Godwin and his Danish wife had produced six sons, and another daughter besides Edith the Lady. You could pick them out in any crowd, for they had the dashing, careless, pleasant air of young people who have been born to greatness and know that no stroke of fate can harm them. They were so certain of their superiority to the rest of the human race that they could afford to be cordial to their inferiors. But both in body and mind they differed greatly from one another.
Sweyn was pure Danish pirate, all the more dangerous because he possessed such a great measure of the family ease and charm. He was not bloodthirsty or actively cruel; but you could sense that he was utterly ruthless, and would kill men by thousands if their death would increase his comfort in the slightest degree. He was said to be a competent warrior, which was why he had been given an Earldom on the frontier of the unsubdued Welsh; but though he prided himself on his skill in war he was even more proud of his record as a seducer of virtuous women. In spite of his faults there was something attractive about him; you guessed that underneath he had some greatness of soul, and that if he would only serve some worthy cause he might die for it herocially.
You all know about Harold, the second son. In those days he was perhaps the least remarkable of the brothers. He was efficient and well-mannered, and even in youth he had gained a reputation as an eloquent speaker. He was very handsome: tall, with masses of fair hair and a fine moustache which stuck out so fiercely that you could see it as plainly from behind as from in front. But he seemed slow and cautious, at least when compared with the other members of his fiery family; a wily politician and a clever administrator like his father, not a stark hero like the brothers on each side of him. At this feast he was given the great post of Earl over the East Angles. The Danes of those parts were pleased to be governed by such a competent ruler, and he proved to be as strenuous and just as had been expected of him.
Tostig, the third brother, had the most vivid personality in the family. As yet he was too young to be granted an Earldom, but he was old enough to sit at the high table during the marriage feast. He was as dark as Harold was fair, but in other respects just as handsome: tall and strong, with the figure of a warrior. He talked much of the need for justice in government. Of course he was trying to prove to the King that he also was worthy of a great Earldom, but it was impossible to doubt his sincerity. He was in love with justice; but because he was a typical Godwinsson he would all his life be a stranger to mercy.
The three younger boys, Gyrth, Leofwin and Wulfnoth, were too small to sit down with grown men at the feast. They were present in the hall, so that the great men of England should get to know them; but no one would suggest that they should be made into Earls until they were very much older.
To complete the list I must mention Gunhild, the younger sister of the Lady; she was not at the wedding, being still too young for public functions. Later I saw her once or twice, but she never played any part in political affairs. She was not at all a typical member of the family, being pious and virtuous. She never married, and I believe she is at present living in a convent in Bruges, that haven of English exiles.
Young Beorn counted as a member of the family, since he was a nephew of Gytha, Godwin’s wife. Though in fact he was a Dane on both sides of the family, while his cousins had only a Danish mother, by some odd chance he looked more English than they. He was a nice, shy, brave young man, who behaved honourably and expected honourable behaviour from others. It would be an absurd exaggeration to say that he was too good for this world, but perhaps he was too straightforward for English political life; later it proved to be quite easy to murder him.
All these young men were delighted to feast at the court which their elder sister ruled as Lady. But it did not take me long to observe that the Lady did not like all her kin, and that the brothers themselves were at enmity. Tostig was Edith’s favourite, as later he became the King’s. His manners were charming, he was not so proud as other members of his house, and in addition his private life was chaste. But if Tostig was the favourite that meant that Sweyn and Harold must be jealous of their junior. Harold was more than jealous. He hated his brother.
The King was the first to observe it. He hardly knew the young men, but sometimes very good men are granted unusual insight into the souls of the wicked. While I carried another pitcher of wine to the high table I saw Harold and Tostig scuffling together, down on the floor under the benches. Harold had just been made an Earl, so that he should have behaved with decorum; but he was very young for his great position, and Tostig was still a boy. I was told they had fallen out because Tostig had grabbed some dainty which had been served to his elder brother. Perhaps their behaviour was unseemly, especially in the presence of the King; but it was not really extraordinary on the part of the two lusty youths.
The whole company were surprised when the King sternly ordered them to withdraw, and not to appear before him until they had been reconciled; it seemed to be making too much of mere highspirited foolishness. Immediately the young men apologised to the King and to one another; soon they took their places at the table again.
At last the banquet ended. It was long after dark and a great deal had been eaten, but no one had taken too much to drink. Nowadays these lengthy feasts have gone out of fashion, and I must explain that they were not crude drinking-bouts. When our modern French lords meet to discuss matters of state they gather on horseback in the open air; the English custom was to sit on benches in the hall, with the long table in the midst covered with drinking-horns. Good manners demanded the presence of plentiful wine and ale; but the lords were there to discuss important business, not to see who could empty the most flagons. It was usual for great men to go away sober, after sitting at the board for a full six hours.
When the King withdrew after the wedding feast I had already done a long day’s work. But the crisis was still to come. According to custom I waited in the King’s chamber, to prepare him for bed; meanwhile waiting-women escorted the bride to the Lady’s chamber, at the far end of a long passage. Would the wedded pair separate for the night without any public explanation? And if so would the great house of Godwin take it meekly?
All passed off quietly. No one waited to help the bride undress, or to entertain the happy couple with music. Privately the King’s vow had been explained to all the Councillors, and they knew in advance how he meant to conduct his married life.
As the King got ready for bed he hardly discussed his marriage. For the first time he had seen the whole Godwin family together, and his bride was not the member of it who had made the deepest impression.
‘I shall get along all right with the Lady,’ he said easily. ‘She’s a pretty, modest little thing, and already she regards me as a father. I can’t imagine how such a nice girl can come from that frightful kindred. Did you notice young Harold and that brother of his, Tostig is it, as they quarrelled in my presence tonight? Ostensibly they were squabbling over a sugarloaf. But I could see their eyes, and there was murder in them. Those brothers hate one another as Cain hated Abel. If I hadn’t checked them at once there might have been blood spilled in the King’s hall, and a heavy fine to pay for a breach of the King’s special peace. And all the time their fool of a father looked on with an indulgent smile, pleased that his stalwart sons could wrestle so strenuously. Godwin is a clever politician; but where his own family is concerned he is blinded by affection. Well, today’s marriage should have pleased him, and for the next few months he will be in a good temper.’
Tired after long ceremonial, the King soon went to sleep.
We of the household had feared the coming of the Lady; either she would displace us to make way for dependants of her own, or at least as a new broom she would make us all work harder. But the Lady Edith was a darling, and we soon grew fond of her. She fitted very well into our celibate way of life, and did not attempt tiresome innovations. She was beautiful, but in a nun-like comforting way. After all, if she had wanted a husband and children the daughter of such a p
owerful Earl would not have remained unmarried until she was more than twenty years old. She had a filial affection for the nominal husband who was old enough to be her father, and she was content to remain a virgin all her life. She was naturally devout, pleased to accompany the King to great ceremonies of the Church. Hunting did not amuse her, and in the afternoons she occupied herself with embroidery, in which she was expert; but whenever the King invited her to discuss affairs of state she could discuss them intelligently. She was merciful, and generous to the poor servants of God. The saying soon got about that she was the rose on the Godwin thorn tree, and all the more gentle for coming from such a spiky stock.
That summer there died Bishop Britwold of Wilton, a very holy man. Soon after a story became current which did much to explain the King’s vow of continence. It is not the kind of thing that anyone can prove, but I believe it because it fits in with so many other things. It seems that long ago, when Sweyn and his pirates were laying waste the country, the holy Bishop Britwold was granted a miraculous vision. He saw God enthroned in Heaven, and St. Peter presenting before Him a young man who was destined to be King of the English. God had chosen him specially for this office, and he would enjoy a long and prosperous reign; but there was one condition, he must remain continent all his life. Britwold knew, by divine inspiration, that the young man was Edward son of Ethelred, then an obscure exile in Normandy. In the vision the young man accepted the condition. But of course it worried him, as it would worry any conscientious King; if he must die childless, how could he arrange a peaceful succession to his throne? St. Peter answered his doubts in striking fashion. ‘The Kingdom of the English is God’s,’ said he. ‘After you are dead God will provide for Himself another King pleasing to Him.’
And thus it happened, though at that time no human prudence could have foreseen it. For when Britwold saw the vision the heathen Danes had conquered England, and Sweyn had a flourishing family to succeed him. But God blotted out the whole line of Canute. Edward, without any effort on his part, was called from poverty-stricken exile to be King, the first King within living memory who received the crown by the unanimous desire of his subjects and did not have to fight a rival for it.
At first Bishop Britwold kept this vision a secret; to mention it would be to set even more Danish assassins on the trail of the exile in Normandy. But he lived to see it fulfilled, and knew it for a true revelation from God. Therefore during his last illness he told the whole story to a holy hermit, and bade him publish it abroad as soon as he was dead.
Now everyone knew that King Edward would be the last of his line, and there was great speculation about the successor whom God had promised to choose for him. I suppose at that time Earl Godwin expected that he would be able to nominate this successor, and that was why he remained faithful to the King he had set up. He was at least ten years older than Edward, but he might reasonably expect to survive him; since the days of the great Alfred very few of the house of Cerdic have lived to see fifty years. But God had promised a long reign to Edward his faithful servant.
To succeed Britwold as Bishop in Wilton the King appointed a holy man from oversea, Hermann of Lotharingia; he ruled in Wilton for many years, and reformed his church after the best Continental models. But, as usual, when the King appointed a holy man from oversea for no other reason than his piety, the magnates led by Godwin insisted that this should be balanced by the promotion of some Englishmen who could do useful service to the secular state. About the same time Aldred, a Mercian, was made Bishop of Worcester. He was a clerk of blameless life, or the King would not have granted him the Bishopric; but he was better known as a skilled diplomatist, who could reconcile warring chiefs even while they marched at the head of their armies. In later years he had plenty of scope for his peculiar talent.
3. Sweyn Godwinsson
In those days, when the King was active and spent long hours in the saddle every day, his court seldom stayed very long in one place. This was partly because much of the royal revenue was paid in kind, and it is easier to go to the corn and beef than to bring foodrents long miles to a distant kitchen; but even more because the King’s strenuous hunting soon cleared the neighbourhood of game, and to enjoy good sport he must move to another forest.
I have never considered riding at full gallop among thorn trees a rational amusement for a grown man. Any member of the household was welcome at the royal hunt, where to drive the deer needed many willing helpers; I could have taken part if I had wished, but I did not wish. Occasionally, especially in wet weather, I would go out with a dry cloak and dry boots, so that the King should not take cold on his ride home; but that was all I saw of the royal sport. So I cannot state of my own knowledge that King Edward was a courageous and skilful horseman and a master of the intricate lore of kennel and mews; but that was the judgement of those who understood such things.
Although we travelled a great deal, we did not journey all through England. The special homeland of the house of Cerdic is Wessex; we seldom left it except to go to London, which is so populous and turbulent that any competent ruler must visit it frequently. The normal routine was for the King to wear his crown in Gloucester for Christmas, in Winchester for Easter, and in London for Pentecost. Between times we would travel slowly through the forests that border Cotswold, which the King preferred for his hunting. He never in his life went north of the river Trent, and only the threat of invasion could bring him to Kent or Sussex; Wessex was his home.
There is always trouble on the northern border of England, where the King of the Scots disputes the boundary. The north-west is exposed to raids from the Danish pirates of Dublin. But the Anglo-Danes of the north are nearly as savage as their heathen cousins, and they preferred to conduct their own affairs without intervention from civilised Wessex. Earl Siward understood pirates, since he was himself of pirate stock; he could cope with his neighbours, and we left him to do so.
In Gloucester we were very near to the other hostile neighbours of England, the thieving and treacherous Welsh. They will never make a firm peace with us, because for the last five hundred years we have been driving them westward (they used to celebrate Easter on the wrong date, and tonsure their priests from ear to ear; so they deserve all the misfortunes that have befallen them). Gloucester and Hereford are outposts of civilisation very close to these barbarous cattle-thieves. The King charged himself personally with the defence of this menaced border.
In the year 1046 the Welsh were more threatening than usual. Normally these dangerous robbers fight as much among themselves as against their more civilised neighbours, so that it is possible to hire one petty chieftain to attack another. But in the spring of that year, after several complicated campaigns, all Wales was divided between two rulers only; most tiresomely, both were named Griffith, though they were not related.
King Griffith of the North had been fighting successfully against the men of Chester, who are a mixture of Mercian and Anglo-Danes and Danes from Ireland; he had conquered a part of their land, and settled his Welshmen to farm it. But King Griffith of the South had been raiding towards Hereford, and that was much more serious; for though Hereford lies in Mercia it is not far from the boundary of Wessex. So Bishop Aldred of Worcester, that cunning diplomatist, devised one of his strokes of policy. He suggested that the King of the North should be invited to visit King Edward at Gloucester; during this friendly visit he should be recognised as rightful lord of his conquests near Chester, which might just as well be held by Welshmen as by Irish-Danes only one generation removed from heathendom. In return he would recognise Edward as lord of all the lesser Kings in Britain, as many Welsh rulers had done before him; and when he had gone back to his mountains he would lead his men against the really troublesome King of the South, in alliance with an English army.
Bishop Aldred could generally persuade people to agree to his treaties, though whether these treaties were well contrived in the first place was another matter. King Griffith duly came to Gloucester and knelt at t
he feet of his suzerain; a small English army was gathered to co-operate with him, led by young Sweyn Godwinsson. This gave the lad a chance to prove himself in a campaign where defeat would not menace any vital English interest. Everyone was satisfied except the displaced landowners of Chester, who were of Danish descent and so did not much matter anyway.
King Edward took the opportunity of this visit by a prominent under-King to organise a grand hunt. I remember this hunt particularly, though I was not present; for in the course of it there took place an incident which displayed more than one side of my lord’s fascinating character.
The purpose of the hunt was not merely pleasure; with so many eminent guests to be fed the royal kitchen needed fresh venison. Therefore all the deer in a large wood were to be driven by hounds and beaters into an enclosure of nets; the King would have the sport of hunting his pack until the enclosure was reached, and then the great men would fall on the trapped deer with arrows and javelins. If everything worked out according to plan all the deer in that particular forest would be slain.
Everything did not work out according to plan, because a small farmer wished to preserve the game in his native woods. While no one was looking this man made a gap in the nets, so that many of the deer escaped to his land. When the King came up, blowing his horn among the hounds he loved, he saw the day spoiled and lost his temper.
I heard all about it from those who were present. The King had a very hot temper, like all the race of Cerdic; he was in a towering rage as he stormed at the miserable peasant who had wrecked his hunt. ‘By God and His mother,’ he shouted, ‘one day I shall repay this injury – if I get the chance.’
The Cunning of the Dove Page 5
