In side the lodge, Alan spoke with Walter about the rider. "He looks very ill, sir, Philippe is with him, and we're not happy about his condition."

"Very well, Alan. I suppose I ought to go and see what he has to say," Giffard replied, as he tied his straps around his leggings. He looked upwards, his ears straining to hear the noise in the distance. Dogs barked, and horns began to blow. When Giffard approached Henry, it was with cold curiosity. Giffard waved Philippe away from the messenger, and Philippe strolled back to join Alan in the lodge.

Henry looked up at Giffard, and observed that he was not a tall man, but strong and stocky. His hair was blond and his eyes a soft light blue-gray.

"He's a messenger, alright." Philippe said as he looked back from the doorway "It looks as if he's come a long way, too. What's more, we ought to have brought him inside, and warmed him by the fire."

Alan shrugged his shoulders. "The man is all but dead, and the warmth of a fire wouldn't be of any help to him; you know that." Alan replied as he warmed his hands by the fire.

Philippe closed the door; then joined his brother by the fire. "You're right of course. It's too late for him, and I hope that the man is able to pass on his message, though he has a bag with a sealed clasp.

Outside, Giffard gazed down at the wretched soul before him. He nudged his boot, disturbing then man, who was still desperately trying to keep from falling asleep.

"Well, what is it you've come here for? Is it a message?" Giffard asked indignantly.

Henry tried to speak, but as before, the cold had once more taken its deadly grip on him. He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't do his bidding; he'd lost all feeling in them.

"In God's name, man, what is it?" Giffard demanded, dearly irritated with the man's lack of instant cooperation. Giffard held him by his tunic, pulling him close, almost nose to nose. Giffard realized that the messenger's physical exhaustion was total, and he allowed Henry to sit back down.

"King Edward is dead, sir. On King Edward's death, Harold Godwinson took the crown, and was enthroned on the very same day as the funeral of the old king." Henry said.

Giffard was astounded and visibly stunned at this news. Thinking fast, he knew he had to tell Duke William, but how? Giffard looked at the poor, wretched man thoughtfully, and placed his hand on the man's shoulder and saw that the messenger was now barely conscious and desperately fighting to stay alive. His thoughts turned to how William would react when he received the information.

"Harold Godwinson is now King of England! Stay right where you are, and I will come back for you. You must tell the duke exactly what you have just told me. Exactly; got it?"

"Yes, sire, exactly." Henry replied groggily, his eyes began rolling, looking to hide behind his eyelids. His head slumped down onto his chest, and he fell asleep.

Giffard walked briskly towards his horse, and was visibly shaking and was barely able to mount his horse. At last, he set himself onto the saddle and geed up his mount. With trepidation in his heart, he rode off into the hunting grounds to find Duke William. In the distance he could hear the hounds barking, and it was not long before he saw them chasing the duke's quarry through to a clearing towards where William would be waiting to kill his deer.

Giffard caught sight of the Duke, who was standing behind a tree with a crossbow and made sure the duke had killed his deer before going anywhere near him.

As the deer fell before him, Duke William heard Giffard, who was some way behind, call to him.

"William! William! News! News!" Giffard called at the top of his lungs.

Duke William Forkbeard was aged twenty-nine years and stood taller than any man in the dukedom. His body was supple, of solid rippling muscle. To his enemies, he was known as William, the Bastard. His bright red hair was always in disarray giving him a wild look. He sported untamed sideburns, an unkempt red beard, and bright piercing blue eyes that would turn a man to stone at a mere glance from him. He was a cunning, murderous man, with a temper that would have put the fear of God into God!

William mounted his steed and looked towards Walter Giffard, who was waving to catch his attention. With a puzzled look, he rode hard towards him. "What the hell is going on, Giffard? This had better be good, or by God I'll have you stripped and whipped!" William said, staring at Giffard demanding an explanation.

"You must follow me, William. A messenger has news of the greatest importance."

William sat upright, and looked about him, and beckoned with his arm toward his retinue that they should follow.

"This had better be the best news I have ever heard, Walter, because I was having the finest hunt I have had in months. So, you'd better tell me; what is it?"

"A messenger from England, he has news of the greatest concern and needs to tell you from his own lips." Giffard replied hoping the wrath from William would fall on anyone but him.

William glanced at Giffard with a hardness he reserved only for fools and rogues. "You know something, Walter Giffard. You're thoughts reek of pig piss. Now; tell me; where is this messenger?"

"Yonder, about five hundred paces; follow me; he is exhausted from his journey." Giffard turned his horse about, and William followed cantering a few paces behind. Coming into the clearing Giffard saw the messenger just as he'd left him, and the messenger was seemingly asleep. To the messenger's side was his mailbag. Giffard approached the messenger and shook his shoulder to awaken the man, but Henry fell to one side, lifeless.

Giffard froze. He felt faint. What was he to do now? Walter looked up at William, and panic gripped him as he felt his stomach muscles tighten. He could handle anything, but this was something he had never trained for.

"Oh, my God, he's dead!" Giffard exclaimed. His legs began to shake, his mind racing. What, he thought, am I to do now? Giffard picked up the messenger's mailbag and gave it to William, but William tossed the bag back to him.

He saw the duke glare back at him, for William was illiterate and Giffard knew it, too.

"You'd better open the bag Walter. After all, what is the point of paying a monkey if you have to do all the work yourself?" William's frown changed to a smile; the duke then chuckled; then winked at Giffard.

"It's sealed. My Lord. Look, the seal is unbroken," Giffard replied holding up the bag. Giffard broke the seal, opened the bag, and took out the contents, guessing what it would read. Giffard sensed that his nervousness was now becoming acutely visible to the duke.

William could see Giffard's posture and suspected he knew the contents of the letter.

"You know what it says; don't you, Walter?" William barked, his eyes narrowing to a frown.

"The bag was sealed, William, and the letter has a seal, too. Look, it's intact." Walter lifted the letter to show his master, his arm shaking violently. Thinking he would now be whipped, Giffard moved a pace or two backward keeping well out of range.

"Well, you'd better read the contents, then," William ordered becoming irritated.

Giffard gingerly broke the second seal and unrolled the parchment, his mind working overtime, knowing that William would explode; and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of his master's fury. Visibly shaking he managed to read the message. "Out loud, sire?" Giffard asked, politely, as if he needed to ask.

"Yes, out loud! Well, let's have the news. What does the letter say, man?" William demanded, impatiently.

Giffard sensed William was becoming more irritable by the second. As he looked at the words, his mind raced to make sense of the contents, wondering how he could soften the blow of this momentous message he held in his grasp. He felt the sweat run down his cheeks making him feel uncomfortable. The palms of his hands became tacky, and he took in a deep breath, but it made no difference.

"To...to my noble Lord, William. I have to inform you that our gradous King Edward, whom God gave us... so... so...so did God take from us on this the fifth day of January, in...in...in the twenty-fourth year of his reign." Giffard gulped for more air, desperate to compose himself. He felt the warm, yet horrid trickle of urine run down his left leg. William's eyes lit up. His face beamed a grin that would have made the top of his head fall off if the edges had met. Giffard crossed himself and whispered a short prayer imder his breath. "How on earth," he thought, "am I going to relay the rest of the message's contents?"

"Edward is dead. Then we must make haste to England. Giffard, we must go prepare ourselves for a coronation," William said jovially.

Giffard threw a hesitant look towards his master; he stammered as he searched for the words he knew would make the duke explode. He knew that William would never be able to contain his anger so fierce, that Giffard feared the sun and would run and hide from the duke.

"M... my. Lord, there is more," Giffard blurted wondering if this was to be his last day on earth. This was something he had not experienced before. His imagination began to take control; he saw himself burning at a stake, the flames licking at his legs, when he was startled abruptly, back to reality.

"What do you mean; more!" William asked quizzically, leaning forward, as if hard of hearing.

Giffard felt faint; he really wanted not to be there any longer.

"Giffard!" William roared. "What else is there I should know? Come on, spit it out!" Giffard looked at his feet, and with a stammering voice, Giffard exclaimed. "Harold Godwinson has been crowned King of England, my lord."

William's face turned bright blue, and his surge of anger, made everyone near him back away for fear the duke would lash out and kill.

Giffard ran to the bushes, as his legging filled with a wetness unusual for him, and hid out of sight, leaving his mount to trot off into the woods, where it stopped and grazed.

William's eyes bulged, and the muscles in his face began to pulsate. He began huffing and puffing as the saliva was forced from between his teeth. A deep gurgling sound came from his throat until he at last was able to articulate the words his brain forced through his vocal chords.

"BY THE BLACK BALLS OF LUCIFER, I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE, GODWINSON! I WILL TAN THE HIDE OFF YOUR BODY, AND ALIVE; I WILL BOIL YOUR BLOODIED BODY IN TAR!"

If Harold Godwinson could not hear this promise, the rest of the world surely did! William was so enraged that his horse tried to bolt from under him. William took control of the reins and brought the horse once more imder his control, then tirrning in his saddle, looked about for any sign of Walter Giffard.

"Where the hell is Walter Giffard? GIFFARD!" William bellowed, whilst looking about for and not seeing any sign of him until Giffard crawled out from behind the bush he had hidden in some moments before and showed himself to William, who pointed to Engenulf- of-Laigle, a companion of many years.

"Engenulf, I want you and the Domfront brothers to inform Matilda. Tell her that the household is to be made ready for our immediate return," William ordered.

Engenulf beckoned toward Alan and Philippe to follow him, and without a word, Alan and Philippe each mounted a horse, and the three men then rode off in the direction of the castle.

William watched the riders receding for a moment and turned to Giffard. "Walter, you stay by my side; is that understood?"

Giffard nodded and re mounted his horse.

William turned his horse about, and the rest of his retinue followed him back to the hunting lodge to change horses at the stables.

On their journey to the castle, Engenulf looked at Philippe, smiling broadly. "You two reprobates have joined our merry band at just the right moment. It would seem we are in for a fun time, Philippe."

Alan looked confused and leaned towards Engenulf, eagerly wanting to have his curiosity satisfied. "Tell me, Engenulf, what the hell was all that about? I've never seen Giffard so frightened in all the time I have been here. He's a tough neck, but heck, he pissed himself when the boss raged. Are you going to tell us what went on? You were the nearest to him."

"What do you know of England, where the Saxons live?" Engenulf asked.

"Philippe and I have been there only once, and then only for a couple of days. Their king is called Edward, other than that, not much else. Why do you ask, Engenulf?" Alan replied.

"Not to put too fine a judgment on it, Alan: William was promised the English crown when King Edward died. It looks like one of his top earls has taken the crown for himself. So there may be some arse to be kicked when William decides he needs to collect his due reward." Alan looked across at Philippe, who, in return, looked back, shrugging his shoulders. Philippe drew his horse nearer to Engenulf, their legs almost touching as they cantered along the muddy road back to the castle.

"So, what happens now then?" Philippe asked, looking intrigued. "I've no idea, Philippe," Engenulf replied shrugging his shoulders, and pulling a face. "As William's bodyguards, we will, no doubt, be required to accompany him to England while he endeavors to wrestle his throne from whoever has it. I doubt it will mean a fight or anything, just a matter of a hand-over of power, I should think. It's quite normal for someone to step in to look after the place when the king dies until the rightful heir is able to return from wherever he is."

"Who has control until then?" Philippe had a look of intrigued excitement about him.

"Harold Godwinson. It seems he may have overstepped his boundaries somewhat."

"You mean he has taken the crown for himself, and made himself king?"

"That's about the size of it, Philippe. Though, between you and me, he'll give it up when Duke William comes to claim his rightful position. As for Harold, I quite like the man. He has balls, and is very clever, too. He was on an expedition with us when we had to quell an uprising in the south, not so long back. My guess is that their council has just put him in charge of things for a while. I don't think he's really been crowned king or anything like that," Engulf looked quite confident in his evaluation of the situation and gave a smug grin.

"But the duke blew his top. What was all that about?" Alan asked curiously.

"It's his way; he's always doing that. I would pay little attention to it." Engulf said as the trio approached the castle gates, in time to see them opening before them, and they entered the courtyard. As they dismounted, three stable boys took their horses and began to unsaddle and feed their steeds.

"I'd better go seek out Matilda, and tell her what I know, and keep my head down; she can be fiery, too, you know. You two can go and get yourselves rested for awhile if you like."

"It's a warm fire we need, Engenulf. But I'm sure Alan and I will find sufficient warmth, once we get to the kitchens and fill our bellies," Philippe replied waving towards his colleague as Engenulf strolled off in the direction where Matilda held court.

Engenulf walked briskly to the duke's private quarters and made his entrance into the anti-chamber, to be greeted by Matilda, Duke William's long suffering wife.

"My lady, there is news King Edward is dead. Earl Harold has been crown king; and my master will soon be approaching the castle, and I need to brief you in full all that has been said by a messenger sent from England," Engenulf said, trying to find a line that would not upset her, too much.

"I hope that I'm not to lose my husband to yet another campaign. My husband nearly died once, Engenulf. I almost lost him to the worst enemy of all, 'illness'. However, he did recover, but not before being given the last rites by his chaplain." She placed her hand upon the young man's arm and smiled warmly at this trusted servant. Engenulf smiled and nodded lightly; he understood well enough.

"Thank you, Engenulf; you look like you could do with a hot bath and a good meal; go to one of the chambers to rest, Jenny will see to your requirements," she said as she motioned to a maid to escort Engenulf to a room.

Matilda strode over to, and looked out from, a window high above the courtyard. She carried her twenty-eight years very well. Her body constantly pregnant and rounded, yet not fat. Her large, voluptuous breasts gave the impression that they started from her midriff and ended just short of the base of the short stub of her neck. She had a round face, a small, petite nose, and bright red hair. She was small, almost a midget, unlike her father, Baldwin, Count-of-Flanders, who was as tall as William.

Matilda was the mother of three of the twenty or so children playing in the courtyard. Devoted to them as she was, she was stern, almost to the point of cruelty. She knew only too well that they must learn to stand on their own two feet, for their father had many enemies, and they were in constant danger of kidnapping. She recalled their father, William, had been the victim of a couple of rather touch-and-go abduction attempts when he was just a small boy. He made sure that Matilda kept a careful watch on them at all times.

Robert, the eldest, was quite a handsome child, a happy go-lucky-boy of thirteen years with a strong physique and bright blue eyes who was always running away and hiding and avoiding confrontation. Richard was a shy eleven year old and was physically an underdeveloped child. Being a careful person, he avoided anyone with an illness for fear he would catch it and die of some ague. William Junior was six years of age. He was a strong, but thin boy with coloring like his parents, but much redder in complexion. The capillaries on his face stood out and spread like roots of a plant. His brothers took every opportunity to remind William that he was a red face or Rufus.

Matilda thought of her daughters and of those that she'd lost shortly after childbirth, and a tear for he dead children occasionally took her by surprise. Today was to be no exception, for she named each of her dear departed before they were buried. She crossed herself and mumbled each of their names as she strode into her bedchamber.

Jenny, Matilda's personal maid, walked into the bedchamber, where she put the clean linen in fine cedar chests, carved with animal designs and intertwining ribbons like snakes.

Matilda swiveled about, and she noticed Jenny with an arm full of linen. "Go and collect the children, and bring them here, Jenny," Matilda ordered.

Jenny bowed her head submissively. "Yes, ma'am. Will that be all, my lady?" the girl asked. Matilda nodded and strode over to another window giving her yet another commanding view, then waved her arm, sending Jenny from the room.

Matilda's thoughts were of William, her yoimgest son. Thinking aloud was a trait Matilda had possessed from childhood, "I must see to it that he is taken care of now that Harold has been crowned king. That means that William will make plans to invade England. Their father may die in battle; if the boys have no father then it is I who must rule the dukedom of Normandy against the wolves, securing the dukedom for Robert until he comes of age. Oh, William. Do we really need England? Do we really not have enough?"

Her thoughtful musing was broken by the noise of movement and voices in the courtyard below. She looked down once more to see Jenny walking below, gathering the three boys while the other children were being ushered away to play outside the boundary wall. Deep in thought, she mused to herself, "I must ask William for permission to send young William to be educated away from Normandy, where he will be safe from harm, should calamity befall us."

She thought on William's expected reactions to this request, but she hoped that he really would not mind. He nearly always granted her every desire, but this was a little different. He often took the boys hunting with him; and he trained them in the art of warfare himself. From the hall, she could hear her boys running up the stairway, and the calls from Jenny to be careful.

"Not so fast masters; please, not so fast!" William was first through the door.

"Mother, Robert has killed fifteen men with one blow from his sword!"

"Did he now?" Matilda replied with a smile so wide that she could hardly control her delight at their playfulness.

"Well, it's only pretend fighting. We just made up a game that we invaded Main, and the occupants were too frightened to come out. So we went in and slaughtered the mayor and his retinue until the townspeople surrendered the town to us," Robert replied in a matter of fact tone.

"You have your father's cunning, Robert." Matilda smiled as she patted the boy's head.

"Indeed, no. Mother; for it was William's idea. He thought up the plan; he is very good at that sort of thing, you know."

"Is he now? Well let us see how good your cunning is in class. Your tutor has been here for over an hour, so you had better make your way to your rooms for schooling, my boys. Jenny, see to it they wash and are clean of clothing before they go to their tutor. Go on, boys; off you go, and be courteous to the tutor."

"Yes, Mother," said the boys in unison, and off they went with Jenny in hot pursuit. An hour later, the soimd of horses came to Matilda's ear as she looked out to see her husband and his entourage slowly approaching the gates of the great castle. William rode slightly behind with two knights leading the way.

"Open the gates!" came the call from below. The men who manned the gates pulled on the great wheel, which drew the ropes that, in turn, pulled the great gate open. William entered, along with thirty or so men-at-arms. The smell of horses and the steam of sweating horseflesh always made Matilda feel nauseous. She looked away, and made her way to the Great Hall two floors below to await her husband. Calling the servants together, Matilda ordered them to ensure the fires were well stacked and cauldrons hot. The cooks were set to feed the men-at-arms and the livery boys sent to see the horses stabled. Her orders were always obeyed to the letter and at once.

"Jenny, make sure there is plenty of hot water in the master's bedchamber. Be quick about it, girl; the master will want to bathe the moment he comes through the door." Jenny curtsied respectfully and made her way to the duke's bedchamber, taking with her several under- maids to do the bidding of their mistress.

Shivering from the cold, William and Giffard entered the great hall. William threw away his gloves to land unceremoniously onto the floor. They walked straight towards the great open fireplace, roaring with a wood fire that crackled and spat. The fire's warmth was the most welcoming feeling to the two men as they rubbed their hands and stamped their feet. William spoke in a soft but meaningful tone as he warmed his hands.

"If it had been anyone else, Walter, I would have torn out their throats for giving such news. As soon as summer is upon us and we have the necessary men, material, and ships, we'll be on our way to England. Gilbert, the Bishop of Lisieux, is ready to be off within the next few hours to see the pope. He's writing the letter giving full details; he has a full clerical entourage, and will leave tonight."

"You don't hang about, William. Do you think the pope will give us leave and money for the venture?" Giffard asked.

"He will. He knows there are riches in it for him when we take England. The greedy toad won't turn down a chance to get his hands on a fortune. Such an investment would yield him more than a fair return, Walter." William's nose wrinkled. "What the hell is that smell? It's you, Walter, you stink of piss! Jesus, go stand over there, or change those leggings or something." The duke watched as Walter dutifully moved out of reach of William's nose.

"I'm sorry, William. I pissed myself back there. You know-- full bladder and all that, the excitement of the moment, too, of course."

"The fear of my wrath, more like. Well, see you get bathed and changed. You just stay where you are for the time being," replied William, who was now happily warming himself by the blazing fire. He gazed up towards the wooden beams, contemplating his next move.

"We will invade England and knock the usurping swine off of his ivory tower, Walter."

"You jest, of course? You don't have the resources for such an invasion, surely; even with the help of the pope," Giffard replied, wishing he could be close enough to gain some of the fire's warmth.

William glanced at him, smiled, and threw him a sly wink. "I will, soon enough, Walter. Messages were sent out before we left the hunting grounds, whilst you were hiding from my rage. Don't worry, Walter, I fully understood. I would have killed the next man who'd spoken-- be it my father, mother, or whoever. I was so enraged, but you were only delivering the message; I understand that."

"Well, you can be a bit drastic, William. Impulse was always your way, since we were boys." Giffard said. Giffard was William's only true friend, and the only person on the planet who understood the great and ferodous duke.

"I know that I can get a bit hot at times, Walter, but heck, the place is full of idiots and fools of every kind; they drive one's patience to distraction. What with those dever bloody clergy, and their clever bloody scribes who look down upon me because I can't get a grasp of reading and writing. Scribes with quill pens never won a battle, Walter. Only brave men win battles, not bloody quill pens," William said, with an indignant tone. "If they knew what I had to contend with as a child, they might just understand," William said noticing Giffard smirk.

"Don't mock me, Walter. For sure I will kill you stone dead if you do! I will be your king one day, very soon. So if you value your position, you had better secure your mouth."

"Hey, steady on, William. I was just thinking of all those clergy and scribes lined up for battle, ready to throw quills at the enemy, and to be honest, I nearly laughed at the idea. No more than that, I assure you. One day, though, some scribe will write a great book all about your great adventure. So you can't put them all down."

William looked at Giffard, his nose wrinkled at the stink emanating from his urine-stained friend. "Well, it's not a good time, Walter. I'm a king now; I need time to prepare to gather my thoughts about my kingdom. You're getting too close again, Walter. Now, get out of my sight; go and bathe; you stink of piss. Rex illiteratus asinus coronatus, Walter thought.

"Before you go and bathe, what think you of the two new boys?" asked William, inquisitively.

"You mean the Domfront brothers, Alan and Philippe? To be honest, William, they are very bright. It's why the monk, Cecil, hired them when we were recruiting in Caen. Philippe has had full training with the French king, and has passed this training on to his brother. They will be an asset to us I'm sure of that. Philippe, especially, can give commands and never needs telling twice. His brother, Alan, speaks good English. He will be useful, too." William stared at Giffard, nodded his head and held his fingers to his nose.

"For the third time, are you going to get rid of the smell of piss, or what, Walter?" Giffard smiled and turned to leave, passing Matilda as he did so, smiled, and walked on.

Matilda crossed the great hall to greet her husband, smiling and with her arms out- stretched. "My dear husband, you're looking a little pensive. We need to talk about your plans for England. But first, you need to bathe and eat, as you bid Walter. Your bath has all been prepared, and we can talk about your plans later my dear."

"My sweet plum, we have no plans to invade as yet, but they will come together as the weeks go by. Godwinson should have been dead weeks ago. It looks like my man, Eumer, messed up. Be assured, my love. I will come to no harm. I can see in your eyes that you are concerned for my welfare. Think positively, Matilda. We will soon have a kingdom for our children to inherit, with power and riches beyond your imagination. You will be a queen, my dear."

"The price for all this... is?" Matilda asked standing, staring at him with her arms crossed.

"What do you mean, price? There will only be war if Godwinson refuses to relinquish my throne."

"William, many good men will die. Some of them will be your closest friends. Do you wish this fate on your associates, just so that you can be King of England? Don't we have enough, my dear?" Matilda's eyes had a pleading but resigned look about them. "If you're so determined to have a kingdom of your own, think on. You're powerful enough to declare Normandy a kingdom, separate from France. The defense of our territory would be far easier than mounting an expedition to England."

"No, my love, it doesn't quite work like that. The pope would back the French king, Phillip. As Baldwin is his man, he could be very persuasive. He would, likely as not, offer the pope half of Normandy, if he sided with him and won against us. We would lose through force of numbers against us, Matilda. No, England is a good land, and rich, too. We could take it easily with the pope's money and his blessing. Godwinson will be hard pushed to defend England, if I could make certain alliances to split his forces. After all, even Harold Godwinson can't be in two places at once, my sweet little plum." William rubbed his hands together, smiled and winked at her.

"You have a scheme brewing, William. I can smell it."

"Indeed I do, my love, indeed I do," William said grinning; his natural cunning was once more showing signs of re-emergence. "Come here, my petite wife, I feel a little...."

Matilda stopped him with her finger to his lips. "Not before you have bathed. I could smell your odor from the courtyard." She strolled away, looking back over her shoulder, a romantic glint in her eyes.