The Challenges of a King, page 3
‘I think not,’ said Wulfnorth, pushing his bowl away. ‘Sweyn told me that meat gives a man strength, and I need to wield a sword to fight alongside my brothers.’
‘There will be time aplenty for such things,’ said Ealdgyth, before lifting her head to smile at the serving girl. ‘Could you take his plate away and perhaps replace it with a little meat?’
‘Of course, my lady,’ said the servant before hurrying away to the kitchen.
At the opposite end of the table, Sweyn waited as his tankard was filled with mead before drinking it down in one draught.
‘You should take your time, brother,’ said Harold at his side. ‘The night is long before us. Drink like that, and the huscarls will be dragging you to your quarters before we are half done.’
‘Do not worry about me,’ replied Sweyn, offering up his tankard to be refilled. ‘I can handle my drink. Besides, I have ridden a long way and have a thirst about me.’
‘Where have you been?’ asked Harold. ‘I understand you were with Father in the Welsh Marches, but he returned a few days ago.’
‘I had business to attend to,’ said Sweyn.
‘What business?’
‘Business that is none of your concern,’ said Sweyn, turning to face his younger brother.
‘I see,’ said Harold. ‘In that case, I can only assume it had to do with a certain abbess?’
‘Ah,’ interjected Tostig alongside them. ‘The beautiful Abbess of Leominster. Please tell me she is not still a concern in our brother’s life?’
‘Alas, I cannot,’ said Harold, ‘for it seems Sweyn may still be smitten.’
‘What I do not understand,’ said Tostig, leaning towards them across the table, ‘is why choose someone married to Christ when you could have the pick of so many women across England? Wales too, for that matter.’
‘As I said,’ replied Sweyn, ‘it is of no concern of yours. Let it be.’
‘Methinks we may have aggravated an open wound,’ said Tostig, sitting back in his seat.
‘As do I,’ laughed Harold, before delving into the potage with a silver spoon.
‘So,’ said Ealdgyth, turning to face Gunhild. ‘How is life in Wilton Abbey?’
‘Wonderful,’ said Gunhild, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. ‘The sisters are really kind, and I am learning so much. I am truly blessed that God called me to his service.’
‘Do you see much of our sister?’
‘Sometimes, though she is in a different part of the abbey. But I visited her before we set out and she is recovering well.’
‘I do hope so,’ said Ealdgyth, ‘I miss her so much.’
‘She is in good hands,’ said Sister Margaret. ‘And when she is well, I shall arrange a visitation.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ealdgyth, turning to her mother. ‘Mother, who is the monk sitting at the end of the far table? I have never seen him before.’
‘His name is Spearhafoc,’ said Gytha, ‘and he is a goldsmith of the highest order. Your father had him brought to London from Bury St Edmunds. He is the one responsible for making those beautiful goblets.’
‘Is he?’ asked Ealdgyth, turning to stare again at the young man. ‘Is that why he is here?’
‘Partly,’ said Gytha. ‘But we were so impressed with his work your father requested his secondment to the House of Godwin for the foreseeable future. The bishop agreed, and there he is – our very own goldsmith.’
‘He looks sad,’ said Ealdgyth. ‘Why does nobody talk to him?’
‘He seems to be a bit of an acquired taste,’ said her mother, ‘but I am sure he will settle soon enough.’
‘Once we have eaten, I will engage him in conversation,’ said Ealdgyth. ‘Nobody should be lonely at my celebration.’
‘That would be a very nice thing to do,’ said Gytha. ‘Now eat some potage before it gets cold.’
* * *
For the next few hours, the gathering enjoyed the best fare the earl’s hunters and farmers could offer. Each table had a leg of venison as a centrepiece, surrounded by silver platters piled high with sliced pork and tureens of fresh green vegetables. On the top table, the centrepiece was a magnificent boar’s head, bedded on a sea of roasted onions with a shiny green apple in its monstrous jaws.
‘I want a piece of the snout,’ shouted Wulfnorth gleefully. ‘It is truly the tenderest part.’
‘Oh no,’ gasped Ealdgyth with a look of disgust. ‘Surely not.’
‘Nonsense,’ roared Tostig, rising from his seat. ‘If it is snout the boy wants, then snout the boy will get.’
He walked over to the boar’s head and, with an overly ceremonious flourish, produced a carving knife the size of a small sword.
‘Forgive me, Sir Pig,’ he announced, ‘but your snout is hereby sacrificed for the greater good.’
By now, the effects of the alcohol were taking hold, and the guests laughed heartily as Tostig carved off the end and threw it over to his younger brother.
‘It is nice to see them all so relaxed,’ said Gytha quietly to her husband.
‘It is,’ said Godwin. ‘We get together far too infrequently.’
‘We do,’ said Gytha, ‘and should make more effort. So tell me, my lord, how went it in the Welsh Marches? We have hardly had time to talk since you returned.’
‘It was difficult,’ sighed Godwin. ‘King Gruffydd is nothing if not belligerent and not one to take advice graciously. If he continues along his current path, there will be a reckoning with King Rhydderch of Gwent before this year is out.’
‘Why does this concern you so?’ asked his wife. ‘If the Welsh want to slay the Welsh, then why not step back and enjoy the moment?’
‘Because,’ said Godwin, ‘Sweyn’s estates share a border with many of the marches, and should there be war, I fear he will be caught up in the aftermath.’
‘I fail to see why he is so bent on becoming Gruffydd’s friend,’ said Gytha. ‘He has enough on his plate as it is managing our concerns this side of the Severn.’
‘To be fair,’ said Godwin, holding up his goblet for a refill, ‘Gruffydd is a powerful man and has the potential to be a powerful ally, but Sweyn needs to remember that both men are Welsh and could join forces against him in an instant if circumstance demands.’
‘Talk to him again, Godwin,’ said Gytha. ‘We have too much to lose by antagonising the Welsh.’
‘Aye, I will,’ said Godwin. ‘But for now, let us forget our troubles and enjoy the celebrations.’
For the next few hours, everyone relaxed, with men and women alike consuming far too much alcohol and food. Once the last of the feast had been cleared away, the servants dragged the tables to the edge of the hall, and the guests danced around the fire to the merry tunes played by the minstrels.
After several dances, Ealdgyth walked over to one of the tables for a well-earned drink. Already there was the young monk, running his hand down the side of an ornately designed silver jug.
‘Brother Spearhafoc,’ she said with a smile, ‘are you enjoying yourself?’
The monk removed his hand and turned to face the young woman. He smiled and bowed his head before responding.
‘My lady,’ he said, ‘indeed I am. It has been a long time since I witnessed such extravagance.’
‘Oh,’ said Ealdgyth with concern. ‘I hope the feasting does not offend you too much.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Spearhafoc, ‘it makes my heart sing to see so much happiness in one room.’
‘But do not monks take vows of strict abstinence?’
‘Some do and are happy to do so. Luckily, I am not such a monk and have enjoyed the fare enormously, though it has to be said, some of those present have the appetites of wolves and the manners of pigs.’
Ealdgyth stared at the monk with mild surprise. To use insults as a guest at any celebration was unheard of and invited contradiction.
‘May I ask to whom you are referring?’ she said, her smile a little less broad.
‘My lady,’ said the monk, seeing her look of concern, ‘please forgive my turn of phrase. The words were not meant as insults, only as comparisons to two of God’s creatures, both beautiful in their own right. The wolf is brave and fearless with an appetite worthy of any warrior, while a pig will fill its belly to contentment with no thought of niceties. Both attributes are God’s gifts, and thus there is no reason for ill judgement to be laid upon them. If my choice of words offended you, then I take them back and apologise unreservedly.’
‘Of course not,’ said Ealdgyth with a sudden grin. ‘The misunderstanding was all mine, and it is I who should be apologising to you. All this must be strange for a man who has spent many years cloistered behind high walls with little view of the outside world.’
‘It is certainly an interesting experience,’ said Spearhafoc, ‘and underlines that which I already know.’
‘Which is?’
‘That I have much to learn and should, perhaps, keep my thoughts to myself until my meanings are better understood.’
‘I am sure you will be fine,’ said Ealdgyth. ‘Oh, I have received the goblets from my father and have to say they are exquisite. Thank you so much for all your hard work.’
‘You are welcome,’ said the monk. ‘The abbey benefited greatly from the price.’
‘I hear you are staying with us for a while?’
‘Indeed. Your father has some commissions he wants me to undertake, and I am only too pleased to serve.’
‘I am not surprised, your work is superb.’
‘Thank you,’ said the monk. ‘Perhaps, once you have married, I could create something for you and your new husband.’
‘Of course,’ said Ealdgyth, ‘I think that a wonderful idea. But for now, you must excuse me. I think Wulfnorth has drunk too much ale for a child and is about to be sick. I should spirit him away before my mother sees him and banishes him to Ireland.’
‘Please, do what you have to do,’ said the monk with a laugh. ‘And thank you for coming over, it means a lot to me.’
‘The pleasure was all mine,’ said Ealdgyth, ‘and I hope we speak again soon.’ She hurried away past the drunken guests to drag Wulfnorth from beneath a table and through the northern door.
Spearhafoc watched her go with interest. Since leaving the abbey a few months earlier, not a single day had gone past without him learning something more about the outside world. It was indeed a strange and fascinating place, and the longer it went on, the more he learned about the greed and stupidity of most men.
Sometimes he missed the peace and solitude of his workshop, but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the waves of everyday life would once again flood his senses, drowning him in a flood of unexplored opportunities.
He sipped on his cup of mead and looked around the room. Already there were forbidden thoughts forming in his mind, exciting yet terrifying ideas that had no rightful place in the mind of any man wearing the cloth of Christ.
* * *
Sweyn stood outside at one of the walls, urinating into a bucket. When he finished, he adjusted his clothing and turned to see a young maid standing in the shadows, waiting patiently to replace the full bucket with an empty one. Sweyn stared at the girl, noticing how pretty she was.
‘Hello,’ he said, walking over. ‘And what is your name?’
‘Matilda, my lord,’ said the girl, her gaze fixed on the floor at his feet.
‘Hello Matilda,’ said Sweyn. ‘I take it you work for my father?’
‘Yes, my lord. Tonight I am to keep the latrine buckets empty.’
‘Not a very nice role for someone as pretty as you,’ said Sweyn. ‘Look at me.’
The girl glanced up but quickly returned her gaze to the floor.
‘I said look at me,’ snapped Sweyn, grabbing the girl under the chin and forcing her face upwards.
The girl gasped in shock and stared into the earl’s eyes.
‘Yes, very pretty indeed,’ mused Sweyn. ‘So pretty in fact, I can think of a much better use of your time than carrying buckets of piss.’
‘My lord,’ gasped the girl, ‘please. I have work to do and will lose my employment.’
‘Leave that to me,’ said Sweyn. ‘I will make sure you are suitably rewarded.’ He grabbed the girl’s arm and started pulling her towards the stables.
‘Please,’ gasped the girl. ‘My lord, I have never been with a man. Please let me go.’
‘Even better,’ said Sweyn without breaking his stride. ‘Let me show you what you are missing.’ But before they had reached halfway, a voice called out across the courtyard.
‘Sweyn!’
Sweyn stopped and turned around, annoyed at the interruption.
‘Harold,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I should have guessed.’
Harold stared at the girl, immediately assessing the situation before turning his attention back to his brother.
‘Sweyn,’ he said, ‘tonight is about Ealdgyth. Let the girl go and come back inside.’
‘Nah,’ said Sweyn, ‘I think I’ll do as I want, thank you.’ He turned away and continued to drag the girl towards the stables.
‘Sweyn,’ snapped Harold. ‘Do you really want your actions to define Ealdgyth’s special night?’
‘She won’t even know,’ said Sweyn, pausing. ‘Unless, of course, you tell her.’
Harold stared at the young girl’s terrified face before looking again at his brother.
‘Let her go, Sweyn,’ he said, ‘she is no more than a child.’
Sweyn returned the stare but, with a heavy sigh, finally released the girl, allowing her to scurry away into the dark.
‘What is your problem, Harold?’ he asked. ‘Why do you always judge me?’
‘I worry about you, Sweyn,’ replied Harold, ‘that is all. Now come back to the celebrations. It is not often that we all get together as a family.’
‘You are right,’ replied Sweyn darkly as he walked past his brother towards the hall. ‘And that is just the way I like it.’
Chapter Four
Havering Palace, London, January, AD 1045
Two days later, King Edward sat at a table in one of the rooms turned over to the scribes engaged in recording his rule. Three monks sat at similar tables, all deeply concentrating on recording the events since his coronation at the Cathedral of Winchester almost two years earlier. Standing at the far side of the room, examining a completed manuscript by the light of several candles, stood the Bishop of London, Robert of Jumièges.
‘Well,’ said the king, staring at Robert’s back. ‘What do you think?’
‘I am impressed,’ said the bishop, turning around and walking across the room. ‘The details are succinct and interesting. History will show you as both strong and forgiving.’
‘Forgiving? That is a strange description to use.’
‘I disagree,’ said the bishop, ‘for the manuscript makes no mention of how Godwin of Wessex, not ten years ago, opposed your brother’s rightful claim to the throne in support of Harold Harefoot, nor that he betrayed your brother’s trust and burnt out his eyes with a red-hot poker.’
‘I know,’ said Edward with a sigh. ‘But Godwin swears that the deed was done by others with no instruction from himself.’
‘His claims are lies before God,’ said the bishop, ‘why else would he have slain all of Alfred’s men in cold blood? That alone proves his guilt in my mind, as it did for King Harthacnut, may the Lord rest his soul. If you want my advice, I would have the manuscripts changed to reflect the truth of such matters so men yet unborn can see the blackness of his soul.’
Edward stared at Robert. Back in Normandy, Robert of Jumièges had been a close friend of the family but had been particularly close to Edward’s brother, Alfred Ætheling. So when Alfred had been captured by Godwin and handed over to Harold Harefoot to die in his custody, Robert had been particularly affected. His hatred of Godwin of Wessex had run deep ever since.
‘If it were only that easy,’ said Edward, indicating a chair for the bishop. ‘With his daughter about to become my wife, there are all sorts of complications to consider.’
‘Your grace,’ said the bishop, sitting down. ‘We have known each other a long time, and you know my thoughts on these matters. I understand why you are doing it, but I honestly believe you are making a mistake of the highest order. Godwin is one of the most powerful men in England, and by agreeing to this marriage, you will be strengthening his house even more. Make no mistake, he will use the union to advance his family’s fortune at every opportunity.’
‘So tell me what to do, Robert,’ snapped Edward. ‘You seem to have all the answers. What measures do you suggest I take to counter the growing influence of Godwin?’
‘The answer is simple,’ said the bishop. ‘Even as we speak, the entire family and their huscarls are sleeping off an indulgent display of gluttony and drinking not five leagues from where we sit. Give the command, and we can have a thousand men fall upon them as they slumber and end their legacy forever.’
‘You suggest I murder, in cold blood, the entire family of one of the most powerful houses in England?’ asked the king.
‘He had your brother murdered, did he not? This would be justifiable retribution.’
‘And what would God make of such a heinous act?’
‘The Lord is on your side, your grace, else why would he have led your path here after so many years lost in the wilderness?’
‘If I attack Godwin, his thegns would rise up against me. I may have the power, Robert, but he has the men, and they are fiercely loyal. By attacking Wessex, this country would be plunged into civil war, leaving it open to enemies from across Europe.’
‘There will be risks, yes, but once the earl and his sons are dead, those who served them will quickly see an opportunity to advance their own ambitions, and I have no doubt many will take the knee before you.’
‘I have killed many men in battle, Robert,’ said the king, ‘but I have never killed a man in cold blood. There will be no slaughter in my name, not tonight, not ever. Instead, there will be a marriage, and there will be reconciliation. I freely admit there is anger in my heart still, but I will not risk England for retribution.’
