladies-in-waiting; Cecilia, Constance’ they each rose and bobbed as their mother introduced them ‘Agatha and Adela.’ Ingregard acknowledged them all and then moved passed them, the Baroness was quite obviously disconcerted but Ingregard, noted from the corner off her eye, Richard encourage her to ignore the slight with a slight shake of his head
The new Queen moved slowly around the chamber, taking in the furniture as much as the assembled women offering her their genuflections. Despite the apparent wealth that her father and brother believed that England possessed the Queen’s rooms were somewhat bare. Her eyes glanced over a grey faced woman, with a scarf rapped around her head and tear stains on her cheeks, no doubt she was Duchess Sibyl wife of the now burning Eadwin. Regardless the lady offered her a bow and Ingregard couldn’t help but think it was somewhat harsh of the King to have her here, bowing before his new wife whilst her husband’s ashes blew down the Thames.
She moved on a little further, walking towards the window were two young girls stood, one of them holding a babe in arms. Richard moved up behind her, they were obviously important to him. He placed his hand tentatively on her shoulder and she felt his presence surge around them both as he pulled her back ever so slightly ‘Allow me to introduce the Princess Gunhilda and the Lady Wynnflaed’ He then stepped forward reaching into the arms of the youngest girl and taking the babe from her ‘And this my lady wife is the Princess Margaret, my daughter’ she smiled at the baby, feigning interest, though in truth she was more interested in the older Princess, whose father was a traitor and yet her she stood free as a bird. ‘I hope in time she will be as precious to you as she is to me and to England.’
He offered her the child and though she was obviously reluctant over the Kings shoulder she noted Hratha, the ambassador urging her to take hold of the baby. It also did not go unnoticed that the Lady Wynnflaed took a step forward, offering her arms out to take the little girl. But Ingregard new she must appear enraptured with this child, who was the apple of her father’s eyes and, so she took her in arms and smiled at her, cooing softly. Richard smiled, and the courtiers applauded.
‘If you will excuse me Ingregard’ she looked up from the baby a little surprised he was leaving though she offered a suggestion instead of a rebuke.
‘Call me Ingrid…..Ingregard is such a mouthful.’ She smiled at him, wagging her finger in the little babes face and he smiled back.
‘I have some business to attend to and I am sure you are tired, so I shall see you this evening.’
Queen Ingrid -Evening, The Feast Hall, London 12th August 1069
All eyes had been on her as she entered the Hall at the head of the new royal family, if one would call it that. Resplendent in tightly fitting, red gown that matched the colour of her hair and wearing a crown of thick gold she had progressed up the room. Delicate brazen gold arm rings, gifted to her by her father, spoke of an ancient heritage amongst the northern people.
Behind her had come the Princess Gunhilda, technically the third most senior royal female now at court and the Baroness of Beaumont, both dressed in their finery, behind them the daughters of Baron Beaumont de Normandie. Fortunately for her, the child Wynnflaed and the Princess Margaret had not been granted permission to attend.
She had bowed before the King with exceptional grace and then taken her place at his side on the royal table, the entire courts eyes taking her measure. She hoped none would find her wanting. Placing her cup on the table she turned and smiled at Richard who was watching the Normandie sisters dancing ‘Did you see to the business you had?’ he had not returned to her all day nor had he escorted her to dinner, but she had at least been visited by the council and several Earls.
Richard supped from his great, ruby encrusted goblet, a few drops spilling from his lips ‘I did yes, I am sorry about leaving you so suddenly, but with the Duke of Lancaster gone and the Duke of York imprisoned I feel it is the time to have a progress’ she was not entirely sure what a progress was ‘London can get so clammy this time off year as well, perhaps a trip around the southern counties will give us time to get better acquainted.’
She smiled, a small smile and nodded to one of the Kings Earls who offered her a silent toast ‘I would very much like to see more of England’ she took a sip from her own cup ‘In my home country we have no cities like London, were do you propose to go?’
‘I thought we might take the southern coast through Surrey to Wessex and then through Dorset and Somerset, it is about time the people saw their King and Queen, myself and Maior never had the chance.’ She noted the sadness on his face but said nothing, simply nodding and turning to watch the dance.
Queen Ingrid -Late night, The Kings Bed, London 13th August 1069
They had wed early in the morning in a private ceremony attended by the Kings closest and dearest companions, the Earl of Sussex and the Baroness of Beaumont acting as witnesses before a day of theatrics. They had sailed the Thames in a royal barge and accepted the roar of the crowds before another feast and then they had retired.
They had sealed their union in quite a pleasant fashion, Richard being a fairly adequate lover and most attentive to her pleasure. He lay beside her, sound asleep and she herself lay beneath the furs, naked and soothed. To be Queen of England may not turn out to be such a trial afterall.
King Richard -Mid-afternoon, The Kings Study, 3rd July 1069
Richard placed the oak-leaf crown gently down into the cushioned box and sealed the lid, bidding the servant to take it from his desk “See that it is put somewhere safe my Lord Steward” Gaufrid had been seeing to the valuation of all the late Queens belongings and though it pained the King to look upon the crown it was the one piece he was determined to keep.
The Lord Steward was growing rather large around the waist and struggled to bow “Yes my Lord, if that is all? I can collect the treasury books tomorrow if it pleases you?” He had come to collect the Queens crown but had swapped it with a rather hefty pile of tax ledgers for the King to look at. Richard waved him away.
‘I will make a start on them tonight and send for you when they are done’, Gaufrid offered another bow and left the chamber, leaving the King alone, surrounded by paperwork. Five months his wife had been dead now, her funeral conducted in a most private affair and yet he had not really had a single day to mourn. It seemed the crown had no sense of its wearers humanity, uncaring off his grief and ever in need of attention. Where he not a man like any other? Did his heart not feel pain as normal men did.
Here in his private rooms, he was a widower and now a single parent but to the world at large he was already regarded as a bachelor and in need off a wife. He took a sip from his goblet and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he tried to collect his thoughts. So much to do.
Cardinal Ethelwine had sent him an update on the Duke of Lancaster’s trial and it seemed as the King had suspected he was up to his eyes in mischief. Whilst he stood on trial for heresy in truth his actions acquainted more to treason than anything else. It seemed he had been using his brother’s confessor as a go between, betwixt himself and the German anti-pope. The Kaisers own choice for Holy Father having promised to acknowledge the Duke as King if he managed to remove Richard from his throne and then brought England into alliance with the Emperor. To support a schism was heresy and the argument was being had that it was a form of apostasy so heinous as to warrant burning, but thus far Richard had tried to urge simple revocation off titles rather than the fires off absolution.
There was more though, much more. The Earls were pressing for the Duke of York to be put on trial for treason, no doubt in the belief his lands would be divided between them. He had put off proposals to begin searching for a betrothal for his daughter though he had been unable to put of talk off his own re-marriage. Already negotiations were moving toward completion between the crown and the Norwegian ambassador. The King of Norway, had a widow for a sister and he was eager to have her wed and the King being a widower himself, it seemed was the obvious match.
Ingregard -Noon, The Thames, The Royal Quay 12th August 1069
The oars struck the water hard, pulling against the current and Ingregard noticed the royal court assembling on the quayside, no doubt at the groups head would be her future husband. On the opposite bank of the river a great column of black smoke was rising and somewhere amid the warren of streets a huge crowd could be heard cheering; a bonfire in August? In the middle of the day?
She sat stock still, her chin up and hr shoulders straight casting an eye over the water, the Bishop of Worcester and the Earl of Surrey, her sponsors in this match sat either side off her trying to engage her in conversation, though English still sounded strange to her ears. She had tried hard to get at least a basic understanding off it.
Her brother claimed this was a worthy and much needed match, but for her it seemed more an exile from the land of her birth and the throne that was rightfully hers. Worse still the man she was going to meet, and no doubt marry sat upon the throne to which her own father had had a claim but had proven incapable of taking.
Less than three years this man had been King, his realm unquiet and already onto his second wife, heretics and traitors abound and her she was coming to be his wife and Queen. The oars were being banked and the barge was gliding gracefully toward the quay as drums rolled out.
The crewmen drew the barge alongside the landing and jumped ashore with rope and line to tie it off as Bishop Wulfstan gestured for her to rise, she caught sight of the Norwegian ambassador stood beside a man dressed in a simple tunic and riding boots, not at all looking like an expectant groom. Hratha on the other hand, servant off her late father was dressed in his finery, tall and broad with a bright gold chain around his neck, he was a magnificent specimen of her people.
Ingregard rose, lifting her skirt and stepped forward moving to the barges side and taking the Norwegian ambassadors hand as he lifted her from the boat, welcoming her in her native tongue. She clucked her teeth quietly, speaking to him under her breath “English ambassador, we must speak only in English or else how am I to learn.”
The ambassador nodded and accepted her rebuke, leading her away from the water’s edge. They stopped before the plain clad man and Ingregard took him in completely with a single look, he was most defiantly handsome albeit it a little older than she imagined and he was as tall as she, ‘Princess, allow me to introduce you……’ the man interrupted.
‘Queen, she is as off this moment my Queen ambassador.’ He smiled at her, his face all warmth and welcome ‘My lady, I am Richard, welcome to England. I trust your journey was a pleasant one?’ As first impression went this had begun remarkably well and he was certainly trying, though the slight rings under his eyes belied how difficult this must be for him.
“The journey was easy enough my lord, the seas are calm, and the Thames estuary is a pleasant enough route.” She offered him a courtesy and glanced across the assembled crowd picking out faces to whom she assumed the names matched. The ambassador had been most diligent in providing her with information on the royal court. ‘May I ask what the commotion is on the other side of the river? Are bonfires not best seen at night?’
Richard grimaced, and she noted several awkward expressions flushing around the gathered courtiers as her question hung in the air for a moment. ‘Believe me when I say lady, everyone who needs to see that pyre today will do so, regardless of it being day or night’ She understood instantly, the Duke of Lancaster had gone to meet the devil. Warm and welcoming he may wish to appear, but she realised nearly straight away he was not a man to be tested. He waved the comment away and forced a smile to his face, offering his hand ‘Shall I show you inside? The ladies of the court are eager to meet you.’
‘As I am eager to meet them’ She lied of course, her father and now her brothers’ court was one filled with men and the petty knife fights-of-ladies in waiting was not to her liking.
Ingregard -early-afternoon, The Queens Chamber, London 12th August 1069
As they walked through the palaces interior, Ingregard couldn’t help the slight feeling of anxiety rising in her gut. Ambassador Hratha’s letters detailing the players in the English court had not mentioned women and as she understood it due to the turbulence of the last few years, the court had essentially had one woman only and she had been the former Queen. The news that now at last the courts ladies had gathered should have reassured her that Richard was at least comfortable on his throne, but she liked facts and details and now she had none.
They passed into the royal apartments, a guard at each side of the door and progressed down a long corridor through to a small door and Richard led her inside. Ingregard had not quite expected the crowd that had assembled within though she composed herself and forced a smile as the gaggle off courtiers fell silent and turned to face her.
At their centre, a doll or at least a woman would could be mistaken for such. Wearing a rather heavy looking headdress and in huge, flamboyant skirt covered in semi-precious stones stood an aging lady, four foot nothing. This lady’s very presence seemed to command the entire room and all those assembled stood at her back. She stepped forward and offered the new Queen a deep courtesy, smiling at Ingregard and then to Richard ‘Your Highness.’
Richard stepped forward, bending down to lift the old lady from her repose ‘My lady wife, allow me to introduce the Lady Mathilde, Baroness of Beaumont, wife of my most trusted servant and your new Mistress of the Robes.’ Ingregard examined her a little further, noting the quartz rosary hanging at her side and the rather obscenely large crucifix around her throat, before offering a courtesy off her own.
‘A pleasure Baroness’ the two ladies eyes met, and a spark flashed almost imperceptibly between them ‘You are dressed so fine one would mistake you for a Duchess.’
‘Oh my dear I hope not’ her accent was not English or French, it surprised Ingregard to realise she was dutch, ‘Duchesses have such an unhappy time off late’ Somewhere in the recesses of her memory, the new Queen recalled that this woman was the daughter of the Duke of Flanders. ‘Allow me your Highness to introduce to you my children.’
A whole cohort of courtiers stepped forward in line, varying in age from full grown to maids in their last blossom of childhood. The Baroness stood between two fine young men pushing them both forward slightly ‘I have three son’s but my eldest, Robert is about the Kings business’ one of the men was obviously a Bishop and Lady Mathilde was clearly proud of them both ‘nevertheless I give to you my second son, Richard, Bishop of Evron and William my third son.’
She nodded to them both, offering the most reluctant of curtsies and smiled again at the elder lady ‘The Lord has blessed you with a fine following Baroness.’ She turned to the line of young ladies then, stood in a row and all offering a deep bow as her eyes fell upon them.
The Baroness stepped forward again gesturing at the little line up ‘My daughters and your new ladies-in-waiting; Cecilia, Constance’ they each rose and bobbed as their mother introduced them ‘Agatha and Adela.’ Ingregard acknowledged them all and then moved passed them, the Baroness was quite obviously disconcerted but Ingregard, noted from the corner off her eye, Richard encourage her to ignore the slight with a slight shake of his head
The new Queen moved slowly around the chamber, taking in the furniture as much as the assembled women offering her their genuflections. Despite the apparent wealth that her father and brother believed that England possessed the Queen’s rooms were somewhat bare. Her eyes glanced over a grey faced woman, with a scarf rapped around her head and tear stains on her cheeks, no doubt she was Duchess Sibyl wife of the now burning Eadwin. Regardless the lady offered her a bow and Ingregard couldn’t help but think it was somewhat harsh of the King to have her here, bowing before his new wife whilst her husband’s ashes blew down the Thames.
She moved on a little further, walking towards the window were two young girls stood, one of them holding a babe in arms. Richard moved up behind her, they were obviously important to him. He placed his hand tentatively on her shoulder and she felt his presence surge around them both as he pulled her back ever so slightly ‘Allow me to introduce the Princess Gunhilda and the Lady Wynnflaed’ He then stepped forward reaching into the arms of the youngest girl and taking the babe from her ‘And this my lady wife is the Princess Margaret, my daughter’ she smiled at the baby, feigning interest, though in truth she was more interested in the older Princess, whose father was a traitor and yet her she stood free as a bird. ‘I hope in time she will be as precious to you as she is to me and to England.’
He offered her the child and though she was obviously reluctant over the Kings shoulder she noted Hratha, the ambassador urging her to take hold of the baby. It also did not go unnoticed that the Lady Wynnflaed took a step forward, offering her arms out to take the little girl. But Ingregard new she must appear enraptured with this child, who was the apple of her father’s eyes and, so she took her in arms and smiled at her, cooing softly. Richard smiled, and the courtiers applauded.
‘If you will excuse me Ingregard’ she looked up from the baby a little surprised he was leaving though she offered a suggestion instead of a rebuke.
‘Call me Ingrid…..Ingregard is such a mouthful.’ She smiled at him, wagging her finger in the little babes face and he smiled back.
‘I have some business to attend to and I am sure you are tired, so I shall see you this evening.’
Queen Ingrid -Evening, The Feast Hall, London 12th August 1069
All eyes had been on her as she entered the Hall at the head of the new royal family, if one would call it that. Resplendent in tightly fitting, red gown that matched the colour of her hair and wearing a crown of thick gold she had progressed up the room. Delicate brazen gold arm rings, gifted to her by her father, spoke of an ancient heritage amongst the northern people.
Behind her had come the Princess Gunhilda, technically the third most senior royal female now at court and the Baroness of Beaumont, both dressed in their finery, behind them the daughters of Baron Beaumont de Normandie. Fortunately for her, the child Wynnflaed and the Princess Margaret had not been granted permission to attend.
She had bowed before the King with exceptional grace and then taken her place at his side on the royal table, the entire courts eyes taking her measure. She hoped none would find her wanting. Placing her cup on the table she turned and smiled at Richard who was watching the Normandie sisters dancing ‘Did you see to the business you had?’ he had not returned to her all day nor had he escorted her to dinner, but she had at least been visited by the council and several Earls.
Richard supped from his great, ruby encrusted goblet, a few drops spilling from his lips ‘I did yes, I am sorry about leaving you so suddenly, but with the Duke of Lancaster gone and the Duke of York imprisoned I feel it is the time to have a progress’ she was not entirely sure what a progress was ‘London can get so clammy this time off year as well, perhaps a trip around the southern counties will give us time to get better acquainted.’
She smiled, a small smile and nodded to one of the Kings Earls who offered her a silent toast ‘I would very much like to see more of England’ she took a sip from her own cup ‘In my home country we have no cities like London, were do you propose to go?’
‘I thought we might take the southern coast through Surrey to Wessex and then through Dorset and Somerset, it is about time the people saw their King and Queen, myself and Maior never had the chance.’ She noted the sadness on his face but said nothing, simply nodding and turning to watch the dance.
Queen Ingrid -Late night, The Kings Bed, London 13th August 1069
They had wed early in the morning in a private ceremony attended by the Kings closest and dearest companions, the Earl of Sussex and the Baroness of Beaumont acting as witnesses before a day of theatrics. They had sailed the Thames in a royal barge and accepted the roar of the crowds before another feast and then they had retired.
They had sealed their union in quite a pleasant fashion, Richard being a fairly adequate lover and most attentive to her pleasure. He lay beside her, sound asleep and she herself lay beneath the furs, naked and soothed. To be Queen of England may not turn out to be such a trial afterall.
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When reading the initial scene there was something that reminded me of how Edward I said of his first wife Eleanor of Castille: "whom in life we cherished, and in death we cannot cease to love".
The meat of this update is Ingrid's entry into England - and I like portraying from this from her perspective after beginning with Richard. Given Richard's distraction it makes her entry into England more intimidating.
The meat of this update is Ingrid's entry into England - and I like portraying from this from her perspective after beginning with Richard. Given Richard's distraction it makes her entry into England more intimidating.
Chapter 29: A Royal Honeymoon
Queen Ingrid -Mid-morning, The Palace Courtyard, London 24th August 1069
The courtyard was abuzz with activity and servants rushed to and from, brining trunks, chests and the lighter pieces of furniture. Ingrid’s wardrobe and he belongings were being loaded onto a set of wagons by the gate under the strict observations of Baroness Mathilde and more than once the Queen had noted the little dwarf chastising a servant for being too slow or placing a box in the wrong wagon.
Five ox carts and two wagons had already passed beneath the gate and would take up the lead of their procession alongside a contingent of the Kings personal guard, just behind the royal standard. On the opposite side of the yard, Richards hawks were being loaded onto their own specially built wagon, a set of donkeys yoked up to pull the load. In between the rushing servants, several the courts hounds were dashing about, their tongues lolling from their mouths and letting out the odd yelp in the excitement.
Another wagon was being driven up toward the palace doors, a strong canvass canopy held aloft on thick poles and side panels tide up on the roof. She watched with interest as two servants came out of the palace doors carrying a Moses basket, followed immediately by the Lady Wynnflaed and the eldest daughter of the Baroness, the Lady Cecilia who acting as the Princesses Governess, now carried the swaddled babe in her arms. She had recommended they leave the Princess here, but the King would not here off it.
There was a great roar of laughter from the inside the stables and Ingrids attention instantly shifted to see Richard leading a fine chestnut mare across the threshold. He beckoned to her, shouting across the commotion “A GIFT FOR THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND”, clearly, he meant the horse was for her and she smiled at such a fine present. He led the beast toward her and she moved to join him, Hratha stood a few feet behind smiling to her. ‘Do you like her? I assure you I got a good price and you will look magnificent on her.’ She was quite aware that the King found her desirable and he had attempted often to show affection of a kind, though often it was simply to ease her into coupling with him, but again she could not fault his efforts.
She moved to thank him for his gift, but before she could he had turned to his groom and was mounting his own horse ‘Shall we depart?’ It took her a little aback, but then they had a long journey ahead, most off their belongings were in readiness and as she noticed her new charge was already saddled.
Within minutes she was hoisted into her seat and was straightening her skirts as a trumpet sounded and the entire court either mounted their own steeds or clambered up onto their respective wagons.
Queen Ingrid -Mid-morning, The Road to Lambeth, 24th August 1069
It had took the better part of two hours to ride out of London and it was not an experience anyone would wish to repeat often. After the initial grandeur of the noble house and merchant guilds that huddle along the sides of the royal palace, the city proper gave way to rank destitution. Noise was everywhere, yelling, babies crying, dogs barking, fish wives screeching, and the smell was horrific, the smell of human filth so strong in the summer heat as to make even the stoutest stomach churn.
To make matters even worse, riding side-saddle was not at all comfortable, in Norway, given the terrain it was next to unheard of to ride in such an awkward fashion, but here it was apparently the proper form and, so she had no choice but to conform. As Queen, she above all others must be seen to adhere to all the proper formalities.
Fortunately though after two hours trundling down cramped, cobbled or mud slicked streets they were out in the open air. Passing through the southern gate into miles and miles of flat, sweeping farmland, veering ever south away from the Thames. But despite being near blinded by the rank stench of poverty that yoked the lower classes in their place, the last two hours had not been a total waste and Ingrid had learnt a vital lesson.
Despite the King and his Stewards cries of poverty; England was rich, obscenely so. If the fact the “privy purse” was in fact a massive wagon, laden with trunks, guard by twenty men and pulled by four oxen wasn’t clue enough, London certainly was. The entire length of the city, building works were taking place at the crowns expense and scaffolds climbed up the sides of numerous buildings. At private cost of the countries merchants all along the river, quays, bridges and store houses were rising.
Looking ahead, Ingrid could see the King waving to a crowd of peasants, they were builders themselves and she had to laugh at the irony of the fact; her thoughts made flesh. They were constructing a new hospital, a sick-house named after the Arch-Angel Raphael and financed at the Kings own personal expense. Richard was lapping up the attention of his people, like a dog having its belly rubbed, she thought it somewhat childish. Even now with two Dukes toppled he needed to be loved to be safe, it was a little cringe worthy if she was honest with herself.
She spurred her horse forward gently, taking it to a trot and waved at the people as he would wish her to do. This progress was a game off sorts, intended to show the people a family and a court united.
Queen Ingrid -Evening, Lambeth, Surrey 27th August 1069
Richard had not been at all impressed to find that the Earl of Surrey had decided not to come out to meet him personally, but when they had had their introductions it was quite plain as to why this man had snubbed his King. William Warren was a bear of a man, huge broad shoulders supported a bullish neck and a fiery red beard covered his chin. His personality was every inch a reflection of his physic and he clearly had ambitions of grandeur, believing himself to be the preeminent Lord of the southern Earldoms and thus deserving off a Dukedom, one which he had apparently already written to the Holy Father too request.
They had planned to stay in Lambeth for a week, hunting and hawking in the Earls estates but Richard had decided the snub would not be taken and whilst they had enjoyed Williams table for a night, the King made it plain they would be leaving on the morrow.
Queen Ingrid -Afternoon, Selsey, Sussex 2nd of September 1069
The Earl looked an incredibly sick man though he forced a smile at the sight of the King, bowing unnecessarily low. Roger Montgomery and his wife Mabel had trekked on foot to the gates of Selsey to meet their King and Queen, but judging from the death pallor in the Earls face he would have been better served staying in his bed.
“Your Highness welcome to Selsey, you honour me and my house” his wife curtsied, touching him tenderly at the elbow to stop him straining himself with another bow of his own. Ingrid noted that the Lady Cecilia had kicked her horse hard and was coming up alongside them. She interrupted Richard before he could reply without a pause
“Dear aunt and uncle what a pleasure to see you both” she had not realised they were related, truly the house of Normandie stretched its branches wide. ‘My mother sends her apologies, but she is on her way, her wagons’ wheel was stuck in a ditch or she would be here already.’
The Countess laughed a little, looking nervous and rightly so the temper the Baroness had shown to her driver when he had trundled their little wagon into the drainage ditch had been quite comical. ‘Tell her that I look forward to seeing her shortly, niece and I shall have a cup of warm ale ready for her in my private chambers.’
Richard had obviously noted the Earls poor health and had climbed down from his horse, leading the sickly Lord back through the gates personally, chatting to him and thanking him for being so welcoming. Ingrid kicked her steed and passed the Countess without even a glance. That a King should walk on foot with a sick man was pathetic at best, shameful at the worst.
Queen Ingrid -Evening, Selsey, Sussex 2nd of September 1069
Was England full of half-men? Bad enough that the Kings court, through the Baroness of Beaumont’s son’s was riddled with sodomites but now she was subjected to the son of Earl Roger’s poetry recital. Richard and the rest of the courtiers applauded his reading with enthusiasm and Ingrid herself offered a reluctant clap, but she found the whole affair distasteful.
The men of Norway sang great songs of battle and conquest in her family’s halls and spoke of hero’s from long ago, but this sapling sang of love and chivalry and it all seemed rather paltry. Hratha had explained that the men of the southern counties were not at all like the Lords of the north, but Ingrid found it hard to believe that any nation could possess such a gaggle of soft-hearted men. The woman however, as always hissed and snarled at one another like cats on a roof; the Normandie sisters sniped at each other constantly in the tedious fashion of girls accustomed to courtly life and it grated on the Queens nerves.
She turned to Hratha, dressed in a thick leather jerkin, looking every inch the Viking nobleman, though he was supposedly “civilised” now. “Can you imagine a Jarl standing before his hall thus and singing off such nonsense? These people have grown soft my friend.”
“I told you they were a peculiar people, but nonetheless you must look entertained.” He smiled at her and she smiled back, when she had a son she would be certain that he would not be raised to be as these lily-livered nobles. ‘And my lady, If I may be so bold do not speak of Jarls and the such, it is unwise. We are Christians now remember, such things do not fit into the world anymore’ she knew beneath that jerkin, despite the cross about his neck, hung on a long thread the hammer of Thor Odinson, he supped at her tankard ‘At least not in this part of the world anyhow.’
Queen Ingrid -Mid-morning, The Coast Road to Winchester 9th of September 1069
They had spent a week with the Earl of Sussex and his wife, Mabel and despite the Earls ill-health for all involved it had been quite pleasant, even Ingrid had to confess that the hunting in the Earls deer-park was exceptional. But now they were on the road again, most of their belongings leaving a day before try and get ahead of them. According to Richard the southern road along the coast was in some need of repair and thus it was thought wiser to send the baggage a day in front.
A gentle wind blew off the sea front and the Queen could taste the salt on the air as the morning sun kissed her face softly. All had been quiet and calm until the rider had been spotted coming up the road at break-neck speed. Richard had turned his horse about and charged down along the column as the rest of the court halted and stood limp in the road, though the Queen herself had decided to canter down the side of their entourage to join her husband and he had not refused her.
The rider had dismounted and was breathing heavy, dust covered his robes and he had obviously ridden hard to catch them. He knelt before them “Your Highness I bring word from London.” He glanced up at Ingrid unsure if he should speak aloud.
“Out with it, what is your business?” Richard looked alarmed, rebellion perhaps? Had someone set the Duke of York at his liberty whilst the King was abroad? Ingrid nudge her mount up to hear better.
‘The Duke of York has taken ill my King; the Bishop of Worcester says he shall most certainly die before the month is out.’ At the news Richard looked away from both her and the messenger and she could not see his expression, though this news must surely be good.
‘Regrettable’ Richard turned his horse on the spot ‘Return to London, tell the Bishop to find the best physician he can’ Ingrid was astounded as she heard the words come, would he really try and save the Duke, his enemy ‘Money is no obstacle, if the Duke can be saved then the Bishop is to do all within his power to make it so.’ And with that the King kicked his horse hard, aiming for the front of the column once more ‘Ingrid leave him.’ She had no chance to reply before he was racing off and she too turned her mount and let it fly. The poor messenger left, kneeling in the middle of the road with nothing more than the Kings command.
King Richard -Late afternoon, The Bath House, Bath 28th of September 1069
He was glad to see the royal villa had been kept up to standard and in a good state off repair, despite the fact he had shown no signs of interest in it previously. Gaufrid had ensured that each residence along their route had been cleaned and refurbished accordingly. His house in Winchester was lovely and very grand, but the private beauty of the roman house in Bath was quite special.
Steam rose from the great baths waters and Richard was most impressed to find that the bizarre mechanisms that funnelled warm water into the pool had been repaired, though it had apparently come at considerable cost. His body ached but the water soothed his joints, he closed his eyes leaning back against the tiled rim. Ingrid had left him a short while before, they had coupled in the bath and he hoped some of its apparent medicinal properties may have aided them in the making of a son.
His mind wandered and the sounding of dripping water from the ceiling mixed with the pleasant gloom of the private bath house. Unsure how long he had sat there only the sound of a servant clumsily replacing the brass lid of the incense burner disturbed him slightly, though he gave no indication off it. Lord knows he was tired; the Welsh had been causing trouble along the border, raiding farmsteads, stealing cattle and he knew he must deal with them soon. Morcar was dying and beyond all help, despite his efforts to have him cured no doubt the entire Kingdom would think the Duke had died on the Kings orders. And then there was the Queen; Ingregard……Ingrid as she now chose to be called.
She was a pretty woman no doubt, her style of coupling was somewhat aggressive though she obviously always appeared welcoming. And for the most part, on the surface they were well suited. But the woman played false constantly, she did everything that was expected off her, smiled in the right place, applauded when she should, bowed to the right height and opened her legs whenever he advanced but it was all a lie.
He had a good sense of people and though he could not fathom, he had thought at first perhaps it was nerves or mayhap she believed it was the proper form but it had not taken him long to realise that the woman she presented herself as was not in fact the woman that she was.
Hratha would need to be sent back to Norway before the year was out and he knew he needed the Baron of Beaumont to meet her so that he could offer his opinion. Perhaps he was being paranoid? But then he sensed himself being played like a lute and he did not like it for a second. Whatever was her aim, he did not think it would be to his own or England’s benefit.
Queen Ingrid -Mid-morning, The Palace Courtyard, London 24th August 1069
The courtyard was abuzz with activity and servants rushed to and from, brining trunks, chests and the lighter pieces of furniture. Ingrid’s wardrobe and he belongings were being loaded onto a set of wagons by the gate under the strict observations of Baroness Mathilde and more than once the Queen had noted the little dwarf chastising a servant for being too slow or placing a box in the wrong wagon.
Five ox carts and two wagons had already passed beneath the gate and would take up the lead of their procession alongside a contingent of the Kings personal guard, just behind the royal standard. On the opposite side of the yard, Richards hawks were being loaded onto their own specially built wagon, a set of donkeys yoked up to pull the load. In between the rushing servants, several the courts hounds were dashing about, their tongues lolling from their mouths and letting out the odd yelp in the excitement.
Another wagon was being driven up toward the palace doors, a strong canvass canopy held aloft on thick poles and side panels tide up on the roof. She watched with interest as two servants came out of the palace doors carrying a Moses basket, followed immediately by the Lady Wynnflaed and the eldest daughter of the Baroness, the Lady Cecilia who acting as the Princesses Governess, now carried the swaddled babe in her arms. She had recommended they leave the Princess here, but the King would not here off it.
There was a great roar of laughter from the inside the stables and Ingrids attention instantly shifted to see Richard leading a fine chestnut mare across the threshold. He beckoned to her, shouting across the commotion “A GIFT FOR THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND”, clearly, he meant the horse was for her and she smiled at such a fine present. He led the beast toward her and she moved to join him, Hratha stood a few feet behind smiling to her. ‘Do you like her? I assure you I got a good price and you will look magnificent on her.’ She was quite aware that the King found her desirable and he had attempted often to show affection of a kind, though often it was simply to ease her into coupling with him, but again she could not fault his efforts.
She moved to thank him for his gift, but before she could he had turned to his groom and was mounting his own horse ‘Shall we depart?’ It took her a little aback, but then they had a long journey ahead, most off their belongings were in readiness and as she noticed her new charge was already saddled.
Within minutes she was hoisted into her seat and was straightening her skirts as a trumpet sounded and the entire court either mounted their own steeds or clambered up onto their respective wagons.
Queen Ingrid -Mid-morning, The Road to Lambeth, 24th August 1069
It had took the better part of two hours to ride out of London and it was not an experience anyone would wish to repeat often. After the initial grandeur of the noble house and merchant guilds that huddle along the sides of the royal palace, the city proper gave way to rank destitution. Noise was everywhere, yelling, babies crying, dogs barking, fish wives screeching, and the smell was horrific, the smell of human filth so strong in the summer heat as to make even the stoutest stomach churn.
To make matters even worse, riding side-saddle was not at all comfortable, in Norway, given the terrain it was next to unheard of to ride in such an awkward fashion, but here it was apparently the proper form and, so she had no choice but to conform. As Queen, she above all others must be seen to adhere to all the proper formalities.
Fortunately though after two hours trundling down cramped, cobbled or mud slicked streets they were out in the open air. Passing through the southern gate into miles and miles of flat, sweeping farmland, veering ever south away from the Thames. But despite being near blinded by the rank stench of poverty that yoked the lower classes in their place, the last two hours had not been a total waste and Ingrid had learnt a vital lesson.
Despite the King and his Stewards cries of poverty; England was rich, obscenely so. If the fact the “privy purse” was in fact a massive wagon, laden with trunks, guard by twenty men and pulled by four oxen wasn’t clue enough, London certainly was. The entire length of the city, building works were taking place at the crowns expense and scaffolds climbed up the sides of numerous buildings. At private cost of the countries merchants all along the river, quays, bridges and store houses were rising.
Looking ahead, Ingrid could see the King waving to a crowd of peasants, they were builders themselves and she had to laugh at the irony of the fact; her thoughts made flesh. They were constructing a new hospital, a sick-house named after the Arch-Angel Raphael and financed at the Kings own personal expense. Richard was lapping up the attention of his people, like a dog having its belly rubbed, she thought it somewhat childish. Even now with two Dukes toppled he needed to be loved to be safe, it was a little cringe worthy if she was honest with herself.
She spurred her horse forward gently, taking it to a trot and waved at the people as he would wish her to do. This progress was a game off sorts, intended to show the people a family and a court united.
Queen Ingrid -Evening, Lambeth, Surrey 27th August 1069
Richard had not been at all impressed to find that the Earl of Surrey had decided not to come out to meet him personally, but when they had had their introductions it was quite plain as to why this man had snubbed his King. William Warren was a bear of a man, huge broad shoulders supported a bullish neck and a fiery red beard covered his chin. His personality was every inch a reflection of his physic and he clearly had ambitions of grandeur, believing himself to be the preeminent Lord of the southern Earldoms and thus deserving off a Dukedom, one which he had apparently already written to the Holy Father too request.
They had planned to stay in Lambeth for a week, hunting and hawking in the Earls estates but Richard had decided the snub would not be taken and whilst they had enjoyed Williams table for a night, the King made it plain they would be leaving on the morrow.
Queen Ingrid -Afternoon, Selsey, Sussex 2nd of September 1069
The Earl looked an incredibly sick man though he forced a smile at the sight of the King, bowing unnecessarily low. Roger Montgomery and his wife Mabel had trekked on foot to the gates of Selsey to meet their King and Queen, but judging from the death pallor in the Earls face he would have been better served staying in his bed.
“Your Highness welcome to Selsey, you honour me and my house” his wife curtsied, touching him tenderly at the elbow to stop him straining himself with another bow of his own. Ingrid noted that the Lady Cecilia had kicked her horse hard and was coming up alongside them. She interrupted Richard before he could reply without a pause
“Dear aunt and uncle what a pleasure to see you both” she had not realised they were related, truly the house of Normandie stretched its branches wide. ‘My mother sends her apologies, but she is on her way, her wagons’ wheel was stuck in a ditch or she would be here already.’
The Countess laughed a little, looking nervous and rightly so the temper the Baroness had shown to her driver when he had trundled their little wagon into the drainage ditch had been quite comical. ‘Tell her that I look forward to seeing her shortly, niece and I shall have a cup of warm ale ready for her in my private chambers.’
Richard had obviously noted the Earls poor health and had climbed down from his horse, leading the sickly Lord back through the gates personally, chatting to him and thanking him for being so welcoming. Ingrid kicked her steed and passed the Countess without even a glance. That a King should walk on foot with a sick man was pathetic at best, shameful at the worst.
Queen Ingrid -Evening, Selsey, Sussex 2nd of September 1069
Was England full of half-men? Bad enough that the Kings court, through the Baroness of Beaumont’s son’s was riddled with sodomites but now she was subjected to the son of Earl Roger’s poetry recital. Richard and the rest of the courtiers applauded his reading with enthusiasm and Ingrid herself offered a reluctant clap, but she found the whole affair distasteful.
The men of Norway sang great songs of battle and conquest in her family’s halls and spoke of hero’s from long ago, but this sapling sang of love and chivalry and it all seemed rather paltry. Hratha had explained that the men of the southern counties were not at all like the Lords of the north, but Ingrid found it hard to believe that any nation could possess such a gaggle of soft-hearted men. The woman however, as always hissed and snarled at one another like cats on a roof; the Normandie sisters sniped at each other constantly in the tedious fashion of girls accustomed to courtly life and it grated on the Queens nerves.
She turned to Hratha, dressed in a thick leather jerkin, looking every inch the Viking nobleman, though he was supposedly “civilised” now. “Can you imagine a Jarl standing before his hall thus and singing off such nonsense? These people have grown soft my friend.”
“I told you they were a peculiar people, but nonetheless you must look entertained.” He smiled at her and she smiled back, when she had a son she would be certain that he would not be raised to be as these lily-livered nobles. ‘And my lady, If I may be so bold do not speak of Jarls and the such, it is unwise. We are Christians now remember, such things do not fit into the world anymore’ she knew beneath that jerkin, despite the cross about his neck, hung on a long thread the hammer of Thor Odinson, he supped at her tankard ‘At least not in this part of the world anyhow.’
Queen Ingrid -Mid-morning, The Coast Road to Winchester 9th of September 1069
They had spent a week with the Earl of Sussex and his wife, Mabel and despite the Earls ill-health for all involved it had been quite pleasant, even Ingrid had to confess that the hunting in the Earls deer-park was exceptional. But now they were on the road again, most of their belongings leaving a day before try and get ahead of them. According to Richard the southern road along the coast was in some need of repair and thus it was thought wiser to send the baggage a day in front.
A gentle wind blew off the sea front and the Queen could taste the salt on the air as the morning sun kissed her face softly. All had been quiet and calm until the rider had been spotted coming up the road at break-neck speed. Richard had turned his horse about and charged down along the column as the rest of the court halted and stood limp in the road, though the Queen herself had decided to canter down the side of their entourage to join her husband and he had not refused her.
The rider had dismounted and was breathing heavy, dust covered his robes and he had obviously ridden hard to catch them. He knelt before them “Your Highness I bring word from London.” He glanced up at Ingrid unsure if he should speak aloud.
“Out with it, what is your business?” Richard looked alarmed, rebellion perhaps? Had someone set the Duke of York at his liberty whilst the King was abroad? Ingrid nudge her mount up to hear better.
‘The Duke of York has taken ill my King; the Bishop of Worcester says he shall most certainly die before the month is out.’ At the news Richard looked away from both her and the messenger and she could not see his expression, though this news must surely be good.
‘Regrettable’ Richard turned his horse on the spot ‘Return to London, tell the Bishop to find the best physician he can’ Ingrid was astounded as she heard the words come, would he really try and save the Duke, his enemy ‘Money is no obstacle, if the Duke can be saved then the Bishop is to do all within his power to make it so.’ And with that the King kicked his horse hard, aiming for the front of the column once more ‘Ingrid leave him.’ She had no chance to reply before he was racing off and she too turned her mount and let it fly. The poor messenger left, kneeling in the middle of the road with nothing more than the Kings command.
King Richard -Late afternoon, The Bath House, Bath 28th of September 1069
He was glad to see the royal villa had been kept up to standard and in a good state off repair, despite the fact he had shown no signs of interest in it previously. Gaufrid had ensured that each residence along their route had been cleaned and refurbished accordingly. His house in Winchester was lovely and very grand, but the private beauty of the roman house in Bath was quite special.
Steam rose from the great baths waters and Richard was most impressed to find that the bizarre mechanisms that funnelled warm water into the pool had been repaired, though it had apparently come at considerable cost. His body ached but the water soothed his joints, he closed his eyes leaning back against the tiled rim. Ingrid had left him a short while before, they had coupled in the bath and he hoped some of its apparent medicinal properties may have aided them in the making of a son.
His mind wandered and the sounding of dripping water from the ceiling mixed with the pleasant gloom of the private bath house. Unsure how long he had sat there only the sound of a servant clumsily replacing the brass lid of the incense burner disturbed him slightly, though he gave no indication off it. Lord knows he was tired; the Welsh had been causing trouble along the border, raiding farmsteads, stealing cattle and he knew he must deal with them soon. Morcar was dying and beyond all help, despite his efforts to have him cured no doubt the entire Kingdom would think the Duke had died on the Kings orders. And then there was the Queen; Ingregard……Ingrid as she now chose to be called.
She was a pretty woman no doubt, her style of coupling was somewhat aggressive though she obviously always appeared welcoming. And for the most part, on the surface they were well suited. But the woman played false constantly, she did everything that was expected off her, smiled in the right place, applauded when she should, bowed to the right height and opened her legs whenever he advanced but it was all a lie.
He had a good sense of people and though he could not fathom, he had thought at first perhaps it was nerves or mayhap she believed it was the proper form but it had not taken him long to realise that the woman she presented herself as was not in fact the woman that she was.
Hratha would need to be sent back to Norway before the year was out and he knew he needed the Baron of Beaumont to meet her so that he could offer his opinion. Perhaps he was being paranoid? But then he sensed himself being played like a lute and he did not like it for a second. Whatever was her aim, he did not think it would be to his own or England’s benefit.
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Paranoia can strike in very varied ways, and it sounds like it is worming its way here.
I wanted and I hope I did, strengthen that sense you mentioned off intimidation in Ingregards arrival......she has her own agenda and sense of direction which I hope shall be seen coming up shortly
Not really a fan of Richard in these chapters. Seems to be taking the loss of Maior hard and is upset because Ingrid is not her. And Morcar's death is causing turmoil as well. But that doesn't justify his behavior. He'd better shape up or else he won't find the future enjoyable.
I would urge you to give him a little time......his concerns may not be entirely unfounded
Chapter 30: The Beast of Bangor
King Richard -Sunset, Glyder Fawr, North Wales, 5th of April 1070
“Os gwelwch yn dda, erfyniaf, os gwelwch yn dda Peidiwch â fy lladd eich Uchelder” the poor man was sobbing his heart out, prostate upon the floor and clawing at King Richards feet.
Richard looked around at his gathered officers ‘Does anyone know what on earth this man is saying? I can’t understand a word’ he had tried to get a grasp off welsh, but their language was so complex that he had all but despaired of knowing anything but the days of the weeks and simple greetings.
On young officer stepped forward and Richard invited him to speak ‘He is begging for his life my King.’ What on earth was wrong with these people, every single Welshman he had met seemed convinced that he and his men were monsters from the deepest pit
‘Can you speak their tongue?’ the young man nodded at the Kings query ‘Then tell him he can live before he deafens us all with that incessant weeping.’
‘rhoi'r gorau i grio……… mae gennych eich bywyd’ a few sobs followed before the man pulled himself back from the brink of despair and Richard order him to be taken from his tent. He and his men had been following the spine of the mountains, pitching camp beneath great peak of Glyder Fawr. If dragons still lived, then Richard was sure that deep beneath the mountains foot a mighty drake must slumber.
The Welsh Princes had raided England’s western most counties in the previous summer and by the spring thaw two armies, one led by the Baron of Beaumont and one led by the Earl of Gloucester had crossed the border. Richard had left the London in the middle of march, crossing England’s heartland with a small retinue of men and passing through Shropshire into the wild hills of the southern Valleys before pushing north into Gwynedd. They had met no resistance at all, save for a few bands of fleeing peasants but he had been informed that the Prince of Gwynedd had rallied his men at the coastal town of Bangor Fawr and was preparing to make a stand at one of Wales only true cities.
Such raiding between the English and the Welsh had gone on for centuries and before the civilising of the Scots, the same could be said to occur along the northern borders. Why then every peasant he encountered seemed to believe the gates of Hell had somehow been opened he could not comprehend.
King Richard -Mid-day, Tregarth Hamlet, North Wales, 10th of April 1070
Despite the spring, this forest was limp and lifeless, blossoms of red and pale white hung lax from their boughs. Richard’s knuckles were pale as he tried to keep his horses fear under control. The ground was soft, and he couldn’t decide if it was the stench of copper or iron which clawed at his nostrils.
He understood though now why the Welsh were in such fear of them. The if a back of dogs could bring down a lion, then the three lions of England had most defiantly bloodied Draig Goch, the Red Dragon. His men had been following the route apparently taken by the Earl of Gloucester though they had seen no real evidence of his march until now. This forest was no naturally occurring greenwood, the people of Tregarth Hamlet themselves had given their lives and then their corpses to making this little glade.
Fifty men and women, maybe more for some had been dismembered were impaled on huge poles. Their arms and legs were splayed in sick parody of nature and their faces had been gauged and disfigured in the most unwholesome fashion. Gloucester, it seemed had taken the Kings orders a step too far, for when he had said that he intended to teach the welsh to fear the English he had not meant for him to sow such ungodly terror amongst the commoners.
Richard was not a pious man nor would he claim to be, but if there were a god in heaven looking down upon them all, now he spoke to him and asked for his forgiveness that he should unleash such a beast upon the innocent. He could only hope, though it was held in some confidence that William of Beaumont had not followed the rampaging Earls example.
King Richard -Night, The Kings Tent, Bangor Fawr, North Wales, 14th of April 1070
“YOUR ORDERED ME TO PUNISH THEM” the Earl spun on his heel, arms flailing ‘I HAVE FOLLOWED YOUR ORDERS TO THE LETTER!’
Richard sat, reclining at his camp table a wonderful design by a carpenter in London which folded and was easily packed away, especially for campaigning purposes, ‘I know what I told you to do William but really? This is beyond the pale’ Richard fought hard to contain his own feelings and the Baron of Beaumont, who was stood by the tent flap obviously didn’t know where to look. ‘Do you know the people of the Valleys tell me you are a cannibal? That you are a butcher and a ghoul? How can I deny it when all along the road to Bangor hang the bodies of mutilated Celts?’
The Earls temper abated slightly, and he pulled his stool up to the Kings table ‘And so for serving you faithfully you would then banish me from court?’
Richard looked into his cup, not wishing to meet the butchers eye. He almost hesitated ‘It is not banishment, I will give you command tomorrow and you may do as you will but myself and the Baron think it may be best if you return to your house in Gloucester for a time when this is done, let the gossips die down….the Bishops would call for your head if they hear even half the stories that have come down the mountain roads.’
William looked abashed and turned for a second to William of Beaumont for some defence, though none came. ‘Until the morrow then’ he heaved himself from the stool and moved to the door ‘I meant no offence Highness’ and with that he vanished into the night, camp fires glistening outside.
They waited a moment in silence before Beaumont de Normandie stepped forward, his voice low ‘I tell you that is no man, it is a beast my lad….you should strike it down now, you saw the child? He had her raped and crucified to a bloody door it must die for sure.’ He had seen the young girl and more, much more.
Richard smiled at William, though the Baron obviously didn’t see anything to be amused by ‘Will the Welsh rise again?’
‘Against the devil maybe but against the man who holds that things leash never’ the argument against killing him obviously realised itself in the Barons mind, though the truth of it horrified him.
‘Then my friend tomorrow the dog will have its bone and by sunset he will be on his way to a kennel in Gloucester.’
Earl William of Gloucester -Noon, The field of Bangor Fawr, North Wales, 15th of April 1070
Near two hours of exchanging bow fire was beginning to grate on the Earls temper and the fact his front ranks were taking heavy losses was no balm to it. His anger was rising, like boiling water lifting at the pots lid. He outnumbered them nearly three to one but their archers not only vastly outnumber his own, the Welshmans skill with the bow was exquisite and the best amongst them could easily stand at twenty yards out of his own bowmen’s range and still make a killing shot.
A rider came flying along the rear ranks, tufts of earth torn up in the steeds wake. The rider ignored the guards surrounding the Earl and pulled his horse tightly about ‘My Lord the King commands you do something about those bowmen? He wishes to know if you simply plan to stand here and take their shots or do you have a plan?’
William turned to the rider, rage turning his face devilish red ‘Impudent little scrat, how dare you speak to me thus’ he moved his horse alongside the rider as if to strike him, his own horse biting at its opposites haunches ‘The King would not speak to me thus’ the man was clearly terrified.
‘Lord I quote the Baron of Beaumont, he speaks for the King.’
‘Bastard Frank...’ he pivoted again looking out over the feel ‘Ahhh fine, tell the Baron and his Highness to follow my lead if they have the stomach for it.’ The rider did not wait to reply but turned his mount sharply and flew back the way he had come. He pushed himself up in his saddle, resting his feet on his stirrups inviting all to heed him ‘NOW YOU SON’S OF BITCHES LET US SHOW THESE SHEEP LOVERS WHAT WE ARE MADE OFF.’ He drew his sword, a long delicate edged blade, not the perfect weapon for a mounted fight but it had the length of reach he wanted.
His personal guard drew their weapons in reply and their horse stamped their feet as his own brayed allowed, excitement flooding through its body and its muscles tensing as he turned it at the enemy line and was given its head. The footmen before him parted to let them past, though he had not bothered to order them out of his way, as happy to trample them beneath his hooves as he would be the Welsh.
They moved hard and swift, breaking a front their own line as arrows continued to fly overhead. Covering ground quickly. Huge tufts of turf being thrown up all around him. men off his own force fell left and right as arrows from the enemy found their mark. A horse toppled to the left, screeching in agony as a arrow took it in the chest, it flew forward on impact, it haunches rolling up over its head, its own body weight smashing its rider into the earth. Another man to the right was pitched from the saddle as two bolts took him in the chest and his steed skidded over in panic. But still they charged, and the Earl struck his own steed hard on the rump with the blunt end of his sword, its jaws snapping round to nip his boot in reply.
All along the English line the cavalry were suddenly rushing forward as King Richard obviously commanded his men to follow the Earls command. Near nine hundred horsemen breaking loose into a full gallop, totally heedless of the dangers before them and the earth itself shook at the sound off more than three thousand hooves.
As their line drew itself ahead, eating the ground between the English line and that of the Welsh, terror sparked in the hearts of the Welsh archers. Their front line without word or warning suddenly melted away, a trickle at first that shifted into a torrent as the sight of near a thousand sword drawn riders spelt their doom. They turned and fled for their own lines a moment too late.
William picked his target and leaned forward in the saddle, the earth flying beneath his feet. His sword lashed out and bit hard into a archers shoulder. The man bowled over as the Earls horse, crushed bones beneath its feet. A poor soul directly in his path vanishing beneath the legs of his mount, left laying imprinted in the mud as first his own and then three more riders behind turned his body into a mangled pulp.
His sword bit again and again, like a striking viper taking men in the head and neck, blood spraying over his horse’s flank. Screams echoed all along the line as the impact of the charge swallowed the entire line of archers, scattering them to the wind.
He smiled as he noted the backward step of the light infantry man before him, raising is feeble shield and hand axe to halt his charge. To no avail. The man was dead in an instant and William roared allowed as his horse’s momentum began to falter as it pressed into the infantry line. He flung himself from the saddle, drawing a short sword in his other hand.
A spinning ball of iron tipped death, he swung his short sword into the throat of a young celt, maybe fourteen summers old at best. He punched his longer blade through the next man’s gut, blood gushing over his hands. The enemy infantry stepped forward to meet him, hoping to drag the bear down but he would not be stopped. Another blow, forced his short blade into the open mouth of a screaming adversary, a spearman lunged for his thigh and he knocked the shaft aside, losing his long sword in the process. Blood slicked hands making it hard to hold.
He groped ahead of him, blood-blind. A jerkin came into his reach and he yanked the old man forward his softening red bearded, the only thing that William noticed as his forehead connected with the man’s nose and as he went to pull away a second yank let his teeth sink into the poor sods face.
Up and down the English line, the cavalry was dismounting as their own steeds became bogged down by the press of men before them. His personal guard forming up around him in a savage body off brutal, blood-thirsty, nose-breaking, teeth gnashing pack of beasts, each one only half the monster that their Earl was.
It went on for near half an hour, hacking through wrists, snapping spears, meating out death to the left and right. He roared in anger as he pressed ahead, he Welshmen backing away before this raging boar that sought to dig its tusks into their flesh. But not before time his anger was pricked again as the peeling, mournful song of a battle horn rang out.
The enemy were retreating as the English infantry surged forward like an all-consuming tide to join their fellows and the horns called the men to a halt. He gripped a poor fellow by the back of his collar, lifting him through the air, dragging him back to meet his end. The man toppled, his back cracking against the wet earth as the Earl spun, blade held tight and punched down into the man’s chest. He heard ribs snap and air popped from the wound as he punched over and over into the man’s chest, leaving it a broken, mess of flesh, muscle and cloth. His men stood in silent horror as he shredded the poor soul to pieces.
For years after, those who had seen this display and that before it would tell their children of the Beast of Bangor Fawr, the Bloody Earl of Gloucester, never mind the wyrm under the mountain. On the field of Bangor all saw the Ddraig gwaed, the Blood Dragon.
King Richard -mid-afternoon, The Road to London, 22nd of April 1070
William of Gloucester was sent on his way home shortly after the battle of Bangor Fawr, his pockets heavy with loot from the castles and towns of Wales and Richard himself road at the head of a baggage train now swelled with chests of gold. Six whole ox-carts of booty; furniture, gold and silver, candle sticks, grain, coin marched ahead of sheep and cattle to be distributed amongst the border counties of Herefordshire and Shropshire.
They were making a leisurely pace, heading for Oxfordshire and the Baron rode at his Kings side, the two chatting amicably and laughing together as friends of old often do. Though their discussion had taken a slightly more clandestine turn.
“I tell you Richard if my spies are any good and I assure you they are, the Lady you call wife and I am soon to address as Queen is a cuckoo in your nest.” The King laughed at the remark though a slight tone of hesitation surfaced within it.
“Really my friend, you see enemies all about you. I said she plays herself false to the ladies of the court and that she is not quite as meek and obedient as she would have me believe………I did not say she was a spy or a saboteur.”
‘No you did not nor did aye imply anything of the kind, but I tell you mark my words she is trouble. From what you have told me and from what my spies have sent to me she is a wolf come dressed as a lamb.’ Richard thought on the matter a little, he could not deny that his friend had never been wrong on these kinds of matters. ‘It’s a pity though that you sent that swine Hratha back to Norway, he is a clumsy sort of fellow, most of the letters I have seen have his grubby pagan hands all over them.’
Richard blanched at the last remark, looking somewhat angered but the Baron gave it little heed ‘He is a Christian William and you would do well to not say otherwise.’
No one else but the Baron would dare off a second word ‘Please, you are a fool if you believe that. You and I both now he is no Christian, he has the cross of Thor hidden beneath that sheep’s wool jacket as certain as the pope is a Catholic.’
‘Which Pope? He in Rome or the one in Germany?’ they both laughed at the remark.
‘Touché, touché’ the chuckles faded, and the Barons face was stern once more ‘but seriously I have seen the notes passing through the ports at least six of them. Your lady wife is up to her eyes in plots, if her brother should take ill with so much as a sniffle I would bet my entire estate on the fact it is off her doing.’
King Richard -Sunset, Glyder Fawr, North Wales, 5th of April 1070
“Os gwelwch yn dda, erfyniaf, os gwelwch yn dda Peidiwch â fy lladd eich Uchelder” the poor man was sobbing his heart out, prostate upon the floor and clawing at King Richards feet.
Richard looked around at his gathered officers ‘Does anyone know what on earth this man is saying? I can’t understand a word’ he had tried to get a grasp off welsh, but their language was so complex that he had all but despaired of knowing anything but the days of the weeks and simple greetings.
On young officer stepped forward and Richard invited him to speak ‘He is begging for his life my King.’ What on earth was wrong with these people, every single Welshman he had met seemed convinced that he and his men were monsters from the deepest pit
‘Can you speak their tongue?’ the young man nodded at the Kings query ‘Then tell him he can live before he deafens us all with that incessant weeping.’
‘rhoi'r gorau i grio……… mae gennych eich bywyd’ a few sobs followed before the man pulled himself back from the brink of despair and Richard order him to be taken from his tent. He and his men had been following the spine of the mountains, pitching camp beneath great peak of Glyder Fawr. If dragons still lived, then Richard was sure that deep beneath the mountains foot a mighty drake must slumber.
The Welsh Princes had raided England’s western most counties in the previous summer and by the spring thaw two armies, one led by the Baron of Beaumont and one led by the Earl of Gloucester had crossed the border. Richard had left the London in the middle of march, crossing England’s heartland with a small retinue of men and passing through Shropshire into the wild hills of the southern Valleys before pushing north into Gwynedd. They had met no resistance at all, save for a few bands of fleeing peasants but he had been informed that the Prince of Gwynedd had rallied his men at the coastal town of Bangor Fawr and was preparing to make a stand at one of Wales only true cities.
Such raiding between the English and the Welsh had gone on for centuries and before the civilising of the Scots, the same could be said to occur along the northern borders. Why then every peasant he encountered seemed to believe the gates of Hell had somehow been opened he could not comprehend.
King Richard -Mid-day, Tregarth Hamlet, North Wales, 10th of April 1070
Despite the spring, this forest was limp and lifeless, blossoms of red and pale white hung lax from their boughs. Richard’s knuckles were pale as he tried to keep his horses fear under control. The ground was soft, and he couldn’t decide if it was the stench of copper or iron which clawed at his nostrils.
He understood though now why the Welsh were in such fear of them. The if a back of dogs could bring down a lion, then the three lions of England had most defiantly bloodied Draig Goch, the Red Dragon. His men had been following the route apparently taken by the Earl of Gloucester though they had seen no real evidence of his march until now. This forest was no naturally occurring greenwood, the people of Tregarth Hamlet themselves had given their lives and then their corpses to making this little glade.
Fifty men and women, maybe more for some had been dismembered were impaled on huge poles. Their arms and legs were splayed in sick parody of nature and their faces had been gauged and disfigured in the most unwholesome fashion. Gloucester, it seemed had taken the Kings orders a step too far, for when he had said that he intended to teach the welsh to fear the English he had not meant for him to sow such ungodly terror amongst the commoners.
Richard was not a pious man nor would he claim to be, but if there were a god in heaven looking down upon them all, now he spoke to him and asked for his forgiveness that he should unleash such a beast upon the innocent. He could only hope, though it was held in some confidence that William of Beaumont had not followed the rampaging Earls example.
King Richard -Night, The Kings Tent, Bangor Fawr, North Wales, 14th of April 1070
“YOUR ORDERED ME TO PUNISH THEM” the Earl spun on his heel, arms flailing ‘I HAVE FOLLOWED YOUR ORDERS TO THE LETTER!’
Richard sat, reclining at his camp table a wonderful design by a carpenter in London which folded and was easily packed away, especially for campaigning purposes, ‘I know what I told you to do William but really? This is beyond the pale’ Richard fought hard to contain his own feelings and the Baron of Beaumont, who was stood by the tent flap obviously didn’t know where to look. ‘Do you know the people of the Valleys tell me you are a cannibal? That you are a butcher and a ghoul? How can I deny it when all along the road to Bangor hang the bodies of mutilated Celts?’
The Earls temper abated slightly, and he pulled his stool up to the Kings table ‘And so for serving you faithfully you would then banish me from court?’
Richard looked into his cup, not wishing to meet the butchers eye. He almost hesitated ‘It is not banishment, I will give you command tomorrow and you may do as you will but myself and the Baron think it may be best if you return to your house in Gloucester for a time when this is done, let the gossips die down….the Bishops would call for your head if they hear even half the stories that have come down the mountain roads.’
William looked abashed and turned for a second to William of Beaumont for some defence, though none came. ‘Until the morrow then’ he heaved himself from the stool and moved to the door ‘I meant no offence Highness’ and with that he vanished into the night, camp fires glistening outside.
They waited a moment in silence before Beaumont de Normandie stepped forward, his voice low ‘I tell you that is no man, it is a beast my lad….you should strike it down now, you saw the child? He had her raped and crucified to a bloody door it must die for sure.’ He had seen the young girl and more, much more.
Richard smiled at William, though the Baron obviously didn’t see anything to be amused by ‘Will the Welsh rise again?’
‘Against the devil maybe but against the man who holds that things leash never’ the argument against killing him obviously realised itself in the Barons mind, though the truth of it horrified him.
‘Then my friend tomorrow the dog will have its bone and by sunset he will be on his way to a kennel in Gloucester.’
Earl William of Gloucester -Noon, The field of Bangor Fawr, North Wales, 15th of April 1070
Near two hours of exchanging bow fire was beginning to grate on the Earls temper and the fact his front ranks were taking heavy losses was no balm to it. His anger was rising, like boiling water lifting at the pots lid. He outnumbered them nearly three to one but their archers not only vastly outnumber his own, the Welshmans skill with the bow was exquisite and the best amongst them could easily stand at twenty yards out of his own bowmen’s range and still make a killing shot.
A rider came flying along the rear ranks, tufts of earth torn up in the steeds wake. The rider ignored the guards surrounding the Earl and pulled his horse tightly about ‘My Lord the King commands you do something about those bowmen? He wishes to know if you simply plan to stand here and take their shots or do you have a plan?’
William turned to the rider, rage turning his face devilish red ‘Impudent little scrat, how dare you speak to me thus’ he moved his horse alongside the rider as if to strike him, his own horse biting at its opposites haunches ‘The King would not speak to me thus’ the man was clearly terrified.
‘Lord I quote the Baron of Beaumont, he speaks for the King.’
‘Bastard Frank...’ he pivoted again looking out over the feel ‘Ahhh fine, tell the Baron and his Highness to follow my lead if they have the stomach for it.’ The rider did not wait to reply but turned his mount sharply and flew back the way he had come. He pushed himself up in his saddle, resting his feet on his stirrups inviting all to heed him ‘NOW YOU SON’S OF BITCHES LET US SHOW THESE SHEEP LOVERS WHAT WE ARE MADE OFF.’ He drew his sword, a long delicate edged blade, not the perfect weapon for a mounted fight but it had the length of reach he wanted.
His personal guard drew their weapons in reply and their horse stamped their feet as his own brayed allowed, excitement flooding through its body and its muscles tensing as he turned it at the enemy line and was given its head. The footmen before him parted to let them past, though he had not bothered to order them out of his way, as happy to trample them beneath his hooves as he would be the Welsh.
They moved hard and swift, breaking a front their own line as arrows continued to fly overhead. Covering ground quickly. Huge tufts of turf being thrown up all around him. men off his own force fell left and right as arrows from the enemy found their mark. A horse toppled to the left, screeching in agony as a arrow took it in the chest, it flew forward on impact, it haunches rolling up over its head, its own body weight smashing its rider into the earth. Another man to the right was pitched from the saddle as two bolts took him in the chest and his steed skidded over in panic. But still they charged, and the Earl struck his own steed hard on the rump with the blunt end of his sword, its jaws snapping round to nip his boot in reply.
All along the English line the cavalry were suddenly rushing forward as King Richard obviously commanded his men to follow the Earls command. Near nine hundred horsemen breaking loose into a full gallop, totally heedless of the dangers before them and the earth itself shook at the sound off more than three thousand hooves.
As their line drew itself ahead, eating the ground between the English line and that of the Welsh, terror sparked in the hearts of the Welsh archers. Their front line without word or warning suddenly melted away, a trickle at first that shifted into a torrent as the sight of near a thousand sword drawn riders spelt their doom. They turned and fled for their own lines a moment too late.
William picked his target and leaned forward in the saddle, the earth flying beneath his feet. His sword lashed out and bit hard into a archers shoulder. The man bowled over as the Earls horse, crushed bones beneath its feet. A poor soul directly in his path vanishing beneath the legs of his mount, left laying imprinted in the mud as first his own and then three more riders behind turned his body into a mangled pulp.
His sword bit again and again, like a striking viper taking men in the head and neck, blood spraying over his horse’s flank. Screams echoed all along the line as the impact of the charge swallowed the entire line of archers, scattering them to the wind.
He smiled as he noted the backward step of the light infantry man before him, raising is feeble shield and hand axe to halt his charge. To no avail. The man was dead in an instant and William roared allowed as his horse’s momentum began to falter as it pressed into the infantry line. He flung himself from the saddle, drawing a short sword in his other hand.
A spinning ball of iron tipped death, he swung his short sword into the throat of a young celt, maybe fourteen summers old at best. He punched his longer blade through the next man’s gut, blood gushing over his hands. The enemy infantry stepped forward to meet him, hoping to drag the bear down but he would not be stopped. Another blow, forced his short blade into the open mouth of a screaming adversary, a spearman lunged for his thigh and he knocked the shaft aside, losing his long sword in the process. Blood slicked hands making it hard to hold.
He groped ahead of him, blood-blind. A jerkin came into his reach and he yanked the old man forward his softening red bearded, the only thing that William noticed as his forehead connected with the man’s nose and as he went to pull away a second yank let his teeth sink into the poor sods face.
Up and down the English line, the cavalry was dismounting as their own steeds became bogged down by the press of men before them. His personal guard forming up around him in a savage body off brutal, blood-thirsty, nose-breaking, teeth gnashing pack of beasts, each one only half the monster that their Earl was.
It went on for near half an hour, hacking through wrists, snapping spears, meating out death to the left and right. He roared in anger as he pressed ahead, he Welshmen backing away before this raging boar that sought to dig its tusks into their flesh. But not before time his anger was pricked again as the peeling, mournful song of a battle horn rang out.
The enemy were retreating as the English infantry surged forward like an all-consuming tide to join their fellows and the horns called the men to a halt. He gripped a poor fellow by the back of his collar, lifting him through the air, dragging him back to meet his end. The man toppled, his back cracking against the wet earth as the Earl spun, blade held tight and punched down into the man’s chest. He heard ribs snap and air popped from the wound as he punched over and over into the man’s chest, leaving it a broken, mess of flesh, muscle and cloth. His men stood in silent horror as he shredded the poor soul to pieces.
For years after, those who had seen this display and that before it would tell their children of the Beast of Bangor Fawr, the Bloody Earl of Gloucester, never mind the wyrm under the mountain. On the field of Bangor all saw the Ddraig gwaed, the Blood Dragon.
King Richard -mid-afternoon, The Road to London, 22nd of April 1070
William of Gloucester was sent on his way home shortly after the battle of Bangor Fawr, his pockets heavy with loot from the castles and towns of Wales and Richard himself road at the head of a baggage train now swelled with chests of gold. Six whole ox-carts of booty; furniture, gold and silver, candle sticks, grain, coin marched ahead of sheep and cattle to be distributed amongst the border counties of Herefordshire and Shropshire.
They were making a leisurely pace, heading for Oxfordshire and the Baron rode at his Kings side, the two chatting amicably and laughing together as friends of old often do. Though their discussion had taken a slightly more clandestine turn.
“I tell you Richard if my spies are any good and I assure you they are, the Lady you call wife and I am soon to address as Queen is a cuckoo in your nest.” The King laughed at the remark though a slight tone of hesitation surfaced within it.
“Really my friend, you see enemies all about you. I said she plays herself false to the ladies of the court and that she is not quite as meek and obedient as she would have me believe………I did not say she was a spy or a saboteur.”
‘No you did not nor did aye imply anything of the kind, but I tell you mark my words she is trouble. From what you have told me and from what my spies have sent to me she is a wolf come dressed as a lamb.’ Richard thought on the matter a little, he could not deny that his friend had never been wrong on these kinds of matters. ‘It’s a pity though that you sent that swine Hratha back to Norway, he is a clumsy sort of fellow, most of the letters I have seen have his grubby pagan hands all over them.’
Richard blanched at the last remark, looking somewhat angered but the Baron gave it little heed ‘He is a Christian William and you would do well to not say otherwise.’
No one else but the Baron would dare off a second word ‘Please, you are a fool if you believe that. You and I both now he is no Christian, he has the cross of Thor hidden beneath that sheep’s wool jacket as certain as the pope is a Catholic.’
‘Which Pope? He in Rome or the one in Germany?’ they both laughed at the remark.
‘Touché, touché’ the chuckles faded, and the Barons face was stern once more ‘but seriously I have seen the notes passing through the ports at least six of them. Your lady wife is up to her eyes in plots, if her brother should take ill with so much as a sniffle I would bet my entire estate on the fact it is off her doing.’
An ugly, but sometimes useful Lord to have - if he can be controlled.
I liked the camaraderie between Richard and the Baron.
I liked the camaraderie between Richard and the Baron.