“E-enough!” Harold coughed. “He...he may be a traitor, Edgar, but he is still my brother and you should respect your kindred...”
The King trailed off into silence. Edwin and Edgar exchanged concerned looks. “Your Majesty, are you well? You have gone pale.”
“I’m...fine...” His breathing had become laboured. “I’m just...winded from the journey, I suppose...”
Edwin wasn’t sure if the King was drunk or ill, but it was clear something was up – Harold Godwinson was not known for his lack of fitness, and this two hour horse ride should not have been enough to tire anyone. “If you say so, your majesty...”
Edgar was the first to raise the subject again. “I have a sizeable purse from my father’s inheritance, my liege...if you would just consider allowing me to take responsibility for it-”
Harold’s figure slouched forward awkwardly, and he did not respond to the question.
“Your...Your Majesty?” One of the Royal Housecarls reached to grasp the King’s shoulder, but the monarch slowly slid off the saddle and fell onto the dirt. Cries of alarm echoed through the front ranks of the army, who had all seen him fall, and the entire army ground to a sudden, jarring halt before their fallen King.
“The King, the King has fallen!” someone cried. “Woe for England!”
Edwin’s hand remained clasped over his mouth, stunned at how quickly the King had degenerated. An hour ago he had looked ready for war, and now his eyes had rolled back into his head and the colour had drained from his skin. He groaned and tried to move, but whatever fell curse had taken hold of him sapped him of his strength. Edwin looked to Edgar, and was surprised to see that his face was locked in a grim visage, without a sign of horror or fear, just a cold impassiveness.
“E-Edgar...we have to stop the march. Go, tell the men!” he insisted.
Edgar’s eyes slowly turned upwards to stare into Edwin’s. There was something unnerving about the coldness in his gaze. “...of course.”
The Aetheling turned and rode down the line, his young voice echoing in the distance as he yelled orders and tried to calm the men. It struck Edwin for the first time how much older Edgar seemed, becoming accustomed to death and revelling in the role of command and the leadership of men. Edwin swallowed hard and wondered what dark things this day would bring; closing his eyes, he brought palms together in silent prayer, begging God to spare the King’s life.
* * *
A deathly hush had fallen inside the King’s tent – it had been two hours since his collapse, leaving the entire army in stunned silence. There had been whispers throughout the camp that this was a bad omen, and none of the thegns could find words to say to them. However much the King’s men had tried to cover it up, everyone knew the truth: Harold Godwinson was the victim of foul poisons.
Edwin approached the tent and bowed his head in reverence as he spoke to the guard. “I am summoned?”
“The King waits for you.” One of the guards opened the tent flap.
The Earl entered and gazed sombrely at the sight of the bedridden King – strong and vigorous just this morning, he now looked pale and weathered, a shadow of a man. Two healing women and the venerable Archbishop Stigand were at his side. A grim fatalism filled their eyes, and Edwin instantly knew that the King was beyond hope. In the corner of the tent, Morcar and Edgar seemed to be busying themselves with a whispered conversation.
“You...called for me, your Majesty?” Edwin queried.
Harold nodded weakly, beckoning for Edwin to come closer. The Earl complied and leaned in to listen to his lord’s words, weak and soft as they were.
“Thank all of you for coming. You have been reliably the greatest heroes a King could ask for, and so I wanted you to be the first to hear the bad news...” Harold gasped out weakly. “I am dying. I may be dead within hours. A foul poison has taken over my body, defiling me from the inside.”
This only confirmed what everyone had already suspected or known, but the three knelt in reverence of their liege. “What would you have us do, my lord? We are prepared to exact your final command,” Edgar pledged.
“I know...but my last order will not be a simple one. I want you to do only that which is your duty: save my Kingdom, Edgar. Save my Kingdom, Edwin, Morcar. You drove the Norwegians from our land, and come what may I know you can beat the Normans. You are the only ones who can.”
Edwin brought one hand to his chest in a solemn salute. “I pledge my life as Earl of Mercia to defend this realm, your majesty, and to ensure the rightful lineage remains upon the throne and not that of an invader. We will succeed or die.”
“I too, pledge my life to this,” Morcar rasped. “No wound can stop me from exacting my duty until my death.”
“I remain, as always, your humble servant. Edgar Aetheling shall serve you after death just as he did in life – with loyalty and honour.”
Harold broke into a coughing fit, and the healers moved to him with concern, supporting him until the fit stopped. The cloth placed over his mouth came back stained in red, and Edwin grimaced at the sight of it. They waited until he had recovered enough to speak, and then listened with rapt attention.
“Edgar...you have been a good cousin and I am proud to call you family. I have a request that I feel I can trust you to do: take care of my son Godwine. He is ambitious, headstrong and foolish, but he is my rightful son and heir. I believe that with the tempering influence of men such as you, he can grow and live to be a good King and to lead this realm out of the dark shadow cast over it.”
Harold smiled thinly. “Stigand, holy father, let it be known that I wish for Godwine to be the chief heir to my estates in Wessex and Norfolk, as well as the true heir to the Throne. If you prepare a document for me, I will muster the strength I need to sign it.”
Stigand bowed to Harold. “As you wish it, your Majesty. I will produce it within the hour. Do you have anything else for us?”
“No...nothing...I wish to spend my remaining hours with my wife, so that I may say farewell to her properly. Please, leave me.” Harold raised his hand weakly.
With a final bow of respect, four of England’s most respected men left the royal tent. Edwin made to take his leave, but was stopped by Edgar before he made it two steps. “Wait, Edwin. We need to talk, there isn’t much time left.”
Edwin sighed. “Talk about what, Edgar? Has this day not had enough talking?”
“Please, Edwin.” Archbishop Stigand’s gravelled voice came next. “Important things are afoot, and we require the Earl of Mercia. God bids you to follow us.”
Morcar also stood with them, and seemed to be in the know as to whatever was happening. It seemed like they weren’t going to take no for an answer, so Edwin relented to them with a sigh. “Very well, but please, make it quick,” he said.
Edgar led him through the camp. Soon they were at the relative safety and privacy of the Archbishop’s tent. A pair of guards boasting the Archbishop’s colours stood before the entrance, casting scrutinizing gazes towards any who came near. At Stigand’s order, they were given passage into the sizeable tent.
“Very well, what have you brought me here for?” Edwin demanded.
Edgar stared at Edwin intensely for a moment, then sat down. “This may not be easy for you to accept, but Stigand and I have already spoken and agreed that desperate measures need to be taken for the protection and preservation of the Kingdom. We stand poised upon the brink of destruction, facing the greatest crisis England has ever seen. Godwine is not qualified to reign over this land as a king. Harold’s own brothers are strong-minded and will likely turn on one another if one is given the throne. The House of Godwin is going to collapse and turn upon itself. Only I have the cunning and dedication that can save this Kingdom.”
Edwin ground his teeth at the realisation of what they were suggesting. “You expect to turn on the King’s word? Godwine may be young but he is still your senior, Edgar – what makes you think you are better qualified to rule this land than him? You
wanted to run headlong into the Norwegians at Stamford Bridge without any concern for life or death.”
“And the assault on Stamford Bridge may have done enough damage to stop their invasion altogether,” Morcar rasped. “I hate to say it, but I agree with them...brother. Unlike Godwine, he is a clever young man and with our wisdom he will only become more dangerous. Perhaps this is God’s will and our path to salvation.”
Stigand had produced pen and paper and was busy scratching out the King’s will. “When I heard the news about the King, I spotted Edgar amongst the men, spreading the news and giving orders. In that moment the clouds behind him broke and a beam of sunlight washed across the land for a brief moment. I believe this is a sign that God approves of the boy, and one we should not take lightly.”
Edgar slapped one of his open palms with a clenched fist. “I have proven myself a hero in battle against the Norwegians despite my age – such was the King’s word and the opinion of most everyone. Trust me, Edwin, this is the only way to unite our country under one banner. I will be the Earl of Wessex and King of England! Imagine the grandson of Edmund Ironside, crowned as a symbol of unity and inaugurated in the fires of war. We will drive out the Normans with the fire of the King’s death at our back – I have already made arrangements to have the perpetrator of this cruel act exposed, and have extracted a confession with Stigand’s help. It was...almost too easy.”
Edgar waited for a response, but received nothing more than a blank stare from Edwin, who could hardly process what he was being told. This was too much for Edwin; he had known there was plotting going on, but now he faced the undeniable truth that his King had been murdered, and Edgar was likely the responsible party.
“Don’t worry Edwin, not much is required from you directly, just your support of the new King,” Stigand said calmly. “His Majesty’s vision has failed him thanks to the poison and he can see little more than a blur. He will sign this document with no ability to read it, and by the time any of his family realise the mistake, he will have passed on. The will shall read that Edgar Edwardson, Aetheling of England, shall be made his chief inheritor and made Earl of Wessex and King of England in his path.”
“Of course, like any good will, land will be granted to his sons as well,” Edgar smiled wryly. “The County of Norfolk shall see Edmund Aetheling’s rule, while Godwine shall be named Earl of Cornwall, including the County of Devon. Magnus will be named Earl of Sussex, and while Wessex shall be a fair bit smaller than it was before, we shall inhabit a stronger realm.”
“You’ve thought this out well, haven’t you...” Edwin hissed. “I would not put it past you to have been the poisoner, Edgar Aetheling, so suspiciously deep is your involvement in this matter. You above all others have the most to gain from this tragedy!”
Edgar slammed his fist down onto Stigand’s desk. “That is a serious accusation and one I do not take lightly! Harold is my cousin, I would no sooner lay a hand upon him than anyone else of my family. I know you do not approve of this, but there is more at play here than my desire for the throne – this is for the good of England and, I might add, for Mercia and Northumbria as well.”
“We shall see! How can you go along with this?” Edwin asked Morcar, still overwhelmed by the scale of treachery they had proposed. “They are talking about betraying their King’s final commands, to overthrow his son for their own gain.”
“Our King’s final command was to protect this Kingdom,” Morcar wheezed. “The way I see it, Edgar is best suited to that task, regardless of how we feel about it. He needs our support at the Witenagemot, so that we might turn the bulk of England’s thegns into our favour. Even Gyrth and Leofwine are unlikely to turn against the King’s will as well as the support of our peers, though I fear we will make them enemies for life.”
Edwin folded his arms. His heart burned and ached at the decision, but they were probably right – this was one of the few ways they could avert a succession crisis long enough to drive William from the shores of England.
“I suppose I do not have a choice, lest I see my realm thrown into chaos and my son’s future stripped from him. Tell me, Stigand, precisely what you need me to do?”
“Only to pledge that you heard as clear as I did, Harold’s wish to have Edgar made King. Give him your support before the other thegns, and soon the rest will begin to fall into line. Edgar and I will take care of the rest,” Stigand smiled. “It is good that you have come to see reason, my son, I promise you that you are making the right decision in the eyes of God.”
Edwin turned and stormed from the tent without another word. He would have no more of this foul affair than necessary, and silently resolved to see that the conspirators would get their just desserts one way or another.
Chapter 16 – Justice
2nd of October, 1066
Tostig was bound and blindfolded, but still not deaf. Beaten and tortured within an inch of his life, the exhausted exile struggled with his memory, knowing that he had made some great mistake. After so long under the knife, he had finally broken into a shell of a man, confessing all of Harald Sigurdsson’s plans and begging for mercy. His brother had promised him mercy, but this did not feel like it. He had been locked away for many days and had visibly thinned, a gaunt and rough figure of a man whose remaining pride had been stolen by the cruel treatment he had been exposed to.
He could tell that he was outside, just as he knew the rain was coming down upon him in a typical English drizzle. He slipped, struggled to regain his footing in the mud, and was then dragged forcibly by his guards – men who had previously served at his side had now become his jailkeepers.
“Death’s too good for you!”
“Look at him, is this the man we once feared?”
“Tostig is no true son of Godwin!”
The insults and jeers came thick and heavy as the army around him revelled at the sight of the bedraggled noble. Once Aetheling of the realm, he had gone beyond disgrace. ‘How low I have fallen...’ he thought. ‘Is this my execution? Is this the fate I really deserve?’
Tostig was finally brought to a halt, and the jeering slowly died down, as if silenced by some figure he could not see. He fidgeted nervously, unsure what was about to happen to him. Hands caressed his head slowly, but did not remove the blindfold or spare him the torture of darkness. Sensing the danger he was in, he struggled against his bonds but could not break or loosen them. The hands of the guards tightened.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the foulest son England has ever boasted as her own. Tostig Godwinson, you have many times betrayed your station and your bloodline, but let it be known that in the hour of his defeat, he has arranged for a deed even fouler!”
Although his head was spinning from lack of food and little water, Tostig still recognised the voice of the Archbishop Stigand. ‘At least they bring the best they have to pass judgment...’ he thought.
“I have here a letter of confession signed before myself and God, entailed in which is the full list of sins committed by one Tostig Godwinson, grievous as they are. Most unenviable of all, however, is his confession that he is in fact a Kinslayer!”
A roar of noise echoed through the fields, the loudest outpouring of hatred he had heard since the riots in York many years ago. Horror crept into his heart at the words. ‘Kinslayer? I am no Kinslayer!’ he thought to himself, but the gag in his mouth prevented him from speaking with any kind of clarity.
“Guilty of the crime of murder most foul!” Stigand continued. “He has sinned in the eyes of God and laid his own brother low with poison! And worse still, he has done it not in rage or spite, but at the behest of the very Norman Duke who now invades our southern shores! Can slime reach any lower than this man has?”
‘It’s not true...it’s not true...’ Tostig wanted to scream. ‘I did not kill my brother, how could I have? I’m innocent!’
His internal pleas went on deaf ears. This was no trial; Stigand was his judge, jury and executioner and Tostig could do
nothing but wait. Realising death was coming, Tostig did something he had not done in ages: he prayed.
“In light of the crimes against the crown and the evils he has committed, I have been authorised by the powers of God himself! I call now for the death of this man, Tostig Godwinson, for the crime of patricide. The traitor has one minute to make his last pleas to God for forgiveness before we send him before the Lord’s judgment. Make ready!”
Tears welled up in Tostig’s eyes. As far as things had gone, he had never truly wanted his brother to die, only to suffer justly for what he had done. How had he let it go so wrong, that his own brother was now dead and he was accused of his murder? A foul thought crossed his mind: what if he truly was a murderer? It was no secret that he was often unhinged and he could remember little of the last week. What if he truly had ordered his brother’s assassination and simply could not remember it?
‘O Lord...forgive me, I who have sinned,’ he begged. ‘I have been led astray, but I am as ever falsely accused; I never wished for things to come to this, I only desire your forgiveness. Please do not cast me into the arms of the Devil!’ He prayed with all his heart. ‘Please...’
A rough set of hands pushed his head down on a block. A noose was looped around his neck and tightened so that he could not move or attempt escape. This was it – his time had come.
“May God show you mercy, Tostig Godwinson!”
The pain came, but it only lasted a moment. As he slipped into unconsciousness, he had just enough time to think one final word: ‘Please...’
Chapter 17 – Change of Authority
5th of October, 1066
The long march south had returned to its usual pace. The King was dead and now Edgar Aetheling was named the new King of England before most peers of the realm. The decision had not gone over well with Godwine and Edmund, but it was also out of their hands for the time being. The final battle for the throne loomed over the horizon. Scouts had reported the fall of London, but William’s main force was busy further west, laying siege to the royal city of Winchester and making good on his promise to claim England by force. Edwin had been largely quiet before the King’s passage, now he had not spoken to anyone.
Crusader Kings II - [Champions of Anglia 01] - A Fall of Kings Page 9