It was the year 1106 and the 28th September; and it had been on September 28th of the year 1066 that William the Conqueror had landed at Pevensey.

And now here stood his son Henry before Tinchebrai in conflict with his brother Robert. So on the date when their father had begun his conquest of England, the two brothers wrestled with each other for the conquest of Normandy.

Many said that the spirit of the Conqueror brooded over Tinchebrai on that fatal day and that he gave the victory to the son who could best preserve that for which he had spent his life in conquering and holding.

The castle of Tinchebrai belonged to Robert of Mortain, the Conqueror’s half-brother; and the battle was lost from the beginning because so many Normans had been bribed to fight under Henry’s banner and his forces as well as his generalship were immensely superior.

Robert of Belleme, commanding the rearguard of the Duke’s army, and becoming aware that defeat was inevitable, made his escape, and not only did Robert of Mortain fall prisoner to Henry but Robert of Normandy also. Perhaps more important, too, one of the captives was Robert’s little son William, known as the Clito. The boy was six years old and Henry, realizing that although at this time he could be said to hold Normandy in his hands and that the battle of Tinchebrai was a decisive one, like his father before him he would have to hold the Duchy and this would be no easy task. His father had found it one of the utmost difficulty, even before he became King of England, and to hold both titles, King and Duke, had meant a life spent in battle.

There would be uprisings and Henry wanted to make sure that there was no heir of Normandy who could win adherents to his side. Robert had proved himself useless as a ruler and even the staunchest Norman was realizing this, but a child was always appealing.

He discussed with his generals and advisers what would be done with the prisoners. Duke Robert and Mortain should be taken to England and held there. The boy too.

No, said those Normans who had been won to his side. That would be disastrous. There would be an immediate uprising if the boy was taken out of Normandy.

‘There will be risings if he remains,’ countered Henry.

‘When he grows older mayhap, but to take the boy to England and imprison him would mean the indignation of the people would be aroused to such an extent that they would immediately rise against you. Beaten as they are they would rally to this cause and fight with more spirit than they have shown at Tinchebrai.’

Henry was at length persuaded to this point of view and agreed that the boy should be placed in the hands of one of his many kinsmen. He saw the wisdom of it but he knew that while the boy was free he would have to be very watchful.

Robert, brought before him as a captive, was too proud to plead for himself but he did ask that his son be well looked after.

‘What will you do with me?’ asked Robert. ‘Shall you remember our boyhood days?’

‘What I shall do with you you will discover. Yes, I remember our boyhood days. There was an occasion when you were ready to kill Rufus and me because we threw water down from a balcony on you and your friends.’

‘I was young and headstrong and you were children to be taught a lesson.’

‘You would have killed us if our father had not prevented you.’

It was just a flash of the family temper.’

‘Robert, you have been a fool throughout your life...from the days when you attempted to pit your strength against our father. Now you have done the same towards your brother. You were doomed to failure in both these enterprises. Take your reward now and blame no one but yourself.’

‘Nor shall I if you preserve my son.’

‘Rest assured he shall not be harmed as long as he obeys his Duke.’

‘I shall see that he obeys me.’

‘You forget Robert there is a new Duke of Normandy and that is not you.’

‘You are a hard man, Henry, as hard as our father.’

‘You could not compliment me more than to make this comparison.’

Robert turned away in desolation. He knew that he could expect little mercy from Henry.

Very soon after he was sent to England, there to be lodged at Wareham.

‘He is my brother,’ said Henry, ‘so let him have some comforts. But in prison he must remain.’

His uncle, Robert of Mortain, was less humanely treated. His eyes were put out as a warning to any who did not obey Henry, the new Duke of Normandy. None would be spared however close to him, as they would see from the example of Robert of Mortain, the remainder of whose life would be spent within the walls of a prison he would never see.

He meant this as a warning to those who hoped in due course to set up William the Clito. What he had ordered should be done to an uncle would also be done to a nephew should he warrant it.

He was very uneasy that the boy should be left free in Normandy, but he saw the wisdom of not alienating his new Norman subjects.

Another who was taken prisoner at Tinchebrai was Edgar Atheling. The King asked that he be brought to him and when he saw the old man he felt a mingling of contempt and pity.

‘So,’ he said, ‘you fought against your niece’s husband. What do you think Matilda will say to that?’

‘Matilda must know that I must be loyal to my friends.’ replied Edgar.

‘I had thought I was your friend.’

‘I deplore these wars.’ said Edgar.

‘Of a certainty when you are on the losing side.’

‘Nay, Henry. I would we could all live in peace. Robert was ever my friend, as you know, and I felt it my duty to support him. England is yours and as I see it your father intended him to have Normandy.’

‘You know full well my father hated Robert. He saw through him as a feckless fool.’

‘But he left him Normandy.’

‘Because of a long-ago promise to our mother.’

‘Nevertheless it was his.’

‘Know this, Edgar Atheling: I had my father’s blessing at Tinchebrai.’

‘You had better troops, and a better general.’

Henry laughed. ‘Well, you are in my hands now.’

‘And you must do what you will to me.’

‘I shall release you for two reasons. One because I have nothing to fear from you and the other because you are Matilda’s uncle and she is fond of you. It would grieve her if aught ill befell you. You may thank her for your release.’

Edgar lowered his head and the King went on: ‘You will come to England and there keep out of further mischief.’

‘I thank you, Henry.’

Henry waved his hand dismissing him.

There were some men in life, he mused, who were doomed to failure. Robert his brother was one and Matilda’s old uncle was another.

* * * * *

Henry was fully aware that the battle for Normandy had only just begun. He might call himself the Duke but he had yet to win over his new subjects. Just as he was accepted in England because he had been born on English soil and educated there, so in Normandy he was reckoned an alien. If he was to win the people of Normandy to his cause he must constantly remind them that his father had been the greatest Norman of them all and, even though circumstances had been such that his parents were in England at the time of his birth, he was none the less the Conqueror’s son.

He made himself agreeable to his new subjects. First of all he wanted them to understand, as his English subjects did, that he wished to bring law and order to their country.

He knew that he would find most favour with the people if he showed himself to be of a pious nature so he made a point of going to church when he passed through every town.

He had always been very proud of his hair which he wore long and in ringlets. It was his finest feature and many said it was the second reason—the first being his crown—why so many women found him irresistible. He wore it in long curls which hung about his shoulders; he also flaunted a luxuriant beard and side pieces. As the King adopted a fashion as a matter of course so did his Court and the men’s hair was as much an adornment as that of the women. The fashion had started in the reign of Rufus when court manners and mode of dress had been decidedly effeminate. There was nothing effeminate about Henry except his luxuriant curls and it was solely because he possessed such bountiful growth that he had allowed the fashion to remain.