Guillaume, Seigneur de Longpré, sat astride his charger with the other knights of Picardy and Flanders, including his younger brother, Pierre. Many of the military force ranked behind them and other nobles were descendants of the ferocious Celts who had given the Romans, who had passed through Picardy and Flanders, so much grief. Of all the Celtic peoples, the Belgae were the fiercest fighters. Guillaume’s foot soldiers were comprised of a blend of these Celtic people and the Franks who made up the majority of the military force positioned behind the lords of Picardy and Flanders. The remnants of the Picts of Scotland had joined in with the Belgae, their Celtic cousins. The descendants of the Picts, like their cousins the Belgae, were a people so fierce that the Romans had built a wall to separate these wild men of Scotland from the Roman-controlled England.

Their cavalry, bowmen, and foot soldiers were ranked in behind them. Off to their left, at the centre of the attacking forces, rode the Duke of Normandy, William and his army. Making up the final wing of the invading army was the Bretons. The various armies had landed two weeks earlier at Pevensey on the south coast of England. They reached Hastings, where they set up their camps for the battle against King Harold. Then, they waited. On October 14^th, 1066 the battle began.

William charged into the centre of the enemy forces. After engaging in battle following an exchange of arrows, William turned his forces to retreat drawing the English forces into the centre. Then with the English now pulled away from their defences, both wings of the army attacked. At the end of the day, the French forces had won the war. King Harold was dead and Duke William took the crown for himself. To be honest, Guillaume and his men were held in reserve. It was enough. He had honoured his pledge made to his father and earlier in a forest glen north of Somme River. Guillaume remembered that day in the glen and was intent on having his son make the same journey to the sacred grove.

Guillaume returned home to Picardy with his men and knights.  His brother Pierre went north into Scotland, to Aberdeen, where he was to meet with their distant cousins.

~

For the next thirty years, Guillaume found time to raise his only surviving son, Enguerrand, as he continued to keep peace in his small fiefdom along the Somme River. Enguerrand had made the trip into the sacred glen when it was his time. In his fifties, with his son now of an age to take over the rule of the family lands, Guillaume decided to answer the call issued by Pope Urban II. In the late spring of 1097, he rode south wearing the red cross of the crusader.

Heading first to Amiens along with two other knights who had served with him in William’s war at Hastings, Sir Roland de Fontaine, and Sir Geoffroi d’Abbéville, Guillaume followed the trail alongside the river rather than ride on the old Roman road. Guillaume wanted to study once more, the edges of the wilderness that led north of the river.

“What in the good Lord’s name has possessed you to ride along the river, Guillaume,” complained Roland. “The damned mosquitoes are eating me alive. Even my horse is complaining.”

Guillaume laughed, “Your horse is complaining about the weight of his rider, my dear Roland. You’ve put on a bit of weight these past few years.”

“It’s the wine and the pastries that his wife plies him with,” grinned Geoffroi. “She likes him fattened so that the younger ladies aren’t so willing to climb into his bed.”

“I’ll have you know that I am a Christian man, Geoffroi. I don’t take other women to my bed. Marie-Rose is my wife, and even she is too much for me. This vow of celibacy I took to be a knight in the Pope’s army to reclaim the Holy Lands, is freeing, don’t you think?”

And so the banter went as they approached Amiens, a town that had become a thriving city built around a rare bridge over the Somme River. It had been a gathering place for countless centuries if not longer. Amiens was once the homeland of the Ambiani, a proud Celtic people.

The knights made their way through the streets with all eyes upon them. Knights were common enough, but wearing the cross of the crusader was a rare sight. Many knelt and crossed themselves as they passed by on the way to the church.

“Father, we are headed to Paris and then on to Rome to see the Holy Father. Do you have any messages that you want taken to either of these cities?” Geoffroi asked the old priest wearing a dirty cassock with a crude wooden cross worn as a pendant from a dirty, leather thong.

“Good sirs,” replied the priest, “If you would be so kind, I have a bag of coins that needs to be delivered to the Bishop of Paris. Perhaps you would join me for a mug of wine and a simple meal?”

“Thank you, Father,” Guillaume spoke with a gentle smile. “We have already made arrangements at the Inn. We would not think of imposing on your hospitality. Sir Geoffroi d’Abbéville will put your gift to the bishop in a secure place. Is there nothing else we could do for you?”

“No, no, my Lords,” the priest protested, finally recognising Guillaume as the Seigneur of Longpré.

“Well then, if you could bless us, and say a prayer with us, we will be on our way,” Guillaume added, showing an uncharacteristic gentleness. Guillaume was a hard man, not the friendliest of Lords in Picardy. It was as though, having donned the crusader’s cross, he became a kinder man. He wasn’t sure if it was the cross or simply because he was getting to be an old man.