Robert knew there may well be broken bones or internal injuries and ordered that a space be cleared so that his father could be laid flat and get some air. William was barely conscious and badly shaken. He complained of severe dizziness and started to retch. This gave him great pain in his groin, which he seemed to have ruptured on the pommel of his horse.
‘Send for the physicians, quickly!’
After several minutes of examination by his doctors, they concluded that William had had a seizure, which had caused the fall, and that his stomach had indeed been ruptured when his massive frame struck the pommel of his saddle. Taking Robert to one side, his senior physician, the learned Gilbert of Maminot, a former chaplain who William had made Bishop of Lisieux, explained that the seizure was not the first, but was a particularly severe one. Paralysis was a distinct possibility — at least, in some parts of the King’s body. The physician was also very concerned about the rupture. It seemed to be a deep one, and there was certain to be internal bleeding.
He added that, in normal circumstances, the King should not be moved, but given that he was lying on a battleground beyond Normandy’s borders, he recommended that William be taken to Rouen as quickly as possible.
Although a wagon was made as comfortable as possible for him, the journey to Rouen, a distance of over forty miles, was agonizing for William. When he was conscious, he was constantly sick and complained that the world was spinning around him. The pain in his groin and stomach was so great that he was unable to move, and his chest and jowls were so large that it was impossible to get a bowl under his chin, so new vomit replaced the old before his servants could remove it.
He was eventually taken to St Gervais, a priory on a hill to the west of Rouen, clear of the noise of the city and the heat of the lower reaches of the Seine Valley.
The great warlord, William, King of England and Duke of Normandy, the most fearsome figure of his age, languished in his bed, drifting in and out of consciousness for many weeks. He was in great pain from slow internal bleeding, which became more and more acute as time passed. There were surely many who thought a slow and painful death was what he deserved, given the suffering he had inflicted on others.
As he lay dying, the manoeuvring and scheming at court intensified. There were many scores to settle and debts to pay.
Robert was at the centre of it all and tried, as firstborn and regal Count of Normandy, to act as honest broker, but the ambitions were too great, the greed too excessive and the rewards too tempting to assuage — especially between Robert and his brothers, Rufus and Henry. Robert was now thirty-five. Rufus was twenty-nine and still a great trial to Robert, while Henry, aged nineteen, was old enough to be a real nuisance.
I gathered up Edwin, Sweyn and Adela and went to Robert to offer our support.
His mood was sombre.
‘There will be war. Even if I can keep the peace between myself and my brothers, there are too many powerful earls to keep in check. Odo is still in my father’s dungeon, but he is just one of many looking for an opportunity. My father has surrounded himself with the biggest gang of bullies in Europe, and now I am going to have to try to control them.’
As I had several times over the years, I felt truly sorry for my friend.
‘Has the King given any hint about his succession?’
‘None — it is driving Rufus insane. He wants everything and has hinted to Henry that if he gets England and Normandy, he will install him as Count of Normandy, with the authority I currently exercise under my father.’
‘What of the earls and bishops?’
‘The English earls will support whoever is made King of England; they are my father’s men. The Norman bishops and counts will support William’s choice as Duke of Normandy; they are loyal Normans and, mostly, less ambitious than those who went to England.’
‘And what about your support? Who can you count on?’
‘My friends only — no political allies — but they are a powerful bunch; most of them are the sons of my father’s biggest supporters.’
Robert had revealed his naivety. In saying he counted on his friends, not on political allies, he had exposed his lack of tactical cunning — not a sin for any man but, in the position he was in, it was innocent at best, gullible at worst.
In early September 1087, William’s demise appeared imminent. His pain had not subsided, and his bouts of consciousness were shorter and less frequent. He summoned his entire family and senior acolytes to his bedchamber and proceeded to announce his Verba Novissima.
To his relief, Robert was granted the Duchy of Normandy. But, to his horror, the Kingdom of England was bestowed on William Rufus. His father did not give reasons — he did not have to. He had left his legacy, and that was the end of it. Henry Beauclerc, the youngest of the three siblings, was granted no titles but the sum of 5,000 pounds of silver, enough money to make him one of the richest men in Europe and thus very dangerous.
William Rufus grabbed the parchments attesting his kingship of England and struck north for the Channel within an hour of his father stamping his seal on them. He was at Canterbury within three days, ready to have his sovereignty confirmed by Lanfranc, the Archbishop of all England.
Henry summoned his father’s chancellor immediately, so that preparations could begin for the extraction of the 5,000 pounds of sterling for his windfall. So vast was Henry’s inheritance that the carts lined up outside the treasuries at Rouen and Caen resembled the caravan of wagons used to carry the legendary dowries of Babylonian princesses.
Robert immediately travelled to see King Philip at Melun. Now that he was to be confirmed as Duke of Normandy, he was keen to heal whatever rift had been created by his father’s brutal behaviour at Mantes.
The result of the rapid departure of the three sons was to prove disastrous. The old King died suddenly, early on the morning of the 9th of September 1087. Before his death, he ordered that all his political prisoners be released and begged forgiveness for his many excesses. He apparently hesitated about the release of his half- brother, Odo, but then relented. Morcar, the former Earl of Northumbria and survivor of Ely, was released — but, sadly, Rufus immediately ordered his re-arrest. William’s regalia was sent to his parish church and his cloak to the foundation he had established at Senlac Ridge.
Chaos soon reigned in Rouen; rumours spread that the three sons had gone to raise armies and that Normandy was about to descend into civil war. All the nobles and bishops at William’s deathbed dispersed to their homes to secure them against the expected mayhem, leaving the King alone. His chamber and body were plundered by servants and outsiders, and his corpse abandoned on the floor.
It was left to a minor local landowner from St Gervais to rescue the body and prepare it. A barge was ordered and the royal remains were floated down the Seine for burial in Caen, where more ignominy befell the greatest ruler of his era.
There were many clergy present for the funeral, but only Henry of the immediate family; neither Robert nor Rufus made the journey. Very few of his magnates were in attendance; they were too busy plotting how to maximize their position under the new regime. Would they support Rufus, be Robert’s men, or back neither and ally themselves with one of William’s many enemies?
I was given a formal invitation as a prince of the household and was able to secure positions close to the altar for the four of us.
The senior member of the family who was present, William’s aged first cousin, Abbot Nicolas of St-Ouen, son of Duke Richard III, presided over the funeral in Caen Abbey. As the Bishop of Evreux rose to give the address, a local man, Ascelin, son of Arthur of Caen, stepped forward and demanded that William not be interred in the abbey because the land it stood on had been stolen from him by the Duke many years earlier. Most of the local congregation agreed with the heckler and pandemonium ensued. Calm was restored only when Count Henry agreed to pay compensation out of the funds his father had just left him.
The incident reflected all that was true about William’s tenure. The sense of dread he embodied, which had guaranteed subservience, was only superficial — now that his presence was no more than a haunch of flesh, the aura had been dissolved. Those once cowed were emboldened to speak their mind.
Greater indignity was to follow. When the casket was brought forward for the body to be lowered into it, it was too small. With everyone turning away in embarrassment, the funeral attendants tried to force the issue by attempting to prise the King’s quart-sized frame into a pint-pot of a coffin. At this point, the bungling of the embalmers proved to have been as monumentally inept as that of the coffin-makers.
