The Conqueror Read Free

lord, in his boisterous humour, having brought several noble seigneurs along with him, and a great many servants.
    The lord Count bestrode a black stallion. He was a fine man, with close-knit limbs, and a small head set proudly on his neck. He wore a mantle of royal purple, clasped on his right shoulder with a large ouch of onyx. He carried his sword at his side, and his tunic, which showed where the mantle fell away, was red, purfled with a design dancetté. Gold bracelets, each more than an inch broad, encircled his arms. The hood of his mantle was thrown back, and his head was uncovered. His hair was cut short, Norman fashion, and was as black as a crow’s wing.
    He swung himself down from his horse, and Walter, who had knelt to receive him, jumped up to take the bridle. My lord Count clapped him on the shoulder in the familiar way he used toward men whom he trusted, and spoke a jovial word of greeting to Fulbert. Then he turned to the lords who had dismounted with him, and called out: – ‘Come, seigneurs, you shall see my fine son of whom I hear so much! In with you, fair cousin; I will promise you a right welcome.’ He caught the man he had addressed by the arm, and swept into the hall with him.
    The house seemed dark after the bright sunlight in the market-place. My lord Count halted on the threshold, blinking in the smoke of the fire, and looking about him for Herleva.
    She came to him with a quick step, and at once he let go his cousin’s arm, and gripped her round the waist, lifting her off her feet in his hardy embrace. Some soft lovers’ talk passed between them, too low to be heard by the men who stood behind the Count.
    ‘Lord, you shall see your son,’ Herleva said, and she took Count Robert by the hand, and led him to the cradle in the corner where the babe lay.
    Count Robert, whom men called the Magnificent, seemed to fill the hall with his splendour. His mantle brushed the rushes into little heaps as he passed, and the jewels on his arms glittered as the firelight caught them. Still holding Herleva’s hand he stood beside the cradle and looked down at the child of his begetting. There was some eagerness in his eyes, as he bent over the cradle, and a chain which he wore round his neck slipped forward, and dangled above the child. The babe stretched out clutching hands towards the treasure, and as though wondering whence it came he lifted his eyes to Count Robert’s face, and gave him back stare for stare. It was seen that the two pairs of eyes were much alike, and that the child had the same dogged look in his face that all the Norman Dukes had had as their birthright since the time of Rollo. A kinsman of the Count, young Robert, the son of the Count of Eu, whispered as much to the black-avised man at his elbow. This was William Talvas, Lord of Belesme. Talvas, peering over the Count’s shoulder at the child, muttered something that sounded like a curse, and upon young Robert of Eu looking at him in surprise, he tried to turn it off with a laugh, saying that he read hatred in the child’s eyes, and saw therein the ultimate ruin of his house. This did not seem very likely to young Robert, and he suspected that the Lord of Belesme had drunk too deeply of the barley-mead up at the Castle, for whereas the babe before them was a landless bastard, William Talvas held lands in France and in Normandy, and was accounted an ill man to cross. He looked so blankly that Talvas coloured, and moved away, himself scarcely understanding the meaning of his sudden outburst.
    Count Robert was delighted with his son. ‘Why, this is very bone of my bone!’ he said. He turned his head, and once more addressed the man whose arm he had taken outside. ‘Edward, tell me if I have not bred a noble son!’
    The Saxon Prince moved forward, and looked smilingly down at the babe. In contrast to these Normans he was very fair, with long, blond ringlets, and a pink complexion. His eyes were of northern blue, rather weak, but