Free The Conqueror by Georgette Heyer Page A

face.
    Henry rose from his chair, and came down from the dais with his hands held out, and a smile that was a little twisted on his thin lips. ‘Fair cousin, we cry you welcome.’ He raised the Duke, and embraced him. ‘You come in haste who send us no word to expect you,’ he said, watching the Duke under his eyelids.
    ‘Sire, as my need is desperate so is my haste,’ William answered, coming more swiftly to the point than the Frenchman liked. ‘I am here to solicit aid from France in my Duchy.’
    Henry shot a quick look at Eudes, his brother. Then his eyes were veiled again, and he said gently: ‘What dire need is this, cousin?’
    Briefly William told his story, and at the end folded his arms across his chest, and stood awaiting the King’s reply, never taking his eyes from that secret face.
    The French nobles were whispering amongst themselves, covertly scrutinizing the straight figure before the King. William topped Henry by half a head and was built on lines that made the King look puny. He was dressed very simply in a tunic trimmed with gold, with his sword at his side, and his mantle hanging from his shoulders to his heels. Solid golden bracelets clasped his powerful forearms, and his cloak was fastened on his shoulder by a jewelled fibula. His head was bare, so that his strong, dark face could be seen by everyone in the hall. He stood squarely, and motionless, yet nothing about him argued repose.
    Henry plucked at his gown for a moment, pinching the rich stuff between his fingers. ‘We must speak more particularly of this, cousin,’ he said at last. ‘After we have dined you shall give me your company.’
    At the end of the council that was held all the afternoon in the audience chamber above the hall it was agreed that Henry should march into Normandy at the head of a French army, and upon a day appointed meet William with such ducal troops as he could raise. The Duke swept him along on the tide of his will; the French nobles caught the infection of his energy: the King found that his council was being swayed by his young vassal, himself driven relentlessly on whither he only half wanted to go.
    Upon the following day the Duke was gone again, as abruptly as he had come. The King watched his departure from one of the windows, thoughtfully stroking his long upper lip. At his side his brother Eudes said with a laugh: ‘By the Host, the Bastard seems to be a man, sire!’
    ‘Yea,’ Henry said slowly. ‘He must be bound to me more closely yet.’
    ‘So we march to aid him against his rebels, brother. Is that how it runs?’
    ‘Maybe, maybe,’ the King muttered. ‘I can use him, I think. Yes, I have work for the Bastard.’

Four
    The Duke’s cavalcade rode into Rouen again to find it seething with armed men. The streets seemed to resound with the clash of steel, and the sun was bright on polished shields and the hauberks of the knights. The Duke’s faithful vassals were pouring in in answer to his summons to war. From Caux and Brai they came, day after day; from the Evrecin and the Vexin, from Roumois and Lieuvin, while messengers rode in at all hours with promises from Perche and Ouche, Hiesmes and Auge, to join the Duke on his march westward.
    A large company met the Duke on his entry into the town. Raoul saw his overlord, Roger de Beaumont, and guessed that his father and perhaps one or both of his brothers were in his train. There were many others, and amongst them a tall man whom the Duke embraced very warmly. This was Count Robert of Eu. He was accompanied by his younger brother William, called Busac, and by a numerous train of followers.
    Barons great and small thronged the palace. There was De Gournay, wise in war, with his boon comrade Walter Giffard, the arm-gaunt Lord of Longueville; young De Montfort; William FitzOsbern, the Duke’s Seneschal; the Lords of Crevecoeur and Estouteville, of Briquebec, Mortemer, and Roumare, all with their meinies, all bristling in hardiment. Day after day