William the Conqueror: Autobiography

They called me William the Bastard, for that was what I was –a William and a son of two lovers. My father, the Duke Robert of Normandy, used to tell me he met my mother dancing by the stream. They fell in love; I was the result, born in 1027, anno domini.

Normandy is a rather small bit of land on the coast of Northwestern France that my ancestors had managed to haggle out of the French king some generations ago. I know almost nothing of what really happened (history has always bored me), but somehow or rather my father became duke, and got all the smaller lords and barons in Normandy under his thumb.

That’s me in the picture! When I was seven, my father Robert decided to go on a pilgrimage. Perhaps he had done a great deal of wrong things, and felt a need to make up for those before he died. He explicitly said in his will I was his heir, and I was to take control if he didn’t return.

He didn’t return.

So when I was seven years old, I became William, Duke of Normandy. The problem was, though, that the other lords and barons that had been controlled by my dad weren’t happy with me in power, and war broke out in the region. Suddenly almost everyone was out to get me, so my few loyal relatives kept me in hiding. It was a rough childhood. I hardly understood during the first few years why I had to leave my comfortable castle for dank caves and cooped-up cottages. I learned much and saw much during that time, and swordfights and quick-wittedness became ingrained into my mind and heart.

By the time I was nineteen, I had finally managed to get the military help of the French king, and with that I proceeded to crush the mutinous barons at the town of Caen. Now I, like my father, had got all Normandy under my thumb. I sat down to rule Normandy. Some would say I had an iron grip, but I doubt there was any other way to rule this unruly land. I was harsh, and I was a fierce warrior. That kept me as Duke.

Perhaps it might be important to mention a little of my family relations in order to explain this part of my life better. You see, I was related to the king of England through my great-aunt Emma (May she rest in peace). So when the King of England died (May he also rest in peace), I discovered I had a better claim to the throne than the heir the king of England wanted: Harold Godwinson, Earl of Wessex. I wanted England for myself. Yes, I had Normandy, but why shouldn’t I have Normandy and England with it?

I also reminded Harold of a promise he made some years ago before the English king’s death. By a wind of my good fortune (and a wind of ill-fate for Harold), King-to-be Harold’s ship got wrecked on my coast, and I decided to play a little game. I brought the heir to my palace, and treated him to good meals and good soft bedding. Then I promised Harold that I would bring him back safely to England, if he swore to give me the crown of England upon his king’s death.

Poor Harold did not refuse the bargain. My ancient ancestor had haggled Normandy out of the ancient French king’s lands, and I had haggled England out of Harold’s hands. Notice the resemblance?

However, when Harold returned, and the old English king died, Harold refused to just hand me the crown. He made himself king, and dared me to come over and take the crown off his head. I prepared Normandy for war. England was to be mine!

While I was getting ready and waiting for the right time to strike, Harold was fighting other people who also envied his throne. Harold bravely defeated them all, with the exception of me.
In 1066, we met in battle, for the first and last time. I had already landed on Hastings, southern Britain, with seven thousand knights, footmen, archers, and mercenaries. Harold had an army of spearmen, and a few archers.

The Battle of Hastings lasted all day, but my horsemen and knights overrode and crushed Harold’s line of infantry. Harold got shot in the eye, and died. I had fought King Harold Godwinson and won. I conquered Britain and had myself crowned King. I was ruler of two whole countries!

People no longer called me William the Bastard. Now they called me William the Conqueror, as I am known in those pieces of tree-scrap parchment you call “books”.

I proceeded to set up my government in Britain, established a stable tax system, put down all the little rebellions around my new lands, built brand-new castles, and returned back to Normandy to supervise both of my kingdoms. Now, after all the excitement of victorious conquest, I felt bored. So I continued going into wars and getting out of them; I suppose I never felt whole without at least some form of fighting every now and then. Some might say it is in every Norman duke’s blood instinct to go to battle (and hopefully, win).

Alas, in one such battle, I got wounded. An arrow got stuck in my shoulder, dangerously near my heart. My physicians tried to pull it out, but to no avail. Now, at my deathbed, in the year 1087, I have gotten a solid, stout priest to write for me this brief account of my life, so somebody in the far future may read and be inspired.

And I’m so vain.





.

Thoughts

Lately I've been thinking a lot. Not that I don't think much on other times, but I guess certain events in my life has made me think more. One of these events has been my turning twelve recently. It sort of triggered me to ask the question: where will God call me to? Does he want me to be a writer? A businessman? A janitor, even. A pastor? Maybe a missionary.

Suddenly I also just have felt a great passion to pray for the unsaved. It's gotten so strong that I have this desire to pray even for people I meet on the street. I'm not quite sure if this is a calling of God for something greater, or simply a desire God put in me.

Whatever my calling may be, wherever I go, whatever the job I take, I want to make God my vision, my passion, my call.

Walter the Toyseller

Dong! Dong! goes the curfew bell. It is dawn, four weeks since Michaelmas in 1358, Anno Domini. I awaken, pull myself off the straw mattress, and get ready for market day. I grab a bulging frieze bag of my wares I will sell – toys. I gather some victuals for the morning meal, then walk out of the little hovel I call my home. Already the city of London is stirring. Carpenters, goldsmiths, and other craftsmen are opening their shops. Other merchants and peddlers, like me, Walter the Toyseller, make their way to the various markets in town. I make my way to my assigned spot in the marketplace, a sharp corner between two narrow, cobblestone streets. I arrange my wares on the table: dolls on my right, along with the puppets and woolen-stuffed animals. I place my game boards, like merles boards, and fox-and-geese sets, in the middle, so small parts won’t roll of the side. Ceramic figures and the costlier, but prettier, pewter figures are laid lying down. An hour after dawn, I am all set for business. Quite quickly, people start coming into the market. The morning is the time when most of the people come out, so I try to get as many as I can before the crowd begins to leave. The market is noisy, hectic, and smelly, with women haggling with produce sellers for cabbages, and young apprentices running errands for their masters, and the stinking open sewers that are all over the town. With all the noise, it is rather hard to advertise. I must raise my voice to the top of my lungs to be heard above the hustle and bustle. A father and his son pass by, and the son points at the ceramic goose figure. The father did not hear him and continues walking along. About ten minutes later, they return. The father gestures to the figure his son wants and we begin bargaining. Finally after fifteen minutes or so the man is satisfied with the price, pays the money, and gives the toy goose to his son. This process is repeated again and again. Now it is almost noon, and I had finished my victuals already. The curfew bells strikes again; signaling noon, and soon the crowds begins to return to their homes. Business grows steadily slower. Two hours later, the crowd is very thin, so I close shop and return to the cottage I am boarding in. Then I get some well-earned rest before I make more toys for tomorrow.