by Griff Hosker
At least he was coming. “Leif, have my mail cleaned and my sword sharpened.” I did not think I would need it again, I was wrong.
Father Harold asked, “And did you suffer another attack, lord?”
“No. I was saved that embarrassment. Have a bath filled for me. I can feel the damp and the wet makes all of my joints ache. Winter draws closer.”
I felt better as I luxuriated in a hot bath before a roaring fire. My servants brought me a treat, buttered ale and honey infused with a red-hot poker. I could only drink one or two but one or two were perfection.
We had arrived back in the early afternoon which meant that by the time I emerged from my bath and was dried and dressed it was time to eat. These days were lonelier at meal times. Egil ate with his family and I made do with Father Harold. He always annoyed me the way he would pray before he ate anything. I didn’t need to but I always waited for him to finish no matter how appetising the food. That evening he seemed to make an effort for his prayers were cursory.
“When your son arrives will you make him Count of Normandy?”
“No.” Father Harold looked shocked. It was just my little joke, “I will make him Duke of Normandy.”
“But only the King can award that title.”
“And the King did. King Charles gave the title to me and my heirs in perpetuity. There were witnesses. They may be my enemies but they know the truth as do I. The attack by King Rudolf shows just how much he fears me. And he will learn to fear my son.” I looked at the old priest. “Tell me, Father Harold, are we bad masters? Do we treat ordinary people and thralls badly?”
“No, lord, quite the contrary. You are remarkably fair but that does not matter. There are ways of doing things and you cannot change them.”
I smiled, “I think we have already begun to do so. I will not see it in my lifetime but when Mathilde is a woman this land will be powerful.”
I was relieved when my son and his family arrived. I would ensure that he did not leave again. It was Mathilde who greeted me with the most warmth. She threw her arms around me and hugged me, “You have been fighting again!”
“I am just trying to keep a land that is safe for your family. Now that you are here, I promise that I will wander no more. I will just become a fat old man who watches his granddaughters play.”
Later that night I learned more about the war in the south. “Hagrold is a good warrior but he is reckless.” I smiled and my son nodded, “I know, that charge could have been levelled at me once but no more. I had to stay to ensure that he had sound bases close to the river. He wishes to bring his men’s families south. I waited until he had two towns he could defend. I am sorry, now, that I did so for you almost lost half of Normandy.”
I shook my head, “I did not lose anything. A part was almost stolen but the work our lords did to strengthen their defences saved us. When they come to the cathedral you must thank them.”
“Cathedral? Thank them how?”
“I am handing over power to you. This last battle was too close run. Brittany is not as important as Normandy. Here we control both banks of the Seine and that means we control Paris. That is why Rudolf tried to take it from us. You ask how do you thank those who fought for us and remained loyal? Give them coin. The coffers are full and that is down to them. They deserve it.”
“Will you be able to sit and do nothing?”
“Who says I will be doing nothing? I have granddaughters. One day you may have a son although I am increasingly of the opinion that such a thing will require my death.”
He laughed, “You are joking.” He looked at my face, “I can see that you are not. What makes you think so?”
“A feeling and the fact that it was Skuld who spoke to my grandfather. You were not born until my father and grandfather were dead.”
“Then I want no son. I would rather keep the legend that is you, alive.”
“I am old, William. The ailment cannot be cured.” He drank deeply. “When I die you will have to be as cunning as I have been. All of our enemies conspire against us. I swore an oath to get Normandy. You hold Normandy now and Brittany. You need not swear an oath. What you do need to do is to have loyal lords about you. Sámr, Bjorn and Bagsecg will not be around forever. Choose wisely and bind them to you. You have daughters. You should choose husbands for them.”
“Was that how you chose my mother?”
“She was Breton nobility and it did not hurt. The fact that she made the beast with two backs with the priest just shows that all marriages are a lottery. Now we need to invite the great and the good for the ceremony. Many will not attend and think it insults us. It does not. It merely tells you who are our enemies. When King Charles gave us this land it was to buy him time. He was weak and under attack. He thought to give us a tiny corner and when the time was right, he would take it back. He was wrong. You must hold on to this land.”
It took six months for Father Harold and the Archbishop to plan and organize the crowning. There had been no crown and I had one made. I used a Saxon goldsmith who lived in Rouen. I think the man had done something wrong and been forced to flee. He came from Lundenwic and was a gifted craftsman. Normandy was a safe and enlightened place compared with many of the states close by. Certainly, we were stable and our victories meant that our warriors were feared as much, if not more, than the Vikings from whom we were descended.
During that time, I suffered no more attacks. I played with my granddaughters. I taught Mathilde and Adele how to play chess. I had finished the red and white chess set. They were both quick learners but Mathilde had the cleverer mind. Sprota had yet to give birth to a son. If she did not have one then, eventually, Mathilde would inherit the land from my son. My lords had sworn an oath to do so and when William was crowned then he would ask for the same oath. Unlike the Franks, my lords kept their oaths. Sprota was the one who organized me. I would happily have attended the ceremony with just my mail and cloak upon my back but she had ladies make me fine tunics. Bootmakers made me boots made from the finest leather. She had servants wash and trim my unruly hair and beard. I knew what she was doing, she was making me civilised. Inside I was not. Inside I was still the pagan but the outer layer, the one the world saw, now looked like a Frank, albeit a giant Frank.
Our status could be seen when the Kings, Princes and lords arrived. King Edward came. I might have been flattered had I not discovered that he was on his way to Paris to speak with King Rudolf. He was here to try to secure the release from prison of the ailing King Charles. Neither Count Arnulf nor King Rudolf attended but King Henry of the East Franks did. The Duke of Provence was another who attended as was the Duke of Aquitaine. The latter came with a definite purpose. He sought our intervention in the matter of Hagrold and his Vikings who had now claimed a large piece of land. Aquitaine was vast and the Vikings held a small parcel but the Duke wanted to know how to deal with them. My son and I offered our advice. It was sage and it was honest. We suggested that he do what King Charles had done with us. Make Hagrold the Count of the region and use him to protect his river. He listened but I do not think he heeded our advice.
The actual ceremony was created by the Archbishop and Father Harold. It was full of Christian references. There was much of it in Latin which few understood. There was a great deal of singing. There was also something we understood. There was symbolism. The inverted sword my son held looked like the crucifix and that was reinforced by the actual cross my son kissed. He knelt before the priests. That was designed to show that the church held the power. The Archbishop had, originally, wanted to place the crown on my son’s head. That was the one part we changed. After he had blessed the crown, the Archbishop handed it to me and it was I who crowned my son. He stood for the actual crowning. The Archbishop could not have placed the crown on his head while he was standing! I could. The last part was also not in the Archbishop’s plan. My lords spontaneously cheered and began chanting my son’s name. I smiled at the frown on the Archbishop’s face and the shocked loo
ks of the foreign dignitaries.
The feast we held afterwards was all the work of Sprota. She had spared no expense. I had given her the keys to the treasury before William was crowned. Had I had a wife then she would have done so. Gisela was unlikely now to be married to me. She lived in England, and with King Charles in prison, the arrangement was null and void. I was pleased for the girl. She could find a proper husband now. At the feast, I was accorded as much attention and honour as my son. I felt guilty about that. This was his time. Mine was over. Mathilde had asked if she could sit next to me and I was quite taken with the way she watched over me. She worried about me. For my part, I enjoyed listening to her. She had wit for one so young and that, allied to the natural honesty of children, made me smile as she commented on the men she saw at the feast.
And then, almost as soon as it was here, the ceremony and the crowning were gone. The lords left and Rouen went back to its normal life. Except that life was now different. There was a Duke and a Duchess. The fact that only those in Normandy recognised the title was irrelevant. The Kings and lords who had witnessed the ceremony could not acknowledge him as Duke for we were still, legally, part of Frankia and the King of the Franks had not crowned my son. William and Sprota acted like a duke and his duchess. Sprota endowed an abbey. That was both significant and astute. It endeared us to the church. The Pope had not attended the crowning ceremony but one of his representatives did. My son and his wife had a short meeting with him and the abbey was the result. We had legitimacy. My son had spies and my border lords were vigilant. They reported that all of this did not sit well with King Rudolf and Count Arnulf. It weakened their position and strengthened my son’s. Once they left the dignitaries might dispute the title but I cared not.
When the two left to visit my lords or to visit King Edward I was left with the elder daughters. It was a joy for me. I watched them grow and I watched them change. Each day that I woke and I was still alive was one which was filled with laughter and questions. The girls wanted to know all about me. They had heard of The Haugr and my grandfather. They wished to know the truth from my lips. I did not do as the singers of songs did, I did not embellish the truth. I told them of the death of my father and the Danish drekar which had saved me from my brother’s blade and sent me to the depths of the sea. Those first six months were a joy.
My son returned from the meeting with King Edward and he brought with him mixed news. We were seen as allies of the men of England and that was good. The meeting with King Rudolf had ended badly and King Edward’s pleas for the release of King Charles had been in vain. As King Rudolf was an ally of Flanders then King Edward’s alliance with Flanders also ended. The threat from the north diminished. My son was, however, approached by Athelstan while the two were hunting. Athelstan was not the elder of the King’s sons but he wished to be the next king. King Edward was old. He asked my son to send killers to kill his brother, Elfweard. My son had refused, of course, but it was worrying. When William told me, I wondered at the ramifications. If Athelstan became king would he now view us as enemies?
And then, when my son told me that Sprota was with child again, came the news that Bjorn the Brave had died. He had not died in his bed. He had been murdered while out hunting. Those responsible had not been caught. That was disturbing. It came at the same time as the news that King Charles of the Franks had the wasting sickness. He would never see his family again and that made my own position even more precious. It was when Bergil Fast Blade was also ambushed and murdered that my son and I suspected a plot. I had known he was in danger. I had woken from my afternoon nap with a fearful image in my head of Bergil being butchered. When I told others of this, I saw the looks which implied I was losing my mind but Bergil and I had been oar brothers. Along with Sámr the three of us had been the heart of the clan when we had left Norway. He had died with a blade in his hand and he would be in Valhalla.
My son and I sat one night speaking of the defence of our land when the news came about Bergil’s death. He and I had been as close as brothers. I had helped to give him a second life when his wife had run off. Bjorn’s death had affected me, Bergil’s devastated me. His son, Odo, brought us the news. The son looked just like his father except that he was clean shaven. My son confirmed him as Count of Rennes. The death of Bergil had saddened us but it would not change the grip we had on Brittany.
“Bergil was a careful warrior. After Bjorn’s death he kept good bodyguards about him and yet they were killed too!”
“Aye father. It worries me too. King Rudolf is too busy trying to deal with Hagrold in the south but Count Arnulf still desires the land around Djupr and Eu. These attacks in the south have all the hallmarks of one of his plots. He is a clever man.”
I knew what I would do but I was no longer Duke. “You have a plan?”
He nodded, “Richard of Tours is half Breton and half Viking. He is clever. I will send him and two others to visit Lundenwic, Paris and Bruggas. Let us see if they can hear of any Flemish plot. When I was at King Edward’s court I heard nothing but it is unlikely that the conspirators would have let word get to me.”
It was a clever plan. By visiting the two larger kingdoms first they would hear of any whispers of killers. Bruggas was not the capital of Flanders but the port was at the centre of intrigue and gossip. More importantly, three men could blend in there. The other thing my son did was to warn all of the more senior lords who had fought against Arnulf and Rudolf to be on their guard. If Sámr fell to an assassin’s blade too then I would take matters in my own hand. I would have a death with a sword in my hand and I would end the life of Count Arnulf. I should have listened more carefully. I might have heard The Norns spinning.
Sámr came to visit with me. We sat, as I thought, alone in my study and we drank wine. I saw how old he had become. Yet all those who had left Norway with us were now dead. It was no surprise. “If I am murdered too it will not change us, lord. My sons will still hold Caen and the fiefs close by. You and I might have been sprinkled with water but,” he tapped his heart, “in here we are still warriors.”
I laughed, “Aye, Sámr Oakheart. Only a galdramenn can look into our heads and our hearts and know the truth, When I am gone, I hope to be in Valhalla.” I confided a worry. “I sleep, each night, with my sword in my hand but, during the day an attack such as I endured on the retreat from Soissons could come and deny me the opportunity to draw my sword.”
“If I am close by, I will do so for you, old friend. I owe you that and more.”
“Yet it is unlikely that you will be close.” I shrugged, “We both know, unlike the followers of the White Christ, that such a decision is out of our hands. What will be, will be. I am content. I have my legacy. And, while I do not have a grandson, Mathilde more than makes up for that.”
Sámr laughed, “Aye she is a delightful child. She is like a breath of fresh air and the way she watches over you… she is like a hearth weru!”
I never saw Sámr again. In many ways that did not matter. We had faced death together so many times that it was almost as though we were in each other’s heads.
My son sent for me when Richard of Tours returned. With him came the news that Count Arnulf had hired mercenaries, Viking mercenaries. They came from the Land of the Wolf. Dragonheart had long been dead as had most of his men but they heard that there had been a falling out and much blood had been shed. The cult of the Ulfheonar had re-emerged. Those warriors had once been led by the Dragonheart himself. It was thought that it had died out with him. The great-grandson of the one they called Shape Shifter, had revived the cult. He had tried to take over the Land of the Wolf but a witch, from the cave of the Lough Rigg, had defeated him. The survivors had fled. An Ulfheonar can defeat all but a witch. They hired themselves out as killers. Now I understood how Bergil and Gandalf had been killed. Even I would struggle against a wolf warrior. We could, however, do something. My son sent riders to warn the lords of the danger. We now knew who we sought.
That night, a
s I sat and told Mathilde other stories from my youth, she asked me about the Norns. “Grandfather, you speak of these sisters as though they are real. Surely they are not.”
I knew that I was stepping into dangerous territory. Sprota was a Christian. As much as she loved me, she would not be happy about pagan ideas and yet I owed Mathilde the truth. I would try to explain it in terms which she would understand. “My grandfather, when a young man, was sailing with a warrior called the Dragonheart. He was there when an island mysteriously appeared from the sea. He went below the earth and met a witch. She told him he would rule this land. He had never even seen it then. The Three Sisters are witches and they are the ones who decide what we do. They spin webs and spells which entangle men. There is a thread from the Dragonheart which links with my father. That thread now links the killers of Bergil Fast Blade to us. Father Harold could not explain it. There are many things we do not understand: how the White Christ turned water into wine.” I shrugged, “I am old, Mathilde. Perhaps I am losing my mind but I see a pattern in all of this.” I kissed her on the top of her head. “Do not let it give you bad dreams eh?”
She squeezed my hand, “You are not losing your mind, grandfather, and I will not have bad dreams but you have given me much to think on. That you believe this tells me that there might be some truth in it.”
She was a clever girl and she could read. She also knew how to ask questions and listen for the answer. The two do not always go hand in hand. She spent the next month or so speaking with Father Harold and Father Thomas. She had a tutor, too. My son had hired a Greek and Atticus was a clever young man who answered her honestly.
She only had a month to learn all that she could for Sprota’s baby was due. There was an air of expectancy about my hall. That, I think, was down to me. I had told others that I thought it was a boy. I had not told them the reason. It was about that time that I began to feel unwell. I put it down to excitement and the fact that the last month had been so enjoyable for me. I was no longer Duke of Normandy. I lived for myself. I went about Rouen without a care in the world. Often it was with Mathilde’s hand in mine and there was no better place in the world.