“Those taxes led entire villages to starve and still you treat your former subjects as animals. You call yourself a man, Tostig, but you are nothing more than a pitiable, cruel wretch of a human being. We left you with your life and you have many times made me regret that decision – think, how terrible you must be, to make me regret not killing my own brother?”
The exile laughed a little. “How terrible I must be? You’re deluded. Deluded! I have spent my whole life being betrayed – by you, by my subjects, by the Norwegians and now by the Flemish...it never ends, and never will. Perhaps you should kill me and be done with it, hm? If I am consigned to hell, then I may as well greet the Devil’s waiting arms while I am still young.”
“No.” Harold Godwinson gritted his teeth. “No, I’m afraid that would be too easy for you, Tostig. You will be taken in chains to the jails of London, where you will reside until judgment comes for you. I recommend you take this time to pray; perhaps God’s heart will soften if you can show a true want for forgiveness. There is still time to save your soul.”
“My soul...” Tostig shook his head. “Don’t waste your time, brother. God has forsaken me long ago, I seriously doubt he’s going to start listening now.”
Harold closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He felt guilty for everything he had put his own blood through, but knew there was no easy alternative beyond exile or execution. Tostig’s return with such force of arms had sealed his fate and it was the King’s duty to ensure the safety of the Kingdom; even if it meant his own brother’s death. Stiffening his posture again, he gestured to his soldiers. “Take Tostig and imprison him in the jails here, I wish to give him some time to consider his mistakes while we prepare a march south.”
“We’re going south again?” the voice of Edgar Aetheling said from behind him even as the guards dragged away a cursing and spitting Tostig.
Harold turned, somewhat surprised at his cousin’s sudden appearance – and Morcar and Edwin accompanied him, ever the proud brothers of the Hwicce. “Yes, that’s correct Edgar. I received news this morning that the Normans have landed in Sussex and marched on Chichester and Hastings. I know the Norwegians will likely be back, but we must address our most immediate threat first. This is the war we have condemned ourselves to.”
“I agree that we must deal with the Normans, but what makes you think that King Harald will return?” Edgar asked, looking a little confused. “We have captured Tostig and York and he must realise our army is now larger, more determined and better fed. It would be a fool’s errand to attack England again in his shape.”
“I can feel it in my bones – he will come again, and this time with help. It is inevitable,” Godwinson grimaced. “We need to be ready for them.”
Around them, the Anglo-Saxons troops busied themselves checking the Flemish for weapons and confiscating their armour. Harold paid the prisoners no more mind, and was now staring up at the midnight sky in deep thought. This war had driven them across the world, and his face was deeply creased with worry and a lack of sleep. Magnus was virtually alone to resist the Normans in London – a child against an army of the toughest, most vicious warriors in all of France. Harold Godwinson had fought along Duke William and had once called the man a friend – he could still hardly believe they had become enemies driven apart by a lust for power.
Had he been less tired and more observant, he might have noticed the strange look on the face of Edgar. The Aetheling stared at him with a curious gaze, before turning it upon the well-armed Flemish Mercenaries who had surrendered. The continental mercenaries had been finally garbed in short chain hauberks, which were themselves riveted to strips of leather that stretched over the links to form a protective mesh. Armed with broad kite shields, straight swords and long spears, they were an impressive and professional fighting force that appeared to have seen many campaigns. Tostig must have paid a pretty penny to earn the loyalty of so many men – now Edgar wondered if it was so wise to put them to waste.
“Edwin,” Edgar whispered. “Come with me, I wish to speak with you more privately. There is something important we must discuss.”
Edwin had been busying himself with a flagon of wine, and looked a little disappointed to be pulled away from it, but he did not complain and instead followed. The two of them slipped into a darkened alley between buildings, slipping out of earshot of the King and his men. “What is this about, Edgar?”
“I believe Harold wishes to honour the Flemish Captain’s demands and send him home without a sword or spear in sight. This is a foolish gesture; there are many experienced fighters in that company. We should be using them.”
The Earl nodded a little. “I can see that point, but what are we to do? Harold wants them gone, so they will be gone – we can’t really argue with the King.”
“That’s just it! If you and Morcar stand by my side, we can present the idea to him personally. I have more than enough coin in my treasury to pay them what they deserve and then some – we’d have an army loyal to us and not to the King, and with your hosts and mine combined, then...”
“Then what, Edgar?” Edwin frowned. “I’m not sure I like the line of thought I think you’re going down. Surely you aren’t implying disloyalty to our liege? All our armies are loyal to England, is that not good enough?”
“No, of course not, Edwin. It’s just that we will need every soldier we can get to face and defeat the armies of both the North and South. This is a delicate time and we cannot afford to turn down easy help. What do you say, Edwin? Will you help me petition the King to permit this?”
The idea of adding Tostig’s force to their ranks was tempting, if risky, but Edwin continued to frown, first taking a sip of wine to clear his thoughts. “I...suppose so. But if he grants you what you want, you shall owe me a favour in return, are we clear?”
“Clear as a summer’s day, Edwin,” Edgar smiled. “Come, let’s find somewhere warm to stay – the storm is nearly upon us and it would do us no good to be caught out in the rain.”
Chapter 14 – Under New Rule
30th of October, 1066
“So this is London...” Robert said as they rode through the streets in silence.
Beside him, Odo sat stiff and tall on his horse, looking down upon the few Englishmen brave enough to venture out of their homes. Norman troops marched through the city from street to street, searching for any hiding Englishmen. The streets here were broader than the other English settlements they had reached, and showed signs of both heavy use and good maintenance.
“It’s quite the city, for a place like England. I expect this will be our capital once William is crowned,” Odo mused. “I should imagine the Church will be grateful to me when I restore it to its former glory.”
Robert hardly heard a word that Odo said, caught instead by an incident occurring further down a side street. Several Norman soldiers were crowded around a girl, jeering and prodding her with spear butts or shaking the tip of their sword menacingly. For a moment, Robert’s heart softened, and he turned the horse away from his uncle to investigate.
“Robert? Where are you going?” Odo asked, sounding irritated.
The Duke’s son rode up to the group of soldiers with a deep frown. “What’s going on here?” he demanded of them.
“Master Robert? We found this girl skulking about in the streets. She speaks French, she could be a spy!” one of the guards replied.
He waved the men apart, conscious of Odo riding up alongside him. Their victim looked to be of a similar age to Robert, and she made a fairly pathetic sight. Smeared with dirt and grime, she wore what was once a fine but plain linen gown and her sandy blonde hair was messy and tangled. Her cheeks were puffy and it was clear she had been crying for some hours. The young noble wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t help but pity the sight of her, wondering how she had gotten here and where her family had gone.
“She could be a nobleman’s daughter, left here when the cowards fled,” Odo observed. “That is no commoner’s dress.�
�
“You speak French?” Robert said firmly to her.
She rubbed at her eyes and nodded pitifully. “A little...”
“What is your name?”
“Gunhild...” She paused. “Eadwig’s daughter, my lord.”
“Is this Eadwig a nobleman?”
“What is...noble?” She frowned, trying to understand the Norman’s accent.
Odo chuckled. “In her tongue the word you look for is thegn, or possibly earl.”
Gunhild’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “No no my lord, my father is ceorl, not noble! Please do not hurt me!”
Robert looked to his uncle, who was glaring at her with the kind of stare that could only be defined as raw suspicion and hatred. He looked back to the girl, who trembled in obvious fear of him; he was unsure if she told the truth or not, but did not know what a ceorl was. “What is a ceorl, uncle?”
“A free man. Probably a merchant or a free farmer,” Odo responded simply. “Do with her as you will, I have a meeting with the mayor; we will be staying at Westminster until further notice, so try not to get lost or move around without escort. This city is still hostile to us as invaders, you may remember.”
With a final disdainful glance at the girl, the Norman bishop turned his horse and swiftly departed along with most of the guard. Robert watched until he was certain that his uncle was gone, then he finally gave a sigh of relief and relaxation. “I’m sorry, don’t mind my uncle, he is a very angry man. Your father, he is a merchant?”
“Merchant...” Gunhild said the word, trying to remember it. “He sells...umm...” she grabbed a handful of her own gown and flapped it.
“Ah, he sells cloth?” he said with a nod. “Perhaps we can help you find him. The street is no place for a lonely girl, Gunhild; please, join me on a ride through the city. I will make sure nothing bad happens to you.”
She stared, obviously confused at what he had said. Robert gestured to the Norman soldiers firmly, pulling the weight of his birth to order them around. “Well, what are you waiting for? Help her onto my horse.”
They shrugged and did as they were told, one of them lifting Gunhild up beneath the armpits and placing her carefully behind Robert so that her legs rested along the side of the saddle. One of them shot her a dark look, but dared not countermand or speak out against Robert’s orders. He carefully turned his horse and rode back onto the main street alongside his bodyguards.
“I am sorry for the way my men treated you, they are rightfully paranoid of the English. We don’t want to fight you, just – your rulers seem so intent on denying us my father’s rightful claim.” Robert shook his head. “I suppose this kind of noble politics is not familiar to you, but I promise we will not treat you poorly.”
“Why? Why have you come?”
“My father, Duke William. King Edward promised him the throne, and so did your King Harold. We come to take it,” Robert smiled. “Don’t worry, your family’s life will not be affected. Where does your father live? I’m sure he misses you.”
There was another annoying pause before her response. Robert dismissed it as her poor grasp of French, but he was nonetheless tired of her delays. “Winchester...but he’s dead now, I think.”
“Ah, I see,” Robert said with a frown. “Well, I will see to it that you are allowed to stay with me until we can find other relatives of yours.”
More silence, but this time she didn’t reply. He supposed that she must be overwhelmed and busied himself with controlling the horse, riding until they reached the wall near the River Thames. Dismounting calmly, he reached up and helped Gunhild down from the horse with the perfect air of a gentleman. “I want to see the river before the sun goes down,” he explained.
The guards rolled their eyes. “Whatever Master wishes.” Robert took the girl’s hand and did his best to look dashing. “Well, Gunhild? Would you come with me?”
She seemed to think about that for a moment, but eventually nodded and allowed herself to be led. Followed closely by the guards, they climbed up the narrow steps to the wall of London, not stopping until they stood upon its battlements and could gaze out across the earth. To the south, great green fields and gently rolling hills filled the landscape, dotted with the tightly clustered villages of Middlesex, while below them the River Thames stretched as far west and east as anyone could see, an enormous natural monument to London’s success.
“It reminds me of the Seine,” Robert commented. “So big and wide, I imagine it must be very deep as well. It was difficult to find a way across.”
“Aren’t you sad at all the people you killed?” Gunhild asked.
The question surprised Robert, and more than that it slightly unnerved him. Sad? Was he sad for the actions of his father and uncle? Normally he’d have said no, but the answer was no longer so clear cut, especially when he was trying to impress this girl.
“A little, but...” He thought up the best excuse he could. “The one really responsible for all this is the English King, who stole the crown my father deserved. Even the Pope has acknowledged my father as the true heir to the English crown, and we have several bishops in our host. How could we be wrong?”
“It’s not true, he’s not like that!” Gunhild protested, looking deeply upset. Again Robert was taken aback by her response, and wondered if he had made a mistake trying to comfort this girl.
“Look...” he started.
“I’m sorry...” she immediately apologised.
“It’s not your fault; you’re blinded like all of them by his lies. Please, stay with me and let me open your eyes to what is really going on here.”
The thought of staying with the Normans made Gunhild sick, but if it was that or the streets...
“Okay...” she said softly. “Okay, I’ll stay with you Robert.”
* * *
Tostig screamed, a blinding pain wracking his body as the gruesome treatment continued. After seemingly endless minutes of torture, the searing sensation finally subsided; a relentless throbbing ached his body, but at least now he could fully breathe and think.
“Please brother, it pains me greatly to do this, but I require answers. The Kingdom is in peril – save yourself the pain and tell me what I want to know.” Harold Godwinson’s grim, ashen face peered at him from the shadows of the doorway.
“You are so brave, ‘brother’, the way you seek to pry at my mind through torture. Is this the only way you can think of punishing me? You may have robbed me of my life, you can wrack my body with every hell you can think of, but I will never relent. Isn’t that wonderful!” he laughed. “Believe me, your days as King are numbered, Harold!”
“Tell me where Sigurdsson is going, Tostig!”
“You can shout at me all you like,” Tostig laughed a little more. “One way or another, my throne, the one you’re sitting on, will be taken from you by force. Your days are numbered and God will see justice done.”
“How can you show such loyalty to a man who plotted to take ‘your throne’ as you put it?” the King spat in frustration.
“Loyalty? Not the right word, but he is means to an end. I have my own ways of dealing with the Norwegian, Harold...do you?”
“My sword is enough for him.” Harold gestured to the torturers. “Continue as necessary, but do not kill him – I need him alive and able to talk for as long as possible.”
Once again, Tostig’s screams echoed through the jails. As Harold slipped out onto the streets of York with his guard, he gave one last sigh. “God forgive me for these desperate measures, that I might find peace and solace in his arms.”
Although the night was late, York was unusually busy, mostly with soldiers looking to have a good time in the city’s taverns and brothels. Several times his own council had jokingly encouraged him to seek out company, but he reassured himself that he was an honourable man, not the type to seek out such pleasures.
‘Are you sure?’
The thought popped into his head unbidden, a reminder of how differen
t thing had become over the last year. For the first time he was beginning to question whether the power and responsibility of the Throne had begun to chip away at his character. Even a year ago the thought of torturing his own brother for information would have been abhorrent, something no true-blooded Godwinson could do...but now? Now Harold Godwinson had become more than just a man: he was King.
He wasn’t sure if he liked that idea much.
Chapter 15 – Black Treachery
1st of October, 1066
“I heard you the first time, Edgar, but I am no more convinced by your request than I was an hour ago. Mercenaries are loyal to nothing but coin, and while you can buy their service for a day, these men have more in common with the men of Normandy than us. What can be bought can in turn be bought by our enemy, allowing them to betray us when we least expect it.”
Harold Godwinson looked pale and tired, but he rode at the head of the army nonetheless with Edwin and Edgar alongside him. They were perhaps two hours out of Nottingham on the road south, and Edgar Aetheling had had no luck convincing him to hire the Flemish prisoners as mercenaries.
“Come now Edwin, tell him what you think – would those men not be a valuable asset?” Edgar turned to Edwin.
Being put on the spot made Edwin wince, even though he had promised to help Edgar; he gave the fairest appraisal of the situation he could. “They’re professionals to the man, used to fighting and well armed. If we send them home, they could end up being hired by our enemy for a future campaign, while if we keep them close we can use them against the same men who would have hired them...”
“You see?” Edgar beamed. “Edwin agrees.”
“But these men did betray their lord when they brought Tostig to us...” Edwin did his best to treat it fairly. “We do not know if they can be trusted, they were so eager to sell out their master.”
“That is why we pay them well enough to think twice about betraying us. Besides, can you blame them for not wanting to follow a madman into death?” Edgar posited.
Crusader Kings II - [Champions of Anglia 01] - A Fall of Kings Page 8