Free Web NovelChapter 61: Chapter 55: Revelrous Rouen
The great hall of the castle in Rouen City.
The roar of voices filled the spacious hall to the brim. The heavy stench of alcohol, sweat, and the acrid smell of vomit hung in the air, mingling with the delightful aromas of roast chicken, venison, and crispbreads.
Wine barrels lay overturned on the floor, their contents spilled without a second thought by the guests.
The mixture of these smells was enough to make anyone entering the hall wrinkle their nose.
"Oh, Durandal, you are beautiful and holy!
Your golden hilt is filled with Holy Relics,
The tooth of Saint Pierre, the blood of Saint Basil,
The hair of Saint Denis, and a garment of Saint Mary.
Heretics are not worthy to possess you.
Only Christians may wield you."
A Minstrel was singing loudly.
A banquet was in full swing.
They were Knights and Lords from all across Normandy and England.
"Fellows of Normandy! My countrymen, all of you great Conquerors! Hear me!"
Sir Loren, jutting out his large belly, leaped onto a table and let out a great roar, successfully drawing all eyes to himself.
He then thumped his chest.
"That shameless, greedy, cunning King William! There are hardly any good men left in Normandy and England who haven’t been sent to the gallows. And the one speaking to you is old, fat, and only getting older! To hell with this wretched world, and may the plague take all cowards!"
His shameless declaration was met with a roar of laughter.
"Aye, the old boar is giving a speech on the table now. But to me, he looks like nothing more than a pig who loves his drink and his sleep," a young man said with a laugh, standing up and raising his cup to point at Sir Loren.
The man was Arno Conteville, eldest son of the Earl of Kent.
His words sparked another roar of laughter.
Nearby, Robert watched Sir Loren with amusement.
"Hahaha, see how spirited the young are! Can’t resist a rebuttal. Youth these days need more self-control. What has happened to the young men of Normandy? But I don’t mind. It’s no matter. Heroes are born to be slandered, after all."
Sir Loren was completely unfazed, chuckling and waving a dismissive hand.
He took a few gulps of wine.
"Perhaps when he was merely a Duke, he was wise, just, and kind. But I’m telling you, that Duke is dead! He’s now a stupid pig possessed by a Demon. A self-important fool! Who does he think he is?
Without us, his loyal, brave, and cunning Norman Warriors, what would he be?"
"Oooohhhhhh!"
The crowd, Robert included, let out a jeering cheer.
Many even began to applaud.
"Hahaha, that potbellied oaf sure can talk. He’s got to be at least twenty pounds heavier than the old Duke."
"The only thing separating him from the old Duke is a Crown. Look at that sissy blush on his cheeks, hahahaha!"
"The old days are gone for good. To be honest, I miss when he was just our Duke, not the fat pig in a Crown he is now."
"..."
The men in the crowd murmured amongst themselves. Some jeered at Sir Loren, while others, even as they jeered, expressed their agreement.
"Hey, hey, hey! I saw this coming back when he was dealing with the English. But alas, I am a man of no importance, so who was there to listen? And look, now he’s coming for us! My fellow Heroes, think of the miserable plight of the English now, and you will see the fate that awaits us..."
Sighs rose from the crowd.
In recent years, as rebellions by the English had dwindled, William had begun to interfere more and more in their territorial affairs. He meddled in the marriages of their heirs, blocking unions between the families of Barons and Earls, and installed Royal Family officials in the lands of the Nobility.
"But I say we are still fortunate! For we now have a truly worthy new Duke—a new Duke who is generous, merciful, just, brave, and patient!
He is the rightful Lord of Normandy, the King of England! He will shatter this wicked world to pieces, return the Normans to their rightful place, and restore the glory of Normandy! Under God’s gospel, he will become a Conqueror unlike any seen before!
He will seize for us more land under the sun—the spoils that are the birthright of the bravest Norman Knights!
His noble character is like that of Prince Hector of Troy! Though it has been briefly tarnished, he will forge a kingdom as great as Rome! To Duke Robert! To King Robert! Let me hear you shout, ’God is with us!’"
Raising his cup, Sir Loren spun around on the table. But his foot slipped, and he tumbled to the floor. The cup landed on his head like a cap, drenching him in wine.
"That damned fat pig wants to be a Jester. He’s said all the good words, leaving none for us. Dammit."
"Such flowery words! Which Minstrel did he hear those from? You think that fat pig could say something like that?"
"Just you wait. We’d better carve that pig up into chops now. If that bastard ever gets powerful, he’ll make sure life isn’t easy for the rest of us."
The men below murmured, their mocking tones mostly in jest. Without Sir Loren, the banquet would only be half as fun.
"Well said! Let us toast my most devoted and courageous Warrior, and the kindest man in all of England who hasn’t been hanged yet."
Robert laughed, clinked his cup against Sir Loren’s head, and then poured the wine over him.
"Hahaha! My dear Robert, I can’t wait to pull that unworthy wretch from his throne! I can already picture you holding the Scepter of Royal Authority at your coronation, or King William begging you for mercy.
Perhaps we should rehearse it."
As he spoke, Sir Loren placed a basin on his head, sat down on the table, and adopted a kingly posture.
The surrounding crowd began to whoop and holler.
"My valiant son, Robert. I express to you my deepest regrets. My son, please, seeing as I am your..." Loren suddenly fell at Robert’s feet.
The crowd erupted in another roar of laughter.
"Is that so? Then you truly deserve to die. You plague-ridden fat pig."
Robert, amused, tilted Loren’s chin up with his finger.
"Of course, I deserve to die. I regret that I was blinded at the time. I truly deserve to die, but I beg your forgiveness..."
Just as the two were getting into their performance, the doors to the hall were pushed open.
"Princess Sesil, eldest daughter of the Duke of Normandy and Lady of Buklon Castle, has arrived."
A Herald standing at the door bellowed, his voice overpowering the hall’s clamor.
After his voice fell, the hall instantly went quiet.
Sesil walked in and quickly wrinkled her nose. The smell of the hall was nauseating.
"Sesil?"
Robert froze, then kicked Sir Loren aside.
He strode quickly to Sesil’s side.
"My dearest sister. It has been far too long."
He also noticed Eric standing beside her.
"Stop. I think it would be best if we kept our distance for the time being. Look at the dreadful state you’re in."
With a look of disgust, Sesil pinched Robert’s sleeve and moved his hand away.
"My apologies, my apologies. I didn’t expect you at this hour. You..."
"That’s enough. We’ll talk tomorrow. After you’ve cleaned yourself up and driven out all these rowdy people. Let’s go."
Sesil then gave Robert a wave, turned, and led a few Nuns out of the hall, leaving Robert standing there as if turned to stone.
"Ahem."
After a moment, Robert coughed twice and slung an arm around Eric.
"Everyone, allow me to introduce a friend! A devout Monk, son of the great Conqueror of Italy, our Norman legend, Robert Guiscard—this is Eric Outville!"
At the mention of that name, some in the crowd who recognized it began to cheer.
"Robert, I think..." Eric tried to interrupt.
"Our meeting was the stuff of legend! I first found him on a mountaintop near Jerusalem, praying to God to forgive him for the blood on his Sword—the blood of Saracens! Afterward, in Hereford, he saved an orphaned girl who had lost her parents from the cruelty of her wicked uncle!"
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"Then, in Greece, in the great city of Constantinople! He remained silent for an entire year, only to better hear the voice of God..."
"Oh, I recognize him! He’s that ’English Sage’ from Caen! I watched that trial, too!" someone shouted, recognizing Eric.
"And now this devoted Warrior will fearlessly throw himself into our cause! Let’s give him a cheer!" Robert declared with a grand wave of his arm.
"OH! OH! OH! —"
"Let the music play! On with the dance!"
Having said his piece, Robert pulled Eric out of the great hall.
"Robert, how are the preparations coming along?" Eric asked.
The scene in the great hall had clearly displeased him.
Robert didn’t answer, instead walking into a nearby room.
He slammed the door shut and fiercely hurled the cup in his hand to the ground.
"Damn it all! Eric, do you know?! That old bastard has already collected Normandy’s taxes all the way to the year 1080! He did it behind my back, that old bastard! There’s no way we can support an expeditionary force now!"
