Conquest moe-1

by Stewart Binns

  ‘By the time we meet again, my Lord, I will know your men and their talents like the back of my hand.’ Hereward paused and looked at Harold with firm resolve. ‘My Lord, I want you to know that in this fight I will always be at your side. If you fall, I fall; if you triumph, I will be the first to lift you on to my shoulders as the rightful King of England.’

  ‘Thank you, Hereward of Bourne. Go well, my friend.’

  As Hereward rode off, Harold’s horse was brought to him. His Captain and his personal guards were already mounted as he bade farewell to Edith.

  ‘There are many important men in London and along the Thames that I must talk to. I will leave four of my best men here; I don’t want any of the King’s eavesdroppers hiding in dark corners. The King will be given the key to his abbey and take communion there on Sunday next. I will be back no later than twilight on Saturday.’

  He kissed Edith fondly. ‘Take good care of Torfida; she has a miracle to perform on the Sabbath hence.’

  ‘I will, my darling. We have much idle women’s talk to keep us occupied.’

  Edith’s words reflected the two women’s firm friendship, grounded in a shared commitment to finding a solution for England’s predicament.

  As Harold rode off to canvas opinion about the dark days ahead, he knew that whatever Edith and Torfida talked of, it would not be ‘idle’.

  13. Revolt in the North

  Many hundreds of people were waiting outside the King’s new abbey church at Westminster for the ceremony of the keys. People had been streaming across the meadows of Chelsea and Holborn all morning. Ludgate was a sight to behold, as the wealthy city burghers, merchants and guilds-men, resplendent in their livery, filed across the old Roman bridge over the River Fleet and made their way through the thriving settlements of the Strand towards the lush green fields of Westminster. There, gleaming in the sun, was the King’s symbol of a new England, the finest church in northern Europe.

  Edith and Torfida had met Harold earlier and he had described precisely the route Edward would take that day. As Earl Marshal, Harold was responsible for all of the King’s public appearances, his itinerary and when and where he would meet people. Harold and Torfida had chosen the exact place within the abbey where she would stand, waiting for the King to pass. Edith would stay hidden among the King’s retinue. He was not in favour of Harold displaying his mistress at court, especially since his recent political marriage to Ealdgyth, widow of Gruffydd ap Llywelyn.

  There were loud cheers when the King arrived, but Torfida was shocked to see how old and frail he was. He walked with a stoop, his gait more of a shuffle than a stride, his beard and hair silver grey and his eyes red-rimmed and sunken.

  With a deep bow, Teinfrith the Churchwright handed the King the huge key to the heavy oak door. This ceremony was intended merely to mark the passing of the keys, as King Edward planned to have the ceremony of consecration at Christmas. The key, the length of a man’s arm from fingertip to elbow, was so cumbersome the King had to use both hands to insert it into the lock. When he turned it, a distinctive clang could be heard as the mechanism opened.

  More loud cheers went up as the King entered the tall and elegant interior. The public followed their monarch into the nave, as far as its halfway point, while the monks began the sacred melody of plainchant, sending waves of sound echoing around the massive Romanesque columns and arches. It was the first sight that the King’s subjects had had of the wonder of the age. All stood and marvelled at it, their necks straining as they peered upwards. Torfida had made her way to her designated position, close to the altar. She had several minutes to wait while the King, guided by Teinfrith and his master masons, made his procession. Harold, with Edward’s hearthtroops, stewards and physicians, followed closely behind. The King listened intently to everything that was said to him and took a particular interest in the carving, especially the finely decorated capitals of the arches.

  The fine building was a credit to Teinfrith and his masons. The roof was over 150 feet from the ground, a triumph of engineering, and the smooth cream stonework and graceful carving were as well worked as any in Christendom.

  King Edward was by now quite near.

  As he moved closer, Harold stepped forward. ‘Sire, may I introduce Torfida, a woman in my service. She may interest you.’

  Torfida curtsied elegantly, and the King nodded in acknowledgement.

  ‘She has travelled extensively, including Constantinople and Rome, and has studied the ancient texts in mathematics. One of her many interests is church architecture, sire.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Edward’s manner was at first dismissive, then, with a jolt, his face contorted into a scowl. ‘Is this the wife of that scoundrel, Hereward?’

  Harold was not perturbed by the King’s bluntness. ‘It is, sire, but she is here in her own right. Hereward is with my housecarls at Glastonbury, as I know his presence in London displeases you.’

  ‘Don’t patronize me, Earl Godwinson. You do as you see fit, whether it displeases me or not.’

  Torfida was shocked to hear the King speak to Harold so sharply. Edward made to move on and Harold, his face suffused with anger, stepped aside. Torfida decided to take a risk and speak to the King without being spoken to first. She used her impeccable Norman French.

  ‘My Lord King, Master Teinfrith is to be congratulated; the great abbey church of Jumièges pales in comparison with your achievement here. I can see the resemblance to the Abbey of Bernay, but you have improved the vaulting in an extraordinary way, and I can see the influence of Philip of Poitiers in the design.’

  Torfida gulped a little; Harold stiffened, expecting the worst.

  The King looked at his architect.

  Teinfrith looked back, his eyebrows slightly raised. ‘Do you know these churches, young woman?’

  ‘Sire, I know a little of the work of Maître Thiebault at Jumièges. It is a fine church and will soon be finished.’

  ‘Indeed it will. But you are not a mason. How do you know so much about the architecture of cathedrals?’

  ‘I have studied the work of the architect Isidor of Miletus, and the mathematician Arthamius of Thralles; I have seen their magnificent legacy, the Hagia Sofia. Mathematics is one of my specialities.’

  Teinfrith was astonished; the King looked at him and he nodded, confirming the accuracy of Torfida’s information.

  Edward turned back to Torfida. ‘And your other “specialities”, besides mathematics?’

  ‘Sire, theology, languages, metaphysics and philosophy, natural sciences and, of course, history, especially English history.’ Torfida looked at the floor uncomfortably, realizing her immodesty.

  The King stepped towards her and looked at her with obvious curiosity. ‘What is the Latin genus of the great elm?’

  ‘Ulmus, sire.’

  The King’s second question was delivered in Latin. ‘Who was Emperor of the Romans after Trajan the Great?’

  ‘Hadrian, sire.’

  The King then asked in Greek. ‘Who wrote the tragedy Prometheus Bound?’

  ‘Aeschylus, sire, sometime after 460 BC.’

  ‘Remarkable. There are only a handful of men in England who could answer those questions. Where did you acquire your knowledge?’

  ‘My father was a very learned man. He was priest to your mother, Queen Emma.’

  ‘How intriguing. If you are referring to the man I think you are, then I knew your father very well; until, of course, he was excommunicated. You must be his bastard child.’

  ‘I am, sire. He took me into the forest and raised me there until I was a grown woman. Then he sent me to the nuns at Hereford.’

  ‘I often wondered what became of Father Waltheof; he was a very good friend. He was fluent in Norman and helped me to improve my English and my Norse. We spoke about many things… until his dalliance with one of the ladies-in-waiting caused a furore at court.’

  Torfida was hearing her father’s real name for the first time. ‘Queen Emma was g
ood to my father. She let him have books, and she sent him regular messages.’

  The entourage around the King began to shuffle uncomfortably; time was passing and this was an unexpected delay to the schedule.

  Harold took a gamble. ‘Sire, would you like to retire to the Chapter House? You can sit there and talk a little more with Torfida.’

  The King seemed to recognize the Earl of Wessex’s ploy, but agreed anyway. Leaving his entourage, the King withdrew to the Chapter House with Torfida a pace behind. Harold kept the King’s retinue at a distance, so that Torfida could speak to him in private. Edward’s sour demeanour sweetened a little; his deathly pallor became brighter.

  ‘Your father had such wisdom and knowledge, he inspired me. I could have prevented his banishment, but he bore a huge burden of guilt about his fall from grace and refused all help from me or the Queen.’ Edward looked at Torfida with a hint of a smile. ‘Your mother was very beautiful, you know. I’m sorry she died bringing you into the world.’

  ‘My father raised me and gave me his knowledge. My Lord King, I have been blessed; I may even have acquired a little of his wisdom.’

  ‘Perhaps, but your choice of husband, this renegade Hereward, says little for your wisdom.’

  ‘My King, I do not wish to vex you.’

  ‘That is a risk you will have to take if we are to continue our discourse.’

  ‘Sire, my father spent a long time with Hereward in the wildwood. My father helped him come to terms with his past and to find his destiny. Knowing that Hereward and I were destined to meet, he asked Hereward to be the bearer of a talisman and sent him to me. We now carry that talisman together on a journey to find the man who is destined to wear it.’ Torfida reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the Talisman.

  ‘I wondered if that trinket might reappear some day. Your father was always fond of the mysterious ways of the past. My mother told me she had given it to Walthoef. She recounted its legends many times and tried to convince me of its power.’

  ‘Sire, it has guided me to you.’

  ‘Madam, it is a pagan amulet of no consequence.’

  ‘Sire, I beg you to let me contradict you. It will be of no consequence only when men understand how to govern themselves without resort to violence. Whether it be a holy relic, an amulet or a cross, as a symbol of faith and truth it can help people make decisions about right and wrong. When we know how to make those decisions without symbols, we will discard them; until then, we need them.’

  The King’s voice rose. ‘You sound like your father. His views came close to heresy; so do yours.’

  ‘My words do not deny God. They reinforce the teaching of the Church, but place the onus of responsibility on our actions and our choices.’

  Edward stared up at the ceiling of his Chapter House. ‘As my reign was about to begin, my mother asked me to wear your Talisman. She said it would help me understand myself and give me the wisdom to solve the problems I would confront.’

  ‘But you chose not to, Sire?’

  ‘Yes. For me it was very simple; I knew what I wanted to do. My life in Normandy taught me many things. The Saxons are brave and noble people; I am one of them, of Cerdician blood, but they can be brutish and insular and I am determined to direct their future towards Europe. I am also of Norman blood and I can see how the two traditions can complement one another.’

  ‘Sire, I too have lived with the Normans; there is much about them that is brutal.’

  ‘Certainly. They were Vikings once, but they have lived on the European mainland for several generations and they have changed, as the Saxons must change.’

  This was Torfida’s moment. ‘Is that why you want Duke William to succeed you, my Lord King?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know what kind of man he is, sire?’

  ‘I remember him when he was a boy in Normandy. He was a strong and forceful child and had all the makings of a leader of men.’

  ‘Oh, he is that, sire. You talk of Saxon brutes, but he is a brute beyond mercy; a tyrant beyond all others in a tyrannical world.’

  ‘I have heard all the accounts, and I know he has a dark side; as do we all. But there is much Saxon propaganda about William that emanates from the Godwinsons. You are now in the lien of the Earl of Wessex, and Harold is ambitious to be king. Do you speak for him now?’

  ‘I do not, sire; I speak for England. I plead for a tradition and a way of life. You speak of the value of European culture, but is that what the Saxons want?’

  The King’s mood darkened. ‘What the Saxons want is what I say they ought to have!’

  Torfida was alarmed by the King’s sudden change of mood. His considered and balanced tone had been replaced by the ferocity of a tyrant.

  ‘Does that shock you, Torfida? My conviction explains why I don’t need amulets to help me decide what to do.’ Edward glanced towards his retinue. ‘I will not favour Harold. He is neither a Saxon of the royal blood, nor a man who would move England into a new age. He is a fine warrior who would have been a magnificent king of an ancient tribe. But I do not want England to be a tribal kingdom; I want it to be a part of the new order of Europe.’

  ‘I don’t think the Earl of Wessex wants to be king. He would prefer you to name Edgar the Atheling. Harold would pledge himself as his Regent until he gained his majority.’

  The King’s tone darkened once again. ‘Edgar is a boy. Hardrada sits in Norway, William in Normandy. If Edgar becomes king, both will invade – and possibly the Dane, Estrithson. If Harold defeats them by force of arms he will be persuaded by popular acclaim to supplant Edgar, and the boy will be lost. If Hardrada wins, we will become Scandinavian again, something that would put me in Purgatory for time immemorial. If William wins, we will have the outcome I prefer, but many thousands will have died in achieving it. So, the answer is clear: nominate William, force Harold and the earls to accept it, and pray for the future.’

  The King nodded to Torfida before summoning his servants. She curtsied back and watched him shuffle out of the Chapter House.

  As he left, she turned to Harold. ‘My Lord Godwinson, your cause is lost. The King will not be swayed.’

  Later that day, when Harold joined Edith and Torfida at Ludgate Hill, he expressed his bitter disappointment that William remained the King’s nominated successor.

  ‘Well, that’s an end to it. I’ll tell the King that I am returning to Glastonbury to be with my men. He won’t like it, but he will have little choice in the matter. We will join Hereward at Glastonbury. There is much to be done.

  ‘Edith, you should not stay in London. Close the house, pack anything of value and bring your household with you. We may be gone for some time.’

  Two days later, the Earl of Wessex, with a large contingent behind him, was heading west. When they arrived in Glastonbury, the burgh and the surrounding countryside resembled an armed camp. Hereward and Earl Gyrth had almost a thousand men in readiness, new weapons were being forged, armour was being made, supply carts were being loaded and the oxen to pull them were grazing in the fields nearby.

  Harold called an assembly of his thegns in the Great Hall of Glastonbury. He proclaimed an end to their hope of the King accepting Edgar the Atheling as his successor, or of him revoking his nomination of the Duke of Normandy as the next king. Everyone, to a man, said that they would reject William as successor and accepted Harold’s view that unless William brought an army of unheralded size and materiel, it was unlikely that he could secure the throne by force of arms.

  The Earl of Wessex was an imposing figure as he stood before the assembled throng of warriors. He was candid about the personal dilemma he would face upon the King’s death, but asked them to believe that he was not engaged in a devious plot to claim the throne for himself. However, he was firm in saying that circumstances were conspiring to put England in great danger,

  ‘Whatever perils come our way, I will face them. With you at my side, you noble men of England, we will repe
l any invader, whether he is Scandinavian or Norman – and even if both hordes fall upon us at once!’

  A huge roar rose into the roof of the hall, a cry that turned to a thunderous echo as the warriors thumped their shields with their battle-axes and swords.

  Later that day, Hereward offered Harold his assessment of the qualities of England’s fighting men. The general level of discipline and fighting skills, both among the levies of the Fyrd and among the housecarls, was on a par with any he had seen, including Byzantines, Saracens and even Scandinavians and Normans. However, there was one area where the Saxon housecarl was beyond comparison. Their close-quarters, highly coordinated battle techniques, especially their shield wall, were without equal. Hereward’s only area of concern was the cavalry. The Saxons were adept horsemen, but they eschewed the use of horses in major set-piece battles. On the other hand, Normandy’s cavalry with its heavy destriers was the Norman equivalent of the Saxon shield wall: it was their greatest asset.

  Hereward put it very plainly for Harold. ‘If it comes to a major battle against the Normans, it will be the Saxon shield wall against the Norman destrier.’

  Harold thought about Hereward’s report for a while. ‘What of their bowmen? They have both longbow and crossbow.’

  ‘It is an added advantage for them, and one that we need to combat. While I was in the service of the Duke, I saw some of the finest bowmen in Europe; they could be dangerous for us.’

  During the searingly hot summer of 1065 Harold drove his housecarls hard. The messages coming from London told of a King who was becoming more and more irascible and who suffered from frequent ‘maladies’, where he would temporarily lose consciousness. His speech had become slurred and his balance unsure.

  Despite the tension created by the unfolding of great events, time passed slowly.

  Harold completed the summer of training with his men, but in early September had to stand down the greater part of his army so that they could return to their homes to gather the harvest.