‘And now that foolish greedy Count of Flanders has spoiled everything, by permitting savage pirates to sell their plunder in his markets. It is nearly always wrong to make war on the Emperor, the sword of Christendom; Count Baldwin actually sacked Aachen, as though to insult the memory of the great Charlemagne. Now he is the ally of pirates. I wanted to sail straight away to ravage his lands. But my foolish Council fears to mix in such a dangerous quarrel, and the great navy I inherited from Canute, the finest navy ever seen in the Narrow Seas, is to sit idle while pirates sell the stolen goods of Englishmen in a Christian market. It makes me despair. While I live I shall work to keep my country civilised, but after my death will come disaster.’
Throughout this long tirade I kept silent, thankful that the King spoke such dangerous words only to me. I agreed with nearly all he said, save that the Earls Harold and Beorn had done me no harm that I knew of and did not deserve to be called bloody. But if the Godwinssons and the other Anglo-Danes got to know of the King’s plans rebellion would follow.
The King had not sought my opinion, or my agreement. He had been giving relief to the emotions he must keep secret from his Council. Soon he was ready for bed, and as I lay on my pallet his mutterings died away.
By autumn the Vikings had sailed home from Flanders, and England was at peace. Nothing else happened that year, except that I was promoted from page to chamberlain, though it was still my duty to prepare my lord for bed and afterwards to sleep on a pallet at his feet. The King felt shy when strange fingers touched him. I think he would have preferred to undress himself and then sleep completely alone. But such a striking breach of etiquette would have made his people think he had gone mad, so the next best thing was to have one familiar figure to perform these intimate services. I continued to carry out the duties of a page; in fact more than the customary duties, for every night I slept in the King’s chamber with no colleagues to relieve me. But in my twenty-first year, with my moustache growing nicely, I must be called a chamberlain and draw the appropriate salary.
In another chamber the Lady slept among her women; but there were no separate female quarters barred off from the rest of the household, such as you still find in some old-fashioned halls. After four years of their queer imitation of married life husband and wife had grown extremely fond of one another, odd as that may seem to outsiders. She loved him as a dutiful daughter loves an indulgent father, and he took pleasure in the companionship of a graceful and good-humoured girl. She was always in and out of his chamber, even though he might be wearing only his bedgown; sometimes at night she helped me to tuck the coverlets round him. Both of them were so settled in the habit of continence that they were never tempted to infringe it. In public the Lady fulfilled to perfection the duties of a royal consort, and in private she was happy.
The King also was happy in private, for affairs were going well for his family. He had persuaded the Godwinssons to give up enough of Sweyn’s land to make his nephew Ralph an Earl, though he was the poorest Earl in England. Earl Ralph was the son of Edward’s sister Godiva and her first husband, the Count of Mantes. His father had died young while on pilgrimage to the Holy Land and his mother had married again; so that he had been brought up by his stepfather, Count Eustace of Boulogne. He had been trained as a Norman cavalier, and looked very well on his horse. It was hoped that he would defeat the raiding Welsh by bringing against them men trained to fight on horseback after the Norman fashion, and for that reason he had been put in charge of the defences of Worcester. We courtiers could see what was happening, though it was done so smoothly that the Council did not take alarm. The King was building up the greatness of Earl Ralph; but gently, so as not to antagonise Earl Godwin.
In the spring of 1049 Christendom united to suppress the disorders in Flanders, which Count Baldwin had turned into a refuge for pirates and Vikings. The Emperor marched westwards through Lotharingia, and the English fleet sailed out to bar the Narrow Seas. Once more King Edward embarked on his flagship, fully armed; and I am sure that if he had encountered the enemy he would have fought with a heroism worthy of his ancestors. As far as I know not one of my ancestors was a hero. Therefore, since the King did not need me, I waited in Sandwich.
As it happened, the fleet returned completely victorious without a blow struck, which is the most fortunate outcome of any campaign. Count Baldwin submitted to the Emperor without fighting; he made restitution for the pillage of Aachen, and promised to send away all the pirates who sheltered in his land. It had been expected that he would try to flee to his barbarian allies in the north, but when we learned of his surrender the fleet put back to Sandwich. Many of the ships were laid up; but the King and the Earls remained in the port, with the regular squadron which was always kept in readiness, as it had been in the days of the warlike King Canute.
That was a sensible precaution; for of course the lawless fugitives expelled from Flanders all raided the English coast on their way to seek another refuge. Osgod Clapa, the Dane who had once been an English Earl, found himself at the head of a large band of homeless pirates; but after raiding in Essex most of these pirates deserted their leader, because he wished to use them in the civil wars of Denmark. They were thieves, not warriors; without Osgod they sailed aimlessly, plundering from village to village, until they were dispersed by the levy of the East Angles.
Sweyn Godwinsson had been one of the outlaws sheltering in Bruges. With a small squadron he sailed westward down Channel, hoping I suppose to link up with the Vikings of Dublin. While the King and his court remained at Sandwich Earl Godwin led most of the regular navy in pursuit of his erring son.
Then we heard news that Sweyn, sheltering somewhere off the coast of the South Saxons, had sent messengers ashore to beg for pardon. That was what had been expected. No one imagined that Godwin would actually make war on one of his darling sons, but the fact that his father headed the pursuit would prove to Sweyn that even his family influence would not save him unless he sued for peace. The Council was summoned to meet in Sandwich, to settle the terms of Sweyn’s pardon.
But this was the middle of the campaigning season, and some of the Earls were too busy to come to the Council. Trouble on the northern border kept Siward in Northumbria, while in the west the King of South Wales was stirring. Earl Ralph and Bishop Aldred gathered the local levies to oppose him; they also took into pay a large band of Welsh spearmen who claimed to be hereditary foes of the house of Griffith. So that on his flagship the King conferred only with Earl Godwin and the captains of his professional sailors.
While the Council was in session a messenger reached Sandwich with news of a grave defeat on the Welsh border. Exaggerated rumours ran through the town, but I heard the authentic version when I undressed the King that evening. He was in a truly royal rage, more angry than I had ever seen him. It is widely remembered that my lord was a very holy man, but his subjects forget that he was as hot-tempered as any member of his race; his virtue lay in this, that he allowed his rage to evaporate in harmless talk among his intimates.
In his chamber that night he let himself go.
‘How can anyone rule this unfortunate country while Earl Godwin is the greatest man in it? That is why I was trying to build up my nephew Ralph as his rival. Ralph has been trained as a Norman knight. With his mounted followers I was sure he would win a few cheap victories over those barbarous Welsh, savages who fight in their shirts without armour. Instead he has allowed himself to be tricked by Welsh turncoats. As though even their horrid bloodfeuds would hold them faithful to an English Earl! On the battlefield our Welsh mercenaries joined King Griffith, and then Ralph fled at full gallop with all his men. It’s disgrace that will always be remembered against him.’
‘Did he behave worse than Bishop Aldred, my lord?’ I asked, trying to look on the bright side.
‘I suppose not, but in this world there’s no justice. All the Council admire Bishop Aldred, because they think that when a clerk leads his men to war it shows courage. But they l
augh at poor Ralph, just because he tried to fight on horseback in what they call an un-English fashion. Someone said he ought to be known as Ralph the Timid, and if I know my own countrymen that nickname will cling to him for ever.’
In fact it did. It was all the more damaging because it proved to be true. Another man might have been spurred on by shame to fight like a hero in his next battle; Ralph just gave up trying, and the next time his life was in danger he fled even more disgracefully.
‘Now that Ralph has been dishonoured Godwin will be stronger than ever,’ the King went on. ‘Very well, I shall face the fact. I shall leave everything in his hands. I shall ask him to make peace all round in any way that suits him. That’s only common sense, though I hate doing it. Do you know what Godwin proposes? He suggests that his darling Sweyn shall be forgiven, welcomed to England, and given back his Earldom. Now, young Edgar, do you think that just?’
‘Well … my lord,’ I answered cautiously. I knew what the King wished me to say, but even in the privacy of this chamber I did not choose to speak openly against the great Earl Godwin. ‘Well, it may not be strict justice, but as an act of mercy in an imperfect world it is not wholly imprudent. Sweyn has parted from his nun, and they will never meet again. He has been punished, and he has been frightened. If you give him another chance he may behave more wisely. It’s not the best solution imaginable, but if his family plead for him I don’t see how you can thwart them.’
‘I can’t please all the Godwinssons. That’s the worst of it. Godwin wants me to forgive his son, and from the way he spoke I think he might go over to the Danish King unless he gets his way. But Harold, and that cousin Beorn who is always with the Godwinssons, refuse to give up Sweyn’s lands which they have parted between them. They had the impudence to suggest that I find another Earldom for Sweyn, at the expense of Leofric or Siward. I refused, but in the end I may be driven to it. My first duty is to hold on to the crown of the English and so keep out the barbarous Danes. If necessary I must allow the Godwinssons to hold every Earldom in England, rather than drive them into opposition. I hate to see injustice done, the blameless Siward weakened to please the wicked Sweyn. But anything, even injustice, is better than civil war.’
In the end Sweyn was given a safe conduct to come and make his peace with the King. He came and put his hands within the King’s hands, swearing to be his loyal servant. But because Harold clung to them he was not at once granted his lands, and he went back still an outlaw to his ships off the coast of the South Saxons.
Then stories of his doings came into Sandwich thick and fast. Vikings from Dublin had been raiding in the west, and various Godwinssons were scattered with small squadrons of warships all down the Channel. The Earl himself led the main fleet, but Harold, Beorn, and even young Tostig in his first command, guarded various exposed harbours. The eight pirate ships which followed Sweyn lay off the port of Bosham, which had been for many years in the Godwin family. The sailors took advantage of this to go shopping in a town which favoured their leader.
On the evening of the day on which Sweyn left Sandwich we heard that he had encountered Beorn on the road; after a friendly meeting the two cousins were riding in company to Bosham. At once the King took alarm, and very reasonably. On the Downs beacons were lighted, and the levy of all southern England was summoned to muster under the King’s standard. Housecarles stood guard at the closed gates of Sandwich, and we all prepared for civil war. The King retired early, and as he prepared for bed the Lady joined him in his chamber.
I was there, so much a part of the ordinary furniture of the chamber that they both spoke freely before me. ‘You must not believe that we are all traitors,’ the Lady began in great distress. ‘You can count on Tostig absolutely, now and always. He has sworn loyalty, and he will never break his oath. I wish I could say the same of my father, but in honesty I can’t. All the same, his family is now divided, and I think that for the present he will support his daughter’s husband. Harold also is true. I don’t say he would never change sides; but if he changes he will do it openly. He will defy you in form before he rebels. In any case, as the holder of Sweyn’s Earldom he ought to be Sweyn’s enemy.’
‘You might say the same of Beorn,’ the King pointed out. ‘He also stands to lose if Sweyn returns to power. Yet he has ridden with Sweyn to Bosham.’
‘Perhaps he is still trying to make peace,’ I put in. ‘He may be arguing with Sweyn, advising him to accept the King’s pardon even without his lands.’
Neither of them would consider such an unlikely explanation. They said that Beorn, like most warriors, would see things in black or white. To him, his cousin Sweyn was an outlaw and an enemy of the King; if he rode with him it must be because he had decided to join the King’s enemies.
In spite of their vows the King and his Lady passed that night together. But neither made any preparations for bed. The King sat on a stool by the fire while the Lady crouched at his feet, and together they reckoned the forces of every magnate in England and every half hour sent me out to inquire if fresh news had arrived.
This showed me the Lady in a new light. I had thought of her as a nonentity, who did whatever she was told. In most matters Edith was in truth indifferent, and did as she was told to save herself the bother of rebellion. But sometimes she made up her mind, and then she was immoveable. Now she had decided to stand by the King, even against her family.
Soon after midnight a messenger rode in to say that both Earls had boarded the pirate ships in Bosham harbour. Then the crews had been called from the waterside taverns and at sunset the squadron had sailed. As they reached open water the ships headed west, but night was falling and that might be a ruse. They could not be going far, for they had sailed in a hurry, with little water on board.
The pirates might intend to raid Sandwich and capture the King while his navy was scattered. At dawn we stood to arms; the King went round the ramparts in full armour, carrying a great axe. But daylight showed an empty sea, and we all went to sleep until dinner.
Two days later, while the levies of southern England were beginning to come in, we heard further news of Sweyn; news so terrible that at first we could not believe it. The pirates had called in at Dartmouth, and there put ashore the dead body of Beorn. He had been killed with an axe, while his hands were bound behind him.
Even without this corpse there was no concealing the disgusting truth; for Sweyn’s conduct had been too much even for his pirates, who deserted him in Dartmouth and told all they knew. Sweyn had encountered Beorn by chance, as he rode back from the Council at Sandwich; and Beorn, moved by no motive but friendship, had tried to persuade his cousin to come into the King’s peace. Sweyn had agreed that this was a wise plan, but said that his mind was not yet made up; he would like to discuss it further with his cousin. But all the time he remembered that Beorn was one of the two Earls who now occupied his land, and who had advised against his reinstatement.
People said afterwards that Beorn was foolish to trust Sweyn. But consider the position: Sweyn was his cousin, as close to him as a brother; Sweyn had just offered to come into the King’s peace, and though the proposed treaty had not been concluded negotiations were still continuing; Sweyn led eight shiploads of foreigners, not even his own sworn comrades but casual pirates picked up in Bruges; the Godwinssons were hunting him with forty ships of their own, helped by the regular navy of England. Beorn may have feared that he would sail away as the foe of King Edward and of his own father; he could make his way down Channel to the Danish harbours in Ireland and so north-about round Scotland to the breeding-place of pirates in the Sound. But Beorn could not have foreseen that his cousin, his ally, his comrade in arms, would murder him shamefully in time of truce.
At Bosham Sweyn asked Beorn to visit his ship. When Beorn refused pirates fell on him, bound him, and carried him off. As the squadron put into Dartmouth Sweyn slew him with an axe.
In Sandwich the army roared its disgust. Such treachery was unprecedented; not even h
eathen Danes would behave so. Of course Sweyn must be outlawed. There would be no lack of volunteers to take up the blood-feud, for though Beorn was childless he had cousins and comrades who had loved him. But outlawry may come to any warrior; many outlaws are men of honour who have put themselves beyond the King’s peace by honourably killing their enemies when the law says that they should have accepted money in place of blood. The army felt that something more must be done, to mark the contempt which every warrior felt for Sweyn the murderer. In a solemn assembly it was solemnly proclaimed that Sweyn Godwinsson was nithing – worthless. His oath was of no value, no warrior would seek his help, when he spoke it would be assumed that he was lying. It did not matter what he should do with the rest of his life, whether he outwitted the avengers or was knocked on the head by some public-spirited stranger. He was nithing, not worth bothering about.
By the old law of King Alfred a freeman who refuses to join the levy in time of war may be proclaimed nithing; but since no English freeman ever refuses to fight, though some of them fight on the wrong side, the penalty has not been inflicted within living memory. The compensation for wrongfully calling a man nithing is as heavy as if you had killed him, since honour is as precious as life. The word is seldom heard in a lawful assembly.
The Godwinssons were bitterly ashamed that one of their kin should have thus disgraced the honour of their house. They made what amends they could by burying Beorn very splendidly in the Old Minster at Winchester, and for a few weeks Earl Godwin himself was too abashed to appear in public. But for him the interests of his family came second only to his own; soon he was urging Bishop Aldred, that famous peacemaker, to get a pardon for Sweyn. That scoundrel himself cared nothing for his disgrace; he went back to Flanders, the refuge of all scoundrels, and passed the winter in comfort in the hall of Count Baldwin.
The Cunning of the Dove Page 7
