Way down the list, it was a long time before Tancred, clad in a brand new surcoat of blue and white, found himself face to face with his suzerain, a boy he had not seen since the day his father first named him as his heir. Close to, the eyes were not shifty, nor were they in any way apprehensive; they were sharp and penetrating, and Tancred wondered if the impression given earlier was the fear of a sudden knife from a youngster unsure if all who had obeyed the summons to Moulineaux were loyal.
When William spoke, it was in a voice well broken and deep, close to being that of a man. ‘I have the right to call you “Cousin”, do I not?’
Tancred was cautious at such a friendly opening gambit: mighty princes could be devious and there was flattery in those words. ‘You have the right if you choose it, my Lord.’
‘Then I do so, Cousin, for I have been made aware of your loyalty to my house and the temptations to which you have been exposed since the death of my father.’
Such information could only have come from Geoffrey of Montbray. Did he have the actual ear of the duke; had he progressed that far?
‘Yet you have not rallied to my banner.’ That was said in a sharper tone, immediately moderated as the young duke added, ‘But it has been pointed out to me that to stand aside can be a wise policy when everything you own is at risk in such a polity as the Contentin.’
Tancred was tempted to rudeness then, and had to bite his tongue: the Contentin was a part of Normandy this young man feared to enter yet to agree it was a place full of rebellion would not be wise.
‘I have never once wavered, sire, in my oath to your grandfather.’
‘Which was?’
‘To always support his sons.’
The eyes of both man and boy were locked, but neither showed signs of anger, and if William was waiting to hear Tancred add the words ‘and his son’s bastard’, he waited in vain.
‘I did not know my grandfather.’
‘Duke Richard was a great man, and a great soldier.’
‘My father?’
‘He, too, proved to be a soldier of merit, as I am sure his brother would have been had he lived.’
That produced a thin smile: the elder son of William’s grandfather was a man rarely mentioned, but what had been said implied nothing. ‘You are better versed in discourse than I have been told, Tancred de Hauteville.’
‘I am, sire, what I have always been, a loyal servant of your house.’
‘Very well. I would speak with you in private, when time permits, and I have been told it would be to my advantage to make the acquaintance of your sons, who are reputed to be doughty on the field of battle. I have been assured, by the almoner of my Cathedral of Rouen, that I will see them this very day if I so wish.’
‘They are present now, my Lord, and await your summons.’
‘So be it. When all are sworn, bring them to this pavilion, and they may also bend the knee to the King of the Franks and make his acquaintance.’
‘I would wish to bring them all, sire, including my youngest, Roger, who is as yet too lacking in years to bear arms. Yet I have no doubt he will grow to match his brothers.’
‘Make it so, Tancred, for as you say, he will grow, and I would have him see his liege lord and remember it.’
Tancred had not been looking forward to kissing the young duke’s hand, fearing a cool reception. He did so with enthusiasm now: all the ghosts of the past, thanks to his clerical nephew, were going to be laid to rest.
‘You knew of this, did you not? I sense you did not trust me.’
Montbray acknowledged the truth of that, but with a wry smile. ‘I grew up in your house, you must recall. I have seen your temper and I know that bearding dukes is not a thing you fear. I heard of the words you exchanged with Duke Robert, may God bless his soul, the day he declined service to William and Drogo.’
Both men crossed themselves through long habit — liking or loathing meant nothing: a departed soul, noble or not, must be respected. If there was retribution for sins committed in life it was for God to judge, not mere humans.
‘And it is not just your temper that makes me cautious. I do not know our young duke so well that I can be sure of how he will act and what he will say. Already he has a reputation for cunning and manipulation.’
‘He will not live without it, or transgression — no ruler can.’
‘Let his confessor deal with his sins, I must deal with his nature.’
‘Will he take my sons into service?’
‘I have advised him it would be prudent.’ The look on Tancred’s face was not one to let Montbray leave matters there, and he was obliged to continue. ‘You know the Contentin as well as I, and you know that it would be incautious to lead a ducal host into what could become a nest of vipers.’
‘He is not loved there, it is true, many claim for his bastardy.’
Montbray replied, showing a touch of asperity as he began to pace up and down. ‘Greed is a more pressing excuse, but Normandy disunited plays into the hands of the Franks. Duke William, even fully grown to manhood, must ever depend on King Henry for support against his own barons; yet Normandy united, he has the power to ignore Paris, like every ruler before him. I have advised the duke, because I was raised there and know the region, that if the Contentin is to be tamed, he must win support there or placate it with fire and sword.’
‘That would be wise, whichever course is chosen.’
‘And that denying the de Hauteville family advancement, men who are respected there and fight for his cause, does not serve.’
There was a twinkle in Tancred’s eye as he responded. ‘Not to mention that a peaceful Contentin, wholly loyal to the duke, would finally allow for the appointment of a Bishop of Coutances.’
That stopped the clerical pacing: the Contentin had been the last place settled by the invading Norsemen. Count Rollo, still, in truth, a pagan despite his conversion to Christianity, was never happier than when despoiling monasteries, churches and cathedrals, and he had ravaged the western part of the old province known to the Romans as the Neustrian March with glee. Not only had he stripped them of their portable wealth, he had stripped them of their landholdings, handing them out to his supporters, like Tancred’s grandfather.
But Mother Church had never ceased to reclaim them, as well as the right to parcel it out to its own vassals and had, now, a receptive ear at a court more pious and Christian than that of old Count Rollo, more inclined to side with the church against laymen. The answer to the dispute lay within the boundaries of the Bishopric of Coutances: nothing could be decided without the incumbent overseeing proceedings and judging claims. To ensure none could be settled, suspecting it would not be in their favour, the local barons had ensured for decades that no appointed bishop ever took control of his see. Some elevated clerics had tried, only to be chased out of the Contentin at the point of a sword.
Montbray was shaking his head now, but not in irritation. ‘I told our young duke that the de Hautevilles had two valuable assets, their ability in battle and their guile. The see is vacant, and there is no great desire in my fellow clerics to take possession of it. If I can have it, I will.’
‘I trust any claims made against my demesne would get a fair hearing, should you do so?’
There was no question what Tancred meant: to him a fair hearing could only mean one that came down on his side. ‘I think you would be satisfied with my judgements, Uncle. As for others…’
‘What care do I have for others, my boy?’ Tancred scoffed. ‘Let them look to their own.’
It was under torchlight that the sons of Tancred met their duke, the only one he could truly look in the eye until they were on bended knee being Roger. Close to, the ten-year-old was more impressed than hitherto, as much by the surroundings full of luxury as the majesty of those present, including King Henry. The interview was short, but the words used were important: William of Falaise was sure he had need of men, such as these brothers, to serve him close and much would be gained from a Contentin at peace. So that it was with high step they left the pavilion, to be met by an exuberant father, who knew what those words truly meant. Rebellious barons would be defeated and dispossessed: what lands they owned would go to the duke’s loyal servants and his boys would be amongst them.