The Challenges of a King, page 1
The Challenges of a King
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Character List Anglo-Saxon
Nobles
Clergy
Norman
Prologue Normandy, AD 1038
Part One
Chapter One Winchester, June, AD 1043
Chapter Two London, January, AD 1045
Chapter Three London, January, AD 1045
Chapter Four Havering Palace, London, January, AD 1045
Chapter Five Gwent, Wales, March, AD 1046
Chapter Six Havering Palace, London, October, AD 1046
Chapter Seven Hereford, April, AD 1047
Chapter Eight London, June, AD 1047
Chapter Nine Kent, September, AD 1047
Part Two
Chapter Ten London, March, AD 1048
Chapter Eleven Havering Palace, October, AD 1048
Chapter Twelve Bosham, October, AD 1048
Chapter Thirteen Abingdon, November, AD 1048
Chapter Fourteen Sandwich Harbour, March, AD 1049
Chapter Fifteen Brionne, Normandy, March, AD 1049
Chapter Sixteen The Port of Hampton, March, AD 1049
Chapter Seventeen The Port of Dartmouth, March, AD 1049
Chapter Eighteen Bosham, May, AD 1049
Part Three
Chapter Nineteen Havering Palace, October, AD 1050
Chapter Twenty Southwark, March, AD 1051
Chapter Twenty-one Rouen, Normandy, Late June, AD 1051
Chapter Twenty-two Dover, July, AD 1051
Chapter Twenty-three Havering Palace, August, AD 1051
Chapter Twenty-four Mercia, 1 September, AD 1051
Chapter Twenty-five Gloucester, 8 September, AD 1051
Chapter Twenty-six Southwark, 21 September, AD 1051
Part Four
Chapter Twenty-seven Westminster Palace, February, AD 1052
Chapter Twenty-eight Hereford, May, AD 1052
Chapter Twenty-nine Dungeness, England, 24 June, AD 1052
Chapter Thirty The Mouth of the River Severn, July, AD 1052
Chapter Thirty-one Porlock, July, AD 1052
Chapter Thirty-two London, September, AD 1052
Chapter Thirty-three London, September, AD 1052
Chapter Thirty-four London, September, AD 1052
Chapter Thirty-five London, September, AD 1052
Chapter Thirty-six London, September, AD 1052
Chapter Thirty-seven Bosham, September, AD 1052
Epilogue Turkey, September, AD 1052
Author’s notes William the Bastard
Godwin of Wessex
Gytha Thorkelsdóttir
Harold Godwinson
Harold’s siblings
Sweyn Godwinson
Spearhafoc
Robert of Jumièges
Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury
The Crisis of 1051–52
The Mantle of St Brigid
More from the author
About the Author
Also by K. M. Ashman
Copyright
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
For my family…
Character List
Anglo-Saxon
Edward the Confessor King of England
Ealdgyth of Wessex Queen consort, Godwin’s daughter
Nobles
Godwin Earl of Wessex
Gytha Thorkelsdóttir Godwin’s wife
Sweyn Godwinson Earl of Herefordshire
Harold Godwinson Earl of East Anglia
Tostig Godwinson Son of Godwin
Gyrth Godwinson Son of Godwin
Leofwine Godwinson Son of Godwin
Wulfnorth Godwinson Son of Godwin
Gunhild Daughter of Godwin
Edyth Swanneck Harold’s wife
Clergy
Bishop Stigand Bishop of Elmham and Winchester
Spearhafoc Benedictine monk
Norman
William the Bastard Duke of Normandy
Alan the Red Lord of Richemont
Robert of Jumièges Bishop of London
Prologue
Normandy, AD 1038
Garnier of Falaise sat in the centre of the wooden hut at the rear of the tannery, carefully nursing the remains of the previous night’s fire. In his hand, he held a fistful of straw, feeding it into the glowing embers as he gently blew them back to life.
His wife, Cateline, and their two young boys lay fast asleep under the heavy sheepskin fleeces covering the sleeping pallet, a luxury he had shared only a few minutes earlier. But with the night only half gone, he had arisen to use the last of the firewood, determined to add whatever warmth he could to the bitterly cold hut.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Cateline quietly from the bed.
Garnier looked over and saw his wife peering at him in the light of the solitary candle.
‘I thought you were asleep,’ he said. ‘I am trying to rescue what is left of the fire.’
‘That’s the last of our firewood.’
‘It is, but I will take the boys to the forest later and gather more, so we may as well use what we have.’
‘I told you,’ said Cateline, ‘if we block all the holes between the lathes, this place will be far warmer.’
‘I know,’ sighed Garnier, turning back to the fire, ‘and I swear that I will do so as soon as I get a chance. Since the duke died, I have hardly had a moment to do what needs to be done.’ He leaned forward and resumed his gentle blowing.
‘It’s been almost three years,’ said his wife, as wisps of smoke started to rise upwards towards the roof. ‘We should be grateful we still have employment. Many have been left without a roof over their heads. At least we have an income, and our children do not starve.’
‘You are right,’ said Garnier, kneeling and feeding the tiny flames with kindling. ‘We have much to be grateful for.’
‘Leave the fire,’ said his wife, ‘and come back to bed. The night is only half done.’
Garnier sighed and sat back on his heels, but before he could stand up, someone tapped on the door. Cateline sat bolt upright and stared across the reed-covered floor at her husband.
‘Who is it?’ she whispered.
‘How am I supposed to know?’ asked Garnier, getting to his feet. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’
He walked over and placed his ear against the door, jumping when the knock came again, this time accompanied by a voice.
‘Garnier of Falaise! My name is Alan of Brittany. Open this door, in the name of the duke.’
The tanner looked over at his wife, now out of bed with one of the fleeces wrapped around her shoulders.
‘Who’s Alan of Brittany?’ she whispered.
‘He was one of the duke’s trusted men,’ replied Garnier.
‘What do you think he wants?’
Before he could respond, the voice came again.
‘Garnier of Falaise, open this door immediately or I swear I will have you removed as tanner before this day is out.’
Garnier knew he had no option and unbarred the door. The man pushed past, pulling a young boy behind him. He turned around and shut the door, sliding across the wooden bar before turning to face the tanner.
‘My lord,’ said Garnier, ‘is everything well?’
‘It is not,’ replied the man. ‘I assume you are Garnier of Falaise?’
‘I am, my lord, and this is my wife.’
‘Good. I have heard you were a respected vassal of Duke Robert of Normandy prior to his death.’
‘Indeed I was, my lord, and it was my privilege to serve him. He was a great man.’
‘Aye, he was,’ said the man, ‘and these are dark days. But if we are to continue what he started, we are in dire need of your help.’
‘If I can help, I will,’ said the tanner, drawing himself up. ‘What would you have me do?’
‘We need you to hide this boy for a few nights. Lock your doors and do not venture out until I return three days hence. Can you do that?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Garnier, ‘but what about my work?’
‘I will tell your seconds that you have fallen gravely ill and cannot attend. Your position will not be at risk.’
‘My lord,’ said Garnier, ‘I have to be able to go out, we need food and fuel for the fire.’
‘I will have my men bring you food and firewood after dark tonight. Until then, you will have to make do with what you have.’ He glanced towards the modest fire. ‘If anyone else asks you to open the door, tell them you have been struck down with illness and fear that death creeps towards you.’
‘Aye, my lord, but can I ask why?’
‘You may not. Suffice to say, it is a matter of life and death, and if you do as I say without consequence, you will be handsomely rewarded. Do I have your oath?’
‘Aye, my lord, you do,’ said the tanner.
‘Good. Now I must be gone. Do not let me down, Garnier of Falaise, the child’s life depends on it.’ Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared into the night, closing the door behind him.
Cateline ran across and bolted the door before turning to face her husband and the boy. The child was slight and no more than ten years old, but he was clearly healthy and wore a cloak of rich velvet.
‘What was all that about?’ she gasped, turning to face her husband. ‘What trouble have you got us into now?’
‘None of my own making, said Garnier, staring at the frightened boy. ‘It seems we have been caught up in the politics of the court.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Cateline. ‘Do you even know this boy?’
‘Aye, I do,’ said Garnier, looking over to his wife with a hint of fear in his eyes. ‘His name is William the Bastard, and he is the Duke of Normandy.’
Part One
Chapter One
Winchester, June, AD 1043
King Edward sat at a table in one of the antechambers in the rear of Winchester Cathedral. With him were several of his advisors, including Robert, the Abbot of Jumièges Abbey, near Rouen in Normandy.
The previous few weeks had been overwhelming; he had finally been crowned King of England after the death of his half-brother, King Harthacnut, almost a year earlier. Harthacnut had ruled England as regent since the death of Harold in AD 1040, on the agreement that, should he die, Edward would inherit the crown. Now, with all his predecessors finally gone, Edward’s time had come. At last, he had been acknowledged as the sole King of England.
For the next few hours, Edward signed off the mountain of decrees and treaties that had accumulated over the past few months, until eventually he sat back and held up his hand, causing all the chatter to stop.
‘Gentlemen,’ he announced, ‘it has been a long day and I know there are many more such days to come, but it is time to put our business to one side. Please, gather your things and leave, we will reconvene at midday tomorrow.’
An air of relief rippled around the gathering. The arrangements for the coronation had taken weeks, and their normal business had piled up in the meantime. Now, at last, they could concentrate on their main roles, but were more than happy to end the day early. As they filed from the chamber, the king spoke out again.
‘Father Robert, Bishop Stigand, please remain. There is one more piece of business that I would like to discuss before you go.’
Robert of Jumièges stopped and turned to face the king. He enjoyed a favoured position with Edward, having served him and his family faithfully after they had fled England to escape the Danes over twenty-five years earlier. During that time, Edward lived in exile, until eventually he was summoned to Hursteshever by King Harthacnut and named heir to the crown by the thegns and barons of England. As soon as the succession was confirmed, Edward had summoned Robert from Normandy and installed him as his confidant and advisor.
Bishop Stigand also turned to rejoin the king at the end of the chamber.
‘Please, be seated,’ said the king. ‘It has been a long day and I’m sure your legs suffer for the effort.’
Two servants carried over chairs and all three men sat round a small table bearing wine and sweetmeats. One of the servants made to pour the wine but was waved away by the king.
‘You may leave us,’ he said. ‘We will manage from here.’
‘Your grace,’ said Robert as soon as they were alone. ‘May I take this opportunity of congratulating you on your kingship. It has been a long road, but you got here in the end. May God pave your way with honesty, justice and kindness.’
‘Thank you,’ said the king. ‘It has indeed been a long road. It has been over twenty-five years since I fled England as an exile, and for most of those you have been at my side, not only as a spiritual advisor but as a friend. This achievement is as much yours as mine.’
‘Thank you, your grace,’ said Robert, ‘I am just blessed to serve.’
The king smiled and turned to the other man in the room.
‘Bishop Stigand,’ he said, ‘you have also had a huge part to play in this, and I offer you my gratitude. Without your intervention, especially at the meeting of the Witan in Hursteshever two years ago, my succession might not have been agreed.’
‘There were others involved, your grace; I was mainly the go-between.’
‘You do yourself an injustice,’ said the king. ‘My own people have reported that it was you and Godwin of Wessex who worked hard in the shadows to ensure I achieved the votes needed. I will not forget that.’
‘Thank you, your grace,’ said Stigand. ‘May God bless your reign with long life and peaceful intent.’
Again, the king smiled before sitting back with a deep sigh.
‘So,’ he said, ‘we come to the reason I have asked you to remain here. First of all, I am well aware that Robert has only just arrived, so I have to ask – have you both met?’
‘Briefly, at the coronation,’ said Father Robert, looking over to the bishop. ‘But unfortunately there has been little time since. I am, however, aware that his grace is highly thought of and served four of your predecessors as a spiritual advisor.’
‘Oh, I think he served as far more than that,’ said the king. ‘But you are, of course, correct, and I intend he continues to play a large part in palace life.’
‘I look forward to working with you,’ said Robert, nodding towards the bishop.
‘And I, you,’ said Bishop Stigand, returning the nod.
‘So,’ said the king, ‘let’s get down to business. Despite finally being in possession of the crown, the fact that I have been in Normandy for the best part of twenty-five years is a burden that will be difficult to discard. Already I have heard mutterings about this having been a missed opportunity to crown a man born within these shores. We have to address the embers before they turn into a fire.’
‘Who says such things, your grace?’ asked Robert. ‘I will have them dealt with.’
‘The rumours are third-hand,’ said the king, ‘but truth be told, I can understand why some men see it this way. Besides, the last thing I want to do is start my reign by rounding up my doubters.’
‘A sensible approach,’ said Stigand. ‘For no matter what you do, the scrutiny the role brings means there will always be those who wish you ill. It is the nature of kingship.’
‘Indeed,’ said Edward. ‘So, bearing that in mind, I want to move quickly to build trust and alliances across England. I do have an army at my disposal, but should any ill will arise, especially in the early years, it will be no match for the forces of my earls.’
‘I do not believe it will come to that,’ said Stigand.
‘Perhaps not, but better to deal with it now while we enjoy peace.’
‘What would you do, my liege?’ asked Robert.
‘I think there is merit in binding at least one of the noble houses to the throne,’ said the king. ‘Create unbreakable ties to ensure no man dare rise against me.’
‘And how do you intend to do this?’
‘I am open to suggestion,’ said the king, ‘but I was thinking perhaps through marriage. Is there a suitable bride out there who would bind one of the houses of England to the throne?’
‘That sounds like a good idea,’ said Robert. ‘I will send messengers to Lords Siward and Leofric to see if there are any suitable candidates.’
‘Actually,’ said Stigand quickly, ‘there is no need to send anyone northwards when there is a perfect candidate but a few leagues from here.’
‘And who is that?’ asked the king.
‘The maiden, Gytha, daughter of Godwin of Wessex. She is fair of face and of perfect age for such a union. She is also untouched and as graceful as the purest swan.’
