1066

by G. K. Holloway

  Duke William looked much more imposing than the last time they had met. Then he had been a lad of fourteen, tough admittedly, but still a lad and one with an uncertain future before him. He was now almost six feet tall and powerfully built. His shoulders were broad like a bull and muscle bulged on the back of his short, stout neck, upon which his turnip-like head rested. He wore his hair after the Norman fashion, cut straight across the brow in front, shaved around the sides and right up the back to the crown. The style did nothing to enhance the appearance of most men but particularly suited the Duke. His roughly sculptured face seemed a strange place to house a pair of the brightest blue eyes de Jumieges had ever seen. They were like a clear, bright, frosty winter sky.

  The Duke’s body looked fit to burst through his leather tunic; he exuded a powerful physical strength and athleticism. Action came as easily to him as his appearance suggested. He possessed great cunning and an implacable will. He appeared rough to de Jumieges, almost crude, as if in some way not quite formed. The youth he had known so many years ago was gone; it was a battle-hardened man who sat before him now. He was impressive here in his own court where he ruled supreme, although outside Normandy he was of little importance.

  The Duke took another delicate sip, the goblet looking fragile in his big, strong hands. He swallowed slowly, put the goblet down and steadily surveyed the hall.

  ‘What business do we have this morning?’ he enquired brusquely, addressing everyone in general and no one in particular. ‘If it’s all right with everyone we shall discuss business while we eat.’

  This was the Duke’s way of telling everyone they could look up. ‘Robert, won’t you join us? I trust you were well received and offered a bed?’

  ‘Thank you, my Lord.’

  ‘Bring another chair over for our guest,’ ordered the Duke. A chair was brought over immediately and by the time it had travelled its short journey, two chevaliers on the Duke’s left had made space. Servants scurried around laying plates of food on the Duke’s table. The court stood around while the Duke and his friends tucked in heartily.

  ‘It is both a surprise and a pleasure to see you, Robert,’ said William, good-humouredly. He scooped a chunk of braised lamprey, one of his favourite foods, from his plate. With his mouth full of food he continued to speak with an eloquence not to be found in any court outside Normandy, his speckled table a testament to the quality of the dish. ‘It’s only a pity it’s not in different circumstances.’

  De Jumieges was taken aback. So he knows, he thought. ‘Yes, my Lord,’ he replied.

  ‘It’s not every day we have the honour of an archbishop’s company.’

  ‘I’m no longer an archbishop, Duke William.’

  ‘You’re an archbishop until the Pope says you’re not. Has the Pope told you you’re no longer an archbishop?’

  ‘No, my Lord.’

  ‘Then you’re an archbishop.’

  The two talked about Robert’s journey and his experience of England while servants continued to bustle around with food and wine. William listened to Robert complaining about England in general and the Godwins in particular before he tired of the griping and interrupted, ‘That’s all very interesting, Robert, but I understood you had something you wished to discuss with me.’

  ‘Yes I do, Duke William.’

  ‘What is it, Robert? Pray tell.’ The gruffness in his voice betrayed his impatience.

  ‘As you know, I’m an exile.’

  William conveyed not the slightest hint of surprise.

  ‘If there is such a thing as a man being an exile in his own country. I am in need of a home and I wonder whether you can help me?’

  ‘Of course, Robert, of course. Make yourself at home here in the castle. I will talk to Bishop Odo and we’ll see what he has to offer you. But rest assured we’ll find a place that befits you and we’ll not rest until you’re reinstated.’

  ‘I’ve another favour to ask, my Lord.’

  ‘What is it, Robert?’

  ‘I wonder if you might take care of two hostages for me,’ Robert whispered.

  ‘Hostages?’ William whispered, in reply.

  There’s something he didn’t know, thought de Jumieges. ‘Yes. Although I had to leave England in somewhat of a hurry, I managed to bring two hostages with me.’

  The conversation continued in hushed tones.

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Godwin’s son Wulfnoth and his grandson Haakon.’

  ‘What would you have me do with them?’

  ‘The choice is yours, my Lord,’ said de Jumieges, stating the obvious with a smile.

  ‘Consider them a gift.’

  ‘I think Earl Godwin would give a lot for their safe return.’

  ‘I agree, my Lord and they might be worth more than just a few trinkets.’

  ‘What are you getting at, Robert, what do you mean?’

  ‘There’s a crisis in England.’

  ‘Your presence here testifies to that.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, my Lord but I do not refer to the present state of affairs in the kingdom.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘There is a succession crisis. The English talk of little else. There’s no obvious successor, or atheling, as the English would say.’

  ‘How does this involve me?’

  De Jumieges leaned close to the Duke. ‘Aren’t you King Edward’s cousin?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not the only one.’

  ‘That might be true for the moment, my Lord but circumstances, like the weather, have a habit of changing; who knows which way the wind will blow in five, ten or fifteen years from now?’

  ‘You think the hostages might one day make some sort of bargaining counter?’

  ‘Exactly so, my Lord.’

  ‘What does Edward think of your absconding with Godwin’s kin?’

  ‘It was his idea, my Lord.’

  ‘Really?’ said William, growing suspicious.

  ‘Yes indeed. Edward fears Godwin might wrest the throne from him and so he instructed me to bring you his son and grandson.’

  ‘To deter Godwin from making any attempt to grasp the throne for himself?’

  ‘Exactly so, my Lord. You are perceptive.’

  William replied with a nod of his head. ‘Do you have a letter from Edward explaining all this?’

  ‘King Edward cannot tell you himself because if Earl Godwin found out what is afoot, there would be trouble. He dare not send a message for fear of interception. Subterfuge and subtlety are called for when dealing with the snakes that surround him, those cunning vipers that scheme day and night for their own ends. The Godwins are like beasts who prowl up and down outside the city gates looking for an opening, waiting to get in and devour whatever they can get their teeth into. They are like …’

  ‘Yes, I understand,’ interrupted the Duke, ‘they’re dangerous and can’t be trusted.’

  ‘Exactly so, my Lord.’

  ‘Thank you for the warning — and the news of course, thank you for that.’

  ‘But that’s not all, my Lord.’

  ‘There’s more?

  ‘Yes. As I said earlier, there’s a succession crisis in England and Edward thinks you’re the solution to that problem, my Lord.’

  ‘How am I to solve his problem?’

  ‘He has no son to succeed him but as we said earlier, he does have a cousin.’

  ‘As we agreed earlier he has more than one cousin. There’s also Earl Ralph and his brother, Count Walter. Surely Edward must consider a nephew first?’

  De Jumieges looked around to make sure no one could hear. ‘Yes but he wishes you to succeed him. You are his heir designate. You have the qualities to rule England …you look surprised, my Lord.’

  ‘You have not said why my dear cousin Edward would prefer me to succeed rather than Earls Ralph or Walter.’

  ‘King Edward is very fond of his nephews and loves them dearly.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But Earl Ra
lph doesn’t command the respect of his subjects in a way befitting a king and Walter is unknown to them.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘Yes but you have strength, Walter does not. He’s timid like his brother. He can’t command men or rule a people. And Ralph, he’s an excellent farmer, a loyal friend to men and the Church but he’s ineffectual as a soldier and as a politician. He’s known the length and breadth of England as Ralph the Timid, my Lord.’

  ‘So Edward thinks he might not be able to stand up to Godwin when the time comes and England will need a stronger man?’

  ‘That’s Edward’s thinking exactly, my Lord. How well you know him.’

  ‘Do you think Edward would like a response to his offer? After all, I might not want to be King of England.’

  ‘I don’t think the King expects a refusal, my Lord.’

  ‘Then the King is quite right. How could anyone refuse a crown?’

  ‘Exactly so, my Lord.’

  ‘Would you care for some more wine, Robert?’

  ‘Thank you, my Lord.’

  After the meeting, the Duke pondered on everything the Archbishop had told him. Was it credible that he, the bastard son of a duke, could rise to become a king and King of England at that? Then again why not? Edward was nobody just a few years ago. If it could happen to Edward, it could happen to him. King William I of England. Yes, he liked the sound of that. He liked the sound of that very much.

  The Duke felt his heartbeat quicken, his breath grow just that little bit short. He thought of his late father, Duke Robert the Magnificent, who had made an attempt to take the throne of England but as his fleet sailed across the Channel the wind changed and blew him to Brittany, so he fought there instead. William hoped to leave a strong, united and enlarged Normandy for his heir whenever he produced one but to leave your heir a kingdom - now that was another matter, and something his magnificent father had failed to achieve.

  A New Era

  Though suffering ill health, Godwin worked hard to re-establish his position at court. His hopes for the family’s future still lay in a grandson yet to be conceived. As time passed Godwin grew restless, his ambitions unfulfilled, but at least he had an alternative plan to secure the family’s future. In the meantime he would reconcile himself to Edward.

  Godwin showed no animosity to Earl Ralph or Earl Odda. Those Frenchmen who were innocent of conspiracy and who had been loyal to Edward were allowed to stay. William, Bishop of London, who had left the country with de Jumieges, was recalled. He had made no enemies and was one of the few Normans genuinely liked in his adoptive country. No one could discover the whereabouts of the newly rich Spearhavoc or the King’s new crown.

  Godwin had seen to it that Stigand, Bishop of Winchester replaced de Jumieges at Canterbury. The Normans Osbern Pentecost and his comrade Hugh were banished from the Kingdom. Earl Leofric allowed them to pass through Mercia on their way to Scotland to join King Macbeth, a warrior much in need of brave soldiers.

  Late that autumn, on a bleak November day, it was an ailing Earl Godwin who greeted Lady Gytha and the other women and children when they returned home from Flanders. It was a bittersweet reunion for the family. The strain of the previous year seemed to have aged the earl. After Godwin had welcomed his family, he and Gytha exchanged news right there on the quayside where they met. Gytha could tell straight away something dreadful had happened.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Wulfnoth and Haakon are gone. De Jumieges took them with him when he fled the country and I don’t know when we’ll see them again,’ he told her as he held her tight. Tears of sadness and joy flowed together. Happy as they were to be together, Gytha was the bearer of news even more harrowing.

  ‘Husband,’ she said. He knew she had something bad to tell him; she never addressed him as husband otherwise. ‘It’s Sweyn.’

  ‘What mischief has he got himself into this time?’ He looked at her face, pale as death. ‘Come on; tell me it can’t be that bad.’

  ‘He was on his way back from his pilgrimage to Jerusalem,’ she could hardly bring herself to continue.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He was caught in a snowstorm.’

  Godwin now feared the worst.

  ‘The snow fell very early this year. Sweyn walked to Jerusalem barefoot, so I assume he was walking back without boots too.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He was caught in the open and perished of the cold,’ she cried.

  ‘No. No. It can’t be.’

  ‘A pilgrim who journeyed with him told me. There were twelve in the party and eight died.’

  The old man was devastated. ‘My boy, my beautiful boy is dead,’ he sobbed.

  The couple went into the house and straight to their room. There was no celebration in Godwin’s hall that evening.

  Sadness settled on Southwark. The Earl and Lady Gytha had regained everything they had asked for but in return suffered losses for which they had not bargained. On their minds played the perpetual questions: what had become of the boys, were they alive or dead, who had them now? The questions seemed endless and without answer. It was a mystery that dispirited them throughout the winter.

  Harold, Edyth and the children were reunited at Southwark shortly after the rest of the family but it was not until they reached Waltham that Edyth discovered the true nature and the full extent of the changes in the royal court since the family’s return. As she sat with Harold and the children in front of their own fire, in their own home, she began to appreciate just how much they had lost.

  ‘Isn’t it good to see Leofgar again?’ she remarked.

  ‘Yes, it is. And it’s good to have you home. Aelfgar left the place in a poor state but all’s well now.’

  ‘I’m so glad.’ She smiled and squeezed his hand, holding it on her bulging stomach. Another child was on its way.

  ‘You’ve taken good care of the children. They’re all thriving.’

  Little Godwin, now six, was attacking Edmund. Magnus, now four and armed with a wooden sword, had come to his aid. All three boys were similarly armed and all had wooden shields. Only the clattering of the children’s swords rivalled the tremendous noise of their shouting. Gytha, just a toddler at eighteen months, seemed unperturbed by the clamour. For the children the events of the past year or so were way behind them; they were just happy to find themselves at home, all together with their mother and father and the people and places they loved.

  They continued to discuss the children and at first Harold seemed attentive but then his mind seemed to wander.

  ‘Harold?’

  ‘It’s this matter of Stigand. He was very useful to us when we were in exile but father decided to reward him for his loyalty with an archbishopric. Now he’s ensconced in Canterbury there’ll be no prising him out. Father thinks he’s a loyal friend but Stigand’s only loyalty is to wealth.’

  ‘You have strong objections to him?’

  ‘I do. And if you think my reactions are strong, you ought to speak with Tostig, he’s in a rage and he’s taken the King’s side. So has Edith. Loath as I am to say it, Stigand has no right to the position, certainly while de Jumieges is alive. It’s a matter for the Vatican to decide, not just the King. Pope Leo has refused to recognise him, saying the appointment was uncanonical. Stigand says he wears the pallium, so he’s within his lawful rights to exercise the functions of archbishop. It’s absurd, he only wears the pallium because he found it on a peg. De Jumieges was in such a hurry to get out of the country he left it behind when he ran away.

  ‘Athelric should have been appointed; he is a true man of God. He has the most support at Christchurch; it was he who father supported and now he’s arranged for him to have some land in Kent, but that’s not the same thing. I discussed this with Stigand - you know what he said? “You’re too principled, Harold. You worry about Rome and what Rome will think and what Rome will do. Do you imagine Rome gives a fig about what you think?” He went on to say, “I’ve been
to Rome and seen nothing but corruption everywhere; everything has a price, everything is for sale, holy relics, everything. Do you know I’ve seen enough fragments of the true cross to build a barn?” ’

  ‘I can’t believe his audacity.’

  Harold paused for breath and then continued, ‘He started to complain that Rome was like Sodom and Gomorrah. “London is a more holy city than that place. Why can’t an Englishman be Pope? Do you think we’ll ever see that day dawn?” Then he went off on a rant for a while.

  ‘I must admit he’s got a point about an English Pope. He asked me, “Are we not as holy; are we not as pious? Is our faith any less, do we not adhere to the ways of the one true Lord? Or is there some other reason why Rome is so distrustful of us?” Well, I can think of one. I don’t think it helps our relations with the rest of Europe when we have an archbishop who’s a bigamist. Of course he claims this is not a problem because he divorced his first wife but he performed the divorce himself. Rome has difficulties accepting that. For them it’s bad enough a man having one wife, let alone two. In the case of an archbishop, well, words fail me.’

  ‘What do the other earls think?’

  ‘They take the attitude it’s not really their business. Ealdred is Archbishop of York so Mercia and Northumbria are happy with that. Because Stigand is at Canterbury, which is in Kent, which in turn is in Wessex, then it is the concern of the Earl of Wessex. They’re washing their hands of the whole affair.

  ‘That’s not all. While we were out of the country, Gruffydd ap Llewelyn ravaged Herefordshire. The King and Earl Leofric have taken a hard line and they’re looking for revenge. As a lesson to Gruffydd, his brother Rhys will be executed. If, after that, his depredations continue, then it’ll be his head that rolls.’

  ‘Why his brother? I don’t understand.’

  ‘He’s almost as bad but easier to get to.’

  Harold was right. Soon after his conversation with Edyth the head of Rhys was brought to Edward on the eve of twelfth night. In retaliation a band of Welsh raiders killed a large number of villagers in Westbury, Gloucestershire. Tensions on the border were mounting.