Tim Severin - King's Man

"Very appropriate, don't you think, father?' said a voice, and I looked up to meet the gaze of a heavily muscled man wearing a leather apron. No doubt he was the armourer for the conroy.

'Yes,' I agreed. 'In the Lord's name. It seems to be a fine blade.'

'Made in the Rhine countries, like most of our swords,' continued the armourer. 'Quality depends on which smithy makes them. The Germans turn them out by the dozen. If the blade snaps, it's not worth repairing. You only have to prise off the handle grips and fit a new blade.'

I remembered the consignment of sword blades taken aboard the cog before she wrecked. 'Can't be easy finding a replacement blade.'

'Not this time,' said the armourer. 'I've served the count for the best part of twenty years, making mail and repairing weapons on his campaigns, and I've never seen anything like the amount of spare gear that is being provided — not just sword blades, but helmets, lance heads, arrow shafts, the lot. Cartloads and cartloads of it. I'm beginning to wonder how it will all fit on the transports - if the transports are ready in time, that is. There's a rumour that some of us will be sent to Dives to help the shipwrights.'

'Dives? Where's that?' I asked.

'West along. The gear that's coming in to Rouen is being shipped downriver. The boats themselves are being built all up and down the coast. Dives is where the fleet is assembling. From there it will strike at England.'

It occurred to me that Harold Godwinsson must know what was going on, and that the English could put a stop to the invasion by raiding across the sea and destroying the Norman fleet while it was still at anchor. William's transports would make easy targets. By contrast, Harald's Norwegian ships, now gathering at Trondheim, were too far distant to be intercepted.

I was just, about to ask the armourer if Duke William was taking any precautions against an English raid when a pageboy arrived with an urgent summons to the ducal palace. My request for a meeting with the duke had been granted, and I was to go there at once.

I followed the lad through the streets and along a series of corridors into the heart of the palace, where Duke William had his audience chamber. My suspicions should have been aroused by the swiftness of my reception. The pageboy handed me over to a knight who acted as the doorkeeper, and within moments I was ushered into the council chamber itself, the doorkeeper at my heels. I found myself in a large, rather dark room, poorly lit by narrow window slits in the thick stone walls. Seated on a carved wooden chair in the centre of the room was a burly man of about my own height but running to fat, with a close-cropped head and a bad-tempered look on his face. I guessed him to be in his mid-forties. I knew he must be Duke William of Normandy, but to me he looked more like a truculent farm bailiff accustomed to bullying his peasants. He was eyeing me with dislike.

Five other men were in the room. Three of them were obviously high-ranking nobles. They were dressed, like the duke, in belted costumes of expensive fabric, tight hose, and laced leather shoes. They had the bearing and manner of fighting men, yet they were strangely dandified because they wore their hair close-shaved from halfway down their heads in pudding-bowl style, a foppish fashion which, I later learned, had been copied from the southern lands of Auvergne and Aquitaine. They too were regarding me with hostility. The other two occupants of the room were churchmen. In stark contrast to my plain black and white costume, they wore long white robes with embroidered silk borders at the neck and sleeves, and the crosses suspended on their chests were studded with semi-precious stones. The crosses looked more like jewellery than symbols of their faith.

'I hear you want to write about me,' stated the duke. His voice was harsh and guttural, in keeping with his coarse appearance.

'Yes, my lord. With your permission. I am a chronicler and I have already completed five books of history, and— with God's grace - I am embarking on a sixth. My name is Rudolfus Glaber, and I have travelled here from my monastery in Burgundy.'

'I think not,' said a voice behind me.

I turned. Stepping out of the shadows was a man wearing the same plain black and white costume as myself. My glance dropped to his left hand, which lacked three fingers. It was Regimus, the almoner of the monastery of the Holy Trinity at Fecamp. In the same instant the doorkeeper, standing directly behind me, clasped his arms around me, pinioning my arms to my sides.

'Brother Maurus never mentioned that you came from Burgundy, and you do not speak with a Burgundian accent,' said the almoner. 'The brother in charge of our laundry also reported that a gown and habit were missing from his inventory, but not until I heard about a mysterious black-clad monk here in Rouen did I deduce that you must be the same man. I had not expected you to be so bold as to claim you were Rudolf Glaber himself.'

"Who are you, old man?' interrupted William, his voice even harsher than before. 'A spy for Harold? I did not know he employed dotards.'

'Not a spy for Harold, my lord,' I wheezed. I could scarcely breathe. The doorkeeper was gripping me so hard that I thought he would break my ribs. 'I am sent by Harald, Harald of Norway.'

'Let him speak,' ordered William.

The painful grip eased. I took several deep breaths.

'My lord, my name is Thorgils, and I am the envoy of King Harald of Norway.'

'If you are his ambassador, why did you not come openly rather than creeping about in disguise.'

I thought quickly. It would be disastrous to confess that Harald had asked me to evaluate William's invasion plans before offering an alliance. That was true espionage.

'The message I bring is so confidential that my lord instructed me to deliver it privately. I adopted this disguise for that purpose.'

'You soil the cloth you wear,' sneered one of the exquisitely dressed priests.

The duke silenced him with an impatient wave of his hand. I could see that William demanded, and received, instant obedience from his entourage. He seemed more than ever like a bullying bailiff.

'What is this message that you bring from Norway?'

I had recovered my confidence enough to glance at William's attendants, then say, 'It is for your ears only.'

William was beginning to get angry. A small vein on the right side of his forehead had started to throb.

'State your message before I have you hanged as a spy or put to torture to learn the truth.'

'My lord Harald of Norway suggests an alliance,' I began quickly. 'He is assembling a fleet to invade the north of England, and knows that you are planning to land forces in the south of the country. You both fight the same enemy, so he proposes that the two armies coordinate their attack. Harold Godwinsson will be obliged to fight on two fronts, and will be crushed.'

'And what then?' There was disdain in William's voice.

'After Godwinsson has been defeated, England is to be divided. The south ruled by Normandy, the north by Norway.'

The duke narrowed his eyes. 'And where will the dividing line be drawn?'

'That I do not know, my lord. But the division would be based on mutual agreement, once Godwinsson has been disposed of.'

William gave a grunt of dismissal. 'I'll think about it,' he said, 'but first I need to know the timing. When does Harald plan to land his forces.'

'His advisers are pressing him to invade England no later than September.'

'Take him away,' said William to the doorkeeper, who was still standing behind me. 'Make sure he is kept in safe custody.'

I passed that night in a cell in the ducal prison, sleeping on damp straw, and in the morning I was encouraged when the same pageboy who had brought me to the palace reappeared to tell the guard to release me. Once again, I was led to the duke's audience chamber, where I found William and the same advisers already gathered. The duke came straight to the point.