There was nothing peculiar about the body of King Edward; the strange quality was in his mind. He knew how a Christian man ought to behave, and that was how he wished to behave. As much might be said of many of his subjects; what distinguished King Edward was that he had a will of iron, and did exactly what he had set his mind to do.
It quickly became apparent that there really had been a plot to overthrow the King and bring back the pirate Danes. Great men took fright at the confiscation of the Lady’s treasure; they informed on one another, each explaining that he had not truly assented to the plan but had gone on with it so as not to frighten other conspirators. The King was merciful. No one was executed; a few lords were advised to go abroad, and one or two were exiled in due form. The Lady continued to live in her city of Winchester, the usual residence of a dowager Lady of England. She had received it as morning-gift from both of the Kings of the English whom she had married in succession, Ethelred and Canute. But she lived there quietly, on the rents of her lands; she was not allowed to keep on in her service the old housecarles of Canute, or to spend his royal treasure for her own support.
It seemed to us English pages very odd that anyone in England should wish to bring back the rule of pirate Danes, even though nowadays most of their leaders call themselves Christians. All over the country you could see the scars of Danish burning, and many villages still lay waste after their bloodthirsty massacres. All the same, no one could deny that Canute had been a great King and a good Christian; and all the Earls who ruled under King Edward had been chosen and appointed by Canute. The landowners of East Anglia were of Danish descent, and even at court Danish was spoken as much as English. The greatest lord in the realm, the lord who had placed King Edward on the throne, Godwin Wulfnothsson, was married to a Danish woman of high birth and had first distinguished himself in fighting for the Danes against the savage Wends of the Baltic. Godwin was descended from a noble family among the South Saxons; but he had been trained in administration under Canute, so that he spoke his wife’s tongue more often than his father’s. In any reckoning of the Danish and English parties he must be counted as a Dane.
Yet after King Hardicanute had died childless even Godwin, the Anglo-Dane, had preferred the old English line. There is something special about the descendants of Cerdic. They have been Kings here in Wessex for five hundred years and more; and though the founder of the family boasted himself to be only three generations away from a devil who passed himself off as the heathen god Woden, there have been pious and mighty rulers among them. Canute was a great man, but he stood alone; his sons were as wicked and barbarous as his father.
Of course, while they enjoyed the support of a strong party in England, the pirates must make a try to conquer the land. In the spring of 1044 word came that Magnus of the Norwegians was preparing to invade us. But in those days the English had a mighty fleet, which was gathered at Sandwich to defend our coasts. These were the ships that had once belonged to the great Canute, and though their crews were professional Danish pirates they were loyal by long habit to their English paymasters.
All summer the fleet remained at Sandwich, which was very expensive. But Magnus never came after all, for he was busy fighting rebels at home. By October we knew that there could be no invasion that year, and the ships were laid up for the winter.
In that year my lord did not visit Sandwich to take command of his fleet; the sailors were accustomed to taking orders from Earl Godwin, and the great Earl might have been offended if he had been ousted from command. Besides, the King was not interested in fighting. He left problems of defence to the experienced servants of Canute who advised him on such matters; while he himself managed the affairs of the Church, which he understood better than they.
Even in ecclesiastical affairs Earl Godwin might not be ignored. It seemed almost as though he were the King’s partner in the government of the realm; whenever the King got his way in some matter that displeased the Earl some other appointment must be found for a follower of the house of Godwin. For example, in this very year there was need to appoint a new Bishop of London. I remember King Edward talking about it as we undressed him in the evening. He was so excited by his new plan that he fairly bubbled over with it, and did not care who might overhear him.
‘I have found the very man to be Bishop of London, and what’s even more remarkable is that he’s willing to take on the job. He is a monk, and a devout one; but for the sake of our old friendship he will return to the secular world. As it happens, he is a foreigner, and I’m not sure that he can speak English. But what does that matter? The clergy ought to speak and write in Latin; there has been too much of this writing in the vernacular since my great ancestor King Alfred set the bad example. It’s outlandish and provincial. England is part of the civilised world, and the civilised world thinks in Latin. I’m glad to have the chance to promote a foreigner. It will remind those Danish pirates that learning and true piety come from the south.’
‘Who is this paragon of piety and learning, my lord?’ I asked, just to prove that I had been paying attention.
‘I don’t suppose you have seen him. He was my friend in the days of my exile. He’s a Norman called Robert, at present Abbot of Jumièges. Our friendship doesn’t matter, though I am glad to help an old friend. The principle is the important thing, the principle that the King may search through all Christendom to find worthy rulers for the Church in England.’
‘I suppose some Englishman had been expecting this splendid promotion,’ I said in an expressionless voice. There must have been trouble over the appointment, or the King would not be so pleased at getting his own way.
‘I don’t know about Englishmen,’ the King answered carelessly. ‘Of course Godwin wanted it for one of his Danes. But since he wants everything it’s impossible to satisfy him. For the moment we have done a deal. He agrees that my Robert may have London, on condition that his Stigand is restored to his Bishopric among the East Angles.’
‘His Stigand? I thought he was the trusted adviser of the Lady. When I served in her household he was always running in and out.’
It may seem odd that a young page should talk so to the King his master; but in private my lord liked to hear the frank opinion of his servants.
‘You forget, boy, or perhaps you are too young to remember. There was a time when my mother was the ally of Earl Godwin. Together they put my brother on his throne; it’s only since Hardicanute’s death that they have disagreed. Anyway, Stigand is a Dane, and he got his first preferment from King Canute. So naturally Godwin favours him.’
‘I see, my lord. But though it sounds like a compromise the gain is really yours. Robert of Jumièges is advanced from Abbot to Bishop, but for years Stigand has been Bishop among the East Angles. You arrested him because he gave the Lady bad advice, but no layman can deprive him of his Bishopric.’
‘A very good answer, young Edgar. I’m glad to see you so firmly grounded in the fundamentals of church discipline. Stigand is a Bishop, to all eternity. If he happens to go to Hell he will be a Bishop there, and I am sure the Devil will be proud to meet him. Yes, my unfortunate brother made him a Bishop. But then my brother was not always well advised. We are not a very bright family. Once I had another brother, who ought to be King in my place at this moment. Poor Alfred was my companion in Normandy, and it was always agreed between us that when our chance came he would be King so that I might go into a monastery. He would have been a very good King.’
I tried to comfort my master, who would sometimes pass a restless and wakeful night if he went to bed thinking of Alfred.
‘My lord, the Danes killed him. That is a bereavement we must all endure. Is there an Englishman now living who does not mourn some kinsman slaughtered by those pirates? We owe a duty to the living, and your duty in particular is to keep the Danes out of England. Anyway, it happened a long time ago.’
‘A long time ago to a boy like you. To a man in his forties it seems like yesterday. Yes, my brother was tor
tured by the Danes until he died of it; and that, as you say, is a fate that has befallen many Englishmen. But how did those pirates get their hands on him? It’s pretty evident that he was betrayed by some Englishman. I should like to get to the bottom of the puzzle one day, but I don’t suppose I shall. In a question of that kind those who know the sordid truth will lie on oath, and it is impossible to find out what really happened. Hardicanute inquired into it, and so did I when I first came to the throne.’
I went off to fetch a basin of hot water. I had heard rumours about the fate of the atheling Alfred, but I feared to pass on to the King the suspicion believed by every burgess of Winchester.
My good lord, King Edward, was undisputed King of the English. But during the summer of 1044 everyone could see that the real ruler of the country was Earl Godwin. This was not solely because he had a great force of oath-bound dependants, so that in an emergency as many thanes would follow him as could be found under the royal standard of England. That had something to do with it, of course. But though Godwin was the greatest lord in England he was not greater than all the other lords combined. Siward and Leofric disliked him, and most of the lesser folk would follow the anointed King against any rebel.
No, it was rather that the King would not bother about matters which he himself considered unimportant; while to Godwin, a busy politician, everything was important. King Edward chose his Bishops, and took continuous care for the good order of the Church; he preserved the peace of his realm, against dangerous threats from the northern pirates and the merely tiresome but bloody raids of the Welsh. When he had done that he went to his hunting, or to his prayers. But a great many lesser matters came before the Council. In every shire there must be an Earl or his deputy to preside in the law-court and lead the free men to battle; every landowner who broke the peace must forfeit his land, and this land must then be granted to someone else. All this was the sphere of Earl Godwin. He was a fine speaker, always in control of a naturally easy temper. As a rule he could persuade the Council, and he had a wonderful knack of recognising really stubborn opposition and giving way to it before he had made a determined enemy. When forfeited land must find a new owner, when minor benefices must be distributed among the lesser clergy, Godwin’s friends prospered; month after month the number of his friends increased.
The King did not seem to care; though he never disguised from his intimates that he disliked Godwin as a man. When he really set his mind on anything he could be sure of getting his own way; where he had no strong views Godwin’s energy saved him a great deal of trouble. The King and his greatest subject were not rivals, neither were they ruler and minister; rather were they partners in the business of government. There seemed to be no reason why this partnership should not endure until dissolved by death.
All the same, Godwin already had as much power as any subject should enjoy; and, as I have said, the King disliked him personally. Therefore we were all very surprised when in Advent the King made it known that after Christmas he would marry Godwin’s daughter.
It was always easy to get the King to talk freely while he undressed for bed. The next time I attended him in his bedchamber I made some tentative remark about coming changes; soon, I supposed, the waiting-women of the new Lady would take charge of the royal bedchamber, and if my lord wished to be attended by pages he would have to use a dressing-room. The King answered, with an enigmatic smile:
‘Perhaps my marriage will not make so much difference as you suppose. I don’t like to see women round me when I prepare for sleep. Don’t be afraid that you will lose your post in my household. I shall keep on all my pages. I want you in particular to stay by me. My senior chamberlain is getting old. I inherited him from King Canute, and after such long service I can’t ask him to leave until he is ready. But one of these days he will want to retire, and then I should like you to take his place. You handle my beautiful robes as though you appreciate their worth (and indeed they are very beautiful; English embroidery is the best in the world). I don’t sleep if my nerves are jangled just before I go to bed, and you never jangle them.’
We all knew that the King had lived completely chaste for forty years, and the manner in which he discussed his future brought an odd suspicion into my mind. To find out how the land lay I answered, perhaps with more freedom than a page should use.
‘I am glad to know that I do not upset you, my lord. But after your wedding mine will not be the last face you see before you go to sleep.’
‘Don’t be too sure of that. Years ago, in Normandy, when I was in peril of death and very miserable, I made a private vow of complete continence. God accepted my offering, and in return I have been given safety and prosperity. So of course I must keep my vow for the rest of my life.’
‘But you are going to marry, my lord!’ I said in surprise.
‘Well, what of it? Clerks say that a married man may enjoy his wife in all chastity. Bishop Stigand has explained it with a great many quotations from the Fathers and instances from canon law; I can trust his theology, even though I deplore his politics. But that wasn’t what I meant when I bound myself by my vow. I offered complete continence, and God has requited me. I wish I could have taken the full vows of a monk, for the life of the cloister appeals to me. But as my father’s heir I have a part to play in the world, and that refuge is forbidden to me. I would have been a contented monk. Do you think I would have been a holy one?’ he added with a smile.
It crossed my mind that a monk would not be able to spend six hours every day hunting or pottering about with hounds and hawks. There are a few abbots who behave so, but they are denounced by all earnest reformers. If he could have given up the pleasures of the chase the King would have made a very good monk indeed, and I said so. Since he seemed in the mood to discuss his private affairs I went on to ask: ‘Is your bride aware of your resolve my lord? It will be hard on her if she is trapped into a virgin marriage without knowing what kind of life she will lead.’
‘I have explained everything to little Edith. She doesn’t mind. She is a nice little girl, young enough to be my daughter. Her only faults are ambition and pride, and you can’t expect her father’s daughter to be humble. She wants to be Lady of England, so that she can go through doors in front of all the other girls who were her school-fellows at Wilton convent. She doesn’t want a white-haired middle-aged bedfellow. She won’t miss my company at night, and she is honourable enough to behave as my wife should behave. It will work out very well, depend on it, and after I am married my Councillors can’t pester me by choosing rows of suitable young women for me to marry.’
‘Does Earl Godwin know your intentions?’ I asked with interest. Like most Englishmen, I disliked that imitation Dane. I hoped that the King was planning to make a fool of him in public as a preliminary to stripping him of his lands and honours; nothing weakens a great man so much as ridicule.
‘I haven’t told him, but perhaps Edith has. I didn’t ask her to keep it a secret. Soon all the court will know. Whether he knows now or not, when the time comes he will take it peacefully. He is not making plans for the future of England after he is dead. He wants to keep power while he lives. He also wants to see his children provided for in his lifetime. Now a daughter of his will be Lady, which means that she will be rich until she dies; and I can’t be seduced into marriage with someone else, perhaps a supporter of a rival house. At the wedding feast I shall promote his sons and kindred; it would look odd if I didn’t. If he longs for grandchildren his sons will provide them. In fact, though they are still bachelors, I believe they have already done so.’
The King climbed into bed, and as usual continued his discourse.
‘Nobody likes Godwin, and certainly I don’t. But that doesn’t mean that I am plotting to destroy him. I am not responsible for him. When I was made King I found him here, the greatest man in England, jutting out above the other Earls like a high mountain. He is a feature of the landscape, and I must accept him just as I accept the river Severn. That r
iver is a nuisance, making it hard to reinforce the garrisons on the Welsh border. Godwin also is a nuisance, but I must never forget to take him into account. If he should choose to make war on me it would be an even fight. I might win or I might lose. But so long as I let him have what he wants he will be loyal, and luckily what he wants I do not. He wants a great deal of land and a great deal of money; in England there is enough for us both. Even if I took Godwin’s wealth from him I would not be able to keep it for myself. What he has is the rightful emolument of an Earl, though his Earldom is much too big. If I gave his offices to others they would need the land also. No, Godwin may remain my chief minister, so long as he is willing to serve me as King. In the meantime I shall promote each of his sons as they grow old enough to hold power. That will please him. But in the long run it will weaken him. That family is too numerous, and too wicked, to remain united after all the sons are great men.’
The King’s muttering died into silence as he fell asleep.
In January 1045 the marriage between Edward the King and Edith the daughter of Earl Godwin was celebrated with great splendour. The new Lady received the city of Exeter as her morning-gift, and it was understood that she would succeed to all the other customary endowments of the Lady of England when the Old Lady, Emma the King’s mother, should come to die. In addition her kin received many favours. Her eldest brother, Sweyn, was already an Earl; during the marriage feast the same dignity was conferred on her second brother, Harold, and on her cousin Beorn. You could hardly move in the hall without stumbling over a Godwinsson; all that numerous family hung round the source of royal bounty.
The Cunning of the Dove Page 4
