The Fate of a King, page 13
‘You hope,’ said Geldson. ‘I still worry we are focusing our forces in the wrong place.’
‘There is no hope about it,’ said Edwin. ‘They have hundreds of ships, and to use so many men, they have to land close together. The river is their best bet; otherwise, they would have to land on the eastern coast and march overland. If they do that, they would have to leave a large contingent to guard the ships, and that is just a waste of men.’
‘Then should we not deploy the Mercian fleet to form a barrier in the Humber?’
‘There is no way we could win a sea battle,’ said Edwin, ‘they have far too many ships. We’re ready for this attack, here, our ships are at anchor on the River Wharfe near Tadcaster.’
‘But that is not very wide, and only one ship, two at most, could sail downstream to meet them—’
‘We have no intention of meeting them,’ said Edwin. ‘They are there just in case Hardrada intends to sail as far upstream as he can to get close to York. If he does that, and I sincerely hope he does, then we can sail our own ships down to cut off his escape route, and their fleet will be trapped. Then, counting my brother’s men, we are more than strong enough to gain victory over these heathens, and we do not fear them. These Norwegians are not the warriors their ancestors were, and I, for one, relish the chance to put them to flight. Our forefathers spilt a lot of blood fighting these people over the generations, but this time, my friend, we are ready.’
* * *
In the North Sea, Hardrada stood beneath the billowing sails of his flagship, feeling the power of the favourable winds as it propelled his fleet south to the mouth of the River Tyne. His forces were now intact, having been joined not only by Jarls Paul and Erlund but also by his son, Olaf, who had brought the rest of the ships from Norway.
Now, at last, their invasion had begun, but before they could wield any sword in anger, there was a necessary task to undertake, and it would happen in the mouth of the River Tyne.
‘There they are,’ called the lookout in the bow of the ship, and as Hardrada stared southwards, the sails of almost three dozen ships came into view, their flagship bearing the banners of Tostig Godwinson.
The Viking ships continued south until they enveloped the tiny Anglo-Saxon fleet, and Hardrada instructed his rowers to take him alongside Tostig’s vessel. Once there, he and Eystein Orre jumped the gap between the two ships and walked over to face Tostig and Copsi.
‘Earl Tostig,’ said Hardrada, ‘well met. We thought you may have changed your mind.’
‘King Hardrada,’ said Tostig, his manner brusque, intending to convey a persona of strength and power, ‘why would I do that when the gates of England lay before me?’
‘Many men talk of conquering other lands,’ said Hardrada, ‘few actually carry out their plans. I wondered if you may be one of the latter.’
‘England is my home,’ said Tostig, ‘and my place within it was stolen by my brother in his rush to claim the empty throne. This invasion and my role within it is to return my country to a position of strength and unity, all earldoms united under one banner. It is my God-given destiny to rule, and nothing is going to stand in my way. So, what say you we end the talking and do what we came to do?’
‘We cannot do that,’ said the king, ‘as there has been a change of plans.’
‘In what way?’ asked Tostig.
‘When your man here –’ he nodded towards Copsi ‘– came to Norway, we discussed who would rule England if and when we defeat Harold. He made it clear that you wanted it to be you with me as your subservient. Well, I have now decided that I do not like that plan, and the roles will be reversed.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Tostig, a look of horror on his face.
‘What I mean,’ said Hardrada, ‘is that when this is all over, and Harold’s body lies in an unmarked shallow grave, it will be me that sits on the English throne, and it will be you that will serve me. If you are loyal in the role, then I promise you will have all your old titles back, as well as Wessex, an earldom that I know you crave.’
‘No,’ said Tostig eventually, ‘that was not what was agreed. I am leading this invasion, and you are just supporting me. Why would I agree to anything else?’
‘Because,’ sighed Hardrada, ‘it is obvious that you are not capable of winning this war, let alone ruling the country. Look around you, Earl Tostig, my ships and men outnumber yours tenfold. I could have your fleet sunk in less than an hour with minimal losses, so you are in no position to bargain. Agree to these terms now, or the journey for you and your men ends here in a watery grave.’
Tostig’s face darkened and his temper rose, but as his hand went to his sword, Copsi’s hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.
‘You should thank your huscarl,’ said Eystein, his own hand on the haft of his battle axe in his belt. ‘He just saved your life.’
‘This is not what was agreed,’ hissed Tostig, ‘you vowed to support my cause. Do men of Norway not keep their word?’
‘You have no idea what was discussed,’ said Hardrada, ‘as you did not even afford me the courtesy of attending yourself. You shied away on the pretence of illness instead of facing me as a man. How could I ever serve someone with so little backbone?’
‘No,’ said Tostig, ‘I will not do it.’
‘My lord,’ said Copsi, ‘wait. We need to think about this.’ He turned to face the king. ‘Can we have some time to consider the options?’
‘What is to consider?’ asked the king. ‘You bend the knee here on this ship and swear fealty, or you will be thrown overboard with your throat slit, as will your men.’
‘This is treachery,’ gasped Tostig.
‘I am growing bored of this,’ said Hardrada, ‘and want to take advantage of the tides. I demand an answer, Lord Tostig, are you with me, or are you not?’
Tostig looked around at the sea of Viking ships in every direction. He hated this man with every sinew of his body and wanted nothing more than to kill him where he stood, but he knew that he would also die, and that was never an option.
Copsi leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
‘Accept the terms, my lord,’ he said, ‘we can settle any account when this is all over.’
Tostig sighed deeply but knew Copsi was right. There was little other choice than to accept, but deep inside, he vowed that one day, he would be the one to kill Harald Hardrada.
‘Wessex, you say,’ he said, his tone more accepting.
‘If that is what pleases you,’ said the king. ‘You can have Wessex and Northumbria as payment, it matters not to me. All you have to do is pledge fealty, and we can get on with it.’
Tostig swallowed his pride and took a step forward. Again, Eystein’s hand flew to the haft of his battle axe, but there was no need. In front of all his own crew, Tostig Godwinson dropped to one knee and looked up at the Viking king.
‘So be it,’ he said. ‘In front of these witnesses, and in the eyes of God, I, Tostig Godwinson, pledge my sword to King Harald Hardrada of Norway in this campaign and to him as the King of England as long as he may reign. So help me, God.’
Harald nodded and held out his hand to pull Tostig to his feet.
‘I accept your pledge,’ he said, ‘and look forward to fighting alongside you.’ Without warning, he pulled Tostig in closer so he could speak directly into his ear. ‘But if I even dream that you are plotting against me, I will have you skinned before finding your family and making you watch as my men treat them as playthings.’
Before Tostig could respond, Hardrada pushed him away and turned to face the rest of the men.
‘Now we are one army,’ he announced, ‘but before we head for York, let us see what Earl Tostig’s men are capable of.’ He turned back to Tostig, who was still shocked at the recent threat.
‘Tell me, Earl Tostig, is there a coastal town within striking distance of here?’
‘Um, yes,’ said Tostig, ‘Scarborough is a few leagues away.’
‘And do you have any fondness for this place?’
‘Not really,’ said Tostig.
‘Then let us pay Scarborough a visit, and once there, you can show us the mettle of your men.’ He climbed back aboard his own ship. ‘Untie us,’ he ordered, ‘and follow the Saxon ships along the coast. Earl Tostig is leading us into battle.’
Chapter Fourteen
Normandy, September, AD 1066
Across the sea, Alan the Red rode his horse hard through the forests of Normandy, desperate to reach Duke William with the news from Rome. His mission to speak to Pope Alexander II on William’s behalf and seek the blessing of the Church for the invasion of England had been nothing short of disastrous. Almost as soon as he had left Valerie St Mere with his three ships, they had run into bad weather around the western coast of France, causing them to lay up for days on end while they waited for the weather to break. Once that happened, they lost one ship to pirates off the coast of southern Spain before finally managing to reach Rome with only two ships and thirty men left.
Once there, things did not get any better, for the pope was away on a visit to Constantinople, and although his return was imminent, he did not get back for another three weeks. Finally, when the pope eventually granted him an audience, his reaction was not one that Alan had expected.
Frustrated and nervous about the voyage back to Normandy, Alan took the decision to go overland, and after sending the ships back loaded with trading goods, he and six men bought a dozen horses and headed north-west. For over a month, they rode as hard as they dared, but fate had dealt them a poor hand, and half of them fell sick on the journey.
Now, at last, they were finally nearing home, and Alan hoped desperately that he was in time.
Having ridden for the previous fifteen hours straight, Alan and the three surviving men finally reined in their exhausted horses outside William’s headquarters in Dives just after midnight and dismounted to bang on the fortified doors of the chateau.
The captain of the guard recognised Alan immediately and let the men in, directing them into a side room before sending for the duke.
‘I’ll get food and ale,’ he said as a servant ran from the room.
‘Water will be fine,’ said Alan, ‘just make sure our horses are well cared for. How they have survived this long, only God knows.’
‘Consider it done,’ said the captain.
A few minutes later, William of Normandy entered the room, his face a picture of relief at the arrival of his right-hand man.
‘Alan,’ he gasped, reaching out a hand to take his friend’s wrist, ‘I thought you were dead.’
‘I am surprised we are not,’ said Alan, ‘for it was truly a journey from hell.’
‘But you made it.’
‘We met the pope, yes, and we have ridden as hard as we could to bring you his news.’
William looked at the rest of the exhausted men in the room. He knew none of them well but was aware that Alan probably would not have made it without them.
‘I have yet to hear your contributions, my friends, and there will be time enough for those, but for now, I bid you make use of our kitchens. Eat, and drink your fill, and there are cots in the barracks to get some deserved rest. Be assured that you will be well rewarded, but for now, your duty is done.’
Dismissed, the men left the room, and Alan walked over to close the door behind them. As he turned back, William could see the worried look on his face.
‘Well,’ said the duke, ‘do we have the papal blessing or not?’
‘I do not know,’ said Alan, ‘for he would not say. Instead, he gave me a document with instructions to deliver it only into your hands.’ He reached into his satchel and pulled out a sealed scroll. William took it from him and unfurled it to silently read the message. His brow furrowed, and he looked back up at Alan.
‘And this is from the pope himself?’
‘It is,’ said Alan, ‘I took it from his hands myself, and it has never left my possession.’
William nodded, his mind racing.
‘My lord,’ said Alan, ‘may I ask what his holiness has said?’
‘Of course,’ said William, ‘and all will be revealed soon, but in the meantime, I need to summon the nobles to pass on the holy father’s decision. Get some rest, Alan, you have served me well.’
Alan nodded and left the room, for though he was disappointed not to hear the outcome of his quest, he was too exhausted to pay it any more heed, and he stumbled towards the visitors’ quarters, desperate to find a bed and the black welcoming void of a deep, and dreamless sleep.
Back in the anteroom, William read the parchment again, each word cutting into him like a knife. The pope had declined his support, even going so far as to forbid the invasion, based on the fact that no Christian man should try to depose a king legally and justly crowned by due process of the nation in question.
William was livid. Since Alan had left, he had struggled to raise the army needed for the invasion. Word had soon leaked out regarding the mission to get the papal banner, and though there were plenty of men available within two days’ ride, their masters were waiting for confirmation from Rome that God was on their side. Now with the denial in his hands, William knew that any serious chance of victory was over.
Refusing to accept defeat, he walked over to the wall and held the scroll to the flame of a candle. When it was no more than a few flakes of ash upon the floor, he walked to the door and spoke to the servant outside.
‘Tell the steward to send messages to all the nobles,’ he said, ‘there will be a meeting in the great hall the day after tomorrow.’
‘Of course, my lord,’ said the servant. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Yes,’ said William. ‘Fetch me a scribe. Tell him to bring a roll of clean parchment and a flask of ale. It is going to be a long night.’
* * *
Two days later, almost a hundred high-ranking officers and nobles stood in the hall waiting for William to arrive. Amongst them was Alan the Red and the men who had made the journey with him. Now well rested, they were just as keen to hear what the duke had to say.
‘Did he not give any indication?’ asked one of Alan.
‘He did not,’ said Alan, ‘though he did not seem happy.’
‘If it was a denial,’ said another, ‘then why call this meeting? Unless, of course, it was to announce a delay, and the invasion will be put back to the spring next year.’
‘We will find out soon enough,’ said Alan. ‘Here he comes.’
William walked through the throng and stepped up onto a dais. The noise in the room died away, and William looked around the gathering of powerful men.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘as you know, we have been waiting for a message from his holiness the pope to confirm that the invasion of England has the blessing of the Church. At last, after the long and dangerous quest undertaken by the Lord of Richemont, I have the response.’ He held up the scroll and waited as the murmurs of approval died away. ‘Rather than just tell you what it says,’ continued William, ‘I will read it out word for word.’ He unfurled the scroll and held it up before him.
‘Duke William of Normandy,’ he started. ‘We are grateful for your message and the efforts of your representatives to deliver this holy request into our hands. It is nothing less than divine intervention that ensured the success of their mission, even when faced with trials sent by the devil himself. We feel that an army of saints and angels must have looked over them, and this in itself shows that God’s grace is truly boundless.
‘It is by God’s grace that they survived, and it is with his grace that we recognise the holiness of this quest. In his name, we humbly grant holy support for you and those who follow you to right an evil wrong and correct the true course of history. Go forth, and face down the devil’s representatives with our banner to the fore.
‘Make haste, Duke William, and may God go with you.’
He looked up at the astonished faces.
‘It is signed, Pope Alexander II.’
For a moment, there was silence, but suddenly the room erupted into cheers as the nobles realised they had received the blessing they so desperately craved.
Alan the Red did not celebrate, for he was confused. Not only did the content of the scroll not match William’s initial reaction upon his first reading, but the style of scroll was also nothing like the one he had delivered a few days earlier. His eyes met those of the duke over the heads of the cheering men, and William stared back, the coldness in his eyes warning him to keep his mouth shut. They had the papal blessing they needed, and now there was no reason to delay. The invasion was going ahead, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
* * *
Harold sat at a table in the apple garden at Bosham, laughing at something Edyth had just told him. The cool evening air was a welcome relief from the unseasonable heat from earlier in the day, and they had their food brought outside so they could enjoy the sunset. Harold had been at Bosham for five days, and each one had been easier than the one before as tensions eased, and they had both relaxed into each other’s company. Edyth would still not share her bedchamber with him as she wanted to be true to her conscience and still did not know which way she would decide, to walk away for good or to ask him to abdicate the throne. It was a huge decision and one that she wanted to get right.
‘You do know I have to be back in London in two days’ time,’ said Harold over the goblet of wine in his hand.
‘You are the king,’ said Edyth with a smile, ‘and can do whatever you want.’
‘If only it were that simple,’ said Harold. ‘In the past few days, I have had hundreds of messages from London, most of which would send any man to sleep, such is their interest, but some are important, and I need to get back.’
‘I understand,’ said Edyth, ‘I really do, and I thank you for your patience in this matter, but I think I know what to do. I just need one more night alone to seek God’s guidance. Tomorrow, one way or the other, I will tell you my decision. Is that acceptable?’
