A boy arrived with a tray of wine cups and Harold released my hand and took one, gulping down the contents and wiping his mouth on his sleeve as I had seen him do so many times.
‘On the way back … my ‘tis a pretty country and the buildings all of stone…but, I digress … we had need to cross a tidal river wherein some of his men got into difficulty and were drowning in the mud alongside. Without thinking, I spurred my horse in and whipped them out before they, or I, should be sucked under. I tell you, anyone would have done the same but William, as is his want, made a big to do about it, swearing I had acted the hero’s part. On our arrival back at Bayeux he ordered an oath taking ceremony for his huscarls to swear him loyalty and, before I knew it, he was knighting me and bidding me swear fealty to him too.’
Whispered comment eddied about the hall at this shocking revelation for everyone present knew that Harold’s allegiance lay with Edward.
‘They do things differently in Normandy,’ Harold went on to explain, ‘an oath is not a voluntary thing, sworn to the man of one’s own choosing. In Normandy, a man must swear fealty where he is bid. I had no choice but to kneel before the bastard and make my pledge. The hall was full of his men and Hakon and my brother held hostage to my response, I could do nought but kneel in fealty to him but I do swear now, on the queen’s book,’ he cried, snatching up Edith’s psalter and holding it high, ‘that a forced oath is a false oath and that my true loyalty lies with King Edward and with England too.’
A cheer broke out in the company and all but lifted the rafters while Harold stood smiling and nodding grimly on the crowd.
‘And when will he let my son go free?’ asked Gytha from her seat close by the queen.
Harold turned to her and for once, looking hang-dog and defeated, confessed,
‘I know not, Madam. William swears that you promised him the throne, Edward, is that so? Did you so promise?’
Plucking at his robes, the king looked frantically from Harold to the queen,
‘I don’t think so, but I may have, Harold, if he was pressing me but … I wouldn’t have meant it. Nobody would want him on the Saxon throne.’
Harold raised his eyes to heaven.
‘Well, he took it on trust, Edward, and now wants me to turn the castle at Dover over to his care and, furthermore, to support his bid for the throne on your demise, far off may that day be. I fear that the fee for failing him in this will be the life of my brother but to that I cannot swear. I also fear that my failure to honour my pledge could result in war with Normandy and that we needs must avoid.’
The king, who had been sitting fiddling with the rich brocade trim on his tunic, cleared his throat and spoke thinly,
‘I am tired of all this troublous talk now, let us make merry and praise God for your safe return, Harold. Come, harper, play and sing to us while the night is young.’
I heard a gusty sigh beside me as Leofwine turned to his brother and whispered,
‘The king was ever the one to avoid unpleasantness. We needs must talk of this again, Harold, Wulfnoth cannot be sacrificed but neither can we let him be used as a fulcrum to force your hand.’
The brothers moved away to join Gyrth and Tostig close to the hearth; I followed, since my hand was still held fast in Harold’s. As we drew close, Tostig moved away to join the king and Edith at the gaming table.
‘I did not tell all, brothers,’ whispered Harold, ‘the oath I took to William was not just a simple pledge of loyalty.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, it was taken most solemnly, on the Holy relics of Normandy’s most precious saints. I swore, before God and his saints, to uphold the Norman claim and I cannot do it, not if I burn in hellfire for all eternity, for I will not let that man take the Saxon throne.’
There came a loud ringing in my ears, a sign of sudden stress with which my life’s misfortunes had made me familiar.
‘Why did you swear then, Harold, on sacred relics? You must have been mad.’ I cried, struggling to relinquish my hand and try with all my might to keep my voice within the bounds of normality.
‘They had them hidden. When I said the words I believed I could foreswear honourably for, as all men know, an oath not freely given is not binding. It was not until the words were out of my mouth that the duke’s brother, Bishop Odo, revealed the Holy casket beneath the cloth upon which they had placed my hand.’
‘Can we avoid war now, Harold? Do you think William will let it rest? What did the king say?’ asked Leofwine, and Harold, looking down into the depths of his wine cup replied,
‘I did not tell the king, and no, Leo, I do not believe we can avoid war. It will come sooner or later but, I swear, that man will take this kingdom over the bones of my dead body.’
‘And mine too.’ cried Leo without hesitation,
‘And mine.’ repeated Gyrth a moment later. With dread in my heart, I stood watching as their cups kissed and all three drank to the pledge.
Much later, as the embers of the fire shifted and sank into cinders and most of the company slept where they had fallen about the hearth, Harold and I wandered into the courtyard. It was a cold, bright night, the moon riding high on a cloud-tossed, black sky.
‘You gave much away tonight, sweetheart.’
‘Did I?’ I said, drawing my gaze away from the moon, ‘in what way?’
‘Oh, in the best way,’ he drawled, ‘your eyes lit up like yonder stars when you saw me and you revealed your care for my soul by almost weeping when you learned I would be damned to hell’s fire if I break the oath.’
The intensity of his eyes discomforted me. I had missed him so much. I looked away, feigning flippancy in an attempt to return to our bantering ways of old.
‘I see you have learned frenchified gallantry while you have been away, Sir,’ I mocked, but he was having none of it and did not retaliate. Taking my chin between his strong fingers he tilted my head back, forcing me to look into his eyes.
‘You have made up your mind to have me then, madam?’ he stated, as if the question was already answered.
I licked my lips that had suddenly gone very dry and waited while, slowly, his face drew closer to mine. I kept my eyes open until his two eyes merged into one and then into nothing. My own closed and I parted my lips to receive his kiss.
We remained thus joined, gently, almost passionlessly until, at length, he broke away. I opened my eyes and looked at him, golden in the moonlight.
‘Can I take that as a yes then?’ he asked, smoothing a stray strand of hair from my cheek and, with tears wetting my face and unable to make any other answer, I heard myself say, ‘Oh, yes, Harold, yes please.’
We planned the wedding to take place as soon as possible. Having gained the blessing of the king and bourn the overwhelming good wishes of the queen, we prepared to visit my old Mercian home so that Harold could formally request of Edwin my hand. On route we detoured to visit Waltham, where Harold had founded a church he hoped would rival Edward’s abbey at the West Minster.
We were in good spirits as we rode through the golden day. Although the sun dripped through the autumn-kissed trees the sharp aroma of winter was already tingling the back of my nose and forcing me to keep my cloak wrapped tight about my shoulders.
Riding ahead of the rest of the party, Harold and I descended into the valley and I caught my first glimpse of the church tower against the bright sky. As we grew closer Harold told me that the old wooden church which had been built by Cnut’s standard-bearer, Tofig, had fallen into decay and so he had ordered it rebuilt in stone. Although it still resembled a building site rather than a church, he had installed a community of secular canons with a dean to watch over them and endowed it with many sacred relics. The church was smaller than that at Thorney but still impressive, despite the thump of stone hammers and the workmen scaling the scaffolding that towered high above us. Peace did not abide here yet but the promise of tranquillity lay in the pure lines and stolid dependability of the structure.
I glanced at Harold and then, without waiting for assistance, scrambled down from my palfrey. He watched me, assessing my reaction as I moved around the building, craning my neck to absorb every angle and detail of the design, asking questions about the final plans.
Taking my arm, he guided me through the stone entrance at the west end and along tiled floor toward the high altar. He told me of the splendid cathedrals in Normandy. The sunlight streamed in through the window openings, illuminating the cavernous space yet leaving intimate, half lit corners, like small secrets as yet undiscovered. Pigeons fluttered high up in the roof space, sending feathers and other, less savoury offerings, scattering to the floor.
The rough voices of the workmen drifted away, insignificant in such splendid surroundings and, forgetting the chaos of the building site, I felt Harold and I were alone in the holy place. Although God, I am sure, was watching.
‘Will you lay with me here, Eadgyth?’ Harold asked quietly. Aghast at his suggestion, I turned startled eyes upon him, unable to find my voice.
‘Harold.’ I exclaimed at last, flushing red. His sudden loud burst of laughter echoed about the nave, turning workmen’s heads toward us in curiosity.
‘I didn’t mean that, sweetheart. Although I must confess the idea does have its attractions.’
Doubling up again, he clutched at himself until, seeing I was not amused, he fought to quell his mirth and, straightening up and spluttering a few times, added,
‘I meant, will you lay with me here in the hereafter, as my wedded wife. ‘tis such a tranquil spot to spend eternity, I thought we might share it.’
Looking at the light and shadow of the interior and, in my imagination replacing the sound of hammering with plainsong, it did strike me as a good place to rest until the day of judgement. Smarting with embarrassment and reluctant to climb down from my high horse, I responded,
‘tis a good thought Harold but, until such time as I may be your wife, I think ‘tis an indelicate discussion.’
Turning on my heel, I marched outside, hearing him swear as he stumbled over a wheeled barrow that had been left unattended near the door.
‘Eadgyth.’ he cried, joining me by the horses, ‘What has happened to your sense of humour this morning?’
‘No one likes to be laughed at, Harold,’ I said, ‘The children and Anwen are here now. Why not go about your business while I stroll about here in the sunshine? No doubt by the time you return my temper will have righted itself.’
Bowing over my hand, he walked away without looking back while I turned to greet the children as they came running toward me across the greensward.
‘Mother!’ cried Maredudd, reaching me moments before his sister. Nesta clung to my knees, her face beaming up at me, aglow with love.
‘We sawed a fox, Mother.’ Maredudd cried, ‘a great, big red one.’
‘You saw a fox, my sweet,’ I corrected, stroking Nesta’s black hair back from her white brow. No matter how hotly the sun shone, Nest’s skin never tanned but retained the opalescent paleness. Anwen and Maude joined us, Idwal clutching his nurse’s skirt.
‘Greetings, Mother,’ he said, bowing from the waist as he had been taught. He was a quiet boy, often seeming troubled, although he continued to grow like a weed.
‘Have you been inside the church?’ he asked, craning his head back to look up at the top of the tower.
‘I have, Idwal, but I want to see it from the other side, Harold says that the crossing tower can be viewed better from there.’
Taking his hand and hoisting Nest onto my hip, we walked together around the west range, passing what would soon become the new monks’ quarters. A wall, flanked by a row of clean square arches with stone benches, was set back from the breeze providing an area for quiet, monastic contemplation. Anwen’s leg, that still vexed her from time to time was making her walk with a dip, so I bade her and Maude to wait for us in the quadrant.
Settling them beneath an arch, I took the children with me to examine the church exterior. Pointing out the gargoyles that hung impossibly high on the stonework, I watched their responses, enjoying their unique view of the world.
‘Why did Earl Harold wish to build a church, Mother?’ asked Idwal from my side. He held my hand while Maredudd and Nest tumbled in play on the grass.
‘I think, Idwal, that he wanted to show his appreciation of God and to secure a place in heaven.’
Idwal was silent for a while as we walked on.
‘Perhaps, Mother,’ he hesitated for a moment, ‘… perhaps it is to seek God’s forgiveness for all our kinsmen that he murdered.’
Looking down at his white face I knew not what to say so, instead, I knelt in the grass and hugged him. I had hoped he had forgotten or perhaps not comprehended the relevance of our wild ride that night but, as I held him, I realised that he had understood all too well.
I wondered then, what his sojourn in Snowdonia had been like for him; how fearful had he been? What horrors had he witnessed? What conversations had he overheard? Anwen swore that he had not seen Gruffydd’s murder but he must have learned of it all the same. I wondered if the knowledge troubled him very much and wished for a more suitable location to discuss it with him.
‘It was war, sweetheart. Earl Harold is a soldier, Idwal, and soldiers must do bad things. All soldiers do bad things, each one believing their own motivation to be the moral one, the one that God supports. We cannot decide which act is God’s will and which is not, that is for him to decide. All human beings are flawed, my son, we come into the world that way and can only seek perfection. Some men manage to commit offences in God’s name and maintain their moral fibre and … others do not. I think, for all his offences, Harold has managed to keep God’s grace.’
Idwal looked blankly into my eyes,
‘Is that why you are going to marry him, even though he murdered my father?’
‘Oooh, sweetheart, you do not understand the truth. Harold did not murder Gruffydd, twas our own Welsh kin that did so, to free themselves from him. He was not a gentle king, he suffered much as a youth and was a man who did not manage to keep God’s grace. The Welsh suffered under Gruffydd and, in surrendering to England, you lost your inheritance; in marrying Harold, I hope to redress that loss. His position as Earl of Wessex means that he has power and influence with King Edward and may well be able to reinstate you in Gwenydd when you reach a man’s estate. Harold can help all of us regain some of what we have lost and he can help you to learn to be a just ruler and the people of Cymru will welcome you home. We need Harold to help us.’
Chewing at his lip, Idwal continued to look at me, blinking as he tried to absorb my words. I felt a pang of remorse for I had but told him the half-truth. Harold could possibly help me to reinstate my sons in their Welsh cantrefs but the real reason I had agreed to wed with him was because my body burned for him as I had never expected it to burn for a man again.
Clutching the hilt of his wooden sword, Idwal looked across to where his brother and sister were playing.
‘Who are they talking to?’ he asked suddenly and, glad to change the subject, I followed his line of vision to see a group of children sitting in a circle with Maredudd and Nesta on the damp grass.
‘Let us go and see,’ I said, glad of the distraction, and taking his hand, we walked together to join the others.
‘That’s a curious name,’ a golden-haired girl was saying, ‘I have never heard the like before have you, Magnus?’
‘No,’ Magnus replied, ‘and the name Nesta is strange too.’
Maredudd stood up to acknowledge my presence.
‘We are Welsh,’ he said, ‘my name is well known in Wales and so is the name Nesta. My father was the king of all Wales and I am a prince, and Nesta is a princess too.’
‘Welsh.’ the strange children exclaimed in unison, ‘How far you are from home. We have never met a Welshman before, have we, Magnus? What are you doing here in Waltham?’
‘Looking at this church. My m
other likes churches, the ones in Wales are made only of wood and we had never seen a stone one until we came to England. Have you been to the king’s new abbey church at Thorney? I think ‘tis bigger than this.’
‘No,’ the girl replied, clearly put out that the Welshmen were so much better travelled than she. ‘We rarely travel abroad, my elder brother has travelled far and has his own manor toward the south coast; we haven’t been to the king’s court yet but we shall when we are older.’
They all looked up as Idwal settled himself beside them on the grass.
‘Hello,’ I said, ‘isn’t it a lovely day to visit the church. This is my son, Idwal. Maredudd and Nest are his siblings,’ I smiled at them, encircling my children with a sweep of my arms. ‘My name is Eadgyth, what are your names?’
The girl stood up and curtseyed, she was simply clad in cloth of the finest quality and I hoped she’d not get into trouble for the grass that marred the front of her tunic. She regarded me with large blue eyes before replying,
‘I am called Gytha and this is my brother, Magnus. He cannot rise easily so I hope you will excuse him, he was crippled from birth but my father says has the finest mind he has ever known in a child.’
I smiled my pity on the boy but he shrugged it away so I continued without comment.
‘Do you live close by? We are travelling from the King’s lodging at Thorney to my brother’s holdings in Mercia and stopped here to view the church, although it is much out of our way.’
‘Our home is about a two mile walk from here, tis not far. It is a pleasant property, my mother is there with our sister, Gunnhild and our brother, Edmund. My father is away a lot but we see him whenever his business allows and he always brings us presents. Last time he bought me a psalter and an ivory comb fashioned into the likeness of a shell but it is sometime now since he has come.’
The girl sat down again with us and shoved at her brother, forcing him to lift his backside from the grass,
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