We rode out of the walls of Rouen on a blustery summer morning heading for the manor of Clermont-sur-Andelle, which stood about fifteen or so miles to the east of Rouen. This was the manor that Richard had endowed me with after the siege of Nottingham earlier that year, and as Robin had rightly pointed out, it was largesse with very large strings attached. The manor stood at the eastern edge of Normandy and it had been one of the first to be gobbled up by the French during their initial advance. It was a royal gift that I could not enjoy until King Philip and his barons had been pushed out of Richard’s domains; certainly I was not receiving its rents and the fruits of the worked land – and after the truce of Tillières, which stipulated that each of the two warring sides should keep the territories that they had captured, it looked as if I might never receive them. But I was curious, and although it was out of our direct path to Paris, I wanted to see Clermont-sur-Andelle to know the lands that one day, with God’s help, I might possess.
By late afternoon, Hanno, Thomas and I were sitting astride our mounts at the edge of a patch of thick woodland, almost completely hidden from human sight, and gazing down at a broad water meadow beside the reedy banks of the River Andelle. In the distance, on the far side of the slow river, on a low hillock, I could see the manor that was rightfully mine: a spacious compound, well fortified with a stout wooden palisade, a large L-shaped, thatched, timber hall inside it, and a scatter of other buildings. By the river, a mill wheel turned in the race and half a dozen figures could be made out moving around the mill itself, some burdened by large sacks of grain or flour. On this side of the river, across a narrow wooden bridge, was a fenced orchard of pears and apples – it was too far for me to see, but, at that time of year, I could imagine that the first tiny fruits must be beginning to show. Standing in my stirrups, I could also make out a high cross atop a small wooden church beyond the fortified compound of the manor and a score or so of villeins’ hovels scattered between the two. Beyond the village, as far as the horizon, were broad fields, some greeny-yellow with standing wheat and barley, others fallow and thick with weeds. But it seemed an orderly place, did Clermont-sur-Andelle; not perhaps as prosperous as Westbury under the care of my efficient steward Baldwin but remarkably untouched by the ravages of war.
In the foreground, perhaps three hundred yards from our position in the trees, were four well-mounted horsemen; by their trappings and clothes, at least two of them were knights, the other two grooms or servants. The knights were bareheaded and they appeared to be related by blood – a father and son, perhaps. I could not see their faces clearly at that distance, but both men had a similar posture in the saddle and shared the same shade of pitch-black hair. As we looked on, the younger of the knights launched a large blue-grey peregrine falcon from his wrist, and we joined in watching that majestic bird soar up into the air and circle almost beyond the range of human sight.
My hands on the reins of the courser tightened into fists, and the big horse moved under me, feeling the stirrings of my outrage, but unsure of my intentions. Who were these men, and by what right did they hunt my lands? It crossed my mind, only for a brief moment, I swear, that I should ride down to them and take my sword to them for their impertinence. Hanno and I could handle the knight and his son, I was sure of it: we were armed for war, and clad in mail, our weapons keen. We could very soon have overcome these men who were accoutred only for a day’s pleasant sport. I would teach them to appropriate my fief!
The moment passed. We were here on enemy territory. Even if I were to kill these men, take the village and occupy the fortified compound, I did not have enough men to hold it against the vengeance of the French King. And my own King Richard would not be best pleased if, after agreeing a sacred truce with the enemy, one of his unruly knights were to break it in a rage. No, I said to myself, I will keep the truce, as a true vassal should. I loosened my grip on the courser’s harness and felt the beast relax.
Dusk was not far away. One of the servants released a liver-and-white water dog and it galloped eagerly into the forest of reeds beside the slow-moving river, barking with joy and sending up ribbons of brown water with every hectic stride. It quested round for a moment or two, taking the scent, and then charged forward and launched its body into the deeper water. A pair of mallards rocketed out of the reeds, their wings slapping the air as they hurried to escape the splashing canine. The pair of birds beat strongly away from the Andelle, making for the wood in which we were hidden. But one duck at least was not fated to escape. A long blur of blue-grey, like a javelin flung down from the heavens, and the peregrine struck, hurtling into the right-hand mallard and striking with an explosive puff of bright green feathers, killing the bird instantly. The falcon bore the duck to the ground, no more than fifty paces from us and, spreading its dark wings over the limp water-bird like a cloak, as if from some avian shame it wished to hide its actions from the world, it began to feed. The hunting party spurred their horses towards the peregrine, now mantled over its prey, pecking and tearing at the mallard’s flesh. Eager to confiscate the falcon’s plump victim for their larder before that noble bird had eaten its fill, the horsemen were heading towards us at a gallop. I nodded at Hanno and Thomas and the three of us turned our mounts back into the wood and slipped quietly away into the gathering gloom.