The Bastard King Read Online Free Page A

legitimate. William was not sure what this meant; all he knew was that Guy was proud of being so. Uncle Mauger, he whispered to William, might teach them and punish them when they were idle, but he was a bastard for all that; and they should not forget it.
    William stood ecstatically sniffing the roasting venison. This was a special occasion. His father was coming. For this reason the foresters had brought in a fine stag of ten branches and everyone had marvelled at him. It was fitting that they should have brought in a stag like that for such an occasion.
    He was hungry. He wished his father would come. He went into the hall and stood watching the sizzling meat.
    â€˜Stand clear, little master,’ said one of the servants, ‘or you’ll be splashed.’
    â€˜Yes, little master, fine meat for a fine occasion.’
    â€˜My father will soon be here,’ he said. ‘He comes from Rouen.’
    They did not answer him. They knew it well and he did not mean to tell them news but merely wished to talk to them.
    They forgot him and went on with what they had been talking of before he arrived. He stood listening. He listened a good deal. He liked to hear people’s talk, particularly when they seemed to be unaware of him. It was then that it became more interesting. Today they were not talking of his father’s visit, though they might well have been, but of someone who lived near by and who, William believed, was in truth the Devil.
    Often when they had been talking of Talvas of Bellême and he approached they would nudge each other and there would be a significant silence. For this very reason he had become greatly interested in the man. There was something quite shocking about him. He had heard old men warn boys of being on the road after dark. ‘Talvas could get you,’ they said; and there would be such a look of horror on their faces that William himself shuddered without quite knowing why.
    Now he was certain that the cooks had been talking of Talvas by the manner in which they had stopped when he approached.
    He went into a corner and sat down behind one of the benches and gave himself up to enjoying the delicious aroma of cooking venison and thinking of his father, whose father had been Richard the Second, Duke of Normandy, whose father had been Richard the Fearless, the first of that name, and whose father in his turn was Duke William Longsword the son of great Rollo. For one thing he must learn first was of his ancestors and of the land of fords, mountains and pine forests whence they came, and of the heroes of that land such as Ragnar and Sigurd who had become famous in history because of their courage.
    Courage, bravery, to live without fear, that was the Norman code. He learned that from his father; it was above all thingsnever to be forgotten. With Uncle Mauger it was a matter of poring over books, learning to read and write, a tiresome preoccupation when there were ponies to ride and falcons to be trained, sword-play to be mastered, archery to be practised.
    He liked to be with his mother to hear of the magnificence of his father who according to her was the greatest Duke Normandy had known, even greater than Rollo and Richard the Fearless; she told him the stories of the heroes which her grandmother had told her. His grandfather Fulbert lived at the Palace and William loved him because he was different from anyone else he knew. He used to tell William how to skin a wolf and tan it and how the resulting leather was useful for so many things. Life was full of interest; he felt secure and well guarded for he was aware that when he rode out Osbern always kept close to him and he was never allowed out of the Seneschal’s sight. He could not help being aware that he was to be especially cherished. It was not so much because he was a little boy whose mother loved him dearly and whose father was interested in him and who had so many friends in the castle; there was another reason. It