The Challenges of a King, page 13
‘There are over a dozen ships there,’ said Beorn at Harold’s side, ‘but none show colours. Do you think any of them are Sweyn’s?’
‘There is only one way to find out,’ said Harold. ‘We need to go down there and ask.’
‘Wait,’ said Beorn, ‘those ships will not be going anywhere soon; there are still several hours before high tide. I suggest we find somewhere to stable the horses and get something to eat before we go looking for him.’
‘These are my father’s lands,’ said Harold, ‘and he holds a trading house near the docks to collect the taxes on any trading ships. It is run by a man called Jackson – we can go there.’
Beorn agreed, and within fifteen minutes, they rode through a pair of enormous gates into a busy courtyard piled high with barrels and crates. Several rough-looking men left what they were doing and walked over to stand before the riders, most carrying iron crate-levers, and everyone had long daggers hanging ominously from their belts.
‘Hold there, stranger,’ said the largest of the men – a huge, bearded brute wearing a bloodstained leather apron over his jerkin. ‘What business do you have here?’
‘Who is in charge of this place?’ asked Beorn, not intimidated in the slightest. ‘Point me towards your master.’
‘That would be me,’ said the man, ‘and I suggest you curb your manner while you are within these walls. Either that or lose your teeth.’
‘If you are the master,’ said Beorn, ‘then your name would be Jackson, is that correct?’
‘It may be,’ said the man, ‘but I still do not know your name or your business, so spit it out before I set my boys upon you.’
‘If you are truly Jackson,’ said Harold at Beorn’s side, ‘then there should be no need for introductions, for surely you would recognise the man who once drank your ale, kissed your woman and stole your best knife?’
‘Nobody has ever done any of those things to Jackson and still walks without a stick,’ said one of the other dockers.
‘One man has,’ said the first man, ‘and if I recall, he had not even reached his tenth birthday. Isn’t that right, master Harold?’
‘It is,’ said Harold with a laugh, ‘and I still remember having to hide from you for a month to avoid a beating. How are you, old friend?’
‘Old is the correct word,’ said Jackson, walking over to reach up and take the earl’s wrist in friendship. ‘Look at you, that cheeky little scoundrel who raised my ire at every opportunity seems to have all grown up.’
‘I have,’ said Harold, ‘and alas, with age comes responsibility. I find myself in need of your help.’
‘Just say it, and it shall be yours,’ said Jackson. ‘Your father is a good lord, and every man here is a loyal servant.’
‘We seek food and shelter,’ said Harold, ‘for the horses and for us. One night, two at most. Can you help us?’
Jackson turned to face his gathering men.
‘This man is Harold Godwinson,’ he announced, ‘and is to be treated as if he is the king himself. What he wants, he gets, and if anyone so much as looks at him the wrong way, they will have me to deal with, understood?’
The tension eased in the courtyard and the dockers returned to their duties, unpacking crates from the many ships in the harbour.
‘There is nowhere here for your horses,’ said Jackson, ‘but there are stables down the road. Take them down there and mention my name; they will be well looked after. Once done, return here, and we will see about finding you some quarters.’
Harold nodded and turned his horse to lead his men back out of the gate.
‘I do not think I would like to cross him in an ale-fuelled fight,’ said Beorn as they rode. ‘It looks like he can handle himself.’
‘He is the best fighter I have ever seen,’ said Harold. ‘My father once had to set six of his best men on him with wooden staves to beat him senseless after he wrecked a tavern and knocked a dozen men down.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘My father paid for the damage and gave every man hurt in the fight ten silver pennies not to report him to the reeve.’
‘The earl must have thought a lot of him.’
‘He did and still does. Jackson’s loyalty is unbreachable; he would lay down his life for my father if the circumstances demanded.’
They carried on down the road and stabled their horses before heading back up to the compound.
‘Up here,’ shouted a voice as they walked through the gate. They looked up to see Jackson peering down from a hay platform sticking out from the upper floor. They entered the building and made their way through a maze of crates before climbing a ladder onto the next level. Once again, the floor was covered with cargo, and they wound their way through to the rear where several men were moving sacks of grain to create a cleared space.
‘Will this do?’ asked Jackson, looking around. ‘There is plenty of room and the roof is sound.’
‘This is fine for the men,’ said one of the huscarls, ‘but perhaps you can find better lodgings for the earl?’
‘An earl now, is it?’ laughed Jackson. ‘Not bad employment for a snotty-nosed rascal, even if I say so myself.’
‘Curb your tongue,’ growled the huscarl, ‘lest I cut it from your mouth.’
‘Enough,’ laughed Harold. ‘Jackson has a way with words, and if you do not like them, I suggest you stay well clear, for he does not change his manner for man or beast.’
‘But my lord,’ said the huscarl, ‘he was insulting.’
‘He was just telling the truth,’ said Harold, ‘for as I recall, I was indeed a snotty-nosed rascal. Anyway, there is no need for separate lodgings, we will bed down here with the men. But first, we need to talk.’
* * *
Back in Westminster, the king walked around the gardens with the Bishop of London, his mood still sour after the meeting with Godwin.
‘I am at a loss what to do,’ said Edward. ‘I am the King of England, yet find my path dictated by a family who, less than a generation ago, were probably thegns at best. Why can I not rid myself of this burden?’
‘I fear that the problem may be deeper than you think,’ said the bishop, ‘and if you are not careful, it could result in your worst nightmare.’
‘Which is?’ asked the king.
‘That upon your demise, the crown of England could sit upon the head of Godwin himself.’
The king stopped walking and stared at the bishop with surprise.
‘What are you talking about?’ he said. ‘He is not royal born and has no claim to the throne.’
‘Ordinarily, I would agree with you,’ said the bishop, ‘but we must examine the facts more closely. First of all, you have no heir and are unlikely to have one with Ealdgyth if the current state of affairs continues as it is.’
‘She will bear no child of mine,’ said the king, ‘of that I am certain.’
‘In that case, we must consider the alternatives. Either you must have a child with another woman out of wedlock, which, of course, would be disapproved of by the Church, or you have to accept that when you die, there will be a gathering of the Witan where your successor will be discussed and agreed upon. If that happens, I would suggest that Godwin of Wessex has enough support to potentially press a claim. He also has many allies within the Church who will be keen to support his case. The throne is indeed at very great risk.’
‘So, what are my options?’
‘I see only three,’ said the bishop. ‘The first is to sire a child with Ealdgyth. But even if the union were blessed with a son, it would still mean that Godwin’s heir would inherit the throne.’
‘That is not going to happen,’ said Edward.
‘In that case, you could divorce Ealdgyth and replace her with someone more suitable. That way, there would be no problem with the succession, should your new bride have children.’
‘Divorce her on what grounds?’
‘I have to admit that I have no answers,’ said the bishop, ‘but I am sure that if you come up with something, we will be able to find people willing to testify as witnesses. For a price, of course.’
‘Reverend father,’ said the king, ‘despite the unpleasant situation I find myself in, I will not forge my legacy with untruths. What is the third option?’
‘The last resort is for you to nominate a successor while you are still alive and deal with the Witan as and when the inevitable objections arise.’
‘And do you have any suggestions as to who this successor should be?’
‘Two spring to mind,’ said the bishop. ‘The first is Edward Ætheling, son of King Edmund Ironside. His pedigree is impeccable, and as his father once ruled England, he has just as strong a case as any.’
‘I admit, his name has come to mind on several occasions,’ said the king, ‘but the last I heard of him, he was enjoying the patronage of the Prince of Kiev.’
‘He is indeed,’ said the bishop, ‘and Yaroslav the Wise places great favour upon him, so we would have to be careful in revealing our thoughts too early lest Yaroslav sees the proposition as an opportunity to gain influence. To that end, we would first have to be sure that Edward Ætheling was committed to England and not Kiev.’
‘And how would we do that?’
‘By inviting him here as an honoured guest and spending time with him. Even then, he could ultimately maintain his loyalties to Yaroslav, so we would have to be careful.’
The king walked a few more paces, deep in thought.
‘And the second candidate?’ Edward asked.
‘You will probably find the second option far more agreeable,’ said the bishop. ‘I suggest that you consider the son of Robert of Normandy.’
Again, the king stopped and stared at the bishop.
‘Are you suggesting William the Bastard as the future King of England?’
‘Why not?’ said Bishop Robert. ‘He is strong, ambitious and enjoys the patronage of King Henry of France. I know you have had personal dealings with him before coming to England, and I have been led to believe that you got on very well.’
‘Indeed I did,’ said the king, ‘he is an impressive young man. I have to admit it is an intriguing proposition, not least because his ambition knows no bounds, and I have no doubt that England will eventually become an attractive prize, should we ever lower our guard. An alliance with him and the King of the Francs could secure our safety for generations.’
‘Then is it not better that such a thing is discussed now while you are alive instead of it being decided over your grave?’
‘I will give it some thought,’ said the king. ‘But overall, I am tilting towards agreement. This has been a very interesting conversation.’
‘It was my pleasure, my lord.’
* * *
Back in Hampton, Harold Godwinson sat at an upturned barrel along with Beorn and Jackson, sharing a flask of ale with them. The rest of the men had bedded down amongst the stores to try to catch up with some much-needed sleep.
‘So,’ said Jackson, pouring the ale with a poorly hidden amused smile. ‘What brings you back to Hampton, my lord? I am assuming it is about your brother?’
‘You know about Sweyn?’ asked Harold.
‘We may not be privy to courtly politics down here,’ said the docker, ‘but news travels fast, and when he was exiled, he hired ships from this very harbour.’
‘I thought he sailed from Bristol,’ said Beorn.
‘He may have, but he also hired a dozen ships from here to bolster his arrival in Flanders. Now the word is that he has returned with that fleet and seeks redemption.’
‘Is he here now?’ asked Beorn. ‘Are those his ships in the harbour?’
‘Some are,’ said Jackson, ‘at least six. He, however, sailed straight back out again as soon as he had taken on fresh supplies.’
‘Damn,’ said Harold, sitting back, ‘we missed him.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Jackson, ‘for he left instructions for his fleet to be resupplied and prepared for sea. It seems he intends on going somewhere pretty soon.’
‘Where is he now?’ asked Harold.
‘There are rumours that he has sailed for Bristol, something about a woman waiting for him, but more than that, I do not know.’
‘Surely he has not come back for Eadgifu,’ said Beorn, turning to face Harold. ‘He invites certain death by doing so.’
‘Not even he is that stupid,’ said Harold. He turned back to Jackson. ‘Do you know when he will return?’
‘His crews expect to sail in seven days,’ said Jackson, ‘so it could be anytime between now and then.’
‘If we decide to wait,’ said Harold, ‘do you have quarters for the men?’
‘They are welcome to stay here,’ said Jackson, ‘though there are two alehouses in the town who will offer a bed and a hot meal in return for a coin.’
‘Here is fine,’ said Harold, turning to Beorn. ‘What do you think?’
‘We have come all this way,’ said Beorn, ‘we may as well stay.’
‘So be it,’ said Harold, turning back to face Jackson. ‘Thank you, my friend, your offer is gratefully accepted.’
Chapter Fifteen
Brionne, Normandy, March, AD 1049
Across the channel, the Duke of Normandy sat before a fire in a house in Brionne. Since his victory at the Battle of Val-ès-Dunes near Caen two years earlier, his forces had besieged his opponent, Guy of Burgundy, in his castle. While it had been a long and costly siege, at last it seemed Guy was prepared to discuss terms of surrender.
At William’s side, sharing a large jug of ale, sat Alan Rufus, or Alan the Red as most people knew him, first Lord of Richemont in Rouen. Alan was a valued ally and enjoyed a close and trusted friendship with William, much to the dismay of those who desired influence with the duke.
As they sat discussing the strategy of the following day’s meeting with Guy of Burgundy, a servant entered bearing a message on a silver platter.
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘my apologies, but you asked to be informed when you received a reply from Bruges.’
‘About time,’ said William, walking over to the servant before taking the document and tearing open the seal. He picked up a candle and held it up to the letter. For a few moments he read in silence, his manner calm, but Alan the Red could see the tell-tale signs in the Duke’s face – he was about to explode.
‘Thank you,’ Alan said to the servant quickly, ‘you may leave.’
‘The messenger is waiting for a reply,’ said the servant, ‘shall I tell him to wait?’
‘Make sure he is fed and has a bed,’ said Alan. ‘The duke will respond in the morning.’
‘No,’ snapped William, ‘tell him to leave. I will respond when I am good and ready.’
The servant left the room, and Alan Rufus carried over the duke’s drink.
‘Bad news, my lord?’ he asked.
‘Aye,’ said William, ‘you could say that. That damned woman in Bruges not only has the audacity to refuse my proposal but also takes delight in questioning my suitability as a spouse due to my parentage.’
‘It is well known she has a feisty and somewhat haughty spirit,’ said Alan, ‘and despite her undoubted beauty, I have always worried about your fascination with her. You could have any woman you want, yet you choose to pursue a wildcat.’
‘A wildcat with a bottomless purse and a list of powerful allies,’ said William. ‘This is not the end of the matter, Alan, I will not accept no for an answer. But prior to that, she needs to be brought down from her haughty perch.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Show her and her father exactly who they’re dealing with.’
‘But what about the meeting with Guy?’
‘He has held out for two years,’ said William, ‘another few days won’t hurt. Tell the stables to prepare the horses, my friend. Tomorrow morning we are going to Bruges.’
* * *
Harold and Beorn sat in a crowded tavern near the harbour. Woodsmoke filled the room, and already there had been two fights, both over ownership of the fleeting affections of one of the many whores who stalked the streets looking for the next customer. The room was stuffy and smelled bad, but the ale was plentiful and the food hearty.
‘How do you think your father is going to react when he finds out about Sweyn?’ asked Beorn, dipping a chunk of bread into a bowl of pork stew.
‘He already knows,’ said Harold, ‘and was summoned to court by the king a few days ago, but I know not the outcome.’
‘I think he will be supportive,’ said Beorn.
‘As do I,’ said Harold, ‘though why I do not know. All his life Sweyn has been nothing but trouble.’
‘He is still the firstborn,’ said Beorn, ‘that counts for a lot.’
‘Aye, it does, and it irks me sometimes that everything my father has built these past twenty years will eventually go to Sweyn to manage.’
‘Do you covet that succession?’
‘Not in the way that you think,’ said Harold. ‘Only in as much as I have no doubt Sweyn will ensure it all comes crashing down.’
‘A lot can happen between now and then,’ said Beorn, ‘not least the fact that he will first have to be pardoned by the king. Somehow I cannot see that happening anytime soon.’
They continued to eat until one of their men walked in. After seeing them sitting in the corner, he hurried over.
‘My lords,’ he said, ‘I have news. Two ships are waiting to enter the port, and I have been informed that one of them belongs to Sweyn.’
‘About time,’ said Harold pushing away his bowl and getting to his feet. ‘You know my brother, do you not?’
‘I do, my lord.’
‘Good. Then wait for him to appear on the dock and bring him to the warehouse.’
