Tim Severin - King's Man

'As pack animals?' I queried.

'No, no, as destriers, as battle chargers. Each can carry a knight in full armour. There is not a foot soldier in the world who can withstand the shock of a knight mounted on a beast like that. Our monastery specialises in the breeding of these animals.'

I thought back to the incident outside the walls of Syracuse when I had witnessed Iron Arm, the sword-wielding Frankish knight, use his brute strength to destroy a skilful Arab rider mounted on an agile steed, and I had a vivid picture of William's heavy cavalry mounted on their destriers, smashing down a shield wall of infantry.

'But how will William manage to transport such heavy animals on his ships and land them safely on the English shore?' I asked.

'I have no idea,' admitted Maurus, 'but there will be a means, that's for sure. William leaves nothing to chance when he wages war, and he has expert advisers, even from this abbey.' I must have looked sceptical, for he added, 'Do you remember meeting the monastery's almoner yesterday? He sat near us during the evening meal in the refectory, the gaunt-looking man with three fingers missing from his left hand. That's a war wound. Before he entered the monastery, he was a mercenary soldier. He's a member of Duke William's council and helps in planning the invasion. The monastery owns a parcel of land on the coast of England, just opposite the shortest sea crossing. It will be an ideal spot for William's troops to come ashore, and the almoner - his name is Regimus — will accompany the fleet so he can point out the best place to beach the boats carrying our troops and, of course, the heavy horses.

I was thoughtful as I walked back to the monastery. Everything I had heard about the Duke of Normandy indicated that he was serious about invading England, and that he was preparing his campaign with close attention to detail. I had the impression that when William the Bastard decided on a course of action, he followed it through and made sure that it was a success. It was not 'devil's luck' which had brought him this far; it was his determination and shrewdness, coupled with his ruthlessness. My earlier misgivings that Harald might be foolhardy in seeking an alliance with William came seeping back. And this time I also had to ask myself whether I too was being rash in involving myself so closely with these Christians who seemed so self-confident and pugnacious.

I made my excuses to Maurus, telling him that I intended to travel onward to Rome carrying the bishop of Bremen's request for more priests to be sent to the northern lands. Maurus was content to remain at Fecamp, and now that I had had the experience of travelling with him, I was more confident in my disguise as an itinerant preacher for the White Christ. However, when I left the monastery early on a bright summer morning, I did make one important adjustment to my costume. I stole a black habit and a white gown from the laundry, leaving in their place my travel-stained robe of brown. From now on, I would pretend that I was a follower of the Rule.

Looking back on that theft, I realise that it was perhaps another sign that I was now too old to be a successful spy, and that I was becoming careless.

I needed a private audience with the duke at which I could propose the alliance with Harald of Norway, but I had failed to take into account how difficult it would be to gain access to him. William would be fully occupied with his invasion plans, and far too busy to listen to a humble priest, and his bodyguards would be suspicious of strangers, fearing that they were hired killers sent by the duke's enemies or even by Harold Godwinsson in England. So, recklessly, I had devised a stratagem which I hoped would lead to a meeting with the duke and only a handful of his closest advisers. This hare-brained scheme arose from a remark made by one of the monks at Fecamp. When Maurus had described how he found me half-drowned on the beach, the monks had told us that Harold Godwinsson had spent several months at the duke's court after a similar accident had befallen him. There Harold had been treated generously, and, in return, he had sworn allegiance to the duke and promised to support William's candidacy for the English throne. 'Godwinsson treacherously broke his oath by seizing the throne for himself. He is a usurper and needs to be exposed,' asserted one of the monks. 'There is a brother at the monastery in Jumieges who is writing a full account of this act of perfidy, and he will soon be presenting it to Duke William, just as brother Maurus here has brought to us the Life of Lord Abbot William, lovingly prepared by his friend Rudolfus Glaber in Burgundy. Duke William keenly appreciates those who write the truth.'

Thus, when I reached the duke's palace at Rouen, I pretended I was on my way to its chapel, but then swerved aside and found my way to the anteroom where his secretaries were hard at work. Standing there in my black habit, I said that I wished to meet the duke privately on a matter of importance.

'And what is the subject that you wish to discuss?' asked a junior secretary cautiously. From his expression I judged that, but for my priestly dress, I would have been turned away on the spot.

'For many years I have been compiling a history of the deeds of great men,' I answered, allowing a sanctimonious tone to creep into my voice, 'and Duke William's fame is such that I have already included much about him. Now, if the Duke would be so gracious, I would like to record how he came to inherit the throne of England, despite the false claims of his liegeman Harold Godwinsson. Then posterity can judge the matter correctly.'

'Who should I say is presenting this request?' said the secretary, making a note.

'My name,' I said, uhblushingly, 'is Rudolfus Glaber. I come from Burgundy.'

It took three days for my request to filter through the levels of bureaucracy which surrounded the duke. I spent the interval observing the preparations for the forthcoming campaign. Not since my days in Constantinople had I seen such a well-managed military machine. A space had been cleared in front of the city wall where, in the mornings, a company of bowmen practised their archery. Their task would be to pin down the enemy formations under a rain of arrows until the mounted knights could deliver their charge. In the afternoons the same practice ground was used for infantry drill.

A little to the north of the city was a grassy field where I watched the manoeuvres of a large conroy, a cavalry unit contributed to the duke's army by the Count of Mortagne. The Convoy numbered about a dozen knights accompanied by an equal number of squires or assistants. All wore chain mail, but only six of the knights were mounted on the heavy destriers. The others rode horses of a more normal size, and so they were practising how best to coordinate their attack. The lighter cavalry cantered their horses up to a line of straw targets and threw their lances, using them as javelins. Then they wheeled away, leaving their comrades on the heavy horses to advance at a ponderous trot so that their riders could run the targets through with their thicker, weightier lances or slash them to shreds with long swords. When this part of the exercise was over, the light cavalry dismounted, laid aside their metal swords and were given practice weapons with wooden blades. The conroy then divided in two and fought a mock battle, cutting and hacking at one another under the gaze of their leaders, who from time to time shouted out an order. At that moment one side or the other would turn and pretend to flee, drawing opponents forward. Then, at another shouted command, the fugitives would halt their pretended flight and the heavy cavalry, who were still on horseback and waited in reserve, lumbered forward to deliver the counter-blow.

While this was going on, I quietly sauntered forward to take a closer look at one of the battle swords that had been laid aside. It was heavier and longer than the weapons I had seen when in the emperor's Life Guard in Constantinople, and it had a groove down the length of the long straight blade. There was also an inscription worked in bronze lettering. I read IN NOMINI DOMINI.