As I held her, I realized how thin she had become. A woman with a small frame in any case, she must have lost a stone or more in the last few months. I felt desperately sorry for her, and totally inadequate in being unable to help.
‘There is nothing more we can do for you here, dearest Adela. Let us take you to the nuns of Rouen so that you can get the care you need.’
After making us promise that we would not leave her side, Adela eventually agreed to make the short journey, with our help. As we got her ready, there were tears in my eyes and in Sweyn’s when we realized how much pain she was in.
On the way to the priory, every movement of the cart saw her wince, but every time we looked at her, concerned for her welfare, she forced a smile in an attempt to reassure us. On our arrival, the Mother Superior and one of the nuns showed us the way to their infirmary.
Adela seemed to have steeled herself to her fate but, as she was carried away, she made two last requests.
‘When you get to England, kiss its soil for me and make sure that you tell young Harry about me. I enjoyed looking after him; he’s a sweet little boy.’
Sweyn did not want to leave her, and it took him many minutes to say his private goodbyes to her.
As we rode away from the convent, I thought about how courageous Adela was. Her life had left her with many scars, but she had fought her injuries and her demons with great courage. Now she faced another even greater challenge, and probably one that she would not be able to overcome.
I looked at Sweyn. His eyes were squeezed shut and tears streamed down his face.
We did not speak; there was nothing to say.
PART SIX
It was good to be in England again. It was summer and England’s green meadows were a pleasant contrast to the parched earth of the Holy Land. The sun shone to greet our English contingent, proudly carrying their crimson Crusade pennons and banners. Maurice, Bishop of London, greeted us on the steps of St Paul’s at Ludgate and said Mass in the open air to welcome home England’s soldiers of Christ.
King Rufus was nowhere to be seen, not even when we arrived at Westminster. The official version, offered by William, Count of Mortain and Earl of Cornwall, who welcomed us on behalf of the King, was that he had many difficult issues to deal with in Winchester, but that he hoped we would travel there to be welcomed by him in person. The truth was not difficult to discover, as it was common knowledge at court. Rufus was hunting in the New Forest and too preoccupied indulging himself with his hunting companions to greet those who had fought so courageously in the heat and dust of Palestine for three years in England’s name.
Sweyn and I said our farewells to our brave and loyal men — who dispersed with their memories, bitter and sweet, to every corner of the land — and we prepared to rush back to Adela. We had decided that, our duty done in returning our men to their homes, Adela would forgive us for waiting a while before spreading the gospel of the Mos Militum.
The next morning, news arrived that would change the destinies of us all.
The first hint was a scurry of courtiers and officials suddenly making a din in the quiet of the early morning. Then we heard the fateful words shouted across the courtyard by a young knight: ‘ The King is dead! The King is dead! ’
I turned to Sweyn.
‘Where is Henry Beauclerc?’
He shook his head.
‘Please find out. If only Robert was in Normandy! He could be King of England within the week.’
A flurry of activity followed, as England’s Norman masters plotted and schemed about the succession. The activity was clandestine enough to begin with, but when it emerged that Rufus had been killed by a stray arrow during his hunt in the New Forest, the intrigues reached fever pitch.
Stories of a conspiracy spread like wildfire among the young knights at court. Sweyn, his ire about Norman morality reawakened with a vengeance, recounted these stories for me with relish.
‘You will find this amazing, even by the standards of intrigue of the Norman aristocracy.’
‘I hope you are not including Robert in that sweeping remark?’
‘Of course not. Robert is one of us now.’
‘You mean, English?’
‘Sire, you know what I mean; let me get on with the story. Henry Beauclerc is hardly ever seen with the King. Rufus surrounds himself with his bumboys, which Henry finds disgusting. Henry very definitely prefers women to men and is said to have lost count of his illegitimate children. He spends most of his time on his lands in the Cotentin in Normandy. But, it seems he appeared in England only two weeks ago, a sudden arrival that everyone here found hard to believe was the result of an unexpected rush of brotherly love.’
‘So where is Henry now?’
‘Wait, I’ll come to that. As soon as Henry heard that Robert had survived the Crusade and was on his way back from the Holy Land, he realized that his future was in jeopardy. It seems that he had an agreement with Rufus to rule Normandy as soon as it was confirmed that Robert was either dead or would not be returning from Palestine. Even if he did return, Rufus would call in his loan to Robert, who would not be able to pay. Henry would cover the debt and acquire the duchy through Robert’s default.’
‘Very cunning.’
‘That’s not the half of it. The fact that Robert had married Sybilla, complete with a dowry sufficient to buy back his inheritance, and with the likelihood that she was already carrying Robert’s heir in her belly, didn’t just threaten his future plans, it ruined them.’
‘So, he came to do a deal with Rufus, before Robert returned?’
‘That’s what everybody assumed, but Henry’s scheme is far more devilish than that.’
I began to realize the diabolical level to which Henry had sunk, even before Sweyn had finished his account.
‘Henry was there when Rufus was killed. They were in a deep part of the New Forest, where Rufus had seen a stag he wanted as a trophy. There were several others with him, including Walter Tirel of Tonbridge and Lord of Poix, whose father fought at Senlac Ridge. He is married to Adelize, the daughter of Richard Fitz Gilbert, whose dislike for Rufus is well known. It is said that Tirel shot the arrow that killed Rufus, but that it was an accident. Tirel’s arrow hit Rufus square in the chest and ruptured his heart. He died almost immediately. Realizing what he’d done, Tirel fled, apparently bound for Normandy.’
‘Could it have been an accident?’
‘It’s possible, but few believe it. Tirel is apparently one of the finest shots in England. Those who know him say that he is too good a huntsman to loose an arrow accidentally and that if he shot Rufus through the heart, he meant to do it.’
‘I suppose an accidental arrow would have found a less deliberate target than a man’s heart. When did this happen?’
‘Three days ago. Henry had Rufus buried in great haste and without ceremony in Winchester the next morning.’
‘And where is Henry now?’
‘Here, in London.’
‘Already?’
‘He didn’t even attend his brother’s interment. He left it to the monks of St Swithun’s of Winchester and hurried to the King’s treasury, where he bullied William of Breteuil into giving him possession. At first, Breteuil
