1066 Turned Upside Down Read online

  Unfortunately, Gregory had been present when the imperatrix had received the messenger from Constantinople. Lost in the joys of forthcoming late motherhood, she had nodded her head to his suggestion and I was dispatched. I was caught for now by the imperatrix’s command, but when I returned, things would change.

  ‘I apologise, domina,’ I said, and bowed to her daughter in front of me. Claudia frowned, then broke into a wide smile. Now engulfed in her purple wool stola, she must have felt the chill from the stone walls less. But her sandaled feet must have frozen on the stone slabs. She grasped my hand, straightened her back and we set off.

  The ducal palace built by Duke William’s father was imposing; the stone tower dominated but as we were shown into the Aula Turris, the Grande Salle, I was struck not only by the heat but also by the sheer luxury of its proportions and decoration. Here ruled a man of power indeed. At the top of the walls ran a blind arcade of semi-circular arches under which were hangings of rich reds, blues and greens, some embroidered with gold and silver thread. But even richer were the gowns and jewelled belts of the women in the hall and the tunics and mantles of their men. And at the far end on a raised dais were William and Matilda. A slim figure, her eyes were full of curiosity. Like the other women present her hair was hidden beneath a veil below a gold circlet, but of such softness it could only have been the nearly sheer silk from Constantinople. But William had none of the delicate elegance of his wife. From the heavy gold circle with a large cabochon shining from its centre on his head, down the dark crimson robe and over mantle clothing his sturdy frame, belted by gold, down to his dark boots, he exuded wealth and strength. His eyes fixed on us from the moment we stood on the threshold of the hall until we reached the two thrones where they sat.

  ‘Salvete dux ducissaque,’ I began. William frowned, but Matilda smiled although she said nothing. De Boscville stepped out of the lines of courtiers, his face creased in irritation. He translated my greeting into French, then turned and said in Latin, ‘Continue.’

  ‘Forgive me, Duke William,’ I said in French. I paused and smiled. ‘I had not realised you did not speak Latin.’

  William frowned again and shot a hard look at me. I knew perfectly well he couldn’t even read or write his own native tongue.

  ‘I present Claudia Apulia,’ I said. ‘She brings greeting from her mother, the imperatrix of Roma Nova.’

  He nodded curtly and stared her up and down like a piece of meat. She flushed slightly, but looked back steadily at him. Matilda laid her fingers on his forearm.

  ‘We have been asked to convey a message to you from Harold the Saxon King.’

  ‘The only message I want from the earl is the surrender of my rightful crown.’

  ‘That, Duke William, is not for negotiation.’ Some of the courtiers present murmured, and one man, another priest who I thought must be Lanfranc, his Galilean councillor, bent and whispered in the duke’s ear. I waited until the murmuring had stopped and I had their attention again. ‘Harold does not wish for warfare, but as you know from his campaign against the Welsh, he will not hesitate to enter the field in force if England is threatened. He proposes a treaty, starting with a calming period over the winter.’

  ‘He is forsworn. That is an end on it. You are women but even you as Romans understand an oath is an oath.’

  ‘Of course, but some would say he swore under duress.’

  ‘You push too hard, woman.’

  ‘I merely state the obvious, Duke.’

  ‘We will think about it.’

  ‘All the while you are mustering your invasion fleet?’

  The murmuring rose to a clamour. Somebody muttered ‘godless bitches’. Claudia took a sharp breath in at that but we stood still and waited.

  ‘Peace!’ the duke’s voice rang out. ‘The countess and princess are our guests. We will eat.’ He stood and beckoned me to accompany him, Matilda smiled at Claudia, took her arm and followed us, the courtiers trailing in our wake.

  A hard, uncompromising man with few social manners but willing to talk of common interests, he was deeply interested in how Roma Nova had been founded and in my own early career, sword in hand. I think he almost forgot I was a woman as we discussed campaigns and tactics. His eyes gleamed when I showed him the intricately worked pugio dagger. His acquisitiveness wasn’t merely for a crown.

  ‘Please accept it as a gift, Duke,’ I said. ‘Whatever happens in the future, it will be a souvenir of the Romans who once visited you.’

  ‘I accept, most willingly.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘But you will not cozen me with your words and gifts.’

  ‘I regret we cannot convince you of a peaceful way. I urge you to reconsider the advantages of a treaty. It will bring you more security in the end.’

  ‘As your people have found.’ He gave me a sardonic look. ‘But you are now at the beck and call of the Greeks in the East.’

  I bit my lip. ‘Only for the moment, Duke. Sometimes, we have to endure discomfort for the sake of peace. The Eastern Romans have many troubles and have lost the earlier resolution of the times of Constantine. Roma Nova may yet outlive them.’

  ‘Ha!’ He searched my face while a servant refilled my cup. ‘You are a strong woman, Countess, but why are you here? Should you not be tending your family?’

  ‘I am the imperatrix’s chief councillor, Duke. My children are grown and my life is given to the service of my ruler.’

  I dismissed the body servants and combed Claudia’s hair out myself. I needed to move my shoulders and arms after shedding the weight of my lorica.

  ‘Did Matilda say anything interesting to you?’

  ‘She is devoted to the duke, she busies herself with her children, their contracted marriages, her devotion to the Galilean god, her temple building projects.’ Claudia twisted round. ‘She has a lively mind and sees everything, but although rich and admired, she has no purpose beyond that. I think she frets about the duke and his obsession with England. But she is a conventional wife and will not question his actions.’

  ‘So we cannot influence him via that route.’ I stopped and laid my hands on Claudia’s shoulders. She looked into the polished surface of her mirror.

  ‘Did Mama give you any other orders?’

  ‘Yes, but they may put us in danger.’

  ‘But we must still follow them.’

  ‘Yes. You are growing up too fast, Claudia Apulia.’

  ‘No faster than any of our ancestors, Galla.’

  Duke William was occupied inspecting an important building today, de Boscville announced to me as we broke bread the next morning. I glanced at him, but his harsh features revealed nothing. I suspected the ‘building’ under inspection would be naval rather than stone. The duchess had invited us to sit with her and the other women until the evening when his master would give me his formal answer.

  ‘Claudia Apulia would be delighted to accept,’ I said, ignoring Claudia’s look of surprise swiftly followed by one of annoyance. ‘However, I would, with Duchess Matilda’s permission, like to visit Iuliobona – Lillebonne.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Pure sentiment. One of my ancestors was stationed there as a tribune and wrote an account of his time. It was an important and wealthy regional centre as well as a port to Britannia. I should like to see the remains. I believe the theatre was a fine one which could seat three thousand.’ I smiled at him, but he frowned back. He was the surliest man I had ever met.

  We jogged along the dirt road on good strong mounts, de Boscville and I, followed by two Praetorians and two of his men-at-arms. He’d insisted on accompanying me; I didn’t know whether as guard or escort. It would be his misfortune if he became weary inspecting the relics of past times that meant nothing to him. His ancestors were probably scratching around northern mountains eating raw fish they’d caught that morning, or hunched in smelly huts round an open fire while
mine ruled the known world.

  After a midday meal in a tavern where de Boscville’s autocratic manner secured us a table and good if terrified service, I asked to see the commercial part of the town. I smiled when I saw the main street of shops and stalls was called the Rue des Césars, presumably the Decumanus Maximus of old Iuliobona. I was looking for a cloth merchant; the wool was fine here and would make a suitable gift for the imperatrix. But that wasn’t the only reason I stopped in front of one timber-framed building.

  Inside, the merchant showed us bolts of fine and sturdy cloth dyed in various colours.

  ‘We have colleagues from England, my lady, with some of their special South Downs fine wool cloth.’ He ushered me towards the far side of his hall where a young man stood folding a rich copper cloth. Behind the table, all I could see of his companion was the top of his blond head as he made marks on a wax tablet. He looked up at my approach and I halted in my tracks. Eadmær. He stared hard at me, almost frowning. I didn’t say his name aloud, but my heart thudded. What in the depths of Tartarus was he doing here, right under the nose of William’s people and obviously in disguise?

  I glanced at de Boscville who sat at the side, drinking the merchant’s ale, tapping his fingers on his thigh as I made my choices. I fingered some of the cloth as if considering purchasing it but couldn’t stop looking at Eadmær. I lowered my voice and asked the merchant for the privy. His wife led me down a narrow passageway to the back door giving onto the courtyard.

  I slumped against the back of the building to catch my breath for a moment and steady my heart. I thought Eadmær safe in England. If de Boscville even suspected one of Harold’s most faithful aides was only a few steps away... As I turned in the direction the merchant’s wife indicated, hands grabbed me and pulled me behind the privy hut.

  ‘I thought you would never arrive,’ Eadmær whispered.

  ‘What in Hades are you doing here?’ I hissed back.

  He grinned at me. ‘I put myself forward to lead the clandestine group.’

  ‘But you’re no common spy!’

  ‘Ah, Galla, my Galla. I had to see you again.’ He pulled me to him, his arm encircling my waist. The warmth of his body almost overwhelmed me and I closed my eyes. His lips touched mine and I opened them to receive his kiss.

  ‘My lady?’ came the merchant’s wife’s voice. She bustled over to the hut. Eadmær scuttled round the side. I nearly laughed at his expression of alarm.

  ‘Thank you, goodwife, I will be another moment,’ I said and fiddled with my belt. As soon as she’d disappeared through the back door of the house, he grabbed me by the arm.

  ‘Quickly, give me the news.’

  ‘William is determined, almost obsessed. He is building ships day and night. You must prepare strong defences at sea and on the coast.’

  ‘We will fight him with every sinew to the last drop of blood.’

  ‘Very noble, but how many will die?’

  ‘I care not how many of them fall. Englishmen will sacrifice themselves if it stops the damned Normans from seizing our island.’

  ‘Gods, Eadmær, why do you men see fighting as the only solution?’

  ‘What? Is this a Roman speaking? Are you only a woman after all?’ His fingers ran down my cheek and I shivered at his touch.

  ‘It would be better for all if his ships never set sail,’ I retorted.

  ‘Why in Pluto’s balls’ name are we crouching in this blasted hedge?’ Claudia whispered.

  ‘Language, child,’ I murmured, but I was concentrating on the harbour below us and trying to count the hundreds of ships bobbing below. The shipyard singing with the noise of hammering and sawing was guarded, torches flared everywhere, peasants were loading supplies, men-at-arms and horses crowding and champing on the makeshift quayside. A pity so many people and animals were present.

  The day before, we’d made formal farewells and sailed from Rotomagus with false smiles and regret on both sides, but I’d ordered the sailing master of our trading ship to stop briefly downriver near the harbour serving Iuliobona to pick up Eadmær and his men. Their dozen and our ten Praetorians along with Claudia and myself should manage the task if we applied ourselves.

  Claudia and I had crawled back about twenty feet from the cliff edge when I heard something move. The creak of a boot. I made a sharp cutting gesture and she froze. Young though she was, like all Romans over sixteen Claudia was trained in basic warrior skills. There, again, metal rubbing on cloth. The clink of metal on metal. Eadmær and his men were in the valley. If he’d come to join us, he would have whistled the signal. There was no whistle.

  I gestured Claudia to crawl directly to the side and edged away on my belly in the opposite direction. Perhaps it was only peasants marauding for food or loot. I eased my gladius out, then in the shelter of a low shrub came to a crouch. Then I saw them. A group of three horsemen; one dismounted, knelt and examined the ground.

  ‘Well?’ A bad-tempered voice.

  De Boscville.

  ‘Somebody was here, lord, recently.’

  ‘That damned Roman woman, I’d wager.’

  ‘But they’ve sailed, haven’t they?’

  ‘Supposedly. The duke thinks their threats to hinder our trade were bluster and they can do nothing, but she’s a devious bitch.’

  ‘Look, there!’ The other horseman pointed in Claudia’s direction. The clouds had parted and the damned moon shone through. Pluto swive him. I stood.

  ‘My Lord de Boscville,’ I said. ‘What brings you out here at this time of night?’

  ‘Seize her!’

  I ran, but even the fastest human couldn’t beat a warhorse. De Boscville charged and swung at me with his longsword. As I rolled away, he leapt off his horse and, face working in fury, ran at me. He raised his sword aloft, but I ducked under his arm and, crouching low, thrust into his groin, then leapt aside and struck into his side. His sword caught my left arm as it fell, numbing it for an instant. De Boscville was on the ground grunting and struggling to stand. My breath was heaving, as hard as my heart hammered. I whirled round to find the tracker on me. I shoved him away, jabbing him in the stomach, then the throat. He clasped his hands to his face with a cry and fell. The thunder of the third rider’s horse was ringing in my head as I turned to face him. I had no breath to run. The horse reared to crush me and I faced death. Then the animal collapsed and the rider fell. Claudia stood there, trembling, blood running down her gladius and tears down her face. The horse whinnied piteously. She’d severed its tendons. The rider was unconscious.

  I swallowed hard.

  ‘Dispatch the animal.’ She stared at me. I nodded. She knelt and drew the blade across the horse’s throat. Then she turned round and was violently sick.

  De Boscville struggled, but he was mortally wounded.

  ‘Peace, man, prepare to meet your god.’

  ‘You—’ he gasped. ‘Knew you were poison. Told duke.’

  ‘No, we came to stop you waging a war of aggression, of conquest against a nation that has done you no harm.’

  ‘William has right. Harold forsworn.’ He winced. ‘For God and Christ.’ His head fell to one side and he passed into the shades.

  ‘There are several hundred ships, some half complete, others bobbing in the water.’ I stopped to draw breath and gulp down ale from the flask Eadmær thrust at me.

  ‘How many hundred?’ He frowned at me.

  ‘Four or five at least.’

  ‘Christ good Jesu, we could never match that many ships! And how can we, less than a score, hope to destroy even a portion of them?’

  ‘Your men can all shoot straight, can’t they?’

  ‘That is a foolish question, Galla.’

  ‘Very well.’

  The Saxons crouched in an arc near the edge of the cliff watching the Praetorians ready their portable manuballistae. I nod
ded at the Praetorian commander who instructed his optio to distribute boxes of arrows with narrow tubes along the shafts to Eadmær’s men.

  ‘What are these?’ he ran his fingers along the tubes.

  I flinched. ‘Do not play with them. They are not always stable, but once loosed, they will achieve our aim.’ A cold wave rolled through me, but I had to give the order.

  Together the loaded arrows and bolts rained down destruction that scorched and burnt, that even danced across the water. White flames of death burst out engulfing the boats, the quay and, Juno save us, the living creatures fleeing from the boats.

  ‘Christ’s breath, what is that, Galla?’ Eadmær looked aghast at the intensity with which everything below us was consumed. The thunder of explosions and screams reached us across the clear night.

  ‘Ignis graecus – Greek fire. A terrible weapon.’

  I shut my eyes after ten minutes, weary of death and destruction.

  ‘Now we must sail from here as if the Furies themselves were pursuing us. Come.’ I took his hand and pulled him away. ‘Sometimes we must do dreadful acts to prevent greater disasters, but at least history will record that the Galilean year of 1066 was not the one in which Northman William invaded Saxon England.’

  Author’s Note