by Justin Hill
‘Well,’ Caerl said, ‘Eadric and the queen questioned me closely and spoke vehemently against the king granting you mercy. They accused you of all kinds of evil and treachery.’
Edmund seemed almost gleeful to hear news of his father. ‘There is no one to rein them in, and when men may do as they wish, they do as they are.’
‘I spoke my best,’ Caerl said, ‘though I do not know if it is enough. You will have to see the king in person’
Edmund’s men made camp a short day’s ride north of Cosham. He was careful to keep his men well away from where Eadric’s men were camped. Godwin was not sure what would happen. The only armed men available to the king were mortal enemies.
That afternoon they decided to go and see the king.
They spent the morning bathing in a pool overhung with willow branches. The little arrowhead leaves floated curiously about them. They pushed the duckweed away and lay back in the water.
They sat naked on the grass to dry themselves, and then threw their cloaks on and strode back to the hall, where they combed their hair and beards, and dressed in fine clothes.
‘Bring your swords,’ Godwin reminded them all, ‘and do not put them aside.’
A feast was held that night. A war feast. All men sat with their swords by their sides; the mood was formal and guarded.
On the high table sat the queen, with Ethelred at her side. Eadric and Edmund’s men were drawn up on the tables opposite each other, like armies on the battlefield.
Godwin sat on the right flank. The ginger-haired man was opposite him. He winked at Godwin. Godwin did not look away this time, but held the man’s gaze, unblinking, so long that it became a test of wills.
The ginger-haired man looked away first with a sneer. Godwin felt the thrill of victory and took a deep breath to calm his fast-beating heart. You burnt my hall, he thought, I shall see you dead.
Ethelred cleared his throat and the room went quiet as everyone turned to look. ‘So,’ the king, Protector of the People, said. ‘the Danes are in Cantware. What should we do to drive them off?’
‘Call out the fyrd,’ Edmund told him.
Eadric was not keen on such a move. He was weighing greater matters in his mind. The old king paused, as the goldsmith waits for the scales to balance.
Eadric spoke more directly than was his wont. ‘Lord,’ he said. He did not like to have to defend his honour. ‘I have been your loyal servant for many years. We have laboured in so many ways against the Danes, but we have constantly been undermined by them within our borders. Your son has thrown his lot in with their camp and married the widow of one of the traitors. It weighs my heart to see this. How can a country stand firm on the battlefield when we have traitors so close to the heart of our nation?’
Edmund let Eadric talk. He did not trust himself to speak.
Godwin admired Edmund’s reserve. They had spent the whole trip south reminding themselves that the goal was the kingship. Our goal is the kingship. Our goal is defeating the Danes. He hoped that the people of Morcar would remember.
When Eadric had stopped talking, Godwin could not resist answering. He sensed a weakness and was almost falling off his bench in his eagerness. ‘Lord King, we are all your loyal servants. It is an odd chance that all men who stand against Alderman Eadric are named traitors and turncoats. My father was one among them. He killed Danish pirates and took their treasure and gave it to the monks at the Old Minster, to give thanks to God. He was named Wulfnoth Cild until he crossed Eadric’s path. Then Eadric discovered he was a traitor and he was sent into exile.
‘Lord King, if the alderman was right our cause would have grown stronger and more worthy, and England would have gone from strength to strength. Instead, with each traitor whose name he blackens, the weaker we become. I have never heard your name connected with any action against the Danes, Alderman Eadric. Perhaps there is only one traitor among us, only one man who undermines our cause.’
Godwin stopped there.
It was better to let the listener do a little work himself.
Ethelred reminded them that they had sworn peace towards each other. ‘And all your followers!’ Ethelred said, and banged his open palm against the table. ‘I will have no fighting.’
Edmund congratulated Godwin later that evening. ‘You should have seen Eadric’s face,’ he said. ‘I was proud of you. You have a fine tongue, Godwin Wulfnothson, and a good speaker is worth a hundred swords.’
They slept in one of the guest halls of the king’s manor, and Godwin posted watchmen to keep an eye on the hall where Eadric’s men slept.
The night passed peacefully, but when Ethelred suggested a hunt the next day, no one was keen. The next day news came that the Army had taken to their ships and were sailing from Cantware towards the king’s manor.
‘I shall bring my men here,’ Edmund said, ‘to defend you, lord!’
Eadric looked sourly at them all. Godwin found it hard to ignore the big red-headed man, but he was bullish and confident. It was clear that the people favoured a reunion of Ethelred and Edmund over any alliance with Eadric.
Ethelred brought Eadric and Edmund into a council. ‘For Eadric is still my most loyal subject,’ Ethelred said.
Eadric smiled but said nothing, and that worried Godwin, for Eadric did not work in the open, but by secret murder and slaughter.
At the end Eadric asked to be allowed to go to his people. ‘There is much that I must tell them.’
They let him go. It had taken a few days for the chill between Ethelred and Edmund to thaw.
‘How is your wife?’ Ethelred said.
‘She is well.’
‘You could have asked.’
‘I could have,’ Edmund said, and then stopped.
A messenger had arrived. ‘The Army landed in Dornsætum last night,’ he told them. ‘Their fleet landed at the mouth of the River Froom’
Ethelred looked concerned. The Froom. Their horsemen could be here in two days.
‘I will send a hundred men to strengthen the men at the burg of Werham,’ Edmund said. ‘I have told the alderman of Dornsætum to gather his war bands.’
Ethelred stopped and turned to him. ‘It is not your part to order my men. You are not king yet. You cannot just summon men to battle willy-nilly. There are ways of doing this. Believe me, I know – I was made king when I was twelve.’
Edmund had to clench his fists. He had heard this for years and had stopped believing it long before. It was all he could do to hold his tongue.
Knut’s berserkers stormed the burg at Werham and all the men inside were put to the sword. The Danes took horses and rode all about Dornsætum, Wiltunscir and Sumersæton, burning, pillaging and seizing supplies against the coming winter.
Messengers were sent out, but the response to the call was poor. Edmund took it personally. Godwin understood a little better. ‘Well, the men who have been pillaged have little left to lose, and the men yet to be pillaged would rather pay a tax than lose another battle.’
‘They will not come unless we fight, and we cannot fight without armed men.’
The days turned to a week, a week into a fortnight, and as harvest approached many thegns lost heart and began to ride to Knut’s camp and swear loyalty to him. They went singly at first, and then in threes and fours, and eventually whole companies of sword-thegns in the full light of day, dwindling into the distance.
‘Our old king cannot protect us. We will give you our oaths if you will stop ravaging our land.’
Knut’s Army swelled; the men loyal to Ethelred and Edmund dwindled.
‘All he has to do is sit in Wessex,’ Godwin said, ‘and demonstrate that the king cannot and will not protect the people against him and the country will go against us all.’
Godwin’s words seemed prophetic when news came that the prominent Dornsætum and Hamtunscir families had ridden to Knut’s camp to offer him their support.
Edmund was furious. ‘I know those men,’ he said. ‘We have sat at t
heir bench and shared food. How can they turn their backs on us?’ He raged and ranted and then calmed himself down. ‘I am sorry. Godwin, don’t look at me like that. I know why they have done this, but it angers me.’
Caerl brought even more sobering news: ‘Eadric has ridden west.’
It was clear that he was going to Knut’s camp.
Edmund acted as if he was delighted, but there was nothing to celebrate. Eadric’s defection was the final insult.
The men’s mood was grim. They had been in the field all summer and were keen to get home and set their farms and halls in order for the long winter.
‘Eadric has gone to Knut’s side. Who is left to us?’ Beorn said.
Caerl said nothing. Godwin rubbed sleep from his eyes and yawned. ‘Eadric is no loss, but the other aldermen, they were men who were loyal in the spring.’
‘Why should Eadric flee now?’ Beorn said.
‘Because Ethelred is doomed,’ Caerl said.
Godwin felt gloomy. ‘Or he thinks that if he has to choose between them, Ethelred will favour Edmund over him.’
‘Both are probably true,’ Edmund said as he strode up.
They straightened themselves and felt abashed to have been discussing this.
‘But there is worse,’ Edmund continued. ‘Eadric has told Knut how weak we are. The Danes have started riding towards us.’
‘Shall we give battle?’ Godwin said.
Edmund hoped so. ‘Let us see the king.’
Ethelred collapsed when he heard of Eadric’s flight. He had to be revived with hartshorn salt. Since then he had been in a strangely humorous mood. It unnerved everyone, even the queen, who came out to meet them, falling over herself to welcome Edmund.
Godwin studied her as she spoke. He did not feel like gloating. They were all in the shit, he thought. And the queen was more alone than any of them. She had pinned her fortunes on Eadric.
‘Your son is here,’ she said to Ethelred.
The king was sitting in a chair by the fire, with blankets over his knees and an untouched bowl of warmed ale sitting on a stool by his side. Ethelred heard and closed his eyes.
Emma turned and whispered, ‘He is not himself. Be gentle with him.’
Edmund and his men pulled up benches and stools. Edmund sat next to his father. He waited till he could see that Ethelred was listening. ‘Knut is coming here. All over England men are calling for Knut to be made king. We must think of all the kings of Wessex. Think how they laboured and fought. Tell the people that you need their service in battle. We could fight shoulder to shoulder. Father and son, our companions mixed together! The finest of England’s strength. No man could stand against us. Father, call out a great fyrd.’
Ethelred’s mood swung from elation to gloom. He massaged his temples with his fingertips. ‘What makes you think they will come?’ he said.
‘They will come if you ask them.’
Ethelred waved a hand at him. ‘You will be king soon enough.’
‘Father, if you would but come out, then men would know that you lead them and they will fight.’
Ethelred agreed, but when the thegns were drawn up, word came from the groomsmen that the king had changed his mind and would stay abed.
‘He has taken ill with aches and pains in his head,’ the queen said.
Edmund again went to his side ‘Father—’ he began.
Ethelred put up his hand. ‘I will, I will, later,’ he promised again, but still he did not come.
That night Edmund bent one knee and knelt by his father’s side and clutched the old man’s hand and pleaded with him. ‘If you cannot show yourself, then give me command and I will drive the Danes from England.’ Edmund’s words came out almost like a prayer.
Ethelred waved a hand. He was bewildered, but Edmund saw a strange light in his eyes that belied his illness. ‘Why?’ the king said.
‘Why what?’
‘Why did you do that to me?’
‘What?’ Edmund said, and let his hand go.
Ethelred fell against the pillows. ‘Marry that woman,’ Ethelred said. ‘Did you want me to look like a fool?’
‘No, Father.’
‘She is a witch.’
‘Father, she hates you because you murdered her uncle, and then murdered her husband.’
‘I did not murder him.’
Edmund laughed. ‘Eadric murdered them.’
‘It was a feud.’
‘And did you punish him?’
Ethelred looked away. ‘Don’t shout so,’ he said, waved a hand in self-indulgent pity. ‘I am dying.’
‘Father, Knut’s riders are not more than fifteen miles off.’
‘So? Why trouble me?’
Edmund gave up. ‘I am leaving you.’
‘To be killed by Knut?’
Edmund paused at the hall door. ‘No, to see if there are any loyal men left in England.’
Edmund remembered himself and walked back to his father. Ethelred winced as if recoiling from a blow, but Edmund bent and kissed the old man’s brow. ‘Farewell, Father. May God have mercy upon your soul.’
Godwin remained leaning against a carved column. Edmund had left him with clear instructions. He imagined squeezing the breath from him, as a child might flatten an inflated bladder. It would only take moments and it would be over at last. Ethelred looked up. He saw the look in Godwin’s face.
His voice was frightened. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am Godwin Wulfnothson, whom men called the Cild.’
Ethelred panicked. ‘Where is my son?’
‘He is gone.’
‘Are you to kill me?’
Godwin smiled. He could smell the corruption in the old man’s soul. It would be better for the kingdom, Godwin told himself. He bent down, arranged the bed sheets, put his mouth next to Ethelred’s ear and whispered, ‘I will not charge my soul with the sin of killing my king. But you, my lord, should use every minute left to you to pray to the Lord God of Heaven for forgiveness.’
Godwin brought Ethelred’s hands together and laid them on his chest, as if in prayer.
‘Where has my son gone?’ Ethelred said.
‘He has gone to Lundenburh.’
‘No!’ Ethelred waved his hand in irritation. The name took a long time to come up, like an anchor dredged up from the Soluente mud. ‘Ath-elstan,’ he said at last. ‘Where is Athelstan?’
‘Athelstan?’
The old man nodded.
‘Dead.’
‘Dead?’
‘Three years past.’
‘It cannot be.’
Godwin nodded. ‘It is.’
The old man fell back against the pillows. It was the strangest thing. He crumpled before Godwin’s eyes.
‘How?’ he said at last.
‘He fell from his horse.’
‘Dead? My own beautiful son?’
Godwin nodded again and Ethelred wept – harsh, croaking sounds, like quartz stones splitting. He was crying as much for himself as his son.
‘I cannot go. I am sick,’ he said, in a voice like a child’s. ‘They have not fed me. Where have they gone? My servants and my retainers?’
‘Fled,’ Godwin said. He brought a hunk of bread, dipped it in a cup of stale wine and held it up to Ethelred’s lips.
‘My wife?’
‘Gone to Lundenburh.’
‘Well, I cannot go. I am sick.’
Godwin shrugged. ‘Well, it’s stay here and wait for Knut or come with us.’
Ethelred’s eyes looked pleading. ‘You will take me there?’
Godwin lifted the grey head up gently so that the king could drink.
‘I will take you,’ he said.
*
The king smelt of urine, but there was no time for a bath and he would not have his nightshirt taken from him. His chaplain sprinkled him with rosewater, and Godwin helped him dress as best he could, in a hunting kirtle of lambswool, a thick overcoat lined with mink, a pair of trews and fur-lined boots
.
Godwin put his own fur cap on the king’s head. His grey hair was stiff with grease. It stuck out about his ears. Godwin gave it a rough comb and tugged at his beard as well. Ethelred stood like a dumb horse.
Godwin laughed. ‘Well, I never thought I’d be combing the king’s beard. Here, you do it,’ he said, and gave his comb to the chaplain.
The man finished the job, hung a nosegay of cloves and cinnamon under Ethelred’s chin. ‘Come,’ Godwin said, ‘your guard awaits.’
The chaplain led the old king towards the door. Godwin waited for him, and took the aged king by the wrist so that his heart might have no fear as the doors were thrown open and they stepped out into the yard. Ethelred took his hand away from Godwin’s. It was as if he wanted to see if he would fall or not. He swayed for a moment and then steadied himself.
‘I am well,’ Ethelred said. ‘Look – I can walk!’
‘Indeed,’ Godwin said.
If Ethelred had expected a fine troop, he was disappointed. These men had been in the field for weeks. Their clothes were weather-stained, their hands were dirty, and they had a hard, frostbitten look in their eyes as they sat in their saddles or squatted against the wall. Their horses’ breath steamed in the yard, and behind them a heavy dew still dripped from eaves and leaves and gable.
‘Where is Dunmane?’ Ethelred called, looking about for his finest mare.
‘There are no horses here,’ Godwin said. There was little left now that the king’s servants had ransacked the place.
A gentle dun mare was led forward.
Godwin spoke quickly. ‘Ah, look! Here she is,’ he said.
The old man patted her and took a shaky hold on the reins. ‘Ah, Dunmane!’ he said, and Godwin helped the old man swing up into the saddle.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Half-Hundred
They kept a steady pace along the quiet lanes heading ever north and east. They avoided Wincestre and let it pass along their left-hand side at a safe distance. Ethelred complained bitterly about the cold and begged to be taken to his palace there, but Godwin took the reins from his hand.
‘There is no good welcome for you there,’ Godwin told him. ‘Come, we will be in Sudsexe soon. I will take you to my hall and we will sleep safely among my people.’