Southern Coast of Britain
October 1066
William, duke of Normandy, surveyed the wreckage of his battle against the stalwart Saxons. It had been hard going to defeat Harold—more so than he had expected. The enemy archers had very nearly driven his troops back and at the height of the combat he had been forced to ride the length of the field to prove to his men that he was, in fact, still alive. But in the end, his army had carried the day. He had feared he had taken a chance relating the story of Roland to them; the paladin had died in the end, after all—but the hero’s fighting spirit had inspired them, and now Harold was dead and England lay before them.
Joachim sauntered up to William’s side. “My lord! The day is yours!” He flashed a crooked smile. “The men have taken to calling you ‘The Conqueror’!”
“Have they?” William snorted. He was almost disappointed. “The Bastard” had had a dangerous sound to which he’d become accustomed. “You had nothing to do with that, I venture?”
“The men will claim their own, my lord. I am merely their voice.” He swept his cap off with a fool’s flourish. “Good evening to you, sire, and may the morrow bring you greater victory in London!”
Joachim ambled away, ignoring William’s gaze as it bored into his back.
William the Conqueror, the duke thought. Indeed. He couldn’t deny them, though. They had fought hard and valiantly for him. God bless their hardheaded souls.
He turned, almost colliding with his squire who stood behind him with an oblong bundle.
“Gads, boy! You can move like a cat when it suits you, eh?” He motioned the lad forward, took the silk-wrapped parcel from him, and reverently folded back the wrappings.
Durendal had been lost centuries ago, somewhere on the Iberian plain never to be found. But the Oliphant had endured—indeed William was sure it had been the horn’s ringing cry that had rallied his men at the end. He carefully exposed the glittering silver and ivory that gleamed as if still new. He knelt in the setting sun, bowing his head, and offered his thanks to Saint Michael for stalwart companions and noble heroes.
Victory was won. There was only one thing remaining.
He raised the horn to his lips and blew.
AOI