with a squire.
Bale nodded. ‘I was telling him about my own desire for a wife, see. A good woman, who will love me for myself. And he said that if I find her, I should grab her and slit the throat of anyone who tries to stand in my way.’
Geoffrey laughed. ‘Did he now?’
‘Well, all right — he said I should fight for her and not let a lesser man have her instead of me. But he was pleased with the ring and said he would pray to God to send me a lovely lady.’
‘God help her,’ muttered Roger.
Geoffrey regarded his squire in mystification. ‘You are a strange man, Bale. You give a ring to Wardard, whom you barely know, and you donate your gold to Roger. Why?’
‘They came from corpses, sir,’ said Bale in a hushed voice. ‘And Galfridus gave such a sermon on Sunday about the perils of such goods that I have not felt comfortable since.’
‘I do not blame you,’ said Roger, tucking his new acquisition inside his surcoat. ‘Pillage is not for the tender- hearted.’
‘Quick!’ hissed Geoffrey urgently, as a commotion broke out in the nave. ‘The King is coming — and I do not want to explain what happened to the Saxons’ treasure. He is the kind of man who will take my manor in revenge, and Joan would not like that. Nor would Hilde.’
He eased into the shadows as the King approached the high altar. Roger remained nearby, loath to leave his hoard when one of the biggest thieves in Christendom was close. Galfridus and Ralph became aware of the royal presence behind them and did an awkward shuffle on their knees, turning their subservient poses from God to monarch.
‘I leave within the hour,’ announced Henry, giving the altar a brisk nod that passed for reverence. ‘But I thought I had better pay my respects to Harold’s death-site first. I do not want it said that I treat past kings with disrespect.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ said Galfridus.
‘I suppose this business has ended well enough,’ Henry went on sternly. ‘But I am not pleased about the lost treasure. My coffers are always in need of replenishment.’
‘Actually, we do have some spare gold, Sire,’ said Galfridus brightly. ‘God sent it to us, and I see now He must have left it for you.’
‘God?’ asked Henry warily.
‘There can be no other explanation,’ agreed Galfridus. ‘Brother Wardard said it just appeared one day, all by itself.’
‘Appeared where?’
‘Inside the high altar.’
‘Here!’ cried Roger, hurtling forward. ‘That is mine! I put it there for safekeeping and I went through a great deal of hardship for it.’
‘Then you will be even more honoured to share it with your monarch,’ said Henry smoothly.
‘Share?’ asked Roger weakly.
Henry nodded. ‘A little for you. And a little more for me.’
Early the next day, Galfridus saw Geoffrey and Roger on their way, then retired to his solar. Ralph and Wardard had both requested interviews. With a sigh, he indicated to his secretary that his sacristan was to be admitted, and he listened patiently to the man’s complaints about there being Saxon scullions in the kitchens already. He agreed to look into the matter, then summoned Wardard, who was a far more serious threat to his peace of mind.
‘I saw Brother Aelfwig skulking about this morning,’ said Wardard once the door was closed. ‘I thought he had been handed to the King’s men.’
‘He was,’ said Galfridus, rising to pour two goblets of wine. ‘You must have imagined it. God knows, we have all been horribly unsettled since our peace was so violently shattered.’
Wardard drank politely, although he disliked wine so early in the day. He sighed and shook his head. ‘It was no trick of the mind, Galfridus. The rebellion is not dead, is it? Aelfwig escaped and plans to try again.’
There was a soft movement from behind. Wardard tried to twist around, but his muscles were oddly heavy and he found they would not obey him.
‘We
Wardard forced a smile. ‘But you have no leader. Ulf, Harold and Magnus are dead, and the earls will be guests of His Majesty for years to come.’
‘I am not dead,’ said another voice. It was difficult for Wardard to look around, but when he finally managed, it was to see Magnus, bandages swathed around his chest.
Struggling to breathe, Wardard turned to Galfridus. ‘Why do you encourage them,’ he croaked, ‘when they have no chance of success?’
Galfridus poured his untouched wine back in the flask and handed it to Aelfwig, who stoppered it with considerable care. ‘We will win eventually. I knew this attempt was doomed as soon as I saw Ulf in place of Harold. But we will not fail next time.’
‘And here is the first of the treasure that will fund it,’ said Magnus, reaching out suddenly and ripping away the ring that was tied on a string around the old monk’s neck. His eyes narrowed. ‘Strange! It looks very much like the one I lost aboard
As Magnus’s voice faded into a discordant jumble of words that no longer held any meaning, Wardard closed his eyes. He did not open them again.
Historical Note
Every schoolchild knows the date 1066, when William the Conqueror defeated King Harold. But, although there are detailed accounts written by near-contemporary chroniclers and a good deal more is known about the Battle of Hastings than other medieval conflicts, many mysteries remain. Historians cannot state unequivocally, for example, that Harold was shot in the eye, and the various accounts of the battle contradict each other in places. The chroniclers generally had their own agendas — they sympathized with the Saxons or wanted to justify the Norman invasion — so cannot be accepted at face value.
Historians are uncertain how many men died that day, because some of the chroniclers’ estimates, provided with great conviction, are clearly unrealistic. However, it is known that the first and very brutal attack by William’s left flank almost determined the outcome in the Saxons’ favour, and that the battle was long, violent, bitter and desperate. It is likely that the death toll was in the thousands. It was said that the Normans buried their own dead, whereas the Saxons were left for their families to collect. With such a very great slaughter, it is likely that the burial mounds and the remnants of smashed weapons would have been visible for decades.
It was not considered a good thing to break the Commandment ‘Thou shalt not kill’, even in battle — although an exception was made for the Crusades — and it was a sensible move on William’s part to found an abbey as an act of penance. Not only did it pacify the Church and honour the dead, it also populated (with Normans) an area that was vulnerable to invasion. Benedictine monks were brought from Marmoutier in France, and building began. Tradition has it that William wanted the high altar on the site of the fiercest fighting, where Harold died. The monks looked with horror at the clay ridge and nearby bogs, and promptly chose a different site. William was not amused and obliged them to abandon the work and start again — where he had ordered.
By the early 1100s, the church and chapter house had been completed, as were a range of temporary wooden buildings for the brethren to use until they were built in stone. Unfortunately, most of the abbey fell victim to the Dissolution.
After the death of Abbot Henry in 1102, there was an interregnum until 1107 when Abbot Ralph was appointed. During this time, the abbey was in the care of clerks or custodians, including one called Geoffrey, who was a monk of St Carileff. He was said to be a competent businessman, although not well educated. The Latin version of his name, Galfridus, has been used in
