England fell into the lethargy of late winter and early spring. Farmers were marking time awaiting the drying land. It was a time for chores that had been put off—cleaning stables and barnyards, fixing doors, gates and fences, fencing or fixing hedges or sitting on the south side of the building contemplating new life and growth. It was a time of beginning and birth as lambs gamboled about the ewes.

Not so for Harold. With each day of spring, the sun raced across the sky higher and higher. Weather was improving and The Channel, that hundred mile moat, had been almost serene for a week. April sixteenth was Easter Sunday. The Lenten season ended and the Truce of God was over. Chivalrous war lords all over Europe were freed from their oaths of non conflict. Knight[s] fell on the land and Harold was certain Normandy would fall on England. Plans must be made.

Edward had been so intent on the Abbey that there was no navy. Robert de Mortain had found only three ships in Portsmouth harbor. There was the Treaty of Cinque Ports that had been negotiated to provide vessels when the Crown needed assistance. The five towns gained autonomy by agreeing to provide Edward’s navy. Harold would call on the marine merchants of Sandwich, Dover, Hythe, Romney and Hastings to provide fifteen days free service and a fixed rate on any additional time. This was not a fighting navy: this was a transportation navy. Ships of the day lacked maneuverability. Without keel design limited their sailing direction to the whim of the wind. Opposing enemy fleets would therefore be sailing on more or less parallel routes and never meet. Some ships propelled by sweeps could have met, but the chance of meeting on the ocean or even the hundred miles between Normandy and Kent had odds that were staggering. Naval warfare would have to wait for the Elizabethan era.

“Why do you want ships, Harold?”

“Leofwine, I am your brother and friend and my court is very relaxed. However, henceforth, you will refer to me as King or Sire for the sake of the rest of our associates.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Ships, my Brother, are the fastest way to transport troops. Let us suppose we amass ten thousand men at Dover to repel invasion, and Normandy lands at Bognor Regis. How far inland would the Normans be before we marched ten thousand men from Dover? Do you see what I mean, Leofwine?”

“Yes, certainly, Sire.”

“So, when we call up the fyrd where will we encamp them? Gyrth?”

“I’d make camp near Brighton, Sire. That would be halfway of the beaches of the south and we could move either way.”

“What if they land further west?” a house carl asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well the winds of summer prevail from the west. How do we sail our army east to west?”

“R-r-r-ight!” Gyrth saw the folly of Brighton, “Well let’s ask a sailor. Godric?”

Godric, a law unto himself on the sea, was abashed by the great lords of the land. “My Lords, Sire” he began with reddened face and gulping throat. “the best place for a fleet of transport would be the Isle of Wight.”

Harold was pleased for that had been his idea. “Why, Godric?”

“Well, Sire, once we have the men loaded and sails set we can be in any Channel port within the day. We could put you ashore a safe distance from the beach head of any invaders. We could put you ashore in the defensive position of your choosing or we could put you ashore on either side of the enemy and you could close like a crab’s pincher.” And he squeezed an imaginary foe in his huge fist.

“Godric, that is a brilliant summation. You must excuse landlubbers that we are here. I would like you to work with Gyrth to plan the transport of up to five thousand men. Be prepared to answer the problems of supply. Food, water, lodging and sanitation will be conundrums you must face.”

“What will you do about our, in fact, your land of the south?” Leofwine questioned.

“Let us suppose we had another five thousand men encamped along the coast, Dover to Bournemouth. If we kept them in small groups they wouldn’t put too much stress on the surrounding country-side for food and water.” suggested Harold.

“We would need a signal system, Dover to Bournemouth too—some quick way to amass our forces at the point of Norman attack.” Leofwine suggested. “Something like signal fires hilltop to hilltop—a system of flags maybe. It would have lightning speed along the south coast. If you had to ride a horse it would take two or three days.”
“Good idea, Brother! This is going better than I expected. We are searching for foolproof remember. With your ideas I see a small elite force meeting the enemy head on in a delaying tactical retreat. Meanwhile, the mainland army will be converging on the enemy spearhead. The seaborne troops will be landing behind the enemy lines. In a perfect battle we will be before them and behind them. Gentlemen, this can work!

But, extraneous details can upset the best laid plans—weather, wind, misunderstanding, the enemy’s plan, the time, the availability of forces. Albeit, the Normans will also face these inconsistencies and we must minimize the inconsistencies effect on us.”

“Let’s divide the necessities into individual assignments, Sire, as many hands make light work.”

“Very well. Godric, alert the Cinque Port Confederation. They must be ready at the end of the Lenten season. They will be called upon to transport up to five thousand men and supplies to the Isle of Wight. This may be a forty day assignment of vessels.

Leofwine, you seem to understand the need for an early warning system better than anyone of us. Will you map out the posts and the method of transport for messages Dover to the Isle of Wight. We will select our signal men later from the troops stationed along the coast.

Gyrth, we will call out the fyrd in the south Dover to Bournemouth. We will keep the peasants in reserve at present. Take a thousand of my professional soldiers, the house carls, and break them up into equal units along the coast. They will appeal to the local thanes for their annual service. Let us aim for May Day. I don’t expect the Normans can be ready any sooner than that.

I will canvas the rest of the south Bournemouth to Land’s End for the army of Celts and Britons. They’d rather fight than eat. With the other house carls we’ll transport them to Wight as our counter attack force.”

“What of the Midlands, Sire?”

“We may need them, but for the present we’ll rely on my thanes for the original plan and initial defense. Once our plan is in motion, we will bring the north in for their voluntary service.”

“Batards!! I’ll kill them all! Refuse me will they! William strode back and forth waving his arms, drawing his sword, slashing with his knife. He looked a beserker in the killing frenzy. The council stayed out of his way. After a half hour of rant, anger is hard to sustain after that, he became calmer. William fitz Osbern decided it was time to talk before the Duke had a stroke.

“My Lord?”

“WHAT!”

“My Lord, we suspected this may happen. Now we must go to our alternate plan.”

“Yes.”

“Now, My Lord, we will bring them, the counts of Normandy, before you one at a time. Then you can wheedle, cajole, threaten or convince them of their duty to their Liege and to Normandy.”

“They are still HERE?”

“Of course, My Lord. I forbade them to leave.”

“Thank you, Count William. At least one of us kept his head. When they laughed, I was ready to annihilate them. And I still may. Nom de chein!”

“Duke William, tomorrow will be a different story. In a matter of wills I would bet on you every time.”
“Certainment! Still, we must make a tacit threat. Bring them all to the castle. Roger, have every knight in hauberk coif and helmet. All will carry their crusader swords and line the entrance. Have those two young giants—the Trivett boys—on either side of that door. They are not to utter one word in strict adherence to ‘Attention’. Have the infantry and archers on the wall half guarding in, half guarding out. I want these ‘piece de marde’ impressed, frightened out of their little jovial minds. I’ll change some of their plans or they’ll hang from the battlements.

“And they know you can do it, My Lord.”

“Robert, you handle the garrison. Odo and William, you handle our craven counts. Ten a.m. without fail. By the way, keep the ones I interview separated from those waiting. I don’t want any collusion. Escort every one of them individually on the road home.”

“Yes, My Lord,”

As the early April sun warmed the courtyard the Counts of Normandy were marched between two solid rows of fully armed and armored knights. When they looked to the walls, alert archers, long bow and cross bow, observed their every move. The only intimidation missing was one of their number hung naked by the heels from the parapet.

One at a time they were ushered into the council chamber by Robert de Mortain. The matching door jambs—the Knights Trivett—made a lasting impression as Will had substituted his crusader for an English battle axe, an executioner’s blade. Inside sat Duke William and fitz Osbern. Osbern was merely a secretary recorder. Why were Lisa and two of the Duke’s younger children playing on the floor of the room—a psychological ploy? Sometimes the Duke, sometimes Lisa, which was disconcerting, asked the first question. “How many men are you committing to our force?” In most cases, cowed, they answered positively and were dismissed quickly by another door. The unmoved wished to argue, but William stared them down. They left well aware of the term autocracy. Only Caen offered great resistance. He was an old man who didn’t scare easily. How could you use death as a threat with someone in God’s waiting room? Greyed and crippled with arthritis he answered, “ My Lord, I have assessed your position and listed the pros and cons of an invasion.

First, let’s consider the pros:

You have three obscure and maybe assinine reasons to invade; the death of Albert, the Norman expulsion, and the Duke of Boulogne’s degradation. Frankly, none of them mean anything to Normans of today.

You have two good reasons to wage war. Edward’s unproven promise of the Throne and Harold’s oath of fealty which may have been obtained under duress.

Now regard the cons of the invasion:

There is a twenty-five thousand man army prepared and waiting .

There is a competent general in command.

There is a force that Viking beserkers fear to test.

You have your own highly trained central force and a conglomeration of uncommitted outsiders.

You have a dangerous method of transportation never attempted in the history of warfare. It is also an inconsistent supply line dependent on the weather.

You have an unpredictable sea, unpredictable weather, and unpredictable winds.

You have vessels built by landlubbers of Normandy and sailed by fishermen who never venture a league from shore.

You will leave Normandy defenseless from proven greedy enemies awaiting a chance to attack.

Not even the church is on your side.

The prize you are after is hardly worth the effort—this little piece of chalk and dirt. And what you will do with the people—assimilate them or destroy them. Assimilation has never been successful. The Romans in four hundred years couldn’t assimilate the Gauls. In destruction the streets will run with blood and be advised that much of it will be yours.

Nothing is driving you but aspects of the seven deadly sins most likely the sin of angels—Pride!

Pride goeth before a fall, William, Duke of Normandy.”

“Your answer Caen?”

“I will provide the 10 knights, not out of fear for my own life. I would just prevent bloodshed on my estates for I have seen the results of opposition to you in Anjou, Maine and Brittany. Have your young giant outside the door behead me, but spare the people of my estates.”

“You are brave, Old Man. I don’t usually kill for expressions of bravery. Send your men forthwith to Odo, Bishop of Caen. Dismissed.”

The old fellow straightened and proudly turned and made his way to the door. He turned once again. “If you will strip Normandy of defenses you’d better negotiate a non-aggression treaty with our neighbors.” He disappeared through the oaken door.

“Silly odd man!”

“No fitz Osbern, he has fingered an overlooked problem. We must contain our neighbors. And, one ongoing unfinished business with the Pope. With our counts more or less in line, we had better create some fences with the neighbors. Tell the men to stand down as soon as Caen clears Rouen.

Thomas and Will were the first placed at ease. “What in hell were we supposed to be, Will?”

“I think we were the big stick.”

“What?”

“You know, when you face a mad dog you need a big stick. Well, that’s what we were , two big sticks of warning to a group of recalcitrant counts.”

“So, now we can count on the counts”

“Thomas, that’s a lousy pun!”

“I know. But things are getting better at home. Jo-Anne seems much stronger.”

“Much bigger too?”

“Not too big as yet, but now she is putting on weight.”

“Good. You two look after my nephew.”

“How do you know it will be a nephew?”

“A big clod like you should be able to give the baby the right fittings.”

Will ducked, but didn’t miss all of the blow Thomas aimed at his back. The two laughing brothers made for Cook’s kitchen after the lengthy time on sentry. Will had soon talked his second mother into relinquishing some of the food destined for that night’s supper in the castle. Thomas ate hurriedly.

“What’s your rush?”

“I’ve got to see mother, Will. It looks like things are warming up. We are going to invade England and I can’t leave a pregnant wife alone. I want to ask mother to stay with Jo-Anne if we are called for active service.”

“Good idea, Brother. Those two are very close.”

“Right, they chatter away like two magpies.”

“Good luck.” and Thomas waved as he strode out the door with his shed armor.

Mary waited in her favorite chair on the sunny side of the house for the visit. She knew one of her children was coming. Was it the umbilical cord or a taut string? ‘It’s Thomas.’ She thought and proof

of her surmise turned into the Trivett lane. He stepped out of the saddle and leapt the tiny fence and caught his mother in his arms.

“Don’t swing me about , Thomas. I’m getting too old.” But, she didn’t refuse his fierce hug.

“Mother, I love you.”

“And I you, Thomas. I’ve been waiting for you since noon.”

“But, I just decided to come an hour ago!”

“No Thomas, you decided yesterday.”

They spent a half hour in tidbits of family information, the outlook for 1066 and their day to day duties, but the crux of their conversation skirted the major issue. Finally, “How’s Jo-Anne?” asked Mary.

“Mother, she had a terrible time with morning sickness. I was very worried. She did her best to allay my fears, but I got her a village girl to assist her.”

“Good.”

“But, Mother, I’m on tenter hooks. We are rushing down hill to war. I have to spend more and more time with my duties for Duke William.”

“Yes.”

“Mother, could you come and stay with Jo-Anne? I’ll keep the girl to assist you both, but I’m so worried while I’m away from her and Will says ‘his nephew’”

“I too am worried about her, Thomas, but have you asked Jo-Anne?”

“No, not yet.”

“She may not want a bossy old mother-in-law under foot.”

“One thing about Jo-Anne, Mother, she’d tell me right away if she balked at the idea.”

“You ask her, Son. I’ll not be hurt if she says no. When I was first married, I wouldn’t have asked for help from my mother Trivett.”

Thomas actually escaped without having to eat anything. He kissed Mary, hugged her and thanked her quietly. He swung up on Easy Walker and headed for Trivett cottage and his glowing pregnant bride.

Thomas, like Mary, was blessed or cursed with a touch of sixth sense too. He knew his time in their snug cottage was limited. He saw himself on the road and dreamed of strange lands. He and Jo-Anne barely had time for intimacy or discussion. They enjoyed a night of tender love-making. Thomas initiated his tentative plan for Jo-Anne’s care that he approached like a husband of twenty years. “ I am worried about Mother all alone at the vineyard. I don’t know how she is coping without Father.”

“Thomas, maybe she would like to stay with me for a while.” Jo-Anne assured him she didn’t need it, but would be glad to have Mary with her. Jo-Anne thought it might be a pleasant holiday for her mother-in-law. Joan, Jo-Anne and Mary would be a trio of hens around the Trivett clutch of one. Thomas couldn’t believe how his little plan worked. He was proud of this sleight of ‘tongue’ which he didn’t have time to appreciate.

By noon, Sir Richard and brother-in-law John were in the yard and Thomas knew it was not a social call.

“Thomas, we are off on another extended trip with the Duke. He plans on visiting many of the aristocracy of France. Our troops are his escort.”

“Damn! I hate to leave Jo-Anne at a time like this. John, could you take the horse and wagon and bring my mother here for a visit? I’ve made arrangements for her here. I’ll see her on my way to Rouen, but I’m certain she knows already.”

“I’ll go first thing tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Brother.” John smiled at the personal touch. “I never asked when we have to report?”

“As usual, he wants us there yesterday. I’ll be back in an hour and ride with you.”

“Very well, Father.” Richard liked that.

Sir Rupert and Sir William were assigned to the castle for this exercise much to the delight of Will. Who should come with her father, but Elizabeth, who would join Duchess Matilda’s attendees. Robert de Mortain, Bishop Odo, and William fitz Osbern were to accompany Duke William and the troops led by Sir Richard. The retainers were just that. The Duke didn’t want anyone to construe them as an invasionary force. A messenger was sent off before them to warn of the impending visit. Without fanfare the travelling companions rode north to the Normandy/ Picardy border.

Picardy was between a rock and a hard place. The rock was south of them in Normandy and the hard place was twenty-one miles across the English Channel. Retaliatory strikes may come from either the west or the south. They wished to remain neutral. Which way was the wind going to blow? That there was no commitment of men was not a surprise to Normandy. What he needed was a treaty of nonagression while he was involved with the armada to England, Picardy was willing to grant that in light of his larger neighbor.

Artois was in the same position as Picardy and agreed to remain neutral in the upcoming conflict. Further north the mission rode. This was their most enthusiastic welcome. Duke de Boulogne who controlled Flanders was still smarting over the Godwine handling of his trouble in Dover. He had tried to force a peasant to give him lodging. An Englishman’s home is his castle. The peasant refused him entrance and the fight was on. Boulogne demanded compensation and the Godwines refused. Boulogne was willing to supply a force for vengeance. Besides, Tostig was his son-in-law, another hurt at the hands of Harold of Wessex.

On to Paris the men of Normandy rode. Duke William requested a meeting with his liege lord, France himself. The King was appalled at the ascension of Harold. It set a precedent that he did not wish to face. No one elected the King of France. His hand, his alone held the Throne in perpetuity. It may have been early Divine Right. When the Norman proposal was presented, the King’s advisors requested time to consider. It didn’t take them long. “Commit no troops; agree to nonagression” They could afford to. If William won, France gained access to England. If William lost, the Province of Normandy/Maine would be the spoils of the liege lord, the King of France.

Champagne, who was present at the King’s court was closely allied with France. Since they were not a close neighbor to Normandy, they adopted the France wait and see attitude and signed the pact.

Another week went by.

On to Orleans, Tours and Angers they cantered, a different castle every night. Orleanais , Touraine, and even battered Anjou agreed to nonagression. Anjou may have been influenced by the butchery of, and the terror tactics Duke William had employed in his past attack on the province. They could afford to wait. Vengeance might be theirs after such a risky venture.

The most difficult was left to last: The Province of Brittany. Duke William had met humiliation on his last advance in Brittany. Conan, his antagonist, was still firmly in control. He had handed William, while not a defeat, a stinging rebuke in the unwarranted invasion two years before. Conan had sworn fealty, but still was defiant. They met in Conan’s castle where he had the wild men of Brittany behind him. William with William fitz Osbern was given an audience with the Duke of Brittany. The room was guarded by a troop of armed Breton soldiers all alert and at the ready. Conan had placed his chair on a pedestal so that he looked down on the supplicants. William explained his argument and his needs to Conan.

Conan laughed in his face.

“Promised you did he? Someone promised you Brittany too” and he chortled some more. Suddenly he became very serious. “Maybe you were not aware that I received a promise too. Yes, Your Father promised me the province of Normandy on the way home from the Holy Land.” When the shock of the words had taken effect on William’s face. Conan’s serious visage dissolved with a great belly laugh.

“Get this, my Duke of Normandy, You invaded my province without provocation. You slew not a few of my people. You raped and looted in our towns, and now you expect my help?” He stood now, pointing down at William. “You, William, Bastard de Normany,” William leapt for him, but met instead a phalanx of Breton spears. “When you set foot in your longboat for England, Normandy will be Mine! I’ll roll it up from Alencon to Dieppe. I’ll likely take Matilda to bed. I’m certain she would appreciate a real man.”

William lunged forward spears or no spears. Only the strength of fitz Osbern prevented the attack. Conan couldn’t get the sneer off his face.

“Get out of my province. You have five hours to cross the border of Brittany or my men will exterminate you vermin, William the Bastard!”

William couldn’t speak: he was nearly frothing at the mouth. The two Williams were escorted out under guard. Conan’s garrison had been alerted. They surrounded the Norman’s with nocked arrows and spears at the ready. What could the Normans do but mount and leave the castle. Outside they were met by a large force of mounted Breton warriors, an escort to the border.

After fifteen minutes of riding, the obdurate William of Normandy finally exploded in his wrath. “I’LL KILL THAT BASTARD! I’LL TEAR HIM LIMB FROM LIMB! I’LL SHRED HIS BODY FOR THE SWINE!”

“My Lord, Brother?” Odo interceded.

“WHAT!”

“Conan is a dead man.”

“WHAT?”

“Conan is already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Quietly brother. Conan’s death is arranged.”

“It can’t be too soon!”

By the time the mission reached the border Conan had succumbed to poison.