pouring through the breach to terrorise the citizens into capitulation. Following hard upon that first warning assault, William sent in his most disciplined troops. There was to be no looting, no burning, no harassment. A Flemish mercenary caught in the act of rape was summarily hanged.
Waltheof watched the masterly taking of Exeter, the way the population now pleaded with William for mercy and how he gave it. Not only that, but the orderliness of his troops and his implacable attention to discipline gave the people an anchor. They were not going to be butchered in their homes, everything was going to be all right. William might be a Norman conqueror, but he had won the right to be their king.
The remnants of Harold Godwinsson's family escaped by boat at the last moment, but William was sanguine about the matter. There was no one to truly challenge him from that clan. Their best had died on Hastings field.
He gave instructions for land to be levelled and a castle to be built. That this involved the destruction of several English houses and garths was the only damage wrought on Exeter apart from the broached wall.
True to his word, William gave Waltheof leave to depart the city and return to his lands. Edwin and Morcar were furious, but impotent. Threats to leave William of their own will were met with courteous but firm counter threats. The promise of marriage to Agatha was dangled before Edwin's eyes together with the insinuation that Mercia would suffer if William had to go chasing north in pursuit of renegades. Perhaps later, he hinted; perhaps after the Easter feast.
'You must have had to lick his arsehole all the way to his throat for this,' Morcar sneered as Waitheof mounted his chestnut stallion and prepared to leave the city. He had a safe conduct in his pouch from William and an escort of Norman knights and English mercenaries.
'My lands are not as great as yours,' Waltheof answered. 'He risks less in letting me go than you or Edwin. Besides, this is only a trial. If I renege, William will throw me in the deepest dungeon he possesses.'
Morcar fixed him with a look of utter loathing and turned away. Edwin stepped forward and looked up at Waltheof through sun-narrowed eyes. 'Enjoy favour while you may, son of Siward,' he said with a curled lip. 'It will not last.'
There was nothing more to say. Waltheof knew that if he extended the hand of friendship, he would be shunned. Clicking his tongue to the horse, he reined about, heading for Exeter's city gates and the road home.
He had to pass the remnants of the burned-out houses that were being flattened to make way for the castle. Under the watchful gaze of Picot de Saye, English labourers toiled with shovels, their expressions wearing a blank neutrality that Waltheof was coming to know too well. More eloquent than resentment, more subtle than resignation. He averted his head from the sight and the acrid stink, fixing his gaze instead on the ragged blue sky and the pale sun, forerunners of the spring. He promised himself that in his own earldom no man should ever look upon him thus.
----
Chapter 7
Dawn streaked the sky and sea with pearl and silver. A brisk wind mined the seams of light and bellied the sails of the Norman fleet, thrusting it towards the smudge of England's shoreline.
Simon stood on the deck of his galley and watched the land drawing closer. His leg was aching, but he was so accustomed to the sensation by now that it only bothered him when his mind was unoccupied. For the moment, he was too full of exhilaration to give the pain much heed. He had scarcely slept at all during the night - just a couple of hours rolled in his cloak. Most of the time he had lain awake, gazing at the stars as they appeared and vanished behind fine tresses of cloud. His mind had turned with the turning of the heavens, dwelling on the adventure to come.
Duke William had put down the rebellions in England; the Danish threat had been avoided by diplomatic
Waltheof watched the masterly taking of Exeter, the way the population now pleaded with William for mercy and how he gave it. Not only that, but the orderliness of his troops and his implacable attention to discipline gave the people an anchor. They were not going to be butchered in their homes, everything was going to be all right. William might be a Norman conqueror, but he had won the right to be their king.
The remnants of Harold Godwinsson's family escaped by boat at the last moment, but William was sanguine about the matter. There was no one to truly challenge him from that clan. Their best had died on Hastings field.
He gave instructions for land to be levelled and a castle to be built. That this involved the destruction of several English houses and garths was the only damage wrought on Exeter apart from the broached wall.
True to his word, William gave Waltheof leave to depart the city and return to his lands. Edwin and Morcar were furious, but impotent. Threats to leave William of their own will were met with courteous but firm counter threats. The promise of marriage to Agatha was dangled before Edwin's eyes together with the insinuation that Mercia would suffer if William had to go chasing north in pursuit of renegades. Perhaps later, he hinted; perhaps after the Easter feast.
'You must have had to lick his arsehole all the way to his throat for this,' Morcar sneered as Waitheof mounted his chestnut stallion and prepared to leave the city. He had a safe conduct in his pouch from William and an escort of Norman knights and English mercenaries.
'My lands are not as great as yours,' Waltheof answered. 'He risks less in letting me go than you or Edwin. Besides, this is only a trial. If I renege, William will throw me in the deepest dungeon he possesses.'
Morcar fixed him with a look of utter loathing and turned away. Edwin stepped forward and looked up at Waltheof through sun-narrowed eyes. 'Enjoy favour while you may, son of Siward,' he said with a curled lip. 'It will not last.'
There was nothing more to say. Waltheof knew that if he extended the hand of friendship, he would be shunned. Clicking his tongue to the horse, he reined about, heading for Exeter's city gates and the road home.
He had to pass the remnants of the burned-out houses that were being flattened to make way for the castle. Under the watchful gaze of Picot de Saye, English labourers toiled with shovels, their expressions wearing a blank neutrality that Waltheof was coming to know too well. More eloquent than resentment, more subtle than resignation. He averted his head from the sight and the acrid stink, fixing his gaze instead on the ragged blue sky and the pale sun, forerunners of the spring. He promised himself that in his own earldom no man should ever look upon him thus.
----
Chapter 7
Dawn streaked the sky and sea with pearl and silver. A brisk wind mined the seams of light and bellied the sails of the Norman fleet, thrusting it towards the smudge of England's shoreline.
Simon stood on the deck of his galley and watched the land drawing closer. His leg was aching, but he was so accustomed to the sensation by now that it only bothered him when his mind was unoccupied. For the moment, he was too full of exhilaration to give the pain much heed. He had scarcely slept at all during the night - just a couple of hours rolled in his cloak. Most of the time he had lain awake, gazing at the stars as they appeared and vanished behind fine tresses of cloud. His mind had turned with the turning of the heavens, dwelling on the adventure to come.
Duke William had put down the rebellions in England; the Danish threat had been avoided by diplomatic
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