‘My good people.’ he had declared, ‘rally to my banner, I swear to you that if you will stand beside me and thrust out the unwanted Norman, there shall be no more unjust taxation, every man shall enjoy his own hunts and chases in his own woods and wilds, and all abuses of the law shall be abolished.’

How they had cheered him! How they had rallied to his banner. And when Odo arrived he was set upon and taken prisoner, and it was not until Rufus had won the day that Robert characteristically, put in an appearance. How typical of Robert! How had he ever thought he could outwit their father? That had been just another of his miscalculations, of course.

Rufus could not be hard on his captives. How could he be...on Normans? Moreover many of them had been friends with whom he had played in his childhood. More important was the fact that he might need their support in the future for he knew that he would not be able to keep the promises he had made to the people; the taxation which the people called unjust, could certainly not be abolished; nor would he change the forestry laws for nothing was going to be allowed to interfere with his pleasure in the chase.

So he and Robert made a pact. If death should overtake either of them that one would pass over all his possessions to the other. Thus the survivor would have both England and Normandy.

It had been at this time that Henry had become so incensed against his brothers. He said they ignored his existence; they forgot that he also was their father’s son, and he demanded to know what his inheritance would be.

‘The ladies of England.’ retorted Rufus. ‘And I doubt Robert would debar you from enjoying the Norman ones when you visit his Duchy.’

‘And I’ll leave the men to you.’ answered Henry, and for a while they hurled insults at each other. But Henry was indeed resentful. He had set himself up in the fortress of St. Michael’s Mount with the intention of making himself a nuisance to both his brothers.

It was not possible to enjoy a peaceful reign. There would always be conflict. It was looming now in yet another spot. The Church! The Conqueror had been a deeply religious man and he had lived in harmony with his Archbishop of Canterbury, Lanfranc. Rufus lacked his father’s devotion to the Church. Often he blasphemed against it and he did not suffer from those twinges of conscience which had beset the Conqueror when he considered his reception in heaven. Rufus had an inherent dislike of churchmen. Many of them were rapacious, a characteristic he understood perfectly being well endowed with it himself, but whereas he admitted this they hid their avaricious natures under a guise of hypocrisy. At least Rufus was not a hypocrite. In private Rufus could laugh at himself and did. Very few people of his time could do that; many of his intimates had whispered among themselves that it was only this characteristic which made him tolerable.

He could not accuse Lanfranc of hypocrisy. There was a man of great integrity and Rufus had never had any intention of removing him from his post. Death had done that. The See of Canterbury was very rich and Rufus had made a habit of keeping the abbeys and bishoprics under his own control whenever the occasion arose. He found this highly profitable; so when Lanfranc died he added Canterbury to those over which he held sway and was in no hurry to find a successor to the Archbishop.

Since he had been ill, however, even he had experienced a few qualms. His priests had shaken their heads over him as though they feared his future in Heaven if he did not repent and, although had he been in good health he would have laughed at them, it was not so easy with Death lurking not far distant.

It so happened that Anselm, the prior of Bee in Normandy, was visiting England and because of this man’s qualities, Rufus decided that he should become Archbishop of Canterbury.

When the offer was made to Anselm, he thanked the King but shook his head. ‘My home is in Normandy.’ he told him. ‘I have lived so long at Bee that I could consider no other.’

Rufus smiled grimly. We shall soon see about that, he told himself.

Craftily he ordered that Anselm should visit his sick room where he had ordered the leading churchmen to assemble. When the bewildered Anselm entered a crozier was thrust into his hands and a Te Deum was sung to celebrate his election.

The sick King lay back on his bag of straw smiling. He could never resist baiting the clergy.

Anselm looked sternly at him. ‘My lord.’ he had said, ‘you must understand that I am not one of your subjects. I am a Norman and owe obedience only to my Duke.’

Rufus laughed at him. ‘So you would lay down the crozier we have bestowed on you, would you? Do so...for a while. You will take it up again.’

And he did, for Robert at the time was eager to come to terms with his brother after having been so disastrously defeated in his attempt to take the English crown that it was necessary for him to comply with the request of Rufus. So the reluctant Anselm had been obliged to take the post offered him and now presided over the See of Canterbury.

These fanatical men were a menace to peace. They had to question this and that. They could never let well alone; and now master Anselm was trying to prove that the Church was more important that the State, a belief which Rufus would never accept.

He had a power though, Rufus would admit that. These religious fanatics often had. He had preached to Rufus so eloquently of the dire punishment that befell sinners in hell that even he had become a little shaken and had released numerous prisoners, cut taxes and forgiven people their debts to the crown. But now he was well again and he had repudiated all that he had been persuaded into promising when the gates of Hell had appeared uncomfortably close and warm.

‘Death has receded.’ Anselm had told him. ‘But do not imagine it will not return.’

‘Time enough to repent when I see it in the distance.’ Rufus had commented with a laugh.

‘You are asking to be struck dead without warning.’

‘Must I give up all then for the sake of my future life?’

‘That is the Christian way.’

Rufus grimaced. ‘My good Anselm, my sins are so many that I doubt they’d all be forgiven however many good works I performed. So I will do as I wish down here to make sure that I get what I want at least in one place.’

Anselm was horrified. Let him be. Rufus was not sure that he believed all these pious men told him. He liked better the religion of his ancestors—feasting in Valhalla after death, a paradise to be reached through valour rather than pious deeds. He could have his place there with the utmost ease, for he had inherited his father’s courage and was well skilled in the arts of war.

He might bait Anselm but all the same he knew that there would be trouble in that quarter.

The immediate anxiety though was the presence of Edgar Atheling in the country. Many of his advisers had said that the Atheling claim to the throne must never be forgotten.’

It was true, but Edgar was no fighter. He did not believe Edgar would come against him. Such a pleasant boy, though more Robert’s friend than his. He was too rough for the Atheling, but Robert with his charm and his extravagances and his love of poetry had been as a brother to Edgar.

One of his knights asked for audience and he received him in his bedroom. He must have important news to come to him thus in the morning when his temper might not be too good.

‘What bad news bring you?’ he growled. He liked to see the alarm in faces. Why he could order the fellow to a dungeon and have his eyes put out if he offended him. Not that he would do this. That was a punishment he reserved for real offenders. But it gave a pleasant sense of power to set men trembling.

‘One of your knights has been slain in combat, my lord.’