We were all worried and overwrought with waiting. The men of the fyrd, already out for longer than their allotted time, were eager to get back to their farmsteads where crops awaited harvesting and animals needed slaughtering and salting for winter. Should the Normans not come at all, England still faced a bleak winter season if the crops be left to rot in the fields.
I walked among the men, safe and confident in their midst, for they loved Harold and had taken me as a lucky talisman. Passing a group of rough soldiers who sat ringed about a fire honing their new-shafted axes, making ready for war, I nodded and smiled.
‘Evenin’ Madam,’ they murmured, pausing in their work to watch me pass by.
I felt for them, far from their homes and families and knew myself fortunate indeed to share my anxious days with the king and, each night, snuggle with him in the warmth of our bed furs. As secure as this seems, there was no respite from the tension, no leisurely laughter or time to relax. We just sat and waited, too anxious to stray far from camp and too restless to find much joy in each other’s company.
The leaves were beginning to turn, the summer almost over before it was properly begun. It was mid September and I was due to give birth in December. I wondered where we would be by then? What if William defeated Harold? What would become of us all? What would become of the babe I carried? Sitting high upon the pillows, I stroked the neat bulge of my stomach and could not sleep. There were so many questions I could not answer. Did I carry the next king in my womb? Would I be safely delivered of a boy or, like so many women, bear the wrenching pain of childbirth to produce only a dead prince? My other pregnancies had run smooth and the births had been easy; even the fiasco of birthing Maredudd in a damp, cold cave had been straightforward but there was no guarantee that this birth would be so.
Harold stirred beside me, his own loud snores waking him. His breathing slowed for a few moments and then he blinked and stretched out an arm for me.
‘Why are you awake?’ he asked, ‘lie down with me, you will catch a chill.’
‘Tis not cold, Harold, although the rain falls and the wind blows like ‘tis March. I am restless that is all, how can it be otherwise? This uncertainty is driving us all to madness.’
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and, finding the pot, pissed loudly into it, yawning and scratching his head. I watched the clenched cheeks of his bare rump as he emptied the last few drops from his bladder before crossing the chamber and scrambling back beneath the covers.
‘Come, Woman, warm me up, I am frozen.’ His hands were like ice on my body but I did not flinch from his touch, instead I wound my legs about him and drew him closer.
His face burrowed into my neck, hot breath on my skin. When he began to love me, I was not eager but, knowing that the morning might bring war and chaos, I opened myself to suggestion and let his desire melt my reluctance away. His hot mouth and the soft probing of his tongue sent shivers of awakening pleasure through my body. Lazy fingers, idly teasing and caressing, developed into insistence and, their spell working, I soon lay beneath him panting, wanting him as much as he wanted me.
He reared above me, his scarred chest gleaming in the torchlight as he prepared to enter. Gasping and clutching at my pillow, delight began to melt my bones. Breath came short. Harold, his jaw set and his blue eyes looking deep into mine, kept firm control, monitoring his movements with mine, our bellies bumping, our hips grinding, pleasure flooding, threatening to drown us.
A noise outside. The tent flap opened, bringing in a blast of night air, ‘No.’ I groaned and, still inside me, Harold turned his head toward the intruder,
‘Get the hell out of here!’ he yelled and the messenger fled.
Eyes screwed shut and my mouth wide I panted, urging him with my muscles to continue but, our moment spoiled, he withdrew reluctantly, kissing me gently before getting out of bed and dragging on his breeches to cover his dwindling fervour.
‘I’ll kill the bastard.’ he said as he stormed from the tent and I rolled onto my stomach, biting the pillow and cursing all messengers.
A few moments later Harold burst into the tent again. ‘Get up and get dressed, Eadgyth,’ he said curtly, ‘we ride back to Thorney, now.’
‘But, Harold, it’s dark. What has happened? What about William?’
Sitting on the edge of the bed pulling on his boots, he didn’t look at me.
‘The north wind, that has kept William from us, has blown trouble instead onto our northern shores. Tostig has landed in the shire of York. He has allied himself with Hardrada who thinks to lay a claim to this land himself. Apparently they mean to take York and set Hardrada up as king there in opposition to my rule. Over my dead body, do you hear?’
Passion forgotten, I scrambled from my bed and began to struggle into my clothes, my fingers refusing to tie the lacings.
‘But, Harold, what about William? If you ride north you leave the door open for the Bastard in the south.’
‘Aye, sweetheart, I know, but what can I do? Let Tostig and Hardrada make free with my northern properties? They won’t stop at York. Even now they range abroad looting and burning. At my crowning I swore before God to protect and serve the people of England …all of the people.’
Grabbing a comb, I began to drag it through my hair.
‘But will Edwin and Morcar’s armies not be strong enough to defeat the invaders?’
‘By all accounts the invasion force is large, and I am sick of inactivity. I have the urge to kill these pretenders to my throne; look how my hands shake with the rage that surges through me. Kill them, I must.’
He threw back the tent flap and disappeared into the lightening dawn.
Thorney- September 1066
Leaving his brother Leofwine in charge of the court, Harold rode away again, his set face and squared chin filling me with fear. I knew he would stop at nothing to defend his kingdom, even if it meant he die in the attempt. I needed him. I wanted to hold him back, strike him unconscious, anything to prevent his departure.
Instead, I sought and found the courage to summon a watery smile as he leaned from his saddle to leave a kiss on my hair.
‘Farewell, Sweetheart,’ he said, but I had no voice to reply. Mutely, I watched them ride away, a bright cavalcade of hope on the dull September day. Idwal, who had crept away from Anwen’s watch, slipped his hand into mine, sharing his own small store of courage. Turning away, we re-entered the hall, my throat closed and tears stinging my eyes.
An agony of waiting followed. It is the lot of women to sit idle at home while their men take their chance on the field of battle. Unable to rest or concentrate, I paced the confines of the palace, tetchy and miserable. I could not recall ever having felt so when Gruffydd rode off to war; I can never even recall asking whence he rode. In those days I was concerned only with myself and spared him not a thought, apart, perhaps, from an unspoken wish that he should not return.
With Harold, however, it was different; each hoof beat or footfall had me leaping from my chair, although I knew he could not possibly have returned so swiftly. Had I not been carrying England’s heir I would have taken up a sword and ridden into battle alongside him, as the queens of bygone days. Boudicca, Gwynhyfyr and Æthelflaed, had not borne the tortuous task of staying home but had fought valiantly for their country on an equal footing with their menfolk.
But I did not want to fight, I wanted peace, time to enjoy my husband and nurture my young in domestic tedium. Since the day we were wed we had enjoyed scarce a moment of quiet and Harold’s promise that, once all invaders were driven from our shores, we would wallow in self-indulgence seemed no more than a dream. All I could do was wait his return. Throughout the long, dark nights I lay wakeful and moved, like a ghost, throughout the long, dark days that followed. Time seemed suspended, those last weeks dragging by until the very last day of September.
The day was a wet one and the children and I were confined to the palace, playing a game of Taefl in my chambers. Nest sat near
the hearth with Puppy, her apron crumpled and coated with dog hairs. I was not really concentrating on the game and was horribly outnumbered. My king was in real trouble and the assailants, in Idwal’s hands, triumphant. The boy crowed with delight at his easy conquest but Maredudd was not fooled, ‘Mother, you weren’t concentrating; Idwal can never usually beat you.’
‘Mayhap my game improves.’ cried his brother, ‘Shall we play again, Mother?’
‘No,’ I said, vacating the seat, ‘I have the headache. Maredudd, you play in my stead.’
Pushing the shutter wide for some fresh air I looked out. The rain had ceased but heavy, dark clouds threatened to burst upon us again at any moment. I could see the full expanse of the palace yard gleaming in the watery sunshine. Everything was as it should be. Leaning my arms on the sill I watched the ducks dabbling in the pond. The poultry, scratching about in wet straw, clucked in alarm when the goatherd scurried toward the gate with his charges running, tails up, before him.
My attention was taken from this domestic scene by some commotion at the gate and I saw a horse, mired and sweating, being led toward the stables, his head low and his coat steaming. He had obviously been ridden hard and long. His rider hurried up the hall steps with his head lowered against another sudden shower. The door was thrust open as I reached it and I almost collided with Anwen who was rushing in.
‘Oh Lady.’ she cried, ‘pardon my haste but young Godwin has ridden in with news from the king.’ Before the last words were from her mouth Godwin entered, muddy and wet, sprinkling drops of rain onto the chamber floor. He bowed over my hand, his face flushing; ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘forgive my disarray but I have news from my father.’
‘Yes, yes,’ I cried, signalling Anwen to fetch refreshment, ‘tell it to me straight. Does the king live?’
‘Aye, Lady, the king is well. He prepares to ride home even now. He sent me forth to set you at your ease but, I would warn you, my news is not all good.’
‘Just tell it, boy. Stop prevaricating.’ I cried, sounding like his father.
Godwin perched on the table and, twisting his gauntlets in his hands, began to tell his tale.
‘We had not ridden sixty leagues from here before news reached us of a great battle. Your brothers, Edwin and Morcar, together with the fighting men of seven shires had met with Hardrada and Tostig at Foul ford gate outside York. They say that the fighting was fierce and the casualties many; they were beaten Lady, some say they were out numbered, some say ‘twas the earls inexperience in battle. Your brother Morcar was wounded, but not killed, he will fight another day. Hardrada and his army had taken York with much slaughter. My father, the king, was furious and we rode forth fast and, without respite, night and day, day and night until the site of the battle was reached. ‘Twas a sorry sight we found there, Lady. ‘Tis my first experience of bloodshed and there had been great violence.’
He took a swig of ale and wiped his mouth on his sleeve before continuing, ‘Saxon bodies lay all about, dismembered, hacked about where they had fallen. Good men drenching the ground with their blood so that the waters of the flood plain ran red. Your brother, Edwin, met us there with his thegns, almost spent as they were. He was injured also, but not badly and he joined with us when Father ordered the mustered army to march on toward the camp of Hardrada and Tostig.’
I watched his young face trying to compose itself before he went on with his tale, trying to recall what he had seen and relay it forth in a manner fit for my womanly ears. ‘We marched, it was fierce hot but we were not permitted to remove our armour. You know what Father is for discipline. Edmund and I were supposed to stay with the baggage train but Father called us forth to ride beside him.’
Here Godwin stumbled over his words, flicking his eyes from me to Anwen, ‘He ordered us not to fight at the forthcoming battle but to look to ourselves so that, should he not prevail, we could seek vengeance for his slaughter. He also bade us, if the day went ill, to look to you, Lady, and … to our mother.’
My lips tightened at the mention of Eadgytha, I imagined her waiting as I did and I wondered if her serenity wavered now. Did she weep as hopelessly as I against the fate the Norns wove for us?
Godwin’s polite cough pulled me back to him and he continued. ‘So swiftly had we travelled that Hardrada’s army were not expecting us for some days and, from our position above the river, we saw them at leisure. The day was so warm that some of them had disrobed and were swimming in the Derwent river. My uncle Gyrth advised that we should fall on them while they were in disarray, slaughter them in their unarmed state and your brother Edwin backed his suggestion. Father would have none of it and insisted that we parley with the enemy first. He rode forth with twenty huscarls; I went with them, at my own request, but was told to keep to the rear should there be any trouble. When we met with the enemy, my Uncle Tostig rode forward with a man taller than any I have seen, even though he be mounted. I guessed him to be the Norwegian king, Harald Sigurdsson, known as Hardrada, the hard ruler. They stopped a short way from us and Father greeted my uncle, not warmly but reasonable when I think he had every reason to slay him then and there.’
Godwin licked his lips and drank again, striving to retain his composure. ‘Go on, Godwin,’ I murmured.
‘Well, Father hailed them both and offered my uncle his old lands back, that land lately given unto Earl Morcar, plus a third of the country for his own rule if he would only return to our side and fight with us against the Norwegians.’
My mind darted from Harold, desperate not to have to kill his own brother, to my brother, Morcar, whom I knew would be equally desperate to keep his northern lands. It did not bode well for future peace but, although it came as a shock that Harold should jeopardise the balance of peace between our two families and make so free with my brother’s properties, I knew that he did so out of desperation and with some thought for his mother. Poor Gytha’s heart must be broken at this enmity between her two sons. I wondered if Harold had been in earnest or if he had simply been attempting to lure Tostig away from Hardrada.
Godwin was speaking again. ‘I am unsure if Hardrada understands the Saxon tongue very well for Tostig seemed to relay the message to him and the big man laughed and said something in his own tongue. Tostig then leaned forward in his saddle and asked Father if he, Tostig, accepted the bargain what would Father offer Hardrada. A great murmur of disquiet rumbled about our men at that but Father, a wicked gleam in his eye and that eyebrow of his raised in that particular way he has, said loudly, so that all should hear. ‘I shall give Hardrada just seven foot of Saxon soil or as much more as he is taller than other men.’ Our army laughed aloud at this, the uproar reaching Hardrada’s assembled force, unsettling them and setting their feet shuffling. He is a brave man, my father, to laugh and make jokes at such a time; I was proud to ride with him.’
I pictured Harold astride his horse, encouraging his men to ridicule the massively built man who had come across the wild ocean to slay him and take from him everything he owned. I could not help but smile, so clearly could I visualise his quirky raised eyebrow, his fair moustaches glinting in the sun.
‘Then what happened?’ asked Anwen, impatient to know more. Godwin blew out his cheeks, his blue eyes full of the incredulity at what had followed.
‘Then,’ he said, ‘all hell broke loose. I have never seen battle before, never truly understood what it meant when men spoke of the killing rage and the chaotic camaraderie of fellow warriors. The Norwegians retreated back across a bridge and formed their shield wall there and the two armies began to hurl insults at each other, as is the custom. I heard more abuse and foul language on that day than I have ever heard. T’would make you blush, Lady, should I repeat it. My brother and I stayed by the baggage and were happy to do so for the fighting was ferocious. At the start, a big fellow, even bigger than their king, took up a position on the bridge and none could best him to clear a passage through, although many died trying. Arrows were flying thick in the air and the cla
sh of sword on shields was enough to burst your ears, so eager were the men to engage. At length, one of the men crept from the shield wall and, unseen by the enemy, put out on the river in what appeared to be an old swill tub. Once beneath the bridge, under the very feet of the giant, he lunged up with his spear and, into his nethers, pierced him through.’
Anwen and I pulled a pained face at each other but Godwin continued, growing more eloquent as he warmed to his theme. ‘Then, once he was down and the way cleared, our armies thundered across the bridge and engaged the Norwegians in battle. Slashing at their legs and chopping their way toward where Hardrada fought beneath his standard; the land waster, a black raven that flapped and snapped in the wind above the best of his archers. I could see Father’s fighting man banner above the furore so I was able to keep an eye on his position, unable to take my eye from it lest it fall.’
Godwin wet his lips again, his blue eyes, so like his father’s, earnest, the fearful experience of war returning as he retold his tale. ‘It is difficult for me to tell what happened, ‘twas all chaos and screaming for what seemed like hours. Although Hardrada was slain in the early stages of the battle, the enemy would not accept quarter and they fought relentlessly on, beneath a cruel sun, until late in the afternoon when, to all our surprise, Norwegian reinforcements arrived. They had run across country to redeem their king in his losing battle but, although they arrived too late, they fought anyway and with great vigour, some of them dropping from exhaustion and despair. When, at last, all was quiet, we crept through the piles of dead and wounded until we found the body of my uncle Tostig, his head spliced in two, still clutching his bloodied sword.’
A hush fell as each of us remembered Tostig in happier times, before greed and ambition had turned him from the heart of his family. I recalled him riding forth with Harold, brave brothers in arms against Gruffydd, defeating him and bringing my children safe home.
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