Stewart Binns - Crusade

However, the next challenge came not from William’s circle of enemies or his neighbours, but from his own son.

It was February 1078 and winter still held its grip on Normandy. However, William, as usual, had little regard for the hardships of the season and had billeted us in L’Aigle on Normandy’s southern border to begin the strengthening of the defences of the dukedom against the many threats it faced.

For the first time in a long while, William and his three sons were together. Young Henry, still only ten, was precocious and clever and relentlessly pestered his father to be allowed to travel with him. As usual, Rufus was loud and obnoxious and constantly aimed insults at Robert.

I had appointed Edwin to my hearthtroop as a knight and made young Sweyn my page. Robert liked them both, but on this expedition he was not particularly pleasant to anyone.

‘I am going to see my father. Enough is enough; I am going to demand that he grants me the dukedom in my own right. He’s got his own bloody kingdom in England, which should be enough for the old bastard!’

‘Don’t you think you should request rather than demand?’

‘No, I don’t! I’m tired of his bullying. I’m going to stand up to him. When I’m Duke, I’ll send that arsehole Rufus off to England, and his insufferable little brother will go with him. And if I hear of anyone calling me “Shortboots”, I’ll have his tongue out at its root.’

No amount of persuasion could stop him, and he duly confronted the King. It did not go well. It was unwise and ill-timed, with several courtiers within earshot.

William looked at his son impassively at first, and answered calmly.

‘I suppose you would want me to include Maine as well? It would be of no use to me in England.’

‘Of course.’

William’s volcanic temper began to growl.

‘And how do you propose to deal with our Breton friends and the Angevins? And that French upstart, Philip?’

‘Better than you did at Dol.’

That caused the volcano to erupt.

‘Do you know how long it took me to quell our troublesome neighbours? How many campaigns I had to fight? And now you want me to give it all to you so that you can call it yours! You snivelling little bastard!’

‘You’re the bastard, remember. Your mother was the whore, Herleve. My mother is a queen, a descendant of Charlemagne and Alfred the Great!’

William flew at his diminutive son, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and, while aiming several hefty kicks at his arse, threw him out of his tent.

Robert landed in a heap in full view of the King’s men and his two brothers, who roared with laughter – a signal for everyone else to do the same.

When we heard the commotion, I and Robert’s entire retinue rushed to his aid. A mass brawl ensued, with all three sons at the heart of it, until the King brought it to halt in that unmistakable voice of his.

‘Enough! Enough! I will not have brawling in my camp! If there is another example, an insult spoken or even an aside uttered, I’ll have the culprit flogged. And that includes the three of you.

‘The sons of the King of England and Duke of Normandy do not fight with their fists like peasants. Get out of my sight!’

Robert took his father at his word and we were many miles from L’Aigle by midday the next day. It took Robert until the middle of the afternoon to calm down and to tell me his intentions.

‘We are going to seize Rouen, from where I will declare myself Duke.’

‘Robert, that’s insane, it’s your father’s ducal citadel.’

‘Not any more.’

He kicked on with his horse.

‘I have sent for Ives and Aubrey of Grandmesnil, Ralph of Mortemer and Hugh of Percy. In a couple of days we’ll have five hundred men.’

It was obvious to me that Robert’s temper had got the better of him and I rode hard to catch up with him. As soon as I had, I grabbed his horse’s bridle and forced him to pull up.

‘Robert, use your head, act calmly and with a clear plan; what you’re doing now is driven by your injured pride. Think about the consequences!’

Robert did not respond. But the look on his face made me realize that my advice was falling on deaf ears, and so I let him go.

Despite my pleadings, four days later Robert had assembled his men at the gates of Rouen, but he faced a dilemma he had not envisaged. His father had heard of his plan and had sent word to Roger of Ivry, who was the guardian of the city in his absence, to call out the garrison and bar the city gates. Robert had sent Hugh Percy into the city to warn the Count that if he did not lift the bars, the city would be attacked.

Edwin and Sweyn were at my side as we watched Robert contemplate the impasse.

‘This is not the most auspicious of military adventures, my Lord.’

‘It is not, Edwin. Robert does tend to act before he thinks.’

‘Sire, may I make a point?’

‘Yes, of course, Sweyn.’

‘Well, sire, doesn’t anger sometimes serve a man well? When we’re angry, we fight better, and Count Robert certainly has a lot to feel angry about.’

‘You are right about anger in the heat of combat, but battles are won as a result of calm calculations by leaders before the contest commences. If tactics need to change during the encounter, again, it is the wise general who thinks of all the consequences of his actions, weighs them carefully, then makes his decision. Do you play chess?’

‘I do not, sire.’

‘Do you, Edwin?’

‘I do, my Lord.’

‘Then you must teach young Sweyn. There is no finer teacher of the military art than the game of chess.’

‘Thank you, sire. I will learn this evening.’

Edgar laughed.

‘I think it might take a little longer than that. I will get one of the Count’s carpenters to make a set and board for you.’

Hugh Percy returned from the city with the news that I feared. Robert was forced to listen to the unwelcome outcome of his rash plans.

‘My Lord, Roger of Ivry has refused your request, and not in the politest of terms.’

‘Spit it out, man.’

‘He said that I should tell “Shortboots” to run home to his father where he will get his arse kicked again… I’m sorry, sire.’

Robert seethed.

‘Who does he think he is, to refuse me? I am his Lord, the Count of Normandy!’

I tried to reason with Robert.

‘Remember, he will be more frightened of your father than of us. Let’s withdraw and plan a more careful strategy. We will go to Philip of France.’

Robert eventually calmed down, realizing he had overplayed his hand and that his bluff had been called. As we withdrew, he rode next to me.

‘You were right, Edgar; I’ve made a fool of myself. Next time I will use your wise counsel and think before I act.’

It was gratifying to know that Robert had begun to realize that my advice was worth listening to. I remembered Margaret’s words when I left Scotland, and took comfort in thinking that she may have been right. In time, I might find a niche in the dangerous world of intrigue and war in which my birthright had placed me.

Philip, King of the French, cut a dashing figure. A handsome man in his mid-twenties, he offered us not only excellent advice, but also men, weapons and silver. Like his nemesis, William of Normandy, Philip had inherited his domain as a child, his mother acting as co-regent with Count Baldwin of Flanders until his full accession as the fourth Capetian King of the Franks in 1066 at the age of fourteen.

He had inherited his good looks from his mother, Anna of Kiev, the daughter of Yaroslav, Prince of Kiev, and his wife Ingegerd, Princess of Sweden. It was his mother who, it was said, had given him his Greek name in honour of antiquity’s Philip of Macedon. Her choice was inspired, as Philip had developed into a strong leader of his people and a superb general of his army.