1066

by G. K. Holloway

‘King Gruffydd will never surrender to anyone. He is a mighty warrior, descended from mighty warriors. He’s bestowed with magical powers which allow him to call up the phantoms of our ancestors.’

  ‘If I get hold of him he’ll be calling for his mother.’

  ‘But… ’

  ‘I’m going to kill every Welshman I come across until I have the head of Gruffydd on a spike.’ Harold leaned forward in his saddle. ‘And don’t think the winter will save you, because we’ll never call off the hunt until we have him. Do you understand?’

  The Welshman stared open-mouthed as the reality of Harold’s words sank in.

  ‘I can see you understand me. Tomorrow I shall come looking for you and if I find you, you’ll die and so will the rest of your motley band.’

  Harold waited in silence as the dumbstruck emissary simply sat and stared.

  ‘If I were you, I’d leave before I change my mind and kill you on the spot.’

  This seemed to snap the Welshman out of his trance. He turned his horse, put it into a gallop and with his little band of followers struggling to keep up, raced back to his fellow countrymen on the opposite hill.

  Within the week, Gruffydd’s supporters turned against him. One night, as he lay sleeping with his wife Aldytha, two men crept into his room and slit his throat. As he had no further use for it, they cut off his head, which was duly delivered to Harold by Bleddynn and Rhiwallon. They also brought with them, for their safety, Lady Aldytha and her children. Harold and Tostig, having achieved their goal, conveyed the head and the woman who was once married to its owner to King Edward.

  So wild was the welcome that once through the city gates it took nearly two hours for the brothers to reach King Edward’s great hall. Now that the murders had been avenged, English pride had at last been restored.

  Tostig’s adventures in Wales, which had endeared him to the rest of the country, only served to remind Northumbrians of his neglect of his duty to the Cumbrians, who now found themselves answering to Scottish lords and a Scottish king.

  Rumours of their discontent had reached Tostig’s ears by the time he returned to Northumbria in late October. The main protagonists, as usual, were Earl Cospatric, Gamel Ormson and Wulf Dolfinson. With a view to dealing with the malcontents and demonstrating to the Bamburghs once and for all that he was not to be manipulated or controlled in any way, Tostig cordially invited them to join him in his hall in York before they all travelled together to Gloucester for the King’s Christmas court. Cospatric sent his apologies; Gamel and Wulf accepted the invitation.

  The two men arrived in darkness at the end of a wet and windy afternoon in early December. Through pitch-black streets they made their way to Tostig’s great hall, the wind and rain lashing about them as they went. It was with relief they entered the building, knowing a welcome and a warm fire awaited them. Copsig greeted them and a servant took their sodden cloaks.

  ‘Welcome to York, gentlemen. My Lord awaits you in his chambers. Follow me.’

  Wulf and Gamel followed Copsig through the great hall where a fire burned and servants ran around preparing for the evening’s feast. Through a door, along a corridor and up some stairs they followed Copsig, until they finally arrived in Tostig’s chambers to find him busy with some documents.

  ‘Welcome, Wulf. Welcome, Gamel. Welcome to my humble abode.’

  ‘Good evening, Earl Tostig,’ they replied, not quite in unison.

  Smiling broadly, Tostig offered them both a drink, which they both accepted, helping themselves to the finest wine, much appreciated after their journey. There was a fire burning in the hearth and they could feel its red-hot glow killing the chill in their bones, bringing them back to life. The light from its flames flickered on their faces and danced round the room, losing its way in the corners where the shadows reigned supreme. It made a cosy scene.

  Apart from the crackling of the fire there was silence. Shutters closed out the wind and in the gloom away from the hearth the drapes hung lifeless from their rails. The golden light of Tostig’s candle illuminated the table on which he had been working and gave his face a golden glow: with his blond hair he looked like an angel.

  ‘Get yourselves warm by the fire, lads. You must be frozen after your ride.’

  The two men stayed gratefully by the fire. After they had warmed their hands and the heat from the fire began to feel uncomfortable, they turned to warm their backsides. Warm shivers ran up their spines and their shoulders gradually came to life. After their unpleasant journey they could now relax in comfort.

  ‘I’m glad you were able to accept my offer and pay me a visit,’ Tostig said to them, remaining seated.

  ‘We welcome the opportunity, my Lord,’ Wulf’s replied. ‘What was it you wished to discuss with us?’

  ‘Discuss? I didn’t want to discuss anything.’

  Wulf and Gamel exchanged glances. Each man’s look confirmed the other’s suspicions.

  ‘Then why did you invite us here?’ This time it was Gamel who spoke.

  ‘To say goodbye.’

  At that moment, from behind the drapes, Barcwith and Anund emerged from the shadows with swords drawn. In seconds they hacked the two Bamburghs to death. There was a sizzle as some embers spilt from the fire, rolling into fresh blood.

  The next morning, two men declaring themselves to be Wulf Dolfinson and Gamel Ormson passed through the city gates, the voluminous hoods of their cloaks pulled up around their heads to protect them from the foul weather. Tostig would say something must have happened to them on their journey after they left. As their weighted bodies lay at the bottom of the Ouse, they were unable to contradict him.

  Normandy, early in 1064

  Duke William, in a mood of restrained excitement, was ushered by a young monk into Abbot Lanfranc’s gloomy private chambers and offered a seat. Flickering candlelight danced demonically in the Abbot’s eyes, which were as deep and dark as a well. The cleric offered the Duke some wine, which he refused, then left him alone with the Abbot. The two sat down on opposite sides of a table.

  ‘Good evening and welcome, Duke William. May I say what an honour it is to have you with us?’

  ‘Thank you, Abbot Lanfranc, but the honour is mine.’

  William looked at the Abbot, one of the few men he could not fathom and one of the few who could look him in the eye for any length of time. The Duke wondered, for a moment, if it was because he was Italian that he could not really get the measure of him.

  ‘Did you have a good journey?’ the Abbot enquired.

  ‘I had a good journey, yes.’

  William continued to study his mentor while making small talk. The Abbot sat impassively with his fingers interlocked; they were fat and white like raw sausages. His head was square; his dark hair was peppered with small flakes of skin, which he shed from every part of his body. When he smiled it was to reveal a row of white teeth, perfect except for the gap between the top two at the front. After a brief exchange of pleasantries William got to the point.

  ‘My dear Abbot, I have certain knowledge that I need to share with you.’

  ‘You must do as you see fit.’

  ‘I can trust you?’

  ‘Am I not a man of the cloth?’

  William hesitated before speaking. ‘I need your advice.’

  ‘Duke William, the advice of a poor cleric like me? You don’t need… ’

  ‘What I don’t need is false modesty, your Eminence. And this is no routine matter of state. Let me explain: many years ago, Edward the King of England promised me his crown.’

  The inscrutable Lanfranc looked startled at William’s announcement. This was news of which he had heard not even the faintest of whispers and Lanfranc heard everything. Not a bird could sing out of tune anywhere in Europe without his hearing of it. He wondered if the Duke had taken leave of his senses.

  William continued, ‘I can see this is a shock to you but as I said, I need your advice.’

  ‘My Lord, I am only too pleased to be of
assistance.’

  ‘King Edward has made me his successor but succeeding will be no easy matter.’

  ‘May I enquire about Edgar the Atheling and …?’

  ‘That was Harold’s doing,’ William snapped. ‘It was he who dragged him back from Hungary, not Edward. I will be King of England, mark my words.’

  ‘You must forgive my ignorance but it isn’t obvious to me how this will happen.’

  ‘We will make it happen,’ answered the Duke, forcefully.

  ‘Do you know how you will do this, my Lord?’

  ‘You are the wisest man in Christendom. You can help me think through a plan, with contingencies of course.’

  ‘Of course, I’m only too glad to help,’ Lanfranc replied, still shocked.

  ‘I’m sure you can. That’s why I’ve turned to you now, as I’m sure I will need to in the future, when I’m King.’

  Lanfranc was aghast. ‘I wonder why Edward hasn’t made a public announcement?’

  ‘He wouldn’t dare do that. It would be too dangerous for him. If they thought I was to be named King, the Godwinsons would kill him instantly and then they would send assassins to kill me. You don’t know how devious the English can be. That’s why this business is all so secret.’

  ‘I see,’ said Lanfranc knowingly, despite his confusion. The evening was not turning out as he had expected.

  ‘Do you have any idea how you will gain the Crown?’

  ‘That’s where I need your help.’

  Lanfranc was beginning to suspect the Duke was delusional. ‘Please continue, my Lord.’

  ‘I have in my custody a brother and a nephew of Earl Harold of Wessex,’ said William, gloating. ‘I’m sure we can make good use of them.’

  ‘Indeed… what ideas do you have?’

  ‘I’ll use them to entice the Earl here to Normandy. I want you to tell me how to proceed when he arrives. I thought we could find a way to get him on our side. Back my claim to the throne. With him and his family behind me, I can’t fail.’

  ‘You’re quite right, as usual, my Lord but again you must forgive my ignorance. I cannot understand why the Earl of Wessex would support your claim.’

  ‘It’s simple. If he doesn’t, we’ll kill his brother and his nephew. There, now what do you think of that for a plan?

  ‘Brilliant! Quite brilliant, my Lord. Might I add a few contingencies?’

  ‘Contingencies?’

  ‘Yes, you did suggest I do so.’

  ‘Proceed.’

  And proceed the Abbot did, all through the afternoon until at last between the two of them they had devised a trap more subtle than that of any predator in the wild. Just over two-and-a half hours later the Duke left the Abbot’s chambers, not as he had arrived, in a state of bewildered excitement, but with the calm assurance of a man who was certain of his future.

  Sir William Malet’s arrival at King Edward’s Easter court had caused a great deal of excitement; rarely did he turn up unannounced. He entered the court grinning from ear to ear, his face red from a hard ride. Impatient to break the news, he started to make an announcement before his name had been called out.

  Bowing before the King, he reeled out his message. ‘Greetings, my Lord, from myself, your humble servant and from my Lord, Duke William of Normandy. My Lord William sends his best wishes to you and would like you to accept this communication.’

  Knowing its contents, Sir William beamed broadly as he handed the sealed letter over to Edward. He watched as the King opened it and was surprised to see not joy but an expression of curiosity appear on his face.

  As he read through it, Edward’s left eyebrow raised, then, when he had finished reading he looked up and addressed the court. ‘Duke William sends us good news.’ Edward paused for effect. ‘My brother-in-law Wulfnoth,’ he said, looking sidelong at Edith, ‘and my nephew Haakon have through great good fortune, fallen into his hands.’

  There was an audible sigh in the court at the announcement and the looks on the faces of those present, especially the Godwinsons, revealed the joy they felt at receiving the news. Only Edward looked uneasy, which Sir William observed and noted.

  ‘Thank you for the good news you have delivered, Sir William,’ said the King. ‘Come and join us on the dais. I think you’ll find you are especially welcome.’

  ‘Thank you, my Lord,’ Sir William replied, his smile concealing a certain unease that he felt at the King’s reaction to the news.

  As Sir William made his way through the excited throng to the high table, the Queen leaned over to Edward. ‘Aren’t you pleased for us, husband dear,’ she purred in his ear, ‘our brother and nephew are alive and well in Normandy?’

  ‘I’d be more pleased if they were alive and well somewhere else.’

  ‘Well, at least we know where they are and so there’s some hope of return.’

  ‘At what cost? If I know William, there’ll be a high price to pay for this.’

  ‘High price or not, we have to do something,’ Harold added.

  Tostig, Gyrth and Leofwine murmured their assent.

  ‘I know. Harold, I know, Edward responded. ‘But why has William picked now to tell us? He’s probably held them for years.’

  ‘His letter said they’d only just fallen into his hands and asked one of us to come and collect them,’ Leo reminded them.

  ‘Did he say where he found them or exactly how long he’d held them?’ asked Harold.

  ‘No,’ the King replied.

  ‘Did he say why he didn’t just let them return home to their country and their family? They could have come over with Malet,’ said Tostig.

  Edward considered. ‘If I know him he’ll expect some form of recompense.’

  ‘I’m sure we can afford it, whatever it is,’ said Harold, keen to have the boys back.

  ‘What, Harold, do you intend to do?’ Edward asked.

  ‘We could reply, thanking him for his good news. We could suggest one of us goes to collect them. If we send a messenger now, they could be home in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘I suppose there’s no other choice but I don’t like the sound of this. You heard the news about my nephew, Count Walter, didn’t you? He died after the conquest of Vexin, invited to a meal with William, then poisoned.’

  ‘I’ll be careful what I eat, my Lord,’ was Harold’s response.

  ‘Who said you’d be going, Harold?’

  ‘Surely, as Subregulus, it would be appropriate that I visit Duke William?’

  Edward looked up to the roof as if for inspiration. None came. ‘Yes, I suppose it would, Harold but I warn you, be careful.

  Forty Days and Forty Nights

  After praying at the church of the Holy Trinity, late on a grey July afternoon Harold sailed out of Bosham, heading for Normandy. Ulf and Thorkell accompanied him as bucket boys; they would gain experience and make themselves useful emptying bilge water out of the ship.

  Lady Edyth was there to see them off and smiled as Ulf literally followed in his father’s footsteps, plunging his feet into the footsteps his father had left in the sandy mud at the edge of Bosham harbour as he made his way to the ship, with Thorkell trudging behind. They were glad to be out on the open sea after two days waiting for a storm to clear. Eadric, their steersman, had been taken violently ill, caused apparently by something he had eaten.

  Fortunately, Father Hugh Margot, the same Norman cleric who had conveyed messages between Edward and de Jumieges, was visiting Father Osbern at the church and was able to help. Father Hugh still crossed the Channel frequently, bringing wine and delicacies for the abbot at Steyning Abbey and returning with gifts for the monks at Fecamp. He recommended a sailor who knew the way across the Channel, kindly sought him out and volunteered him for the job. Harold was grateful to start his journey without any further delay. With the new crew member as navigator, Harold and his men set off from Bosham with confidence. Unseen by any of them, Hugh Margot had already made an urgent departure, hurrying with a message for home. />
  The gusting wind at the tail end of the storm carried their craft swiftly towards its destination across the Channel. The sun was doused in the ocean behind them and left a star-strewn sky to guide them on their way.

  The steersman held the helm firm and cast frequent glances heavenward as they sailed into darkness. By dawn the coast was in sight. Knowing their journey would soon be over, the crew stirred, as did all of Harold’s men. Ulf and Thorkell, having slept through some of the night, began bailing out the ship with renewed enthusiasm as their shipmates folded their leather sleeping bags and put them away in their sea chests.

  ‘How long now, steersman?’ enquired Harold.

  ‘Oh, not long, my Lord.’

  Aren’t we too far north?’

  ‘No, my Lord. There’s the Seine and Normandy lies either side of it.’

  ‘That doesn’t look like the Seine to me,’ interjected one of the sailors.

  Before the conversation could progress, someone shouted an alarm call.

  ‘Ships! Over there. Ships!’

  All heads turned to face the direction in which the sailor pointed. Bearing down on them fast were two ships approaching from the south. Instinctively, Harold looked round for more. Others followed him in turn. Scanning the sea, they saw approaching fast from the west, another two fighting ships.

  Looking round at the steersman, Harold could see the face of a deceiver who knew he had been discovered. Rather than incur Harold’s wrath, the man jumped straight overboard.

  ‘Someone, put an arrow in him,’ Harold commanded, taking the helm. He attempted to manoeuvre between the oncoming ships but his efforts proved futile. He was intercepted and surrounded; there was no escape. All he managed to do was to delay the inevitable. The four ships closed in, their captains indicating to him to make for the nearest shore. But at least the treacherous steersman was dead, killed by an archer.

  Half an hour later, Harold ran his ship up on the beach as instructed. They were now just a few miles away from the River Somme and Normandy, which they could see in the distance. As they landed, their four pursuers lay off to sea. Within minutes of their arrival, the sight of an armed force of three hundred greeted the Englishmen.