1066

by G. K. Holloway

  After the council, Harold had a formal meeting with Pope Victor and Cardinal Hildebrand, a German Benedictine monk. Harold had never before seen anyone so ugly as the cardinal, who was a short squat man, aged about fifty. He had a wide mouth and a double chin, which hung like a bag from his great square jaw. In contrast to his huge head, his hands looked too small and delicate for an adult. His dark, bulbous eyes added to the toad-like quality of his appearance. Beneath his cardinal’s robes, his stubby legs propelled him around in quick, short steps, so that he appeared to glide across the floor. But the cardinal’s looks belied his forceful personality and ferocious intellect; by cunning, will power and an unshakeable belief in his view of the truth, he had thrust himself to the top of the church hierarchy.

  The cardinal was a great reformer and as a stickler for sexual rectitude, he had insisted that the sexual appetites of priests be curbed and that celibacy and abstinence were to be the rule. These notions were either challenged or ignored by the many priests who kept wives or concubines, or both. Hildebrand was determined to deal with them and the other wider reaching reforms he intended to pursue.

  For quite some time the German kings who ruled the Holy Roman Empire had dictated the selection of popes. In this way they controlled the worst excesses of the Church, caused in part, they believed, by the Vatican holding too much power. Hildebrand thought it held too little. What irked the cardinal more was the kings’ insistence they were the rightful successors of the Roman Empire. Hildebrand was determined that the power to name the Pope would, in his lifetime, be placed in the hands of the cardinals. But his plans went further than that; his goal was to have popes appoint kings, including the emperors of the Holy Roman Empire itself. Hildebrand was the driving force in Rome; his sole ambition was to enhance the power of the Church and in England’s succession crisis he saw an opportunity.

  Harold’s audience with Pope Victor was more like a friendly welcoming chat than a religious discourse. Weeks in the saddle, riding across mountainous terrain, meant the two men were already familiar with each other’s views. Cardinal Hildebrand was in attendance and very keen to know about Harold’s serious illness and remarkable recovery at Waltham. Pope Victor had grown to like Harold on their journey together to Rome; now Cardinal Hildegard was enjoying his friendly disposition too.

  ‘So what do you think of the Vatican, Earl Harold?’

  ‘I can only marvel at the sheer magnificence of it.’

  While Harold felt overawed, Cardinal Hildebrand saw the opportunity to strike.

  ‘Would you care to accompany me on a stroll around our humble city, Earl Harold? You might like to familiarise yourself with our simple abode during your stay?’

  ‘It would be my pleasure, your Eminence.’

  ‘Then come.’

  The two men rose and Hildebrand escorted Harold from the Pope’s chambers.

  ‘It is a pity King Edward is unable to visit in person.’

  ‘The King is most disappointed but he really is such a poor traveller over water.’

  ‘It is a shame that he lives on an island.’

  ‘Indeed. But King Edward is building a fine new abbey at Westminster. When it’s finished, perhaps your Eminence would like to visit?’

  ‘I should love to. I do so enjoy travel and it’s always a pleasure to meet an Englishman; I’m sure I’d find your country delightful. You know, your people have such a reputation for generosity; King Knut’s splendid gifts are still remembered and talked about to this day’, said Hildebrand, sure that his hint would not go amiss.

  As they toured the holy city, the Cardinal showed Harold artefacts and row upon row of rare books, all bound in leather and embossed in gold.

  ‘You know, over the years many scholars have visited us from many parts of the world; several were from England, including the blessed Bede and of course, Dunstan. Your great King Alfred is also honoured here.’

  Harold felt flattered but nevertheless saw in Hildebrand’s expression an ulterior motive.

  The Cardinal continued, ‘Wasn’t it Alfred who said, ‘He may be no king of right under Christ, who is not filled with booklore; letters he must understand and know by what right he holds his kingdom.’?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Alfred was a man of great learning; that’s a rare quality in a king.’

  ‘I think you’ll find in England that scholarship has always been valued and not just by the clergy; all of the earls, the shire reeves and most of the thanes are literate in English, if not Latin.’

  ‘So I understand and that is to the credit of your countrymen. England is such a civilized country. Other countries sometimes stray from the path of righteousness. It’s not simply the rulers of these countries. It has to be said, there are those in the Church who have, shall we say, also strayed from the path. There is great need for reform, Harold, I’m sure you agree.

  ‘Please continue,’ replied Harold, noncommittally.

  ‘Great moves are afoot to purify the church at every level.’ Hildebrand paused for effect. Harold did not miss the remark; one word flashed though his mind: Stigand.

  ‘As you are aware, the Holy Father is combating, with untiring zeal, simony and clerical concubinage. Bishops have been deposed and kings threatened with excommunication, such is his commitment to the cause of reformation. I’m sure you approve.’

  ‘I think you’ll find challenging times lie ahead.’

  ‘You must agree the Church is in need of reform?’

  ‘Who am I to decide?’

  ‘Quite true and that’s as it should be.’

  Harold remained silent, waiting for the Cardinal to continue.

  ‘My dear Earl Harold,’ said Hildebrand, in an intimate tone.

  ‘Your Eminence?’

  ‘What would you say to the proposition that his Holiness should decide the fate of kings?’

  ‘What do you mean, exactly?’

  ‘All power, whether in the hands of your humblest thane or a mighty king, is derived from God. Therefore, all these thanes, nobles and kings, what you will, should be united under God. Naturally, supervision would fall to His representative on earth, his Holiness the Pope, don’t you think?

  ‘Consider this, Harold. It may be that the blessing of a king, by his Holiness, would make succession less troublesome. Take your country’s recent history, for instance: didn’t a succession of civil wars break out after the death of Ethelred? Is this the way to organise a succession? Think how much less blood would have been spilled if it had been recognized by all that only the Pope could decide who should be king.’

  ‘You think it should be for his Holiness alone to decide who should be king?’

  ‘Naturally, candidates would be submitted for papal approval and each court would select who those candidates should be.’

  ‘And what if the Pope were to reject all the candidates?’

  ‘Do you foresee such an eventuality?’

  ‘Suppose it happened.’

  ‘In that unlikely event, then, more would have to be found.’

  ‘But supposing the court and the country were not prepared to consider any more candidates? Isn’t this the road to conflict between the secular world and the clerical?’

  ‘I’m surprised to see in one so young such a pessimistic view.’

  ‘Perhaps, but surely the role of a king is to look after the wellbeing of his people - their secular interests, if you like. The Archbishop’s role is to care for their souls. Wouldn’t papal selection of kings reduce the power and authority of one who should be above challenge? In the case of England, you might as well ask the Archbishop of Canterbury to rule the country and have done with it.’

  ‘No. No. No, Harold. You have completely the wrong idea,’ beamed Hildebrand with a broad yellow smile. ‘The King would have full control of secular matters, just as now. But don’t you see, he would be in a much stronger position if he were legitimised by papal approval.’

  ‘He has that already, surely? After
all, it’s an archbishop who anoints him at his coronation.’

  ‘Yes,’ Hildegard was beginning to feel frustrated now, ‘but this would be a binding contract. In return for the King’s fealty, his Holiness would offer recognition, legitimisation and support. He who would challenge the King would challenge Rome. He would face excommunication and find his allies cursed, while his enemies would be blessed and supported by His Holiness. Could any king be more secure than that?’

  ‘English laws are ancient and were for the most part laid down by King Alfred, whose praises you have previously sung. It’s not my place to agree to change them. I’m one among many. Amendments may be made with the consent of the Witan but only so long as they do not fundamentally alter the wishes of King Alfred.’

  ‘But aren’t we entering a new era? This is a time of great reform. Consider my words carefully, Earl Harold.’

  ‘You can rest assured I’ll give them all the consideration they deserve.’

  ‘Good. Now perhaps you would like to come and view one of our most treasured possessions. It is a piece of the true cross.’

  Harold could not conceal his surprise.

  ‘Prices can be negotiated. But let’s not rush into that just yet, let’s go and appreciate it for what it is.’

  A week after his audience with the Pope and his meeting with Cardinal Hildebrand, Harold left Rome and made his way to Bavaria, where he collected Edward the Exile and his family before escorting them back to England. In his baggage, along with other relics, was a piece of the true cross, mounted on gold and surrounded with jewels. It had cost a small fortune but Harold thought it worth the price. It would adorn the Abbey at Waltham and demonstrate his gratitude to and faith in God.

  Arriving at Bosham on a hot September day, he was greeted with the warmest of welcomes by a family he had not seen for nearly a year. Staying for just one night, he left the next day for London, taking his family with him. They had been apart too long for him to leave them so soon. As always, Thorkell accompanied them and so did Bondi, the boy Harold had met in Bristol and taken to Ireland, who had become part of the household.

  When they reached London, instead of going straight to Westminster they stopped at Southwark and it was there that Edward the Exile simply dropped dead. Three days later he was buried in St. Paul’s with great ceremony, by courtiers he had never met. It was a sombre time. The succession crisis appeared to have come back to life like some curse that could never be shaken off. At least, as Leofwine reminded Harold, there was still little Edgar.

  Bad news visited the court again in the autumn of that year. Lady Godiva woke up one morning to find her husband, Earl Leofric, dead in bed beside her. His heart had given out in the night. Two months later, Earl Ralph was killed in a riding accident. No one saw what happened but it was believed something had startled his horse and made it bolt, which was an odd way for such an accomplished horseman to die.

  At the Christmas court, Edward deftly handled the reshuffle of the earldoms. Aelfgar was allowed to succeed his father in Mercia and in an attempt to build a new alliance, he married off his daughter, Aldytha, to Gruffydd. Gyrth Godwinson was made Earl of East Anglia and Leofwine was given a specially created earldom made up of some of the south-eastern shires.

  After many years of calm, Scottish raids on Northumbria had resumed. It was incumbent upon Earl Tostig to resolve this problem. Preferring diplomacy to war, Tostig made the decision to meet his good friend Malcolm, now King of Scotland, at Edward’s winter court at Gloucester, with a view to arriving at an amiable settlement. The Bamburghs, less keen on diplomacy than their South Saxon earl, were watching closely.

  The King’s Winter Court

  After the usual round of celebrations, thanksgiving, feasts and hunting trips, Tostig took the opportunity to approach King Malcolm about his concerns in Northumbria. As if just passing, Tostig knocked on the door of Malcolm’s room.

  ‘Tostig, how good it is to have a few moments alone together. You know it does a man’s heart good to sit and talk with his oldest and dearest friends. I must say, your earldom suits you. You’re obviously one of those men born to hold high office. Rather like my good self.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Tostig, through a smile. ‘And I would think men naturally respect you.’

  ‘Aye, they do.’

  ‘So perhaps you can help me. You see, more and more often my fellow countrymen are complaining to me about raids from across the border.’

  ‘Is that swine Gruffydd troubling you again?’

  Tostig greeted the remark with a wry look. ‘No, Malcolm, it’s not from across the Welsh border that raiders are coming; it’s from Scotland’

  ‘Are you sure they’re not Viking raiding parties?’

  ‘I’m absolutely sure. You see, these raids are undermining me, Malcolm. What am I to say to nobles who complain of rape, robbery and rustling? How should I answer when I’m asked, ‘Do you think England sheltered your friend Malcolm all those years and helped him back onto the throne, just so he can show his gratitude by raiding us?’

  To his credit Malcolm looked a little shame-faced; for good measure Tostig added, ‘Many of the thanes want to follow the raiding parties back over the border and pursue them until they’re caught. That would mean fatalities. If there were to be any serious developments as a result, I would be obliged to provide assistance; in turn the King would be obliged to support me, should the occasion arise. You see, what to some of your high spirited countrymen is an entertaining pastime might have more serious repercussions for us both.’

  ‘Look, if it’s anyone I know, and I’m not saying it is, mind, I’ll have them put a stop to it immediately. You have my word on it. No more Scotsmen will raid Northumbria while you’re there looking after things, my old friend.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad we could come to a friendly agreement.’

  ‘And why shouldn’t we? Aren’t we like brothers?’

  ‘We are, old friend, we are.’

  ‘Then let’s seal our friendship with blood,’ said Malcolm producing a knife.

  Tostig produced his dagger and together the two cut across the palms of their hands then gripped them firmly together and the blood of the two warriors mingled together.

  So the two friends resolved the border problem. Later, King Malcolm, having paid his respects to King Edward and the English court, left for Scotland accompanied, as he was on his outward journey, by his new brother Tostig.

  Consecration

  Harold felt a thrill of delight as he showed Sir William Malet around the abbey at Waltham, which had taken him so long to build. It was to be consecrated the following day and Sir William had come from Normandy especially for the occasion. Because of Stigand’s dubious status, Ealdred, Archbishop of York, would be officiating. The King and all the earls would be there to admire the abbey’s beauty.

  ‘It’s magnificent,’ remarked Sir William when they stepped inside. He looked at the two windows high in the wall above the altar; clear, bright spring light shone through. ‘You must be doubly pleased, Harold. Your building was started after the King’s but it’s finished well before. When I last saw it, Westminster looked years away from completion.’

  ‘Will, we haven’t spoken about how things are with you. How’s your family, how’s Normandy treating you?’

  ‘The family is well and I spend quiet winters huddled up in the castle and summers on campaign fighting the neighbours. One of the reasons I like England so much is that I can find peace and quiet here.’

  ‘It’s not all quiet, Will, as you know. The Welsh can be quite lively at times.’

  ‘Things are much the same in Normandy. We don’t have Archbishop Stigand but we have Bishop Odo, who by some strange coincidence is the brother of Duke William. Do you know he’s so pious he was consecrated at thirteen?’

  ‘Didn’t Rome have anything to say? asked Leo.

  ‘Nothing: so perhaps, as you say, he’s very pious. Just like his bastard son, who’s not much younger t
han he is.’

  The next day, at the consecration, Harold began to suspect things were not all they should be in the North. Tostig had arrived with his usual assortment of thanes and housecarls but he also had Earl Cospatric of Cumbria with him. Harold noticed Tostig rarely let Cospatric out of his sight and Barcwith, Tostig’s captain of housecarls, was never more than a few feet away. Harold’s mind was focused on the consecration or he might have realised why.

  Ealdred, the new Archbishop of York, officiated; standing just a few feet away from Harold, he intoned in Latin. By Harold’s side the King was quietly seething, furious that work on Harold’s abbey was already finished. He could not help but notice how much treasure Harold had lavished on the abbey. Everywhere he looked there were the most beautiful decorations and fittings, including gold and silver plate, candle-sticks and church vestments made of gold and adorned with jewels, all brought back by Harold from Rome.

  In front of the King was a magnificent altar of gold and marble, supported by golden lions and decorated with paintings of the apostles. Overlooking all was the famous cross that was credited with healing power so miraculous that pilgrims were flocking to Waltham from miles around. So many had arrived that the congregation had spilled out of the building and there were five times more worshippers outside than in.

  Harold had failed to notice the King’s envy; he was more concerned with Tostig, who had called in for the consecration before making a pilgrimage to Rome. Harold suspected Tostig was taking a resentful looking Cospatric along with him to make sure nothing untoward happened in Northumbria while he was away. What it was that Tostig suspected Cospatric of, Harold did not know. He decided to question Tostig about this at the first opportunity.

  The day flew by for Harold and Edyth. There was much to do and it seemed as though half of England, from the lowliest churl to the King himself, had turned up to help them celebrate. Harold never did get round to asking Tostig why he kept Cospatric so close. The reason he would eventually discover for himself.