CHAPTER XXXVII
The Year 1120 - the 25th of November
Barfleur Harbor, Normandy
Shooting stars danced across the sky. Thomas leaned against the low railing, watching the tide come in. The crown prince had already embarked. He was sharing his father’s good wine with the passengers and crew. Everyone was merry, singing and dancing on the deck with contagious excitement. Everything was just as it should be.
The southerly breeze turned frosty. A thin crescent moon hung low in the clear, dark sky. It would be easy to navigate by the pole star. The ideal time to sail would be at the setting of the moon an hour or two before high water in order to get out of the harbor safely and catch a fair tide for the first hours of the passage.
Thomas anticipated the sailing eagerly. The sea outside Barfleur’s harbor was strewn with rocks, but by steering a forty-degree course, the captain knew his ship would be free of all danger after about a mile. Then he could turn her due north for a smooth crossing straight on to England.
He watched the fleet of ships bobbing in the water, one by one unfurling their sails. The king’s vessel had a new sail, six golden lions against a field of blue, the same as the banner that flew atop the White Ship’s mast. The fleet was preparing to put out to sea.
Thomas made his way across the deck weaving through the crowd of dancing aristocrats and celebrating crewmen. He bowed to Prince William. “With your permission, Your Highness,” he said.
The prince nodded. “Captain?”
“The tide is in, Milord, and the fleet is ready to sail.”
“Not yet,” the prince replied. “I shall tell you when we are ready to sail.”
Thomas was confused. “But, Your Highness,” he said.
“We will leave when I say and not a moment before. That will be all, Captain.”
Thomas protested. “Your Highness, I urge you to give the order now while the tide and wind are in our favor.”
“I said that will be all, Captain,” the prince said sharply.
Thomas felt the blood rush to his face, but he bowed to the prince, made his way back across the deck, and stood at the helm. He thought furiously that the crown prince knew nothing of the sea. As captain of this ship his word should be law, but he dare not defy the royal order.
“More wine!” the prince cried. “Is there a trouvere on board?” A minstrel stepped forward bowing low to the prince. “Well met,” William said, grinning. “Give us a song, trouvere. Let us have a rondel.”
The minstrel started the song, joined on each round by the merry passengers.
“With beast and bird the forest rings,
Each in his jargon cries or sings,
And time throws off his cloak again,
Of ermine frost and cold and rain,
Someone cried, “Do you know ‘The Priest Who Ate Mulberries?” The trouvere nodded.
“Ye lordlings all, come lend an ear,” he sang,
“It boots ye naught to chafe of fleer,
As overgrown with pride
Ye need must hear Dan Guerin tell,
What once a certain priest befell,
To market bent to ride.”
William grabbed a lady dressed in a blue velvet cloak and danced with her around the deck. Several other couples joined in as the party sang along and the king’s wine flowed. Crewmen happily filled their cups, singing and watching the antics of the upper crust.
On the dock, the crowd parted to allow a party of priests to approach the ship. The Bishop of Coutance had arrived to bless the White Ship’s maiden voyage. The priests stood on the edge of the dock calling up to the vessel.
Prince William danced the lady to the rail, where he leaned over the side of the ship. “Oh look, the priests have come. Good Bishop,” William shouted, “do you have any mulberries?”
The prince’s mocking tone sent the group onboard into gales of laughter.
“We have come to bless the maiden voyage of the White Ship,” a priest called. “We bring the relics of Saint Josse, the patron saint of ships and mariners. Where is the Captain?”
“I am the authority on this ship,” William shouted.
The bishop bowed to the crown prince. “May we come aboard, Your Royal Highness?”
“Begone!” Stephen of Blois cried. “We need no blessings here. Captain Fitz Stephen has assured us that not even God can sink this ship.”
The crowd gasped as the bishop cried, “This is blasphemy!”
William turned to the trouvere. “Give us another song to drown out the whining priests.”
Nervously, the trouvere began to sing,
“When the cold breeze blows over
From your country,
It seems to me
I feel a wind from Paradise.”
A crewman crudely paraphrased the trouvere’s song.
“When the fart blows from the ass,” he bellowed,
From the ass from which my lady shits and farts,
It seems to me
I smell a stench of piss.”
The drunken passengers laughed hysterically. Stephen of Blois called down to the priests, “Take your leave, clerics, and take your relics with you. You are not welcome here.”
The furious bishop and his priests turned and left the dock. The crowd murmured nervously.
William of Roumare whispered to, Rabel, the king’s chamberlain, “Prince William has driven the priests away without blessing the ship.”
Edward of Salisbury overheard and said, “An unblessed ship is cursed by God.”
The king’s chamberlain nodded. “All was in good fun until now, but I fear this blasphemy is a portent that cannot possibly bode well.”
Edward of Salisbury said, “I do not feel comfortable sailing on a ship that could very well carry a curse. Not even a prince can flaunt such arrogance in the face of God. Do what you will. As for me, I shall seek a place on one of the other ships in the king’s fleet.”
The three men quietly disembarked.
Robert of Gloucester nodded to Stephen, who approached Prince William. Suddenly, Stephen doubled over, grasping his stomach like he was in great pain. “Ooh,” he moaned.
“What is wrong with you, cousin?” the prince asked.
“Forgive me, William,” Stephen gasped. “I fear I am about to explode. My bowels seem to be rebelling against too much rich tavern food and all this wine. I beg your leave. Oh! Ow!”
Robert put his arm around his cousin’s shoulder, appearing very concerned. Stephen was bent in half, gripping his stomach and moaning.
“I shall go with him, William,” Robert said. “Poor fellow, we have all been there, have we not?”
William laughed, swaying unsteadily on his feet. “That we have, my brother.”
“Stephen and I shall take passage on a later ship.” Robert’s eyes flashed mischievously. “We shall await you on the beach when you land in England.”
William replied, “The wager is that the White Ship beats the Mora and that is as good as done. Youth shall indeed best age. I shall see you on the other side when you arrive. Prepare to bid farewell to your two finest stallions and three best dogs, Robert.”
“We shall see who laughs last,” the prince’s half brother said.
“Oh!” Stephen moaned.
“Come on,” Robert said compassionately. “Let us make haste to bring you comfort, cousin.”
The two men hurried down the gangplank, disappearing into the crowd on the dock. Once out of sight they hastened toward the king’s ship.