The fate of a king, p.3
The Fate of a King, page 3
Now, with a little more spare time at his disposal, he had taken the opportunity to doze and catch up with some much-needed sleep. As he dropped in and out of consciousness, comforted by the warmth of the flames, he heard the door of his quarters open across the room and a muted conversation take place before the door closed again. Footsteps approached, and he could feel the presence of someone looking at him.
‘If that is you, Stigand,’ he said without opening his eyes, ‘this is not a good time. Be gone and come back at dusk. I have dealt with enough matters of state for one day.’
‘It is not Stigand,’ said a gentle voice behind his chair, ‘but someone perhaps a little less important in your eyes.’
Harold recognised the voice and jumped to his feet, instantly awake, before spinning around to see his wife standing before him.
‘Edyth,’ he gasped, ‘you came,’ and he walked towards her with his arms open.
Edyth stepped back from his approach and turned her face away, sending an unmistakable message towards the king.
Harold stopped in confusion and stared at his wife with woe in his heart. They had been married for many years and had enjoyed a wonderful relationship since their handfast wedding so many years earlier.
‘Edyth,’ he said again, reaching out with one hand and touching her on her upper arm, ‘it is so good to see you. When did you arrive?’
‘Yesterday,’ said Edyth, ‘I am staying at Southwark.’
‘There is no need to stay there,’ said Harold, ‘you should stay here with me. Or I can have separate quarters prepared if that is what you would prefer.’
‘I am fine at Southwark,’ said Edyth. ‘And in the circumstances, I feel that us sharing a room is not a good idea.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Harold. ‘Is it the fact that I am now the king that troubles you, for I assure you, that means nothing to me compared to my love for you.’
Edyth stared at Harold, and he could see she was struggling to hold back the tears.
‘Edyth, what ails you?’ asked Harold, taking another step forward, but again, she turned away to avoid his advances.
‘We need to talk,’ said Harold, and he turned towards the ever-present manservant.
‘Leave us alone,’ he said, ‘but first, bring the lady some warm honeyed wine.’ He turned back to Edyth. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘I have,’ she said, ‘just some honeyed wine will be fine.’
The manservant left the room as Harold took his wife’s cloak and led her to the second chair near the fire, aware of how she stiffened at his touch. Once they were both seated, he leaned forward and stared at his wife. He hadn’t seen her for several weeks, and she was even more beautiful than he remembered.
‘It is so good to see you again,’ he said, ‘I was heartbroken when I learned you would not be at the coronation.’
‘Really?’ said Edyth, looking up, this time her voice tinged with sarcasm. ‘Somehow, I find that hard to believe.’
‘Edyth,’ said Harold, taken aback, ‘of course I was upset. What has brought this on?’
‘You know what has brought this on,’ said Edyth. ‘Please don’t make me spell it out.’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ he said. ‘Have I done something wrong?’
Edyth stared at her husband, the upset rapidly being replaced by anger. She was about to respond when the door opened again, and Grayling entered with a tray bearing a jug and two goblets. Both the king and his wife fell silent as he placed the tray on a side table and poured two drinks.
‘Is there anything else, your grace?’ asked the manservant.
‘No, that will be all,’ said Harold. ‘You may leave us.’
Grayling bowed and left the room, closing the door gently behind him. Harold turned back to face Edyth, who was now staring into the fire.
‘Edyth,’ he said, leaning forward, and taking one of her hands in his own, ‘tell me what has upset you so. I hate seeing you like this.’
His wife looked up, and Harold could see a tear trail running down one side of her face.
‘Harold,’ she said eventually, ‘this is hard enough as it is, but the fact that you feign ignorance is sending daggers into my heart.’
‘Ignorance of what?’ asked Harold. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’
‘I am talking about the fact that our marriage is over,’ shouted Edyth, snatching her hand back. ‘I am talking about the fact that now you have the crown of England upon your head, you decide to discard me like some street whore in favour of the woman you have been bedding these past few years.’
Harold swallowed hard and stared at his wife.
‘Oh yes, I know about you and Alditha,’ continued Edyth. ‘In fact, she admitted it herself after I made a journey to confront her just a few months ago.’
‘You visited Alditha?’ gasped Harold.
‘I did,’ said Edyth, ‘and she admitted that you even bedded her when she was our guest at Bosham. Do you know how much that hurt, Harold? I have turned a blind eye to your many dalliances ever since we met, but to find out that you slept with her in our home cuts like a knife.’
‘Edyth,’ said Harold, ‘it meant nothing, I swear. It just happened.’
‘And what about all the subsequent times, did they just happen?’
‘No, but—’
‘Don’t bother explaining, Harold,’ said Edyth, ‘for I do not believe a word you say.’
Again, Harold was speechless. He had had some suspicions that Edyth had known about other women he had bedded in the past, but that was the way of things, and she, like most wives, had turned a blind eye to such matters when he had been away on campaign.
‘Edyth,’ he said, struggling for words, ‘I admit to indiscretions during our marriage, but they were demands of the flesh only. It is only you that I love. You know that.’
‘Then why are you marrying Alditha?’ screamed Edyth, knocking her goblet from the table.
This time Harold was shocked. His promise to wed Alditha was supposed to be a secret between only a few men and was not supposed to come out until he had had a chance to talk to his wife.
‘Edyth,’ he said, but the necessary words would not come.
‘What,’ snapped Edyth, ‘are you going to deny it? Are you going to lie to me again, Harold, for I promise you, if you do, I will leave this room, and you will never see me again.’
‘It is true,’ said Harold eventually, ‘but it is a complicated situation. You do not understand.’
‘No, I do not,’ shouted Edyth, ‘so explain to me how, after all these years, you can so easily discard me like a whore at a moment’s notice.’
‘I am not discarding you, Edyth. You are my wife and always will be, but when Edward died, I had to make certain promises to unite England. One of them was to wed Alditha. I fought against it, I really did, but there was no way around it.’
‘But you are already married to me,’ gasped Edyth. ‘How is it possible to have two wives?’
‘Because, as you know, we are wed in the handfast tradition only,’ said Harold quietly, ‘and the Church does not recognise the bond. In its eyes, I have no wife.’
‘You have no wife?’ gasped Edyth. ‘I cannot believe those words just came from your lips.’
‘They are not mine,’ said Harold urgently, ‘they are the words of the clerics. As far as I am concerned, I have, and always will have, only one wife, and that is you.’
‘So you are not going ahead with the marriage?’
Harold fell silent and stared at Edyth.
‘Well?’ said Edyth. ‘Are you going to answer me or not? Do you intend to marry Alditha?’
‘I have to,’ he said eventually. ‘I have made an oath, and the future of England depends on it, but I swear it is a marriage of convenience only.’
Edyth slumped back in her chair.
‘So what I am saying is true. I am to be discarded, and you are to enjoy a wonderful wedding to a younger woman, probably in this very abbey.’
‘There will be no such ceremony,’ said Harold. ‘The marriage ceremony will be discreet and is nothing but a union of military alliances. You know how these things work, Edyth, but as far as I am concerned, I will only ever have one wife, you. Alditha will live most of the time in Mercia.’
‘And what of your wedding night, will you be bedding her or me?’ She stared at him, challenging him to give her the answer she so desperately did not want to hear. When there was no answer, she got to her feet and retrieved her cloak.
‘I thought as much,’ she said. ‘I have heard enough. If you want me, then I am here for you. If you want Alditha, then I am willing to walk away and live at Bosham. What I will not do, Harold, is share you with another woman. The choice is yours, military alliance or family marriage. You cannot have both. I will give you until after the Easter festival to make your decision, and if I have heard nothing by then, I will consider our union over.’ She turned away and headed for the door.
‘Edyth,’ said Harold again, getting to his feet, ‘wait,’ but it was too late, and as she left the room, she slammed the door behind her.
A few moments later, Grayling re-entered and walked across to pick up the broken goblet.
‘Is there anything I can do for you, your grace?’ he asked eventually.
‘Yes,’ said Harold, ‘stop any man, woman or child entering this room for the rest of the day.’
‘Even Archbishop Stigand?’
‘I don’t care if it is God himself,’ said Harold, ‘I want to be alone.’
‘As you wish, your grace,’ said Grayling, and as he left the room, Grayling heard an almighty roar as the second goblet smashed against a wall.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ whispered one of the servants outside the king’s quarters.
‘Stay well away upon pain of punishment,’ said Grayling. ‘It appears that the king is having a very bad day.’
Chapter Three
Northumbria, March, AD 1066
King Harold rode through the gates of York alongside Owen of Hereford, his long-term right-hand man and trusted confidante. It had taken longer than he had hoped to arrange a meeting with the two northern earls he so desperately needed at his side. First, there were the never-ending matters of the court to complete, followed by the inevitable delay while messengers rode back and forth between London and York to make the arrangements. Finally, just when it seemed everything was ready, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and it had poured with rain for several weeks without let up. Eventually, it had eased, but by then, almost two months had passed since his coronation, and he was getting frustrated at the lack of progress in uniting the earldoms.
Behind the king rode his bodyguard of two hundred knights, a show of power that drew the attention of everyone lining the narrow streets as they rode towards the central square.
‘This still does not sit right with me,’ said Owen as they rode, ‘it should be them coming to you, not the other way around.’
‘I cannot afford to wait any longer,’ said Harold, ‘there is important business to attend. Every day we delay, William gets a little bit closer to completing his fleet.’
‘Do you really believe he intends to invade?’ asked Owen.
‘Oh, I am sure of it,’ said Harold. ‘We have spies in Normandy working amongst the shipbuilders, and they report they have never seen it so busy. Every port is alive with carpenters, and the forests have been stripped for leagues in every direction. He is definitely building his fleet, Owen, and before this year is out, I believe we will see it off the shores of England.’
They turned a corner and brought the horses to a halt. The central square was full of people, and the surrounding buildings had been bedecked with the English flags, interspersed with the flags of Mercia and Northumbria. The statement was not lost on Harold or Owen, for no flag outnumbered any other, a statement of equality rather than subservience.
A series of horns sounded a royal welcome from the city’s battlements, and the crowd parted to let the king through. At the far end of the square, a wide set of steps led up to the entrance of the city abbey, and at the top, Harold could see Earls Edwin and Morcar awaiting his arrival. Alongside them stood Ealdred of York, the archbishop who had crowned him in London only a few months earlier.
‘Well, at least they turned up,’ he said quietly to Owen. ‘That is a good start.’
They reached the steps and dismounted before walking up to meet their hosts. Owen stayed a few steps behind the king, but his hand was never far from his sword. A lifetime of conflict had taught him that treachery was never far from any agreement, no matter what the status of those involved.
‘Your grace,’ said Ealdred as the king approached, ‘it is good to see you again. You look well. Kingship obviously agrees with you.’
‘They look after me well,’ said Harold. ‘I suspect we will be seeing a lot more of each other in the years ahead.’
‘It will always be a pleasure,’ said Ealdred. He turned towards the two men at his side. ‘Of course, you know your hosts,’ he continued, ‘but in the interests of formality, may I introduce Earl Edwin of Mercia and Earl Morcar of Northumbria.’
‘Welcome to York, your grace,’ said Edwin, and bowed his head in acknowledgement of Harold’s recently acquired royal status.
‘Thank you, Earl Edwin,’ said Harold, ‘it is good to see you again.’ He turned to Edwin’s brother. ‘You too, Earl Morcar. I trust Northumbria is thriving in your care.’
‘It will, your grace,’ said Morcar, ‘but there is much to do to repair the damage that was done by my predecessor.’
Harold winced at the jibe at his brother, but there was no argument that Tostig had caused immense damage when he had been the Earl of Northumbria.
‘Indeed,’ said Harold, ‘but I am confident the north is now in safe hands.’
‘Come,’ said Ealdred, standing to one side and indicating the entrance to the abbey. ‘You should get some rest after your journey. We have prepared food and drink for you in your quarters. Tomorrow, we can discuss matters of the court, but tonight, I believe there will be a feast in your honour.’
‘And where will our men be quartered?’ asked Owen from behind the king.
‘There are many rooms at the rear of the abbey,’ said Edwin. ‘Twenty of your huscarls will lodge alongside your own, and the rest will be suitably quartered in the barracks at the far side of the square. Does that meet your requirements?’
‘That will be fine,’ said Harold, before Owen could reply, knowing that to question the arrangements would suggest mistrust between them, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. ‘Shall we proceed?’
Ealdred led the way alongside the king whilst Edwin, Morcar and Owen walked behind. The mood between the three was cordial, but there was no doubt that the atmosphere was a bit strained. Inside the abbey, the nobles of the city filled the hall and welcomed the king with a bow while their wives curtsied as he passed. In the distance, a hidden choir sang hymns of exultation, lifting Harold’s mood immediately. Harold nodded and smiled at everyone as he passed, occasionally pausing to say a few words to those he recognised. Eventually, they reached the end of the hall, and Archbishop Ealdred turned to face the king.
‘Your grace,’ he said, ‘before we continue, it would be a great honour if you could address this congregation. It is not every day we see a king so far north.’
‘Of course,’ said Harold and turned to face the hall.
‘Honoured guests,’ he said, loud enough to be heard at the far end, ‘can I say that I am greatly honoured and grateful for such a wonderful welcome. To see so many friends amongst you gladdens my heart, and I know that those who are yet unknown to me will share my hope that we will not remain strangers. I know that these past few years have been difficult for the people of Northumbria, and I acknowledge that many of those struggles were caused by my own kin, but I hereby swear, in this holy place before you and God himself, that I will never let that happen again as long as the crown sits upon my head. Northumbria, in the hands of Earl Morcar, stands at the edge of a prosperous future, and I know that with the alliances we will build during my visit here over the next few days, England will become the strongest it has been for many generations.’ He turned to glance at the two earls as he finished, as if checking they had understood that a mutually beneficial alliance was as much their responsibility as his.
‘Thank you, your grace,’ said the archbishop, ‘now, if I may, please let me show you to your quarters.’
Harold turned to face Edwin and Morcar, who had remained to one side.
‘Are you not coming?’ he asked.
‘No, your grace,’ said Edwin, ‘this is where we part company, at least until we meet again this evening.’
‘In that case,’ said Harold, ‘thank you for the wonderful welcome. I look forward to sharing ale with you later.’
‘It will be our honour,’ said Edwin and bowed his head again, as did his brother.
The archbishop led Harold and Owen away, and the doors closed behind them.
‘What are your thoughts?’ asked Morcar as the congregation started filing out behind them.
‘I still do not know,’ said Edwin. ‘His father was a strong and honourable man, but Harold has much to prove. If he turns out as strong as his promises, then England can indeed thrive under his rule.’
‘And if he does not?’
‘Then I suspect there will be English blood on English pikes before the year is out. Either way, we will have a strong indication of which man he is in a few days.’
‘Aye,’ said Morcar, ‘we will, but when he finds out what we have planned, I suspect he will not display the agreeable demeanour that we have all just witnessed.’
‘I am sure he will not,’ said Edwin, ‘after all, king or pauper, no man likes being ambushed. Come, we have much to prepare.’
* * *
At the back of the abbey, Harold and Owen walked through one of the doors into a small but elegantly furnished room. A servant stood in the corner, waiting for instruction as the archbishop explained the layout to the king.
