Chapter I 1066-1079
At the Battle of Hastings, the Duke of Normandy defeated the recently elected King of England, Harold Godwinson, and established himself on the throne. He had his norman kinsmen established as rulers throughout the realm, he had rebellious saxon noblemen exiled or put to death. His name was William the Bastard. Descending from a long line of fierce warriors, he had now managed to amass enough power to rival all but the strongest kings of Europe, and beyond. The future lay open for the dynasty of de Normandie.
William's early years on the throne were peaceful. Discontent in the saxon population seemed to have vanished, and his norman vassals remained loyal. Not even his new neighbours, the Scots and the Irish, gave him any trouble. Instead, disturbance was to rise from a rather unexpected source. In the year of our lord 1068, William's loyal spymaster shoved the following document into his face:
Thanks alot.
Suspicious as he was, William wasn't completely surprised but the revelation still angered him. However, he decided that in the name of justice, he would give fate a chance to save the life of the wretched woman he called wife.
*
The King entered his bedchamber. Matilda, busy with her embroidery, greeted him simply with a smile. William smiled back. In his mind, he knocked her unconscious with a clog. He talked to her casually, asking about her "pilgrimages" to scottish "monasteries", but her relaxed behaviour and carefree responses revealed nothing of guilt.
So be it then, William thought. It would seem that fate was thirsty for blood.
Thus, as he rose and started to walk to the door, he let the document slip out of his hand onto the floor. Matilda saw it and picked it up. About to call William's attention to it, her voice stuck and her opened mouth failed to utter a sound as she glanced at the document. Her face went pale as she read it through, and then her anxious stare caught William's eyes, darkened by fury.
Suddenly she turned and ran for the stained-glass window. She jumped. Glass was shattered, but the iron bars repelled her shoulder and she fell back onto the floor. Bewildered, she got up and looked at William. The keys to the window hung from his hand. She ran to the fireplace and grabbed one of the swords hanging beside it, but found herself with only a hilt in her hand. William pulled out a small cup of glue from his pocket. Matilda threw the hilt towards him and headed for the crimson drapery hanging beside the bed. She grabbed it, tied it around her neck and let her own body fall backwards. A tearing sound was heard, and she fell to the floor. Brushing aside the fabric, she saw William hold a pair of scissors in his hand. Matilda's eyes narrowed. With a defiant look on her face, she fetched a stool, tied a noose out of the torn-off drapery, and tied the other end to a beam in the roof. She got up on the stool and tightened the noose around her neck. Then, with a hint of a smile on her face, she kicked away the stool. Her body fell. The beam cracked and fell to the floor beside the Queen of England. King William was just about to pull out the saw when part of the roof collapsed with a crash. Something heavy hit the floor, and when the dust cleared the monarch found himself staring at a bathtub. In it, in the foam, sat prince William Rufus, his third son, with a sponge in his hand. In front of him sat his personal page.**
Later that day an old fisherman from Kent would tell his wife of the strangest sounds, almost like curses, that he had heard in the wind.
*
Given the course of events, there was only one way for Matilda to go.
Chop chop!
What on earth did she see in this man?
With business taken care of, William would have to wait for an appropriate time to exact the pleasure of vengeance on the petty scottish count who had humiliated him.
**The attentive reader will have noticed a certain amount of glaring inaccuracies in the scene, be they historical, architectural, technical or of other nature. In response, the author wishes to reserve the right to manipulate reality in favour of artistic freedom.***
***If Mel Gibson can do it, so can I.
