The Cunning of the Dove Page 13

  When the court moved down to Cotswold for the winter hunting it was no longer the centre of English government. Godwin ruled, and he preferred to stay near London. The Lady was the only member of her family living permanently with us, and she was quickly on good terms with the King again. During the troubles she had been loyal to her husband. If she had to choose she would support him even against her kin. But now all parties were friendly, on the surface. She had enjoyed her visit to Wilton, and she need never fear a rival. It is astonishing what men will put up with when they have grown used to it; Godwin and the King were now partners, and they managed to rub along.

  About this time we heard that there was one Godwinsson less in the world. News came that Sweyn had perished in a storm, as he journeyed through Greekland on his return from Jerusalem. But in the Holy Sepulchre he had been shriven of all his sins, edifying his companions by the fervour of his contrition. A trader from the east told the story in the King’s hall, and when he enlarged on this contrition there were sniggers. The King silenced the mockery, standing in his place to make a formal pronouncement.

  ‘We are Christians in this hall, and we believe that every man is endowed with free will. We have sinned, and it would be well for all of us to show contrition. Never mock at a penitent sinner. But in this case mockery is not only unseemly, it is mistaken. Sweyn was a man of great fortitude; whatever he set out to do he accomplished. When he raped an abbess, when he murdered his kinsman under truce, he did what he willed without counting the cost. When he journeyed to mourn at the tomb of God do you think he went lightly? He reached Jerusalem, and there his sins were remitted. Perhaps it was God’s mercy that led him astray in that tempest, before he could blacken his soul with further crimes. As things fell out he made a good end, and I shall pray for his soul.’

  This speech pleased the Lady, who loved her brothers; and it made things easier when next Godwin came to court. That was not why the King said it. In matters of religion he spoke his mind fearlessly, however he might compromise in secular affairs.

  There was one secular affair on which the King would not compromise. He had chosen Duke William to be his heir, and he was determined that all the magnates should swear to carry out his will. For the Easter crownwearing of 1053 he assembled all the great men of the south, though Earl Siward and Archbishop Cynesige remained in York. Stigand was with the court, for even after he had seized Canterbury he kept his lawful Bishopric of Winchester; and naturally he felt more at home in the minster which was his by right than in the greater minster he had stolen. The King told me with great delight that he had persuaded Stigand to swear that he would support the claim of Duke William. Stigand had baulked at a public ceremony, but in the King’s chapel he had taken oath with his hand on the gospel.

  My lord was so pleased with this success that I had not the heart to remind him that Stigand would swear anything, in private; but that the oath of a man who had sworn canonical obedience to Archbishop Robert and now wore his lord’s stolen pallium was not worth striving after.

  During Holy Week the King extracted the same oath from Godwin; but again it was sworn in private and therefore unlikely to be kept. Godwin was not quite so unscrupulous as Stigand, and if he had promised publicly shame might have kept him true to his word. But an oath sworn in private could later be denied; and if witnesses came forward to prove it Godwin might plausibly plead that an oath in the King’s chapel, with the King present, had been sworn under duress.

  ‘All the same,’ answered my lord gaily, when I had hinted my doubts, ‘after I am dead these men will have to do as they have sworn. For where else can they find a King? A Dane could not come in, save by bloody conquest. There is no other Cerdinga nearer than Hungary.’

  ‘No, my lord,’ I said to comfort him, ‘there is no other candidate. Duke William must be the next King of the English – if the English have another King,’ I added under my breath.

  After my lord was dead I did not think there would be another King of all the English. Already the country was falling apart, as the great Earls became stronger and the crown weaker. Siward of Northumbria made peace or war without reference to his lord in the south; the men of Lothian, from hatred of the Danes in York, had given their allegiance to the Scots; Chester was as much an outpost of Man or Dublin as a seaport of the northern Angles; English Mercia, jealous of the Danish half of the old province, made overtures to Griffith the King of North Wales. It seemed likely that after the house of Cerdic had passed away Wessex and the Saxon south-east would continue the tradition of the ancient Kingdom of Winchester, while the outlying districts joined up with powers beyond the English border.

  But it was important that King Edward should enjoy peace of mind; for he was a good man, and I loved him. I listened without interruption while he sketched the glorious future of his native land, in which Norman commonsense and efficiency should be blended with the characteristic English mastery of beauty in the arts.

  The famous and terrible judgement of God struck on the Thursday after Easter, the 15th of April 1053. Earl Godwin and his two elder sons, Harold and Tostig, had lingered at court after the rest of the Council had gone home. I can remember it all, for at that famous dinner I was the King’s cupbearer.

  It came about by chance, unless indeed I brought it about. Most unusually, the King called for more wine. It irked him to sit talking to the Godwinssons, and in his nervous irritation he had drained his cup merely to find something with which to occupy his hands. Of course he was not drunk; but normally he drank very little, and thus it happened that the small pitcher I carried must be replenished. When I had walked down the hall to the tapped cask at the far end the butler gave me more wine; but he filled the pitcher overfull, and I had to watch it carefully. I could not look at the floor; so it was that as I stepped on the dais, coming back to the high table, I stumbled and nearly spilled the wine. I managed to change legs like a horse going over a bank, and my pitcher remained upright. I hate making a mistake when I am waiting at table; even a servant has his pride. In my relief at seeing the wine unspilled I exclaimed aloud, though at the high table that was a breach of etiquette.

  ‘Up we go, one brother helping the other,’ I said as my left leg righted the blunder.

  To my amazement, the King answered me. ‘One brother helps the other. Alas, I have no brother to help me. Many years ago poor Alfred was murdered.’ He turned to stare full in the face of Earl Godwin, seated at his left.

  It was a pointed remark, especially as it had nothing to do with what had been said before. It was designed to vex Godwin, and he was vexed.

  ‘My lord,’ he said angrily, ‘I did not murder your brother, even though slander still whispers that I did. Twice I have solemnly cleared myself from the charge, by my oath and the oaths of my helpers. How many more times must I deny it before I am believed?’

  The King shook his head with a sad, sweet smile of resignation which must have been intensely irritating. It showed more clearly than any words that he would continue to believe in Godwin’s guilt, and yet nothing was said which Godwin could answer.

  ‘Very well,’ said the Earl, fuming. ‘This has gone on long enough. Pay attention, all of you.’ He snatched up a little roll of white bread. ‘Now I shall swallow this roll. If I had any guilty part in the death of the atheling Alfred may it choke me, so help me God.’ He glared defiantly at the other great men seated at the high table.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said the King, as calm as if such appeals were heard at every meal. ‘We may as well carry out the rite properly. In the old days there used to be a formal ordeal by bread, as some of you may remember. Before Godwin eats that roll it ought to be blessed, and then we beseech God to come down and do justice. Archbishop, will you perform the blessing?’ He turned to Stigand, who sat in the place of honour at his right.

  Stigand looked uncomfortable. He was Godwin’s man, and he did not care to join in this baiting of his lord. ‘The custom is no longer used,’ he said apologetically. ‘I a
m told that Rome frowns on these ordeals, and indeed it seems presumptuous that Christians should call on God for a miracle whenever it is convenient. I can’t remember the old blessing, and I am not scholar enough to compose a modern version here and now.’

  ‘Ah, the Archbishop scruples to countenance a rite which Rome might view amiss,’ answered the King with heavy irony. The whole world knew that Rome did not recognise Stigand’s promotion. ‘Very well. These ordeals are after all a custom of the laity, which the Church has never encouraged. But we must not disappoint Earl Godwin, who has challenged that piece of bread to be his oath-helper. Since this is a matter for laymen, a layman shall pronounce the blessing. I am the most eminent layman in this hall. Godwin, will you please hand me that roll?’

  Taking the little round loaf in his right hand the King stroked it with a ring that he wore on the middle finger of his left. We all knew this ring, which had been made by one of the great craftsmen of old; the stone had been carved with a figure of St. John the Apostle, and under it was kept a most holy relic. Then he held the roll in his left hand and made the sign of the cross over it, at the same time looking up to Heaven. ‘May God display His power by means of this piece of bread,’ he prayed. ‘For as bread is the support without which men cannot continue in the world, so truth and fairdealing are the supports without which men cannot live justly. Therefore through the power of God bread, though a mere creature, may on occasion uphold truth and fair dealing.’

  Clothed in his robes of state, with his long white hair flowing below the crown and his long white beard covering his breast, the King looked like some great Prophet painted on a church wall. The whole company watched in an awed silence.

  Holding the bread in both hands he turned to Godwin. ‘Take and eat,’ he said solemnly. From another mouth that might have sounded blasphemous; but the King was in earnest and the echo deliberate.

  Godwin looked red and selfconscious. He also looked very angry. He had been trapped into making this exhibition, which could not clear his damaged reputation. In law he had been cleared by his oath and the oaths of his helpers; the fact that he could swallow a mouthful of bread without choking would not convince anyone who still believed him guilty. And of course there was just the bare chance that something might go wrong, for the blessing of King Edward was known to be a thing of power.

  As the Earl crammed the roll into his mouth the King once more sketched the sign of the cross in the air. I was the only man in the hall still looking at the King; then I saw his expression change, as he leaned forward in amazement. Following his eyes, I also stared at Earl Godwin.

  The Earl’s face was purple; on the table his hands clenched themselves into gnarled fists. He leaned forward, then levered himself upright on arms knotted with muscle. For a moment he stood erect, his head thrown back, his fingers clawing at his throat. Then he fell sideways, all in one piece, without any bending at the joints. He seemed to fall from his toes, like a tree felled close to the ground.

  After the crash of that fall there was a moment of awed silence. Then the King spoke cheerfully to Stigand: ‘Well, Archbishop, he asked for the judgement of God, and he got it. The ordeal was his suggestion. I did not force it on him.’

  Harold and Tostig hastened to their father; from the women’s table by the wall the Lady came running. In a moment the prostrate figure was hidden by the group of his children and attendants. I glanced quickly round the hall. The King sat smiling placidly, as though this were an expected event – and a pleasant one. The Archbishop, and the other clerks, were muttering prayers. The lesser courtiers sat straight on their benches, trying to keep all expression out of their faces; as yet they could not tell whether the correct reaction to this catastrophe would be rejoicing or mourning. The captain of the housecarles was very properly hurrying up to the dais; when anything unexpected happened his first duty was to guard the person of the King.

  I slipped from my place to intercept him. ‘Keep an eye on Earl Harold,’ I whispered. ‘He’s Godwin’s heir, and he may think it his duty to exact a life for a life.’ The captain nodded, and went over to join the group round Earl Godwin; unobtrusively he took up a position between Earl Harold and the King.

  Presently Earl Harold straightened up and spoke: ‘My father still breathes, but death cannot be far away. With your permission, my lord, I will take him to his chamber. Perhaps the Archbishop will order a tomb prepared in the Old Minster.’

  ‘Drag out the stinking dog,’ I heard the King mutter under his breath. Then he spoke courteously and aloud: ‘If he still breathes it is right that the Archbishop should shrive him. Carry him away, and do what you can. Dear me, what a sudden and terrible event! There will be great changes now. Earl Harold, when you have taken leave of your father I should like to consult with you in private. Will you come to me in my chamber as soon as is convenient.’

  In his chamber, where only I could see him, the King did not attempt to hide his joy at Godwin’s death. ‘The scoundrel has been punished as he deserved,’ he said gleefully. ‘Mind you, Edgar, I am not rejoicing at his damnation. That would be a terrible thing for any Christian man to do. By the providence of God he may yet creep into Heaven. He was struck down as he boasted of his crimes; but he still lives, and there is time for repentance. There is sure to be a gleam of consciousness before the end, and with all those clerks round him he will die shriven. If for an instant he regrets the murder of my brother Purgatory is the worst that can come to him. There will be Masses for his soul, and we may pray for him without blasphemy.

  ‘And at last I am free of a nagging temptation,’ he went on after a pause. ‘I have never been able to make up my mind about the bloodfeud. My ancestors for the last five hundred years call on me to avenge my murdered brother, and at the same time I know that God has forbidden murder. It was nothing but a quirk of honour that saved me from mortal sin. I used to remind myself that a King cannot engage in a fair fight with his subject; if I had revenged myself on Godwin I should have been crushing an inferior. But the excuse wore thin as he grew more powerful, until if he had continued to prosper I might have arranged to have him stabbed in the back. Now that has been settled for me. Godwin is dead, and all the world will know why he died. Yet my hands are clean of blood.… Now all I have to do is to settle the government of his Earldom. I hope Harold proves reasonable. He’s a bloody pirate, and I shall never forgive his ravaging of Somerset. But I don’t want to make war on him if I can decently avoid it.’

  Soon Earl Harold was announced, and I was sent out of the room while the conference was held in private. But that made no difference, for the King told me all about it as I prepared him for bed that night.

  ‘Harold also has his quirk of honour,’ he said with a sigh of content. ‘He wishes above all things to avoid even the appearance of profiting by his father’s death. He must succeed to Godwin’s Earldom of Wessex; I can’t refuse him that unless I declare him outlaw. But when he takes over the West Saxons he will give up the East Angles. Both together would be too much for any subject. So we have agreed to offer the East Angles to Alfgar, Leofric’s son. When Leofric dies Alfgar will succeed him in Mercia; then East Anglia will be vacant, as promotion for some other promising young nobleman. In the meantime it’s nice to think of all those Danish pirates on the east coast being ruled by a true Englishman. Siward has a son, who must succeed him; but in any case the north goes its own way. A King in Winchester cannot control York. But now we have arranged things so that they will last my time, without danger of civil war.’

  As he got into bed he summed up. ‘Harold will be the greatest man in England, perhaps more powerful than the King. But he has foes among his own house. Tostig hates him, and the Lady sides with Tostig. The Godwinssons are too wicked to remain united. What an exciting day – but on the whole a pleasant one.’

  The King slept like a child.

  6. The Rise of Earl Harold

  The removal of Godwin did not leave so great a gap as might have been expect
ed. Perhaps if the King had tried hard he might now have made himself the real ruler of the English; but he did not try. He had seen, only a year ago, that the thanes of England would not follow him in civil war, and the disappointment had sapped his will.

  In the old days he had refused to admit that Godwin’s power was greater than his own. He had seen himself as the supreme lord, delegating details of administration to a useful servant. He may have wondered from time to time whether he was strong enough to dismiss this useful servant; but after Godwin had failed to keep order in Dover it had turned out to be quite easy.

  Then, only a year ago, the King’s power had melted away as soon as he leaned on it. Never again would he call on his followers to muster in arms; never again would he risk humiliation.

  Therefore Earl Harold stepped without friction into his father’s shoes. He was first in Council, warleader, in peace the dispenser of all civil patronage (for the King himself looked after ecclesiastical appointments). But though Harold wielded all his father’s power he did not, in the summer of 1053, overshadow the King as Godwin had overshadowed him.

  His age made a difference. He was in his early thirties, and I think younger than his sister, the Lady. It may seem to you odd that I cannot be certain on such a point, which must have been well known to many; but I never met the Godwinssons until they were grown up, and a chamberlain cannot ask that kind of personal question. Anyway, Harold was the King’s brother-in-law, and young enough to be his son; which gave him a very different status from that of a father-in-law who was ten years his senior. Harold was also younger than the other two Earls who might in certain circumstances become his rivals; both Siward and Leofric could remember him as a boy. Though he proved ruthless in war he was always pleasant and urbane in Council, and he behaved with great deference to the King. Above all, he could not be blamed for the murder of the atheling Alfred, since in 1036 he had been too young to bear arms.