Conqueror: A novel of William the Conqueror, the bastard son who overpowered a kingdom and the woman who melted his Heart

Excerpt
Excerpt from Part II:

(1051-1053)
The Rough Wooing
'He must be a man of great courage and high daring who could venture to come and beat me in my own father's palace.'
Saying of Matilda of Flanders


As the long ship heaved on the waves one of the hostages gave a whimper, and curled his body closer, with his knees drawn up. Raoul was standing by the bulwarks, looking out over the sea. A pale moonlight turned the water coldly silver, shimmering under a night-blue sky; now and again flecks of foam glistened as though a star had dropped into the sea. From the masthead lanterns hung as beacons to show the other vessels where the Duke's ship rode. A small cabin built in the stern had a leathern curtain across the opening, and where this fell away from the doorpost a crack of yellow light shone. Amidships an awning sheltered the hostages. A lantern was secured to one of the supports; its glow illumined the faces of the three who crouched there on fur skins. Overhead a fitful wind bellied the sails, and from time to time the canvas slapped in the breeze, and the ropes creaked and whined.

Again the youngest of the hostages whimpered, and buried his face in the mantle of the man who held him. Raoul looked over his shoulder with a faint smile. The boy was so young and so unhappy. As he looked, the man holding the child raised his head, and his eyes, which were of a cold northern blue, encountered Raoul's. After a moment of grave regard he lowered them again to the fair head upon his knee.

Raoul hesitated for a while, but presently picked his way over the men who lay sleeping in their cloaks, and came into the light of the lantern under the awning. The blue-eyed man looked up at him, but his expression did not change.

Raoul, who had been charged with the comfort of the hostages, tried in a few halting Saxon words to speak to him. The hostage interrupted with a slight smile, and said in Norman: 'I can speak your tongue. My mother was a Norman out of Caux. What is it that you want of me?'

'I am glad,' Raoul said. 'I have wished to be able to speak to you, but you see how ill I am learned in your Saxon tongue.' He looked down at the youngest hostage. 'The boy is sick, isn't he? Shall I bring some wine for him? Would he drink it?'

'It would be kind,' Edgar replied, with an aloof courtesy that was rather chilling. He bent over the boy, and spoke to him in Saxon. The child - Hakon, son of Swegn, grandson of Godwine - only moaned, and lifted a pallid woebegone face.

'My lord has not before been upon the sea,' Edgar said in stiff explanation of Hakon's tears.

The third hostage, Godwine's youngest-born, Wlnoth, a boy hardly older than Hakon, woke from an uneasy sleep, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Edgar said something to him; he looked curiously at Raoul, and smiled with a semi-royal graciousness.

When Raoul came back with the wine Hakon seemed to be exhausted from yet another spasm of sickness. When the drinking-horn was put to his lips he sipped a little between sobs, and raised a pair of tear-drowned eyes to Raoul's face. Raoul smiled at him, but he drew further back into Edgar's hold, as though he were shy, or perhaps hostile. But he seemed better after the wine, and inclined to sleep. Edgar drew the furs more closely round him, and said curtly: 'My thanks, Norman.'

'My name is Raoul de Harcourt,' Raoul said, determined to persevere in his friendly advances. He glanced down at Hakon. 'The boy is over-young to leave his home. He will be happier in a day or two.'

Edgar made no reply to this. His silence was rather a natural taciturnity than a studied rudeness, but there seemed to be no luring him from it. After a moment Raoul rose up from his knee. 'Maybe he will sleep now. Call on me for your needs.'

Edgar slightly inclined his head. As Raoul moved away Wlnoth said: 'Who is he, Edgar? What did he say?'

'He is the man we marked to ride beside Duke William,'

Edgar replied. 'He says that he is called Raoul de Harcourt.'

'I liked him,' said Wlnoth decidedly. 'He spoke kindly to Hakon. Hakon is a little fool to cry because he is sick.'

'He cries because he does not want to go to Normandy,' Edgar said rather grimly.

'He is a nithing.' Wlnoth gave a small sniff. 'I am very well pleased to go. Duke William has promised me a noble destrier and honourable entertainment. I shall ride in the lists, and shoot deer in the forest of Qu�villy, and Duke William will dub me a knight.' Then, as Edgar made no response, he said tauntingly: 'I think you like it as ill as Hakon does. Perhaps you would rather have been outlawed with my brother?'

Edgar looked out across the silvered water as though he would pierce the darkness that shrouded the receding coast of England, but he still said nothing. With a hunch of his shoulders Wlnoth turned away from him, and disposed himself to sleep again.

Edgar stayed awake, nursing Hakon's head on his knee. Wlnoth's last words had bitten near the bone of the matter. He would far rather be in Ireland now with Earl Harold, than handed over like so much lumber to Duke William of Normandy. When King Edward had told him with his benign smile that he was to go to Normandy he had known all at once that he hated the silly King. He would have been at Harold's side then only that his father had forbidden it. He thought, now, bitterly, that a short exile with the Earl would have been preferable to his father than this far longer exile which might last for God knew how many dreary years.

The Duke had journeyed to England a few weeks ago, and his arrival had followed hard upon a commotion set up by yet another foreigner. This was no Norman, but Count Eustace of Boulogne, who had created a disturbance at Dover. He had also come to visit King Edward, and upon his departure some men of his had fallen foul of the inhabitants of Dover. This had resulted in a skirmish, and some blood-letting; Count Eustace had journeyed secretly back to London with a complaint for the King's ear.

A scowl darkened Edgar's brow as he thought of this. King Edward's subjects, and especially those of Earl Godwine's south country, had hoped that he would send the obnoxious Count away with a flea in his ear. Edgar supposed that they should have known their ruler better than to expect him to take sides against the foreigners he loved so dearly. But it still made him clench his hand when he considered how King Edward had promised Eustace redress.