Shieldwall

by Justin Hill

  ‘Most men build their churches above the hall,’ Kendra said.

  Godwin laughed. ‘My grandfather wanted to keep the clerics in their place,’ he said.

  There was a long pause. Their backs were to the chapel. The air was fresh on their faces.

  ‘We have fallen far,’ Godwin said. ‘The English, I mean. There was a great king named Alfred in the time of my father’s grandfather. He defeated the Danes and imposed law on the whole country. He had his laws written down and all men had to read them. Even the old greybeards had to struggle with their hornbooks. And the country prospered.’

  ‘So?’ Kendra said. ‘What will you do when you are the king’s friend?’

  ‘I will bring back respect for the law.’

  ‘Is respect enough?’

  ‘No. I will enforce the law.’

  There was a glint in her eyes and he saw that she was teasing him.

  He smiled, but he was tired. ‘It is late. I think I shall sleep.’

  She turned to go, then paused. The dew soaked the hem of her dress and penetrated her shoes through to her toes.

  Kendra slept in the brew house, Godwin in the hall. Their paths diverged at the water trough.

  ‘Good night,’ Godwin said.

  ‘Good night,’ she said. ‘God bless you.’

  Godwin watched her walk away from him. He waited until she was safe inside and the door latch had fallen, then took a deep breath and turned his gaze back to the Heavens. From horizon to horizon ten thousand stars gleamed. Some were so small you could barely make them out; others burnt with such a cold white ferocity that their light blotted out the rest. From eastern sky to western wood stretched a bright path of stars – Wæcelinga Stræt – the path of heroes. That night the Swordsman of the Sky, the three stars of his belt gleaming bright, had taken up the challenge and strode high and triumphant across the winter heavens.

  Next morning Godwin looked for Kendra in the grey light of dawn, but she was not there. The horses steamed in gentle rain, leaf-buds dripped under fat-bellied rain clouds, and a mournful raven flapped past; Godwin was not sure it was a good omen.

  He suddenly had a flashback of his mother looking very small and futile. He did not know if she was a figment of his imagination, or a spirit sent to warn him. Her hair was bound and covered from the weather, and she clutched her rosary in her hard cold fingers. ‘God speed, my son,’ she called out. ‘Do not forget that your father was Wulfnoth Cild, and that your mother is of the House of Hasta!’

  The image froze Godwin and about him the mounts milled in a tight and eager circle.

  Kendra appeared at the door of the brew house.

  ‘Look after yourselves,’ she called out, but her eyes were on Godwin.

  In reply Godwin blew on his horn, and heel-kicked his horse down the hill.

  Kendra watched him leave with a mixture of emotions. Godwin was so young and eager and full of expectation.

  She did not wave but stood for a long time, a dark figure against the skyline, hair blowing in the wind.

  They crossed the country by safe paths. The country about them was quiet and watchful. The men were quiet. As they came down into the Temese Valley, Godwin’s last trip to Lundenburh was much in his mind. Then, he had been with Edmund and Blecca, impossibly naive and innocent. He wished he had known what would happen to Blecca. He would have done something, Godwin told himself.

  The closer they drew, the worse Godwin’s mood. There was no place he wanted to see less. He disliked the place – every stone and middenpit and pothole. There was no place he less wanted to arrive, no faces he wanted to see less than the court: the men who had condemned Wulfnoth. But that was where Edmund was to sail, where the king would petition to be taken back, so that was where he had to go.

  Chingestune was bustling with excitement, and Godwin was hailed by Edmund’s younger brother, Eadwig.

  Shit! Godwin thought, when he saw the young prince hurrying towards him. He was thin and a little stupid-looking, with a strange intensity about his narrow gaze.

  Eadwig was a year younger than Godwin, but he had the air of a spoilt and irritating child. ‘Father wants him to go into the Church,’ Edmund had told Godwin, but the truth was they all wanted him to go into the Church, and to Rome, and save them all the trouble of dealing with him.

  It was Eadwig’s misfortune to be the third son of Ethelred, and to be the younger brother of more worthy princes. He latched on to Godwin like a leech.

  ‘Godwin! I am glad to see you. What chance! I am going to Lundenburh. Do you think Father will return?’

  ‘I am sure,’ Godwin said.

  ‘He has sent Prince Edward,’ Eadwig said, and his tone said everything. Spotty, gangly, uneasy Prince Edward. ‘Athelstan will take the throne.’

  ‘Really?’ Godwin said in a noncomittal way. ‘Let us wait till we start to gossip. I shall save my counsel till then,’ he said.

  Eadwig looked at him and grinned. ‘You’re funny,’ he said.

  When Godwin saw the stone walls of Lundenburh a wave of hatred rose in him. He rode towards them with the eye of an invader, looking for the weak spots, the place where he had stood, the place where Blecca had died.

  Eadwig babbled and Godwin ignored him. At the palace at Crepelgate, men were battling to control the jostling crowd. Godwin shoved his way to the front and greeted the door wards warmly.

  ‘Hey there, you! Let him pass! Christ’s blood, Godwin, it’s good to see you. You did not come to Normandig.’

  ‘My father had died. I wanted to take my own land back,’ Godwin said.

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Of course.’ Godwin grinned.

  ‘Good! But half England wants to see the princes. The rats all have an eye to the succession now. I hear the queen has promised money to any who support her sons.’

  Godwin laughed at the idea. ‘Let her sit on her twig and spin her webs,’ he said as he pulled his men through into the hallway. ‘I promised I would bring soldiers, and here I have them.’

  The man gave his retainers a nod. ‘We’ll need stout fellows like you. All the men we can get. Pass on!’

  Athelstan greeted Godwin equally warmly. Godwin looked and saw Edmund and paused, but as soon as Edmund had greeted Eadwig, he hurried forward and hugged Godwin.

  ‘I am glad to see you!’ he said as they held each other’s shoulders. ‘God, I am glad to be back. Let me see you.’ Edmund held Godwin at arm’s length. ‘You’ve grown,’ he said.

  ‘I have?’

  ‘Yes! Are these your men? They’re a fearsome-looking company! Can they fight?’

  ‘Ask Brihtric,’ Beorn shouted, and Edmund put his head back and laughed.

  ‘Well spoken! Let me shake your hands. Any enemy of Eadric is thrice welcome! Now the hour has come. It is long past time to teach the Danes the strength of English arms! Fate is spinning on its wheel. It is turning our way at last!’

  There was some talk of Athelstan taking the throne, but Edmund quickly spoke against it. Decisions had been made in their brief exile in Flandran. The brothers wanted Ethelred king, and they wanted battle, for the princes knew that the battlefield would give them the perfect stage upon which to stake their claim to the throne.

  ‘Let us think of unity,’ Edmund said. ‘The Army is still in the north, sitting in our friend Morcar’s hall. Now is the time to thank God for His help in taking Swein. We will earn no favour by inciting civil war.’

  ‘When does the king come?’ Godwin said.

  No one knew. They turned to Athelstan. It seemed that the princes knew a lot more than they were saying. Godwin watched them closely.

  ‘Our father is at Tanet,’ Athelstan said. ‘He is waiting for all the Wise to gather; then he will arrive.’

  The Wise were fluid, hard to define, but it was clear to all men present who among them were entitled to attend, and stand by and be accountable for the decisions they made.

  ‘I think we are all here now Eadwig is come.’ Athelsta
n paused a moment, but kept a straight face. ‘And the king sent word that he will arrive on the morrow, on the first tide.’

  After the meeting Edmund called Godwin to one side.

  ‘Eadric is here,’ he said.

  ‘I have heard,’ Godwin said.

  ‘He will try and take his revenge.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We need unity now,’ Edmund said. Godwin began to feel panic, as if he was being thrown to the dogs again, but Edmund put his hand to his shoulder. ‘Keep your men in order,’ he said. ‘I do not want anything that will provoke Eadric.’

  ‘I shall not provoke him.’

  ‘Good. And that warrior of yours.’

  ‘Beorn?’

  ‘Yes. Shut him up.’ The words came out in a tone that seemed too sharp. ‘We shall need him when the battle comes. I would not waste him in a knife fight with one of Eadric’s thegns.’ Edmund stopped. ‘Sorry. I am delighted to see you again, and my heart is warmed to hear that you have taken your father’s land back. Do not worry. There is much at stake here, but I have not forgotten your loyalty.’

  Eadric was at the wharf the next morning with a great troop and went from company to company greeting the chief men. He even came to Athelstan and shook his hand.

  ‘Greetings, lord. It is welcome beyond measure to see you safely returned.’

  Athelstan returned the greeting cordially.

  ‘Greetings, Alderman Eadric. I hear you feasted with King Swein while we were away.’

  Other men would have paled, but Eadric did not pause for a second.

  ‘I did, my lord, for what else could we do? Each night we prayed for his death and lo! the Lord heard us. And He answered our prayers by bringing you back again.’ Eadric turned to the men about him. ‘We prayed for their return, did we not?’

  Yes! They all nodded and agreed.

  Edmund admired Eadric’s boldness. Brazen, he thought, and smiled back, reminded himself how they had boasted that Eadric would be the first to swing from the gibbet tree when his brother was made king.

  The tidal bore had begun to turn back up the river and it was not long before Ethelred appeared at the front of his gaily painted boat, with trumpets blowing, and a great company of fine men.

  ‘Ah look,’ Eadric said, and stayed with the princes, at the head of the royal wharf, as if it was his place, ‘your father!’

  The crowds of common people cheered as soon as they saw Ethelred return. The queen stood beside him, Edward at her side.

  ‘With her hand up his arse,’ Edmund whispered to Eadwig as they headed the welcoming committee.

  The queen waved. There was a smattering of Norman clerics behind her; they stood out with their strange shaved heads.

  ‘She used half the king’s money to stock a divine war chest of relics,’ Athelstan muttered to Edmund. ‘She’s now added the heads of St Ouen and St Augustine to her haul, as well as the tooth of St Bridget, which wards off thunderstorms.’

  There was a sudden rush as men tried to be first to greet Ethelred. Edmund and Eadwig stepped in front of Eadric and blocked his way, while Athelstan strode forward to kneel before his father.

  Edmund and Eadwig struggled to keep the nervous crowd back. Some thegns slipped and fell into the Temese mud; others were shoved out of the way. Edmund remembered their faces. They had guilty consciences all.

  Godwin was not at the wharf. He took his men out hunting in the woods beyond Iseldone, about two miles from Crepelgate. They climbed the hill and passed beyond the strip fields into a wild landscape, where there were bears and wild hogs. They did not find anything worth killing. At one point they heard the sound of distant cheers carried up from the river and they turned and looked. So Ethelred has returned, Godwin thought, and felt a strange mixture of emotions: joy and despair in equal measure, for the old order had been restored, and yet it had failed before and would fail again, and yet would not go without a fight.

  The Wise of England gathered.

  There was no specific place for them to meet, but to add ceremony and gravitas to the occasion, it was decided that it would be held this time in St Paul’s Cathedral. The streets all about were overwhelmed with horses and retainers, and there was a crush at the door as the door wards sorted those who were eligible and those who were not.

  The cathedral was a massive building with heavy, round arches and high, small windows where God peeped in. The meeting started with a mass of thanks for removing them of their Danish oppressor.

  At the altar sat Archbishop Wulfstan of York, his grim face glowering at the shifting crowd. Ethelred sat on a lower step, and a less richly decorated throne, but his robes were as richly ornamented with jewels and gold and the finest furs. He sat with a look of stern kindliness on his face.

  Ethelred knelt to receive the water and wine from the archbishop’s own hands, a golden plate beneath his chin, like a gleaming buttercup, to catch any crumbs of Christ’s body. Incense was burnt. More men pushed inside. Some men tried to bring their horses in; a fat noble-woman from Exsessa was crushed and had to be carried out for air. Morcar and all his folk were missing, so too were those from Northymbria and their warlike alderman, Uhtred. They were too close to the Danes to risk coming, so the meeting of the Wise was stuffed with all the prominent men and families and Church establishments from Wessex and those parts of Mercia free from the Danish.

  Then the Witena Gemot began, and quickly turned tense and ill-tempered. Ethelred took his place again on the throne, and there was a murmur of displeasure: he is not yet king, it seemed to say. He presumes too much.

  Ethelred began the meeting gracious and understanding, but as men’s complaints continued and became increasingly personal, it was clear that they were quite happy to put Ethelred back on his ship and return him to Normandig if he did not agree to rule them better.

  Ethelred tried threats, appeals and sulking, but the English were in an unusually unruly mood, and Ethelred’s impatience turned to irritation and then anger. ‘What do you mean, I should keep the laws better than before?’ he blustered. ‘God has spoken.’

  Yes, the bench silence seemed to say, but what has He said?

  Godwin did not go with Edmund to West Minster. His memories of that place were too vivid. He and his men rode to the wharf where the king’s ships lay, safely moored to the shore. They watched the heavy gold-rimmed caskets being carried from the ships. They were travelling caskets, with pitched lids, like the roof of a house, so that the rain would wash off and not damage the holy contents.

  ‘Queen Emma’s reliquaries,’ Godwin said to Caerl.

  Caerl had never seen so much wealth and sanctity combined. He mistrusted it.

  Beorn scoffed. ‘Can you buy God?’ he asked.

  Godwin laughed. ‘The days that follow shall show,’ he said.

  That afternoon they rode out to hunt again. Godwin was glad to be riding in the fields rather than standing in that unhappy crowd in the cathedral, but as the day stretched on, and the evening bench-talk was all of things that one man or the other had said, he began to feel that he should be there. The second day he went hunting again, caught a mangy old fox and flung her to the dogs. On the third day Godwin decided he would go.

  ‘Once I was just a boy, but I am a thegn now,’ he said to Edmund. ‘I have a stake now. I have people to protect. I am accountable to my folk.’

  Edmund did not argue. ‘Then come. I will not stop you, but remember to keep your men in check.’

  Godwin left Beorn and the other loudmouths behind, but Caerl came with him.

  ‘You do not need mail,’ Godwin said to his men as they began to arm themselves. ‘This is a peaceful meeting. I will not have fighting.’

  Godwin was stiff in the saddle as they followed Edmund down the muddy street towards the cathedral. As they entered the square before the abbey gates, his eyes flicked from face to face and party to party, looking for his foe.

  He did not see Eadric, though he looked all about him.

 
‘Do you see him?’ he said to Caerl.

  ‘I do not,’ Caerl said, and paused and looked again. ‘Maybe he is inside.’

  That morning Eadric sat on a horse at the cathedral doors and greeted each man in turn. He was like a lord of men, high above them all. When Godwin saw him it was too late to turn away.

  ‘Stand next to me,’ Edmund said as they dismounted.

  Godwin nodded. He steeled himself, turned to check his men were with him. The crush pressed in. It would be easy for a knifeman to come close and thrust a dagger into his gut. Godwin looked about. Caerl and the others stepped closer. Godwin felt them, a living shield in the crush. Godwin tried to ignore Eadric as Edmund shuffled forward and he followed close behind.

  Edmund took the side furthest from Eadric, Godwin kept his gaze fixed on the doors before him, and it seemed that he would pass by without being noticed when Eadwig – who had been waiting by Eadric’s side – spotted them and called out across the heads of the crowd, ‘Edmund! Godwin! Ah, Godwin, you have come!’

  Eadwig pushed towards Edmund, and Edmund had to stop and embrace his brother. The name Godwin seemed to carry over the crowd, and men saw Eadric and heard that name and turned to see. All knew who had killed Eadric’s brother. Godwin smiled faintly as Eadwig came up, his eyes boring into Godwin.

  ‘Where have you been? I heard you went hunting. You should have taken me as well.’

  ‘I will,’ Godwin tried to say, but his voice stuck in his throat. His ears burnt red. He could feel the crowd watching him. He was sure Eadric had seen him as well.

  ‘What?’ Eadwig said. Godwin could have throttled him.

  ‘Nothing,’ Edmund said, but took hold of Eadwig’s hand, and Eadwig winced.

  ‘Ow!’ he said. ‘What?’

  A voice called out, ‘Godwin!’

  Godwin kept his jaw shut and hurried after Edmund.

  ‘Godwin!’

  The crowd turned to look at him, and Godwin stopped.

  Eadric had seen him. He pushed his horse towards them. ‘Godwin Wulfnothson.’