The Promises of a King, page 23
‘Your grace,’ said Tostig, ‘what these rebels have done is nothing short of treason, and each and every one of them should be hanged from the nearest tree. Northumbria is in disarray, and if we do not do something quickly, the whole of the north will be left vulnerable to the Scots.’
‘I thought Malcolm was a personal friend of yours,’ said the king. ‘Should we be worried about him?’
‘No, your grace, but the clan chieftains are ambitious men and if they realise Northumbria is exposed, who knows where their ambition will take them?’
‘So, where is your army now?’
‘Many have dispersed, your grace,’ said Copsi, ‘faced by the overwhelming numbers of traitors Dunstan and Gamelbearn have whipped to their cause.’
‘Do you have nobody steadfast?’ asked the king.
‘A few hundred,’ said Tostig, ‘but most of our men were mercenaries and only show loyalty at the sight of a full purse. We need your strength to drive these men back and reclaim what is mine.’
‘Yours?’ asked the king.
‘Forgive me, your grace,’ said Tostig, ‘of course I only rule Northumbria in your name, but that is even more reason we need your support. These men are committing treason right in front of our eyes, and the situation demands immediate retribution.’
‘Your concerns are noted,’ said the king. ‘I will send for your brother immediately. Where is Harold at the moment?’
‘He is at Bosham, your grace, but why are you sending for him? Just give me an army, and I will lead them myself. I need no help from Harold or any other man.’
‘Nevertheless,’ said the king, ‘he is the strongest of my earls, so we will consult with him before deciding the way forward. Besides, he commands the largest standing army and can muster men to his call even quicker than I. Go back to Southwark, Tostig, and wait there. As soon as I have any more information, I will send for you.’
‘Your grace—’ started Tostig, but Edward raised his hand, cutting the conversation short.
‘I have made my decision,’ he said, ‘now do as I ask. We will deal with this, Earl Tostig, but it will be done with forethought and not in the spur of the moment. You are dismissed.’
Tostig stared at the king but knew there was no more he could do.
‘Thank you, your grace,’ he said and turned away to head back to the family home at Southwark.
* * *
Ten days later, Tostig was once more in the presence of the king, though this time along with his brother, Harold, and the Archbishop of Canterbury. Stigand had brought everyone up to date with what had happened, and the discussion centred around what was to be done, but not ten minutes after the audience had begun, the door opened, and one of the royal stewards walked across to whisper in the king’s ear.
‘Bring him in,’ he said eventually, and the steward walked back out of the room.
‘It seems that there have been developments,’ said the king, ‘and this problem may be more difficult than we thought.’
‘What has happened?’ asked Tostig. ‘I warned that we were wasting time.’
‘We are about to find out,’ said the king, and turned to see one of his marshals enter, walking briskly over to join the group.
‘Your grace,’ said the marshal, ‘I bear grave news. The army led by Dunstan and Gamelbearn has marched south, wreaking death and destruction upon anyone who stands in their way.’ He turned to face Tostig. ‘My lord, I am sorry to say that they targeted all your holdings and have burned everything you owned to the ground. Many men have died, and your livestock has been killed to feed their army.’
‘They are not an army,’ hissed Tostig, ‘they are untrained rebels whipped into a frenzy by traitors.’
‘Nevertheless,’ said the marshal, ‘my scouts tell me that they are well armed, organised and relentless. They are going from village to village, town to town, demanding support. Nottinghamshire has fallen, as has Lincolnshire and Northamptonshire. They are only a few days away from London.’
‘I knew it,’ gasped Tostig, turning to face the king, ‘they aim to topple the throne, your grace, and install their own king.’
‘That is preposterous,’ interjected Harold, ‘and such a claim is dangerous. All we know at the moment is that a people’s army has mustered to protest against the Crown. It is not the first time, nor will it be the last.’
‘Are you not listening?’ asked Tostig. ‘They have already taken two major towns and are heading for a third. That is not a protest, that is conquest.’
‘He has a point,’ said the king, ‘and it worries me that they have made so much ground, so quickly.’
Harold turned to the marshal.
‘What news do you have of any casualties?’
‘As far as we know, there are surprisingly few,’ said the marshal, ‘and most seem to be those militias and officials that were loyal to my lord Tostig.’
Harold turned back to face the king.
‘If this was an attempt to overthrow the Crown, your grace, I do not believe for one moment that the campaign would be so well supported, especially by the common folk. They know the penalty for treason, and few are brave enough to raise arms against a king. It seems to me that this is indeed a protest, and as much as it pains me to say it,’ he looked over at Tostig, ‘it looks like it is against my brother.’
The king also looked over at Tostig.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘what say you?’
‘I think the reason is irrelevant,’ said Tostig. ‘The fact remains: a large body of armed men are burning their way to London, murdering anyone who stands in their way. Their motive is not important, but the potential outcome is.’
‘Has anyone talked to these men?’ asked the king.
‘We do not negotiate with traitors,’ said Tostig.
‘Then perhaps it is time we did,’ said Harold. ‘Why not send someone up to Northamptonshire before they get there and try to find out exactly what they want?’
‘That is a waste of time,’ shouted Tostig. ‘What we need to do is attack them without mercy and send them to hell where they belong.’
All the men in the room stared at Tostig with shock. His face was red with rage, and it was all he could do to stop himself from launching at his brother. After a few moments’ silence, the king turned back to Harold.
‘What do you suggest?’ he asked, as if the recent outburst had never happened.
‘Your grace,’ said Harold, ‘I have my personal guards billeted in Southwark. Just give the word, and we will ride to Northamptonshire immediately and seek an audience with the ringleaders. Once we know what they want, we can decide what we need to do.’
‘Fifty men against five thousand,’ said the king, arching an eyebrow.
‘I do not intend to fight, your grace,’ said Harold, ‘I intend to talk. If we march to battle without even knowing what the problem is, then we risk losing a lot of men in a civil war, and with William of Normandy setting his eyes on England, that could be a massive disadvantage.’
‘What has this got to do with Normandy?’ asked Tostig.
‘The threat of Normandy is a matter to be discussed at another time,’ said the king, ‘but I agree with Harold. We will not shed any of our countrymen’s blood unless it is absolutely necessary.’ He turned back to Harold. ‘You have my permission to parley on my behalf. Go north and return as quickly as you can with an update. In the meantime, I will arrange a council to discuss what actions, if any, we need to take. You will report to us when you return.’
‘I will go with you,’ said Tostig, turning to Harold.
‘No,’ said Harold quickly, ‘your presence will only antagonise them. Wait for the council, brother, and you will have a full voice there.’
‘So be it,’ said the king. ‘This audience is over.’ He stood up and left the room, leaving the men behind him.
‘I don’t know what you are up to,’ said Tostig, turning to his brother, ‘but whatever it is, I won’t let you get away with it.’
Before Harold could answer, Tostig stormed from the hall.
‘What did he mean by that?’ asked Stigand.
‘I have no idea,’ said Harold, ‘but I have no time to worry about it now. I have to get to Northamptonshire.’
Chapter Thirty-one
Northampton, Late October, AD 1065
Harold stood on a hill alongside his men. Down below and stretching into the distance was the town of Northampton, but it was not the city that caught his eye: it was the hundreds upon hundreds of tents as far as the eye could see.
The northern army, under the command of Dunstan and Gamelbearn, had obviously moved far faster than he had anticipated and was certainly far larger than he had imagined. There were no signs of battle surrounding the town, no smoke from burning buildings and no flocks of crows picking at the eyes of those who had fallen. In fact, despite its size, the whole camp looked quite organised and peaceful, the air pierced only by shafts of smoke from the many campfires.
Despite this, Harold was concerned, for he knew that even though the masses were untrained, the sheer number meant that any fight would be costly to both sides.
‘My lord,’ said Owen at his side, ‘I think they’ve noticed us.’ He nodded towards a column of armed men galloping from the city towards them.
‘Let them come,’ said Harold, ‘and under no circumstances does anyone draw a weapon unless I give the command.’ He watched as the column reached the top of the hill and split into two to completely encircle them. One of the men rode up and reined in his horse before Harold.
‘Who are you,’ he demanded, ‘and what do you want?’
‘I am Harold of Wessex,’ replied Harold, ‘and I have come to talk to the man in charge, whosoever that may be.’
‘That would be Morcar of Mercia,’ said the officer. ‘What business do you have with him?’
Harold was shocked. He had heard that Morcar might be involved, but nothing had been confirmed. Now it had been verified, it added a whole new dimension to the emerging picture.
‘I have been sent here by the king to discuss his demands,’ said Harold, ‘and to see if there is a way to stop any more bloodshed.’
The officer stared at Harold.
‘You can come,’ he said, ‘but your men will stay here.’
‘No,’ said Owen, but Harold put up his hand to cut him short.
‘The requirement is to be expected,’ he said. ‘Make camp here. I will return as soon as I can.’
‘And what if they take you hostage?’ asked Owen.
‘Then Edward will respond accordingly,’ said Harold, and turned back to the lancer. ‘Lead the way.’
Twenty minutes later, Harold was led through a series of side streets until they reached the town hall. Inside he was made to wait until, eventually, he was led through to a room where several men sat on one side of a table, waiting for him.
‘Thank you,’ said one of the men to the guards. ‘Leave us.’
The guards bowed and left the room as the speaker turned back to face Harold.
‘Earl Harold,’ he said, ‘good to see you again.’
‘Hello Morcar,’ said Harold, recognising the young man. ‘You are looking well. How is your family?’
‘They are well,’ said Morcar. ‘Please, take a seat. I believe you have met my huscarl, Eardwulf,’ he added, nodding to one of the men.
‘Eardwulf,’ said Harold, acknowledging the man with a nod as he sat.
‘These two,’ continued Morcar, turning to two of the other attendees, ‘may not be known to you. Please let me introduce Gamelbearn and Dunstan, both well-respected thegns of Northumbria, and, I have to say, men of vision and no little bravery.’
‘We have not met,’ said Harold, ‘but over the past few days, I have heard their names repeatedly. And if by the terms vision and bravery you mean traitorous and foolhardy, then I concur with your description.’
Both thegns scowled at the insult, but before they could respond, Morcar spoke again.
‘Come now, Earl Harold, that sort of talk is beneath you.’
‘Then how should I talk?’ asked Harold. ‘For the actions of these men means that my brother is temporarily deposed from his earldom, and many innocent men from here to the Scottish borders now lay dead.’
‘It seems that your understanding of innocence and mine also differs greatly,’ said Morcar, ‘but enough of the wordplay. I’m sure you have not come here just to trade insults. What do you want?’
‘I am here on behalf of the king,’ said Harold. ‘We have sat on our hands and watched as this situation has played out, but now it has gone too far, and he wants to know what exactly you are playing at, as, indeed, do I.’
‘Oh, there are no games being played here,’ said Morcar, ‘we are deadly serious. We have certain demands, and if they are not fulfilled in their entirety, then it will be extremely difficult to stop the army you just rode through from marching on London.’
‘You dare to threaten the king?’ asked Harold. ‘What sort of fools are you?’
‘Fools that are fed up with their people starving to death and being slaughtered by a tyrant for no other reason than trying to live,’ said Dunstan. ‘Your brother is a monster, and unless he is stripped of his title and kept far away from Northumbria, then we may as well die in London as in the north.’
‘You paint a stark picture, Dunstan,’ said Harold, ‘but they are just words. My brother assures me that his rule imposes only that which he is allowed under the law to do, and by challenging those rules, you are directly challenging the king.’
‘He is one man,’ interjected Gamelbearn. ‘Take his word if you must, but outside of these walls, there are twenty thousand others who would attest otherwise. Your brother dances with the devil, Lord Harold, whether you like it or not.’
Harold looked around the men, seeing the intensity in their eyes.
‘Even if the king were to accept your demands,’ he said eventually, ‘which he will not, what is to say that the next earl is not just as bad?’
‘He is not,’ said Dunstan, ‘for he has already been chosen.’
‘Has he?’ laughed Harold. ‘And who, may I ask, is this man that seeks to bypass the tradition and power of the throne. You?’
‘No,’ said Dunstan, ‘not I.’ He turned to stare at Morcar.
Harold followed his gaze and realised what was happening.
‘Oh, Morcar,’ he said, ‘I thought you were a sensible man. Surely you know that this is a battle you cannot win?’
‘Perhaps not on my own,’ said Morcar, ‘but with the forces of Mercia behind me, I feel we have a very strong argument.’
‘Morcar,’ said Harold, ‘you may be brothers, but Edwin would never risk civil war just to settle an argument between a noble and some angry thegns. I know him too well, and he knows that it would be too high a price to pay.’
‘Then you do not know him as well as you think,’ said Morcar. ‘I have the full backing of my brother and, by association, Mercia.’
‘I do not believe you,’ said Harold. ‘There may have been discussion, but there is no way Edwin would mobilise Mercia against Edward.’
‘If you do not believe me,’ said Morcar, ‘then ask him yourself.’
Harold’s brow creased in confusion, but when he heard a door open behind him, he knew he had been toyed with as Earl Edwin of Mercia entered the room and walked over to sit next to his brother.
‘Earl Harold,’ he said, removing his riding gloves, ‘my apologies for the lateness, I had hoped to be here sooner. My sister sends her regards. Has my brother been looking after you?’
Harold was shocked. The fact that Edwin had travelled so far and now sat amongst the rebels as an ally made his heart race, and he knew that the perceived threat from the uprising had just changed dramatically.
‘Earl Edwin,’ he said eventually, ‘surely you are not in favour of this uprising? You of all people must know that a civil war has never done any man any good.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Edwin, ‘some may say the occasional civil war is needed to stir the pot of royal expectation, especially if that pot has spoiled.’
‘Edward is not perfect,’ said Harold, ‘and he took a long time to let go of his associations with Normandy, but those days are gone. He is a good king.’
‘We have no concerns about Edward,’ said Edwin, ‘only those around him, and in particular, Tostig Godwinson.’
‘I cannot believe he is as bad as these men report,’ said Harold. ‘Someone would have said something long before now.’
‘Oh, we tried,’ said Dunstan, ‘but Tostig has his spies everywhere, and each time there was any hint of trouble, Tostig’s men hanged the suspect and anyone associated with him. The people soon became too terrified to speak up, so here we are.’
‘I know it is hard to believe,’ said Edwin, accepting a tankard of wine from a servant, ‘but I assure you, I have made my own enquiries, and these men speak the truth. He is a monster, Harold. Cut him loose.’
‘I do not know what to say,’ said Harold. ‘Even if it is true – and I am not saying that I believe you – the king is more focused on the treachery of his subjects than the cruelty of one man. He would never bow to the demands of the people over one of his nobles, for that way lies even more trouble. His back will be against the wall in this situation, Edwin, and he will have no choice but to deny your petition.’
‘In that case,’ said Edwin, ‘it is highly probable that you and I will meet again quite soon, though probably at the head of our respective armies.’
‘That is no good to anyone,’ said Harold.
‘I agree, but only you can sort this out.’
‘How?’
‘By going back to the king and telling him that unless he deposes Tostig Godwinson immediately, these people will sacrifice themselves on the walls of London and, who knows, some may even make it through.’
