The Challenges of a King, page 30
‘Has anyone seen Archbishop Robert?’ the king asked. ‘He should be here by now.’
Nobody responded, so the king turned to his steward standing at the door.
‘Send someone for him,’ he said, ‘and remind him that I gave him until dusk to return. I will grant him a little more time, but if he is not here, he knows the consequences.’
‘Aye, your grace,’ said the steward, and as he left the room, Edward turned to face Godwin and his son.
‘Godwin of Wessex,’ he said, ‘thank you for returning. I feel that at last we have at least reached a mutual level of trust, and that can only be a good thing.’
‘As do I,’ said Godwin.
‘Your grace,’ said Bishop Stigand, stepping forward, ‘while we wait for the archbishop, I have a request to make on behalf of the Godwin family.’
‘Continue,’ said the king.
‘Your grace, as you are aware, last year when tempers were at their hottest and the trust we now enjoy was at its weakest, you may recall that Godwin of Wessex and his son, Sweyn Godwinson, each allowed one of their own sons to be taken as hostages to provide assurance that they would continue to talk in good faith. As you can imagine, this situation has created enormous worry for the Godwin family, especially during the darkest days when there seemed there was no way back. However, as you can see, Godwin himself now stands before you, unarmed and without any of his bodyguards. He has put himself completely in your hands and, as such, exhibits a trust over and above what could reasonably be expected.’
‘What do you want, Bishop Stigand?’ said the king, cutting him short.
‘Your grace, whatever happens in these next few hours, whether Godwin is found guilty or whether he is absolved of all accusations, this situation will soon come to an end. Surely there is no longer any need to involve the children, so I would respectfully ask that they are returned to their families immediately.’
‘Would not that relinquish any leverage I have?’
‘What better leverage could you have than the man himself standing unarmed before you amongst those you call loyal? If you could grant this one favour, it will not only exhibit trust in the process of our laws but also demonstrate to the people of England what a just and compassionate king you truly are. In amongst all this bad feeling, your grace, irrespective of fault, it is only the children that are truly innocent.’
Edward stared at Stigand, realising he had constructed a well-worded trap. To deny the request in front of so many witnesses would send out a negative message across the country.
‘As you wish,’ he said before turning to one of his courtiers. ‘Simon Williamson, take someone with you and bring the children to court.’
‘Yes, your grace,’ said the man, leaving the hall.
‘So,’ said the king, turning back to face Godwin, ‘here we are. It seems you have finally got your way, Godwin of Wessex. Your children are to be released, and in a few moments, you are to be judged by your peers for crimes against the king. How do you feel?’
‘I asked for the Witan, your grace,’ said Godwin, ‘but I’m happy to accept those present as my jury. I believe my actions have been misrepresented by the archbishop, and when the truth is told, these good men will see that there was no crime against you or England, only a reluctance to submit to the judgement of a Norman bishop. If that is proven, then they will have no other choice than to acquit me of all charges.’
‘And if they do not?’
‘Then I will submit to your will without question.’
‘Tell me,’ said the king, ‘what is the best outcome you could possibly hope to achieve?’
‘That I am acquitted of all charges and all my family’s lands and titles restored in full.’
‘And if you are acquitted but I refuse to reinstate those privileges?’
‘You are my king, your grace, and I am subject to your whim. All I ask is that you open your eyes to the real danger that the archbishop represents.’
‘We will see soon enough,’ said the king, looking over to the side door, impatient for the archbishop to arrive. Over the next few minutes, the mood in the room changed from pensiveness to worry at the archbishop’s continued absence.
Finally, the king decided to carry on without him, but as he was about to begin, the steward burst into the hall, a look of concern etched deep onto his face.
‘Ah,’ said the king, ‘here they are, at last.’
‘Your grace,’ said the steward, ‘alas, I am alone. The archbishop is not with me.’
‘Why not? Did he give a reason?’
‘He did not, your grace, for he was not there, and his servants said they had not seen him since this morning.’
‘Perhaps he is still seeking his witness?’
‘I do not think so, your grace, for I checked with the stables, and one of the grooms told me that just after noon, the archbishop selected the best horse he could find and headed out of the abbey at a great pace. He also told me that last night a cart full of the archbishop’s belongings left for Dover.’
The king’s face fell as the realisation sank in. ‘He said nothing of this to me; why would he do that?’
‘I suspect he was preparing the way for flight should the need arise,’ interrupted Godwin, ‘and now he knows he can no longer build a case he has taken the opportunity to escape while he still has a chance.’
‘He could still be seeking that witness,’ said the king. ‘Perhaps we should afford him some time.’
‘Then why send a cart with all his belongings to Dover?’ asked Harold. ‘I think he feared such an outcome and prepared his escape.’
‘He must have a ship waiting,’ said Godwin,‘and intends to get away with the next tide. He could already be at sea by now.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Harold, ‘but even if he is, we have some of the fastest ships in England at our command. We could set sail immediately and try to catch him.’
‘We cannot,’ said Godwin, ‘all our ships are north of London Bridge, and with the tide already out, we will not be able to sail until early tomorrow morning. He has thought this through well, your grace.’
The king sat back on his throne and stared at Godwin. If all this was true, then he would have no other choice but to reinstate the Godwin family, yet still he hesitated, wondering if it were not all just a mistake and the archbishop would soon return with his witness in tow.
Every noble in the hall was talking loudly, most siding with Godwin, but fell silent when the guard sent to retrieve the hostages burst back into the hall, hurling a woman to the floor before the king.
‘Simon Williamson,’ said the king looking up, ‘why have you not brought the Godwin children?’
‘I could not, your grace, for they had already gone.’
‘What do you mean, gone? They were in a locked room and were under the protection of the court ladies.’
‘They were, your grace, and this is the woman in question. I found her locked in the empty room.’
‘What happened?’ shouted the king to the woman as anger spread through the room. ‘Why did you not care for them as instructed?’
‘Your grace,’ she replied through her tears, ‘I opened the door for moments only, I swear I did. There were two monks, and they said they had been sent by the archbishop to talk to the children.’
‘And you believed them?’
‘I did, your grace, they were known faces in the company of the archbishop. But when I opened the door, they burst in and knocked me to the ground. The first two tied me up while another two grabbed the children.’
The room burst into noise as every man voiced their anger. Edward held up his hand, trying to get some order.
‘Do you know where they went?’ the king shouted.
‘Your grace,’ replied Simon over the noise, ‘on my way back here, I was told that last night two guards were murdered at the eastern gates. Witnesses say that there were at least two horsemen.’
‘Which way were they headed?’
‘Eastwards, your grace, towards Dover.’
As the hall once more burst into noise, Godwin and Harold turned away and strode towards the back of the room.
‘Godwin of Wessex,’ roared the king, getting to his feet, ‘how dare you turn your back on me? I have not dismissed you.’
Godwin stopped and turned back to face the king.
‘After all that has happened here today, your grace,’ he said, ‘I believe there are no more charges to answer. My fate is in the hands of God and these men, so you do what you have to do. I am going to find my son and grandson.’
Chapter Thirty-six
London, September, AD 1052
Outside the stables, Osmund of London and one of his fellow huscarls sat at an upturned barrel, playing a game of dice in the light of a smoky oil lamp. They had been there all day along with another dozen men, awaiting the return of Godwin and his son, but despite the boredom, they remained alert, knowing that they were potentially in enemy territory.
‘I know not if you are lucky or a clever cheat,’ said Osmund as his comrade took another silver penny from him.
‘I am hurt you think such things,’ joked the huscarl. ‘I am as honest as the day is long. Some say I should be in the Church, such is my honesty.’
‘And since when is that evidence of honesty?’ laughed Osmund. ‘Some of the most crooked men I know ply their trade around the churches of England.’
‘That would not be me,’ said the man. ‘I would be the most pious and honest priest ever to walk the roads of England, unless they wanted to play dice, of course.’
Both men laughed but looked up urgently when they heard Godwin calling Osmund’s name.
‘My lords,’ shouted Osmund, seeing Godwin and Harold running from the palace, ‘are you in danger?’
‘No,’ shouted Godwin, ‘but we need to get the horses, quickly.’
‘You heard him,’ shouted Osmund, turning to his men. ‘Get moving.’ He turned back and waited as Godwin and Harold came to a halt. ‘What’s happened,’ he asked, ‘have you been absolved?’
‘Never mind that,’ said Godwin, ‘Robert of Jumièges has abducted Wulfnorth and Hakon and is headed for Dover. We have to get to them before they take ship.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘The children were taken last night, but the archbishop left earlier today. Apparently, he was astride one of the king’s best horses.’
‘It will be difficult to catch him,’ said Osmund, ‘especially with such a head start. I suspect he will not be stopping for much rest.’
‘Neither will we,’ said Godwin. ‘The chances are slim, but we have to try. If they have kept the children in the cart, then we have a chance.’
Osmund nodded and turned to see his men leading their horses out of the stables. ‘Drop all your packs,’ he said, ‘and lighten their loads as much as you can. We need to ride these horses as we have never done so before, to the death if needs be.’
Harold and Godwin walked over to retrieve their own mounts, and as soon as everyone was ready, headed out of the gates east across London.
* * *
Wulfnorth sat on two sacks of hay in the back of a covered cart. Next to him, Hakon lay curled into a ball, frightened and tired after many hours travelling in the wagon. Across from them were the two monks who had dragged them from their temporary home in the Palace of Westminster, one of whom held a single candle, giving just enough light for the monks to see by.
Wulfnorth stared at his captors. He had no idea what was happening but knew he had to do something soon, or their lives were in serious danger.
‘Where are you taking us?’ he asked eventually.
‘Away from here,’ sneered the monk. ‘Somewhere where your unearned station will carry no weight. I think they may even make you work hard for your bread, something your father and brothers never had to do. I would pay a silver penny to see your fingers bleed from pulling rocks from the ground.’
‘And who knows,’ said the second monk, ‘if you do not work hard enough, you may be beaten.’
‘Or killed,’ added his comrade.
Wulfnorth glanced down at his sleeping nephew, not wanting the young boy to be frightened more than he already was.
‘If you release us,’ he said, looking up, ‘I will tell my father that it was you that saved our lives. He will make you a rich man.’
‘I am rich enough,’ said the monk, ‘and can’t think of anything worse than doing the House of Godwin a favour. No, you are coming with us, my friend, but let me make something clear.’ He looked down at the sleeping boy before returning his gaze to Wulfnorth. ‘I have no doubt that you think you can escape. You may even succeed, but let me tell you this – whatever happens, there is no way that little one will get away from us, so if you even try, we will skin him alive. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Wulfnorth, his heart sinking.
‘Good. Shut your mouth, for we have a distance to go.’
* * *
Harold and Godwin rode through the night, stopping only to exchange their horses in a village halfway between London and Dover. As soon as they had made the exchange, they set out again, shoving handfuls of bread and cheese into their mouths as they went. The road was long and hard, but still they pushed on, stopping only to water the horses, knowing that there was the slightest of possibilities that they could at least catch the cart, if not the archbishop.
Finally, night approached again, and though they still had several leagues to go, they pushed their exhausted horses even harder, desperate to reach Dover before it got too dark. They raced up a hill, and Godwin reined in his horse to peer down into the valley below. He lifted the water-skin from his saddle and drank deeply before throwing it over to Harold.
‘My lord,’ shouted Osmund, ‘look there.’
All eyes turned to where the huscarl was pointing, and their hearts soared to see a cart and two riders in the distance travelling along the road towards Dover.
‘That must be them,’ said Harold, ‘thank the Lord.’ He threw the water-skin to one side and, with a kick of his heels, sent his horse galloping down the hill towards the fleeing cart. The men followed close behind, and within minutes bore down on the wagon, their swords already drawn for retribution.
The two riders heard the approach and turned to stare in fear. Realising they had no chance, they immediately threw their swords to one side and held up their hands as the cart master jumped down and started running towards the nearby treeline.
Despite the surrender, Harold was in no mood to talk, and he increased the pace before riding past the first man and smashing him in the jaw with his mailed fist, sending him flying to the floor. Osmund did the same to the second rider before jumping from his horse and marching over to place his boot on his victim’s face, pressing it hard into the dirt.
‘I am going to ask you once and once only,’ snarled Osmund, ‘where is the archbishop?’
‘I know not, my lord,’ the man groaned, ‘only that he was going to join us before boarding a ship to Normandy.’
‘You are lying,’ said Osmund, pressing harder. ‘Tell the truth, or I will kill you right here.’
‘I swear, my lord, we were to transport his personal belongings only and wait at the dockside for him to arrive.’
‘And what about the children?’
‘Lord, I know nothing about any children, we are carrying baggage only. I swear it; take a look inside.’
Osmund turned to stare at the wagon where Godwin was cutting the ties on the canvas covering. Harold joined his father, and they ripped the fabric wide open before Harold climbed inside. A few seconds later, he re-emerged, a look of worry on his face.
‘They are not here,’ he said, ‘they must have been taken off somewhere after leaving London.’ He strode across and placed his blade on the fallen rider’s throat. ‘Where are they?’ he snarled. ‘Tell me, or you die here.’
‘I know not what you are talking about, my lord,’ cried the man, ‘there have been no children aboard the wagon since we left London. All I know is that we were paid a handsome purse to escort this cart to Dover as fast as we could. It has remained sealed all this way, and whatever is inside remains exactly as it was.’
‘What’s in the boxes?’
‘The archbishop’s personal possessions, my lord – that’s what he told us.’
‘Empty it,’ shouted Harold. Some of the men ran over to drag the boxes and sacks out of the wagon. Every one was bound tightly, and the men cut the ropes before emptying their contents onto the floor.
‘My lord,’ shouted one, ‘you should see this.’
Godwin and Harold walked over and stared at the scattered contents in shock. It was no more than piles of cut firewood.
‘We have been duped,’ said Godwin, his heart sinking. ‘The archbishop has tricked us.’
* * *
Just over sixty leagues away in Bristol Harbour, Wulfnorth and Hakon were dragged from the cart, their hands bound before being led onto a dock. Despite the darkness, they could see an unassuming ship being loaded with dozens of boxes.
‘Try anything,’ said one of the monks, ‘and I’ll throw the little one in the sea. Got it?’
Wulfnorth nodded in silence and walked towards the gangplank.
‘Get up there,’ said the monk, following the two boys onto the ship.
As he stepped aboard, one of the crew grabbed Wulfnorth and threw him across the deck to land heavily against the mast. Wulfnorth was temporarily stunned, but as he came to his senses, he realised there was a tall man looking down at him.
‘I know you,’ he said, looking up. ‘When my father finds you, he will rip out your heart.’
‘He has to find me first,’ said Robert of Jumièges. ‘In a few days, I will be safe amongst my allies in Normandy. Say goodbye to England, Wulfnorth Godwinson, for I highly doubt you will ever see her again.’
