1066

by G. K. Holloway

  Regenbald responded, ‘My dear lady… ’

  ‘Don’t you my dear lady me.’

  ‘Lady Margaret, please understand that much as we have been looking forward to the day when we would crown Edgar king, that day has arrived prematurely. Another five or ten years perhaps, and I’m sure none of us here would hesitate to support him. But in these troubled times, I’m afraid England needs a warrior king.’

  ‘Well, it’s not fair and I’m not in the least happy with it.’

  It was noted by all that Edgar remained silent at the Witan. And the question, “what kind of king needs a girl to do his bidding for him?” was in the minds of many.

  ‘Thank you for your contribution, Lady Margaret, I’m sure we all admire your loyalty. So, my Lords, we shall have a vote. All those who support Earl Harold, say aye.’

  There was a resounding cry of aye from the Witan.

  ‘So that’s a unanimous vote for Earl Harold,’ called out Regenbald to many shouts of aye and much waving of hands. The Chancellor noticed that although the northern earls also raised their hands, it was with no real enthusiasm.

  ‘Very well, as today is Epiphany and coronations have to be held at the time of Christian feasts, I suggest we have the coronation today. It might appear unseemly but if we delay, I’m sure our friends in the Church will insist we wait until Easter. This will leave the kingdom without a head for three potentially very dangerous months.’

  Gyrth and Leofwine exchanged relieved glances.

  Regenbald eyed the Great Council; not a murmur of dissent was heard. ‘Very well then, I suggest at three o’clock this afternoon we make our way to the abbey where we will witness the first of its many coronations.’

  That afternoon Harold’s coronation took place. All the members of the Christmas court were once more in Edward’s new abbey, waiting as Archbishop Ealdred led the Earl who looked distinctly regal wearing the crown. At the head of the procession, the choir led in full song. When they reached the high altar, Harold removed the crown and with the bishops, prostrated himself. As Harold and the bishops lay in submission to their God, Ealdred asked in a loud, clear voice, ‘Do you, the people and clergy of England, accept Harold as your king?’

  ‘Vivat,’ came the response.

  ‘Then sing with me Te Deum Laudamus.’

  When the congregation had finished singing the hymn, the Archbishop instructed the bishops to rise to their feet. Harold was instructed to kneel before the altar.

  Looking on from behind with the rest of the congregation was Lady Edyth. There was a time when she would never have believed that one day she would look on the sight of her husband being crowned. She found it hard to stifle her excitement and the pride she felt knowing Harold would soon be king. Tears of joy flowed down her face. Even though she felt a little guilty with King Edward dead for so short a time, she was unable to repress a smile as the thought passed through her mind that it might well be her son Godwin who succeeded to the throne. And the thought that she herself might soon enjoy a queen’s coronation did not pass her by.

  At the front of the congregation Harold’s sons, filled with pride for their father, entertained ideas for the future. Godwin in particular had his eyes fixed firmly on the crown, knowing one day it would be his.

  There were others in the congregation who could not believe what was happening. Queen Edith had always hoped to see one of her brothers crowned; just not this particular one. The irony that Harold was benefiting from her scheming to clear the obstacles from Tostig’s way was not wasted on her. Lady Godiva too watched with interest the performance before her. Godwin’s daughter had become Queen and now his son was about to become king. She thought the Godwinsons were getting a bigger share of honour and power than they deserved and resolved to redress the balance at the earliest opportunity. Her grandsons, Edwin and Morcar, were surely just as throneworthy as Harold, and Aldytha would make a wonderful queen.

  Lady Godiva looked over to her granddaughter as if to confirm her thoughts.

  Harold was being asked by the bishops to take the triple oath of peace, justice and mercy. Archbishop Ealdred instructed Harold before the entire congregation and admonished him for his own sake and for the sake of all the people of England. In turn, Harold promised the Church and all the good Christian people within his dominion that he would keep true peace; that he would forbid rapine and wrongful acts to all men, no matter how humble and that he would ordain that justice and mercy should be observed in all legal judgements, so that God would have mercy on him and on them all.

  The preliminaries now over, they moved on to the heart of the ceremony, the unction. After prayers focusing on the theme of the Christian life and its reward in heaven, Ealdred went on to direct Harold in the duties of Christian kingship, with its duty to defend the Church and its people. Harold was anointed King while the anthem “They Anointed Solomon” was sung. The chrism, the holiest oil known to the Church, was used for the anointing.

  Stigand looked on, quietly seething while Archbishop Ealdred performed Harold’s benediction, something he saw as his duty. Ealdred placed the crown on Harold’s head to deafening cheers from the congregation. With hearty enthusiasm the choir sang the anthem, ‘Vivat rex! Vivat rex! Vivat rex in eternum!’ Harold rose to his feet, now transformed from an earl to a king. Walking regally out of the abbey, he led a procession back to the great hall for the coronation feast, at which he sat on the dais with Edyth by his side, displaying the regalia, flanked by Ealdred and Stigand. Homage was paid by the good and great of the land, who acknowledged him as king by presenting him with gifts and offering their fealty and service. Harold, like all the English kings before him, offered gifts in return. Everyone was assured that a kingdom so quickly united was one that could withstand the trials and tribulations of many storms. The omens were good.

  Normandy

  In Duke William’s park at Quevilly, near Rouen, the Duke’s small hunting party stood silent and perfectly still. Duke William had a young doe in the sights of his crossbow and was about to shoot, when the animal startled and darted for cover. The source of its fear was soon apparent; a rider was bearing down on them at full gallop. The messenger was the young Norman monk Gervicus, sent by William, Bishop of London. He had travelled with the utmost urgency since leaving London, never stopping unless absolutely necessary.

  ‘A message for you, my Lord,’ he said, in his innocence handing the sealed parchment directly to the Duke.

  Saying nothing, Duke William, without taking his eyes off the monk, handed the parchment to the man on his right. As if he had been handed a hot coal, he in turn passed it on to the next man, who likewise passed it on. Eventually it came back to the monk.

  ‘You read it!’ the Duke snapped in the midst of a sea of embarrassment.

  Dutifully, the monk followed his instructions. Breaking the seal he unrolled the scroll and proceeded to read.

  ‘The message is to William, Duke of Normandy, from William, Bishop of London,’ said Gervicus, with all the seriousness, pomp and gravity that he could muster. This was his first meeting with the Duke and he was determined to make a good impression.

  ‘His eminence The Bishop of London sends you his condolences on the death of your much loved cousin, King Edward of England, who passed away quietly in his bed at Westminster, on the eve of Epiphany. Mercifully, Our Lord granted the King a peaceful death. His body now lies in Westminster Abbey. God rest his soul.’

  ‘God rest his soul,’ responded the Duke. What else does it say?’

  ‘May I offer my sympathy too, sire.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Now what else does it say?’

  ‘It must be a great loss to you, sire.’

  ‘Yes! It is. Now get on with it!’

  The monk continued, ‘During a meeting of the Great Council at Westminster, Earl Harold of Wessex was proclaimed king… ’

  ‘What! Harold, king?’ bellowed the Duke, startling the horses.

  ‘That’s what’s written, sire.
It’s all here, look,’ said the monk, indicating the sentence.

  ‘Ahhh!’ screamed William and with that grabbed the message from the monk’s hand and then punched him so hard in the face he broke the poor man’s jaw. Gervicus groaned as he struggled to stay conscious, flopping about on his mount like a rag doll. It would be months before he ate anything but soup.

  Outraged, the Duke abandoned the hunt and leaving the monk groaning astride his horse, the party made its way back home. Once there he stormed off into the hall before slumping on a bench with his head against a pillar and his cloak across his face to hide the tears. A quarter of an hour later the rest of the hunting party caught up with him. One of them, William FitzOsbern, approached him in order to offer consolation. William heard his voice and looked up, his staring red-rimmed eyes cutting through anyone in sight.

  ‘There’s no use in hiding away, my Lord,’ said FitzOsbern, ‘There’s no time for grieving. We have to do something.’

  ‘I know. I can’t accept this news and do nothing, not without losing face. My power rests on my reputation for strength, for action; I can’t afford to be made a laughing stock. Everyone in Europe knows Harold swore an oath to support my claim. All eyes are upon me. I must act or be taken for an idiot. What choice do I have?’

  ‘None, my Lord.’

  ‘You must make it clear to all that you are not to be trifled with.’

  ‘That’s exactly what he’s done. He’s trifled with me; humiliated me. After all I’ve done for him. He had it planned from the start. He shall be punished!’

  ‘Exactly, my lord.’

  ‘Send for my brothers.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  An hour later, Bishop Odo and Count Robert were consulting with Duke William and FitzOsbern. This was one of the most difficult times they had ever spent in his company. His mind still clouded by rage, his ranting continued. His brothers knew better than anyone that Normandy lacked the strength to exact revenge on the English king, no matter how serious his crime. All they could do was humour their brother until he calmed down, saw sense and laid the insult to rest. Until then they would do their best to placate him. Bishop Odo did most of the talking.

  ‘Of course William, you’re right. The perjurer must be punished but is that up to us?’

  ‘What do you mean is that up to us? Who else is it up to?’

  ‘You don’t believe in divine retribution?’

  ‘I believe in avenging insults, that’s what I believe in. Don’t you? By God’s face, I’ll get him for this. You’ll see. Well, are you for me or against me?’

  It was Robert who spoke now. ‘Brother, it’s always been a privilege to fight by your side. You are the finest general and the greatest warrior. But Normandy is only so big and we have no navy and the English… ’

  ‘We’ll build a navy; it can’t be difficult.’

  Odo spoke now with what he thought was authority. ‘You’ll need an army and a navy but more than that, William, you’ll need a miracle.’

  ‘So you’re not with me?’

  ‘You know we’re on your side, William, as ever.’

  ‘Thank you, Odo. I knew I could depend on you.’

  ‘And me too, William,’ answered Robert, with conviction.

  ‘So you’re both with me, then?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. I’ll call a meeting and we’ll see who’s loyal and who’s not. We’ll see who’ll avenge his lord.’

  That night, after a worrying day, Duchess Matilda and William were at last alone. Now she would have the opportunity to help her husband in some way. She had seen him angry before but never so vexed at this.

  ‘I know this is a monstrous insult to you, my love, but is there really anything you can do about it?’

  ‘Why does everyone believe there’s nothing to be done?’

  ‘Because England is much more powerful than Normandy, that’s why,’ she responded gently. ‘Don’t you think to make an enemy of such a mighty country would be to invite great danger, greater than we could survive?’

  ‘But we must depose Harold. The throne is mine by right. Everyone knows it. I must reclaim it. I must act.’

  ‘William, do you really want to continue with this or do you think this is something you have to be seen to do?’

  ‘I have to do this,’ he snapped.

  ‘Why would you risk everything just to gain a little more? Is it anger that drives you, or hatred, jealousy, vanity or what? Do you even know what it is? Tell me William, tell me; perhaps then I can help.’

  He took a big sigh and recomposed himself; he looked down at his diminutive wife. ‘A lot of things are driving me, my dear, and one of them is certainly anger.’

  ‘I understand how you feel, my love.’

  ‘Do you? Do you really? Have you ever suffered real humiliation? Have you? Do you know what it’s like to be a bastard son? Everyone sniggering behind my back. William the Bastard they call me. Well, I’ll give them a reason to call me something else when I’m finished. I’ll show them I’m not just some lucky swine who owes everything to his father. Well, I’ll be better than him. Who was he, anyway? A womaniser and drunkard, that’s what he was, but there’s no shame in that. I can’t be held responsible for what my father did. I’ll make something of myself and with my own two hands. I’ll be better than my father, better by far, better than anyone.’

  ‘You’re really determined in this?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll help you all I can. What can I do?’

  ‘If it comes to war and I have to go to England to fight Harold, then you must keep the children safe. If something were to happen, Robert would succeed me. I’ll leave some good men behind to protect you.’

  ‘But I must do more, something special, befitting the Duke of Normandy.’

  ‘Befitting a king.’

  ‘Yes,’ she laughed, ‘befitting a king.’ Her laughter broke the tension in the cold atmosphere of the room.

  ‘I have been told that besides an army and a navy, I’ll need a miracle.’

  ‘Perhaps you ought to talk to the Pope. See if he can provide you with one.’

  William looked at his wife incredulously. ‘You know as well as anyone the Pope takes a dim view of Christians waging war on each other.’

  ‘Then again, if the Pope thought it was Harold’s fault?’

  ‘What do you think he could do?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she answered. Their eyes met, he read her thoughts.

  ‘I’ll have a word with Lanfranc,’ he said.

  ‘Good. Do you feel better now?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘Yes. You’re very good for me Matilda. You calm me when I’m feeling vexed.’

  ‘And you feel calm now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then it must be time for bed.’

  William smiled as he looked at her. ‘I was thinking the same thing too.’

  St. Stephen’s Abbey, Caen

  In the privacy of the candlelit gloom of the Abbot’s chambers, Lanfranc and Duke William were deep in discussion. The two men sat talking, taking the occasional sip of wine. William had called on the Abbot seeking help and inspiration. Before his eyes he saw the studious, olive-skinned Italian scrutinising the message delivered by Gervicus from London. The dark brown eyes set in his square face gave away not a single thought. William took the opportunity to study him more closely. The face, though middle-aged, had barely any lines. It was an intelligent looking face, studious and serious but when he smiled, which was rarely, the gap in between his front teeth gave Lanfranc an eerie, comic look. It was rather like seeing a snake smile. William could see the reflection of the flickering flames dancing like serpents in the Abbot’s eyes. But William had respect for Lanfranc; after all, was it not he who had persuaded the Pope to bless his marriage with Matilda?

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked Lanfranc tersely.

  ‘The rumours are true, then. I think that Edward had a difficul
t life when he was young but later… ’

  ‘Not him! Not him! Harold. What do you think of Harold? He’s stolen my crown! What are we to do?’

  ‘Things have not turned out as we would have liked, it’s true. Have you had any contact with him since his visit?’

  ‘No, none.’

  ‘And you still thought he would support your claim?’

  ‘Well, I thought… ’ William stopped short ‘How are we going to get him to give up the Crown without the use of force?’

  ‘I’m sure there’s a way. But if we are successful, what then?’

  ‘What do you mean what then?’

  ‘Harold may have no right to be king but that’s no reason to say that you have any right to depose him.’ Lanfranc held up his hand to check William before he could disagree.

  He continued, ‘Although, my Lord, I am convinced of your claim, your relationship to Edward is a little, er, shall we say remote.’

  ‘Remote?’

  ‘It’s true, is it not, that your aunt Emma, or more precisely your great-aunt Emma, was Edward’s mother by her first husband, Ethelred?’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Well, your claim, based on consanguinity, has a major flaw. Queen Emma was never in the line of succession to the English throne. She was queen by marriage alone. Those of her relatives who are not descended from either of her husbands have a very tenuous claim. Some might say no claim at all.’

  ‘I didn’t come here to listen to this!’ snapped William, infuriated.

  ‘The heart of the matter is, my Lord, that it is not I who oppose you but the law. Now why fight the law, when you can make it your ally? Lanfranc pressed on. ‘Your claim is tenuous but it is still a claim, so we must find reasons to add weight to it.’

  ‘Would the Pope believe that a man who swore falsely before God, a shamelessly self-seeking man, a man without honour, was the man God willed to be king? Is he suitable to rule over Church matters in England?’ William asked.

  Lanfranc, still nodding, was now smiling. ‘I’m sure the Pope will do only what is best for the Church and its congregation.’