“My Lord, I endeared Tostig to Normandy and you particularly by presenting him with a crusader sword. He waved it about maniacally until I thought he’d cut off an arm or two.” And Robert gave a fair impression of the Saxon. “He has such an expression of murder on his face I expect he saw dear brother Harold before him.”

“It is a wonder the fool didn’t nick himself.” and the brothers laughed together.

“He couldn’t believe the balance, the cutting edge, the weight of the blade.”

“And the alliance?”

“We agreed, My Lord, that a two-pronged attack would have the best chance of success. He is fighting for his rights. Hardrada ,although he has a Viking lineage for the throne of England, is fighting for pillage. Tostig is not naïve enough to believe Hardrada is only interested in loot and so he fears his ally. Normandy is the hedge against treachery by Norway. Tostig is not above a gross deal with Hardrada, the beserker. To regain his earldom, he would agree to Hardrada as king of England. Tostig would then in his inordinate pride believe he could rouse the sleeping English to oust their great oppressor, the Viking giant Harald who pillaged the length of Russia, looted ,raped and vandalized in the name of the Empress of Constantinople and waged a fifteen year stalemate war with Swegn of Denmark. This man is a pagan killer, the true Viking beserker, who enjoys a blood bath more than sex.”

William of Normandy continued to dress. He added his chain mail and buckled on his scabbard

and crusader sword.

“We looked at many outcomes. You may be crowned king as Edward has promised. If so, Tostig would expect your assistance to regain his former fief.”

“Hah!”

“Secondly, if Hardrada were named king, a remote possibility, Tostig is not certain of Hardrada’s support. Tostig would throw his fyrd behind you.”

“That’s even more laughable.”

“Thirdly, he felt Harold would be crowned on Edward’s death. This would be the time for a

coordinated invasion. He estimates Harold’s personal forces including the standing Edwardian army at three thousand to a maximum of five thousand men. By raising the fyrd, he can command up to twenty-five thousand men. But, Tostig points out the weakness of such an army. The army of the fyrd as we know need only serve forty days a year. As thanes and farmers, they desire to be free at seeding and harvest. The thanes compose the fyrd and when called they take up their battle axe, sword , mace, helmet, and chain mail. Their villeins may be alerted too, but they are arrow fodder armed with throwing weapons, disks, stones or spears or even ordinary farm tools. The house carls are the trained soldiers, but as strong as they are, they employ no cavalry or bow men- a great advantage for us Normans. Invasion is desirable in the spring seeding or the fall harvest. If the fyrd is called to serve it is better we wait the forty days if you understand. Make all preparations for invasion, but wait for their dismissal. Then a simultaneous attack would annihilate Harold’s army.”

“Just as well you talked to him. I think we have gained an upper hand in this.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Very good work, Robert. I’ll not forget this. Now let us go to see Olan’s archers. I’m curious about his work.”

The brothers hastened through the page-opened door and left the central keep for the garrison. They crossed the sun drenched courtyard, a beautiful October day. They burst upon squire Jean in the armory. He leapt to his feet from his books.

“My Lord,” he saluted.

“Jean, I want a fine bow and a quiver of Trivett fletched arrows.”

“Moi aussi,Jean”

“Yes, My Lords.” and he scurried away into the racks of his arsenal for the best he had to offer. He took down the Duke’s personal bow and Will Trivett’s bow for Robert de Mortain. He hastened back and handed them over.

“Have our chargers saddled , please. We have to visit the garrison briefly. ‘

“Yes, My Lord. I’ll prepare your steeds myself.”

“No need, Jean. We require ten minutes. “

“Yes, My Lord,” but he’d do it anyway. Duke William and Count Robert stamped across the yard to the mess. It was still early morning. The men were at breakfast. The door exploded inward.

“Attention!” and the men leapt to their feet spoons flying.

“Captain of the guard?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“After mess all crossbowmen will report to the butts. I’ll see their progress.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“All infantry to the exercise yard for regular training. I’ll see them on my return.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“At ease, Men! At least until I see you.” The leaders spun on their heels and out the door. “Where in hell was Sergeant Olan?”

“My Lord, his archers are long gone to the butts.”

“Hmmm!” and taking their bows from the pommel, they nodded to Jean and surged into the saddle. The crossbred high strung arab chargers were at the gallop before the brother’s buttocks had settled in the leather, and under the portcullis and over the drawbridge they galloped. Olan and his garrison archers had already loosed a hundred arrows at the targets and clouts, and now stood at the entrance to their biathlon circuit. The galloping arabs slashed before them and their riders brought them to rein with a dusty rearing stop.

“Attention!” shouted Olan and his men snapped to.

“At ease,” retaliated the Duke and the brothers stepped from the saddle. Two archers by Olan’s hand signal sprang forward to take the mounts.

“Sergeant, Count Robert and I will join your exercise if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, My Lord. We were about to run our trail with a new placement of targets.”

“We will remove our armor and weapons and be ready toute de suite.” All gear was hung from the pommel and William and Robert took up bow and quiver.

“My Lords, there are ten targets unevenly spaced. The archers run target to target. Loose one arrow at each, and return here to retrieve. Would you like to set the pace or will you follow?”

“We will follow.”

“Very well. Number one, go”, and the corporal sprinted down the trail. He was followed at thirty second intervals be the rest of the troops and finally by Duke William and Robert de Mortain. William,a huge man by Norman standards, struck off with a mile-eating stride. His shorter brother, fortunately lighter, was hard pressed to keep up. William, unaccustomed to the game, ran by the first target, but couldn’t miss hearing Robert’s arrow hit the mark. He vowed absolute diligence and loosed nine arrows thereto. He struggled with his breathing, his legs were cramping from lactase, and his mouth took on the brassy taste, but on he went. When he broke into the clearing he found he had lost little time. He may have been forty seconds behind the last corporal. Robert trailed by another fifty seconds.

“Very good, My Lord.”

“Don’t praise me Jean. Next time I will be faster. What is your punishment for missed targets?”

“A second run ,My Lord.”

“I missed three targets. I will do my penance next time. I have the crossbowmen coming for a run down your torture path if you would oversee their work.”

“Of course, My Lord.”

“Here they come now. You can find the time, Sergeant?”

“Yes, My Lord. My corporals are quite proficient.”

The crossbow infantry jogged forward. Sergeant Olan brought them to a halt and then to attention. The Duke gave the signal to put them at ease. “ Men of the infantry, Sergeant Olan will see to your new training. I have just been introduced to it and scored seven out of ten. Terrible. Only perfect scores are acceptable. Sergeant Olan will explain. Expect a penance for poor shooting. At the moment we are off to the parade square. Sergeant Olan!”

“My Lord! Attention!” and all the men snapped to as the brothers of Normandy mounted and cantered off to the castle.

The rest of the garrison and William’s personal infantry were in the yard on their arrival. Two hostelers were present to accept their steeds.

“Captain.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Do you recall our excursion into Brittany?”

“Of course, My Lord.”

“You will then remember the devastation wrought by the Saxons, Harold and Wulfnoth with their battle axes.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“I want these men ready to repulse an attack by axemen.”

“My Lord, we have no axes?”

“Improvise, Captain. Improvise. Mon Dieu! I don’t want my men cut to pieces. I want them capable of defense.”

“Yes, My Lord. When?”

“Maintenant!”

The captain leapt to it. He divided his troops. He had half pick up the training staffs as pseudo axes and the other half drew their crusader swords to protect themselves. Not a few heads were bloodied: not a few ribs were broken. When they exchanged weapons the new attackers sought vengeance. It became a bitter match up. William smiled and left them to it.

“Robert, summon my knights. We must put them to work. By the way Brother what happened to our ally, Tostig?”

“We escorted him to our border, William. I had him followed. We are certain he is off to Flanders to his father-in-law’s court requesting assistance in men or money.”

Harold wended his way back to London. Northumbria and Tostig had been no picnic. A six day march north, London to York, the ouster exile of Tostig, his younger brother, the mediation of the thane’s dispute, the ascension of Morcar as Earl of Northumbria and the salving of the thanes had been a tiring process. Now here he was at the end of another six day march. He was physically drained and spiritually wanting. He stopped at Waltham Abbey, his donation to the church, for spiritual succor. He would need it before his meeting with King Edward. Harold attended confession and mass and prayed for Tostig, England and himself.

With resolve he set off for Thorney Island two miles up the Thames from London where the king had taken residence to supervise the building of West Minster. The Witan attended on the king. Harold took time to clear his travel woes before he addressed King Edward.

“Subregulus, You’re back!”

“Yes, Sire, God bless you!”

“And God bless you Earl Harold. What news from the north? Did you remove those traitorous thanes?”

“No, My Lord. I avoided a civil insurrection.”

“What?”

“My Lord, they gave evidence that my brother, Earl Tostig, had broken his oath of fealty with his thanes and they accused him of injustice, thievery, murder as well as being a sexual predator. We never saw him that way, but they had proof.”

“Proof! Bullshit!”

“Sire, it was true!”

Edward’s face became red as fire as his rage grew. “You slaughtered them!”

“No, Sire, I supported them.”

“You what!”

“I supported them. I couldn’t justify the death of twenty thousand Englishmen in a civil war for the sake of one man. We English are steeped in law and justice. We must support the right. The thanes were the right. Your favorite, Tostig, had to be removed, Sire.”

“Damn you! You ---- Yo….” The old king rose and made to strike Harold with the mace. His face became purple. He choked on his words. He clutched his chest and his head as the mace dropped to the floor. His legs turned to rubber. Only the whites of his eyes were evident and he would have tumbled to the stones with his symbol of office, but Harold caught him gently and scooped the skin and bones that was Edward the Confessor in his arms and carried him to his bed. Edward’s doctors rushed to the bedside and Harold drew back. The old man had lost consciousness and now his face paled. The doctors listened at his chest; they felt for his pulse. The heart was still beating, the pulse was thready, but the old man was still alive.

“What is it?”

“It appears to be brain malady.”

“What?”

“We don’t know what happens exactly. For some reason the brain loses control of parts of the body. The patient is partially paralyzed---or he dies.” The doctor continued to work over King Edward. He seemed to be talking more to himself than in response to Harold. “If the right side is paralyzed he may live; if the left side---he dies. It may be cranial bleeding or a blockage. Stress or anger may trigger it. My Lord, there is nothing I can do. If he lives or dies is in the hands of God.”

“Couldn’t you bled him?” cried Earl Edwin.

“And further staunch blood supply to the brain. I think not.”

“Gentlemen, leave me with my patient. I don’t have time for your questions. I have a deathly sick king to tend.”

Harold gathered the advisors and shooed them out the door. He took one last look at the frail old man lying death-like on the counterpane. He closed the door feeling he closed an era.

“Well Brother, what do we do now?” Earl Gyrth asked throwing up his hands. Harold, though visibly shaken by the king’s stroke, was not in shock.

“Why! Carry on, of course. The country is at peace. The Welsh, we have subdued. The Scots are in some disarray with the death of Macbeth and the ascension of Malcolm. The likelihood of a foreign invasion in October, so late in the year, is minuscule. We carry on with trade and agriculture and life as Englishmen ought. We, the Witan, the strongest moot in the land, will continue with Edward’s plans and our decisions of what is best for the country. The king still lives; he is just incapacitated. Until he recovers we make all the decisions, not any more than we had to make previously.”

“You know,” contemplated Waltheof, “If the old fellow could control his temper he wouldn’t be in the state he is now.”

Knock! Knock! Knock!

‘What in hell is all the banging?’ Thomas and Jo-Anne were fighting the wreathes of sleep.

“Thomas! Thomas! You lustful profligate! Wake up! It’s me Will!”

Thomas fought his way through the fog. “All right! All right! I’m up! I’m coming.” He grabbed a blanket off the floor and wrapped it about him, tripped on the tail end and fell into the table. “Nom de chien!”

“What in hell are you doing in there?” yelled Will as he heard the clatter.

“Shut up! I’m coming!” and he yanked open the door.

“La, La! Nice dress Thomas!” he chuckled.

“What do you want you pain in the queqe?”

Will saluted, “We have to report to our liege lord toute de suite!” but Thomas was not amused by his antics. “Come on, Thomas wake up; lighten up. Better I came to get you than some page. I’ll go and tend to Easy Walker and have him saddled by the time you get yourself in some semblance of knightly order. Now get to it.” Off Will went to the barn completely oblivious to the glares that followed him from the door of the house. Thomas fell to. The running water from the well was even colder than the stream at home in October. He didn’t have time to heat it. That was a thought he’d explore in a spare moment. A steel barrel equipped with a spigot and secured in the fireplace would offer a reservoir of hot water. Today, however, it would be frigid well water.

A ghostly Jo-Anne staggered through the doorway with a bed linen wrap. She should have looked like a drudge after such a wedding night. Instead she appeared like an elfin lady in hood and cape. She cinched her cape about her wasp-like waist. Even with her sleepy eyes she was a beauty. Thomas was aroused. No, he didn’t have time for that. Duke William called.

“What is it Thomas, Dear?”

“Good morning, My Love. It is Will. We have been summoned to the castle. I’m not certain why.”

“Today?”

“Mais oui, Ma Chere.”

“Marde!”

“Jo!” and he grabbed her and kissed her.

“You haven’t got time for that stuff.” a smiling Will admonished from the door.

“You could knock!”

“We don’t have time. We are expected for training so bring your weapon.” And Thomas glared at Will in case weapon was a double entendre. But, Will never let on; he was wandering about the kitchen searching for food.

“Thomas, you’ll need breakfast.”

“Not today, Jo, we must report. Will, do you mind if I say good-bye to my wife?”

Will didn’t get the hint. “No, I don’t mind,” as he munched on a piece of Jo-Anne’s bread..

Thomas took Jo-Anne in his arms and hugged her to him and kissed her gently. She clung to him and then returned his kiss with passion. Will didn’t seem to notice. Thomas made for the door. Will started to follow; then turned and said, “My God, you look cute in that bed sheet, Jo-Anne.” Thomas grabbed his arm and dragged him out the door.

The horses were tied to the corral fence and the brothers released them and swung into the saddle. Will checked to see if Jo-Anne was within hearing range. “Tell me ,Brother Tommie, did you have a good night?”

“Shut up, Will!”

“Thomas is that any answer to a brother concerned with your welfare and your bride’s health. I mean you are kind of walking bow-legged today.” Thomas knew he was in for a good round of teasing. He likely showed the lack of sleep and it was true, his groin did ache that morning. He had an idea. He remembered how Will countered teasing.

“Will, Jo-Anne and I had a marvellous wedding night. We were both highly pleased.”

“How many times were your pleased?” Will snickered.

“Well, we just put three marks on the wall-----------One hundred and eleven!”

Will burst out laughing. “Very good Thomas! Very good!” and the teasing was over. Instead Will challenged Thomas to a race to the castle and off they flew at breakneck speed through the early fall morning. They both waved to Olan at the clouts as they galloped by. They could see crossbowmen at the butts. They clattered over the drawbridge and both claimed they had won by a nose- the horse’s nose that is.

That was the end of their brotherly fun for the day. Roger de Montgomery was waiting for them. He assigned them to Thomas’ father-in-law Sir Richard. Oh no, he had his infamous circle on the ground. They were going back to round one. Both Trivetts thought, ‘Don’t they know we are knights?’

As if in answer Sir Richard explained to his ever-growing group. “Gentlemen, we have reason to believe that Saxons do not fight like we civilized people of the continent. They have few archers. Bows are reserved for the gentry and hunting. The general populace with bows would be accused of poaching. Secondly, they have no cavalry units. Their horses are untrained for combat. English troops love to close on the enemy in hand to hand combat or battle axe to sword combat. If you are grounded you’d better be prepared for a helluva fight. Thus--- the reason for my circle. We will try some catch as catch can grappling so remove your weaponry.”

Thomas and Will were not paired. Will remained slim and wiry, but Thomas with tree cutting and house building had removed layers of fat and laid on layers of muscle. There was not a match for Thomas in feats involving strength. Will maintained his speed and tricks and seldom were the Trivetts bested. It was a tiring process straining muscle against muscle for fully two hours. They donned their armor and turned to the sword. “Don’t kill anyone!” Richard directed. Two more hours slipped by. Thomas, after a wedding night and a no breakfast morning was exhausted. He did not complain when Count Roger called them for mess. Duke William wandered in with the men. Before they ate, Duke William commended them.

“Good job, Men! You will be the best trained fighting force in Europe.” A pat on the back seemed to have more effect than a kick further down.

As a break from monotony Sir Richard took a page from Sergeant Olan’s book. He set up a course for mounted knights with ten TARGETS. Armed with their spears they rode the course spearing at near targets and throwing at the more distant. They had to retrieve the lances and return to the start. It was a broader competition and there was some time to rest and revive.

Thomas rode “Easy” up to the starting line. “Go!” Easy jumped into the start and raced down the path. Thomas and Easy were so fast Thomas didn’t even throw at the first target and glanced one of the second. Then he settled down as adrenaline abated and punctured every target until his lance broke on number nine. Seven out of ten was not a bad start. Will , who rode like a flea on a dog’s back hit nine targets. Thomas had to go again.

Back to the yard they went. Richard broke his group into threes. They attacked two against one and switched roles on command. The defensive position was better suited to Will. He was nimble. He was there. He wasn’t there. Thomas was in more trouble. He held off opponents with size and strength. It put amazing demands on the muscles. Duke William was ever present watching their progress.

Finally, they were dismissed and Sir Richard and Thomas who lived so close at hand decided to ride home. Will stayed at the garrison. Their were some dice games he had to attend to. William of Normandy retired to his rooms with a pleased smile. His forces would be ready not just chivalrous.