But William had to proceed. What else could he do? As the last of the winter weeks passed, whilst his chevaliers took shelter in their lonely castles, he called on them one by one. Their fortress walls were thick and hard, their towers strong and sturdy. But those mighty castles were no match for William’s guile. He penetrated them with aplomb. By direct and personal interviews with his vassals, one at a time, by encouragement and cajolery but mostly with promises of conquered land and absolution, somehow William was able to persuade them to promise to double their prescribed quotas of men and arms. And ever present was a little clerk, who wrote down the promised help in a ledger. All the time the number of those who volunteered grew. Who could refuse? And so by the spring William had raised within his Duchy more than 1,200 mounted soldiers who promised to fight by his side. This was a third of what he needed. His mission was doomed to failure if he could not secure considerable outside help.
Rome
Gilbert de Lisieux was the man Lanfranc had chosen for the mission to Rome. The cleric was an earnest, studious, quietly spoken and eloquent man in his late thirties. Lanfranc had told Lisieux that the Pope owed him a favour and time spent with the primate would be both comfortable and rewarding. No one ever discovered what the favour was that the Pope owed Lanfranc but it ensured his full cooperation.
Gilbert’s instructions called for him to seek an audience with Cardinal Hildebrand; the Pope could wait till later. The Cardinal received Gilbert warmly and Gilbert delivered his letter from Lanfranc, which the Cardinal studied carefully. When he had finished, he let Gilbert know he had been concerned about the condition of the English Church for quite some time.
‘You know, one of the things that most bothers me about it is the English churchmen’s insistence on writing in their own language, rather than Latin. This indicates a deplorably bad attitude. They are sheep wandering away from the flock and need to be brought back under the protection of the shepherd, otherwise who knows how many more will stray.’
‘The shepherd they have now is deplorable. He is a fraud and an open and shameless fornicator,’ Gilbert added.
‘Quite right; Stigand is a disgrace and an embarrassment to the Church.’
‘I wasn’t talking about the Archbishop, Cardinal. I meant the King, Harold himself,’ said Gilbert eagerly, before continuing to heap up the charges against Harold that Duke William and Lanfranc had concocted.
Hildebrand was delighted to hear how far Harold had strayed from the path of righteousness and indicated he would be prepared to help Duke William’s petition to the Pope.
Gilbert assured Hildebrand that once William had taken his rightful place as king, he would appoint worthy men as bishops and archbishops and repay his debt to Rome.
‘I can assure you, Cardinal Hildebrand, the Duke’s intention is to hold the resources of England, not for his own use but for the greater cause. The Duke’s victory would be God’s victory.’
‘Are you saying that if the Holy Father were to give Duke William his blessing, if successful he would agree to hold the Crown under his eminence?’
‘Duke William has authorised me to inform you that such is his love of the Church, in return for the support of the Holy Father, he would gladly become his liegeman.’
By the time the papal court was in session, Hildebrand, with Gilbert beside him, had already thoroughly briefed Pope Alexander II. Apart from many cardinals, another former student of Lanfranc’s was present: Anselm, Bishop of Lucca.
It was Hildebrand who made the presentation before the court. Only Erminfred, Bishop of Sudunum, took it upon himself to defend the English King but Hildebrand was a gifted speaker and put a strong case for the Duke, chastising Erminfred for his timorousness in a righteous cause.
Looking directly at Erminfred, his only real opponent in the court, Hildebrand summed up his case. Pope Alexander looked about to pronounce judgement when Bishop Erminfred rose slowly to his feet. ‘Very eloquently put, Cardinal Hildebrand. Your case sounds convincing but I hear no argument to the contrary, of anything you have said to us today. Is there no one here to plead King Harold’s case?’
The court remained silent.
‘Holy Father,’ Erminfred addressed the Pope. ‘I ask you, how wise is it to give judgement against a man before you have heard him speak?’
Now Hildebrand stood up impatiently. ‘Have I not told you he admitted swearing an oath!’
‘Were you witness to this oath swearing?’ Erminfred asked in an instant.
‘Father Gilbert, do you have the letter?’ enquired Hildebrand, trying hard to conceal his anger.
Gilbert handed over the letter Harold had written to the Duke and Hildebrand read it out. ‘It says here quite plainly, ‘‘I do not deny I took the oath.’’ So there you have it.’
‘Surely that’s not all the letter says?’ Erminfred replied. ‘Perhaps Cardinal Hildebrand would read the entire contents of the letter aloud so we may have the benefit of all that King Harold had to say.’
Hildebrand reluctantly read out all that Harold had written and when he had finished, Erminfred said, ‘It sounds to me very much as though the oath was forced and therefore it should not be upheld.’
Hildebrand was growing impatient and annoyed with Erminfred. ‘I can assure the Holy Fathers that’s not the case. Father Gilbert, will you enlighten the court?’
Gilbert rose to his feet and gave his testimony, ‘Holy Fathers, the oath was not forced. It was when Duke William conferred a title upon Earl Harold that he swore to be his liegeman and support his claim to the English throne.’
With those words Harold’s fate was sealed; judgement was given against him. The Pope pronounced the Duke’s campaign against Harold a holy crusade, the cause of righteousness against evil. Gilbert returned to Normandy, bearing not only the good news but also a sealed parchment on which was granted approval for the Duke’s expedition, a consecrated papal banner and a ring with a hair from the head of St. Peter himself, contained in a special compartment. When Gilbert presented him with the ring, William put it straight on his finger. He said nothing but he smiled, as did Gilbert some time later, when he heard he was to receive a bishopric.
The Pope’s support for his expedition drove William into a frenzy of activity. All across Europe his emissaries announced the forthcoming crusade against the English and their perfidious king. William having appeared to have won the moral high ground, support was begged, demanded and cajoled from all the Christian nations of Western Europe; of all the leaders of Europe only Eustace of Boulogne offered to come in person.
The first to wish Duke William luck with his campaign was Count Conan of Brittany, who informed him that if he should journey to England he, Conan, would take the opportunity to seize what was rightfully his - Normandy. Conan went to great lengths to point out to Duke William that he was, as everyone in Europe knew, a bastard. Conan, on the other hand was the legitimate great-grandson of Richard I, Duke of Normandy.
Conan’s idea was a good one. There was every chance William would be killed in England but even if he survived, his forces would be too weak to repel an invader. A few months after Count Conan had made his promise to take Normandy, while he was besieging Angers, he sat on his mount giving orders to his chevaliers. They were shocked when he was suddenly stricken, as if by the hand of God, and fell dead from the saddle. It was belladonna that killed him, smeared on the reins of his horse. His observant assassin knew his habits well. The Count always held one of his gloves in his teeth whilst putting on the other. He always took off his gloves before he dismounted from his horse and so lay dead, a victim of habit. Brittany now had a new count, Alan the Red, friend and ally of Duke William. Such is fate.
In England
Just as William had been busy building support for himself in Europe, at home Harold was showing himself to be a fair and conciliatory king. All the leading Normans who chose to stay were still at court performing the same functions as they had under Edward, even though they were suspect
ed by some of being Duke William’s spies. In Wessex and East Anglia, where he was known, Harold’s position was easily established. Mercia, home of the late Aelfgar, was proving problematic and in the North, where he was known mainly for being Tostig’s brother, he faced great difficulties.
One evening, as Harold lay entwined in Edyth’s arms, doubts and fears raked his mind.
‘You’re restless, my love. What’s troubling you?’
‘The North. I think Morcar and Edwin are up to something. Word reached me today that the people of Northumbria say they can’t accept me as king unless formally requested.’
‘Is that reason to believe they’re plotting something?’
‘Well, they are as thick as thieves with the Bamburghs. I must go there, Edyth. I have to see the lie of the land.’
‘No King of England’s been to the North for years.’
‘I know. That should work in my favour.’
‘When will you leave?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘That soon?’
‘The sooner I go, the sooner I can straighten this out and the sooner I’ll be back to you. I won’t be home until Easter, my love, and then I’ll make you my queen.’
‘Oh Harold, really?’
‘Really.’
‘That’s more than I ever dreamed of.’
‘Come here. I’ll give you something to dream of.’
Early the next day Harold started his journey north. As King, it was expected of him to make the journey with at least a hundred housecarls but Harold wanted to travel fast and to demonstrate he trusted the Northumbrians. He let Gauti pick ten housecarls to accompany them to York. The saintly Bishop Wulfstan would travel with him to help him win over the North. As they made their way through the wintry countryside, conversation drifted to the subject of Tostig.
‘Where did Tostig go wrong, Wulfstan?’
‘I believe events conspired to bring about his downfall.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He had courage and strength. No one would deny that. And as everyone knows, he practised his religion strictly and he was always a sober man. He never failed to observe the sanctity of his marriage vows but in Northumbria those virtues aren’t looked upon with the same favour as in the South. Too many people saw your brother as simply rigid and stern. He could never really adapt himself to living up there, which is one of the reasons he spent so much time at court.’
‘So, I’m to be flexible and prudent.’
‘After you’ve visited Northumbria, what do you intend to do?’
‘Marry Edyth in true Christian fashion and have her crowned queen.’
‘That wasn’t what I meant but it makes an old man happy to hear such news.’
‘I’m going to ask Ealdred to officiate at the wedding.’
‘He’ll be delighted.’
Harold arrived at York, one of the biggest, busiest and wealthiest cities in northern Europe, on a chilly winter morning. As his party approached in the crisp frosty light, they could make out the old Roman city walls dominating the landscape. They could see an eight-tower frontage, which followed the banks of the river where wide bellied Scandinavian knarrs tied up to unload their exotic and valuable cargos.
Men were everywhere, struggling with fully laden baskets, loading carts, unloading ships, and hauling up sails. And as Harold grew closer he could hear the noise of the city; man and beast grunting and groaning under their burdens, the shouting of instructions, the exchange of insults and banter and the eternal squabble of merchants and traders, each vying to get the best deal.
Visible all along the riverside was the merchandise for which everyone flocked to York; amber from one ship; bear, wolf and seal furs from another, whalebone in crates here, whetstones in sacks there. Skins brought in from the Baltic and soapstones from Norway. Occasionally and available to only a few, were spices, silk and ivory from the Orient, taken to Samarkand by camel and from there, through the river ways of eastern Europe and the Baltic to York’s bustling quaysides.
There was an enormous stir when Harold passed through the city gates. No one could remember the last time an English king had entered York. Within minutes word had reached Earl Morcar that Harold was in the city and a guard of honour was hurriedly turned out to meet him. Earl Morcar and Earl Edwin arrived on horseback, forcing their way through the rapidly growing throng. Morcar greeted the King with a cheerful, ‘Good morning, my Lord,’ looking very pleased with himself.
‘Good morning, Earl Morcar. Earl Edwin.’
‘This is indeed an honour. We hadn’t expected a visit from you so soon.’
‘It’s I who am honoured, Earl Morcar, to receive such a hearty welcome.’
‘Follow me, my Lord. We’ll show you our hall and a true Northumbrian welcome.’
Morcar cast a perplexed glance along the length of Harold’s column before asking, ‘Is this all you’ve brought with you, a dozen men?’
‘Why, should I need more? I’m amongst friends, aren’t I?’
The answer produced a roar of approval from the crowd.
‘Indeed you are,’ replied Morcar, with a forced grin.
They made their way through the crowd. Harold thought the city quite Roman in character. The principia, where Roman emperors had sat in state, was still roofed and standing. Mixed in with and around the Roman buildings were the Viking parts of the city, densely populated and thriving with the industry of craftsmen of all types. Morcar led the way through the streets, off which ran labyrinths of narrow, crowded timber walkways. Everywhere the noise of striking hammers seemed to sound. Harold had never seen such activity, not even in London or Rome. Areas were identifiable as much by smell as sight or sound. Butchers, surrounded by cuts and carcasses, called out to passing shoppers. Close to them the candle makers, who used the tallow, plied their trade. Leather workers stripped hides and covered them in dung and urine to cure them. People with a strong sense of smell would do best to avoid that part of the city in the summer. Even in the winter there were plenty of foul odours to keep a person away.
Down another street, combs were being made from walrus ivory. Knives, axes and all manner of iron tools were manufactured in smithies, while the bronze foundries produced brooches, buckles and the like. Along a narrow lane, beads were being made from glass or chunks of amber. All the industry, all the produce made Harold wonder why he had not fully realised York’s importance and why Tostig had never informed him. This city was the real gateway between Scandinavia and England. Harold resolved to pay more attention to Northumbria than previous southern kings, perhaps even to hold court there.
At last they reached the great hall, where Morcar led Harold to the dais and offered him the best seat, which he graciously accepted. Glancing around the hall it took only a moment to register its grandeur. It rivalled Winchester’s great hall in size and if anything was a little taller. There was barely a piece of wood in the place that was not beautifully carved or decorated in some fashion. Columns were decorated with lizards and birds climbing through vine leaves pursued by all manner of creatures, some real, some mythical.
Morcar and Edwin sat to Harold’s right, leaving a seat either side of him; one was for Wulfstan, the other had been left for Aldytha, who made an entrance as the last of the guests took his seat. All heads turned as she entered, dressed in scarlet.
‘Welcome, my King,’ she called as she bowed low. As she raised her head her eyes met his and seemed to fix on them for a few moments longer than was necessary. Breaking off from her gaze, she regally surveyed the great hall. Every man there thought she was looking at him personally. Every man there felt they shared some secret bond. When she had everyone’s rapt attention she turned to Harold, whose eyes had been fixed on her since she had entered the hall.
‘It is a surprise and a great honour to welcome our beloved King to our humble hall,’ she said warmly. She continued, and although what exactly she said Harold could never recall, he would never forget the way she looked.
When she had finished her speech, Aldytha went over and sat beside him. Morcar and Edwin exchanged conspiratorial winks. Behind the scenes, servants worked at breakneck speed to produce a feast for the King. Luckily for them, the customary exchange of gifts, over which Lady Aldytha would preside, was yet to take place, giving them some extra time to prepare. Earl Morcar spoke to his King in hushed tones.
‘It’s such a great privilege to have the King of England honour our hall with his presence.’
‘Earl Morcar, the honour is mine.’
‘Tell me, my Lord; King Edward never ventured further north than Gloucester in his entire reign. Why do you take it upon yourself to visit us here in York, so soon into yours?’
‘Because you said the people of Northumbria would not accept me as their king unless they elected me themselves. So here I am, up for election. Surely you expected me to visit?’
‘Of course. Just not so soon, my Lord.’
‘I must apologise if I caught you by surprise.’
‘No apology is necessary, my Lord.
‘How long will it take to organize a full meeting of your court? I thought we should hold a Witan.’
‘It shouldn’t take more than a week, my Lord.’
‘Perhaps you can arrange it.’
‘It’s no trouble at all,’ said Edwin, confidently.
While Edwin replied to his question, Harold noticed Bishop Wulfstan deep in conversation with Archbishop Ealdred. The two clerics seemed very happy in each other’s company.
‘Before the Witan meets, my Lord, perhaps we could show you a little more of Northumbria,’ Edwin suggested. ‘I’ll be too busy myself organising things but if you have no objections, perhaps Lady Aldytha could show you round?’
Harold looked across the hall to where Aldytha was presenting the last of the gifts.
‘That seems an excellent idea, Earl Edwin.’
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