‘Ah, the shire court is English, and commendation is foreign,’ chuckled the King. ‘That’s all Leofric thinks about. Never mind. I don’t propose to alter the Law of the English. I couldn’t if I wanted to, for that matter. We shall just encourage commendation as a personal obligation, quite outside the law.’
By the time we reached London Godwin’s army had dissolved. A few housecarles and the more honourable of his vassals stayed by him; but even they stayed only to protect his person, not to wage war on the King. The Council which assembled in St. Paul’s minster did not need to plan a campaign; it had only to decide on the punishment of the rebels.
Of course I was not present at the Council; but the King told me all about it that afternoon, as I helped him to remove his robes of state. Or rather, as usual, he talked to himself and allowed me to overhear him.
‘Sweyn has been outlawed, of course,’ he said, rubbing his hands with glee. ‘A man who has once been forgiven for raping an abbess can’t expect to be forgiven for rebellion as well. About the rest of them the Council were very stubborn; Godwin may be unpopular, but an Earl will always stand up for another Earl in trouble with the King. They want him to stand a formal trial; which means that every perjurer in England will rally round to help him with his oath.’
He was silent as I pulled his silk shirt over his head, and then helped him into a linen one.
‘A formal trial,’ he went on. ‘Yes, but they can’t try him until he appears to answer his accusers. That’s it. If we frighten him, or make him lose his temper, he may disappear of his own accord rather than face trial. I shall send him a very rude message, and I won’t let him bring a bodyguard when he comes to seek my peace. Now whom shall I send to carry the message? Archbishop Robert speaks well, and he isn’t afraid of Godwin. But perhaps the Archbishop of Canterbury is too great a man to be sent on an errand.’
In a lower tone he ran through several names. ‘Siward would hit him with an axe, and that would never do. Leofric would just smooth things over, and I don’t want peace with Godwin. Ralph might be afraid to deliver my message properly. No, such a go-between ought to be a clerk. Which clerk? Bishop William? A foreigner, ignorant of English law; Godwin would browbeat him. The same applies to all my Norman clerks, though they are cleverer than any Englishman. Ah, I’ve got it. Bishop Stigand.‘
He saw my surprise and now spoke directly to me, no longer uttering his private thoughts aloud.
‘Stigand is Godwin’s creature. He wants to bring Godwin back into the King’s peace. Whatever message he carries, he will help Godwin to find the right answer to it. The point is, Edgar, that if I order him to carry my message he can’t refuse; or at any rate he won’t refuse, since at the moment I am stronger than Godwin. Can you imagine Stigand quarrelling with the fount of promotion? So he goes to Godwin, to tell him of the King’s anger. What will Godwin think of that? An Anglo-Dane, Canute’s faithful henchman, a hater of Normans – if there’s anyone in England who should support Godwin it’s Stigand. When Godwin sees that even Stigand obeys me he will understand that all England has turned against him. That’s it. Now all I have to do is to think of a really unpleasant message.’
The negotiations on the next day were immediately made public. The mighty Earl was falling into disgrace, and the Council wished that London and all England should know it. The messages that had passed between the parties were read publicly at Paul’s Cross in London.
First Godwin proposed that he should stand trial before the King’s Council, first receiving hostages to guarantee that he might leave the trial a free man. Since this would have been a guarantee that he would not be punished even if found guilty it was of course refused. Then Godwin offered to bring oath-helpers to swear to his innocence. This also the King refused, though I am not sure he was within his rights; the law as I understand it allows a culprit to clear himself of any accusation if the oaths on his side outweigh the oaths of his accusers. Probably Godwin could have gathered oaths heavier than the accusations of all the other Earls and Bishops; so perhaps the King was prudent to forbid a trial which might have ended with axeplay in the Council chamber.
At last Godwin, losing patience, asked what he must do before the King would receive him into his peace; and Stigand gave the barbed answer: ‘You will enjoy the King’s peace and favour as soon as you bring to him the atheling Alfred and his companions, alive and well.’
That was how matters stood when the negotiations were published to the Londoners. It was late in the afternoon, and no one expected more to be done that day. But the King was in an exalted frame of mind. While he sat at supper he turned suddenly to Bishop Stigand. I was standing behind his chair, and I heard everything.
‘I’ve got another errand for you, my lord,’ the King announced out of the blue. As always when addressing Stigand his manner was constrained; he could not bring himself to be rude to a consecrated Bishop, but he felt the utmost contempt for Stigand as a man. ‘I want you to cross the bridge now, tonight, and give Earl Godwin in Southwark my final answer.’
He rose, and stood to look down the hall as Archbishop Robert beside him rapped for silence.
‘As King of the English,’ he said formally, ‘I am especially charged with preserving the peace among my subjects. Earl Godwin has repeatedly injured that peace. Now he refuses to answer for his crimes before the court most competent to try him. Therefore he and all his kin have put themselves outside my law. Their lands are forfeit. As outlaws they have five days in which to leave my dominions. After that any man who wills may slay them without blame.’
As he sat down he grinned at the Bishop of Winchester. ‘Go and tell that in Southwark as soon as you can. The days of grace have already begun to run.’
Siward and Leofric looked sour; custom decrees that the Council should be consulted before a great man is outlawed. The Archbishop and the other clerks were delighted, and the warriors at the lower tables beat on the board with their drinking horns and cheered for war.
Almost at once I must fill the King’s cup. Before he pronounced sentence he had not touched his wine; now he took a deep draught, and called for more. He looked white and shaken. He must have wondered, up to the very last moment, whether his Councillors and housecarles would ratify the downfall of the great Earl.
When Siward spoke we all relaxed, for his first words showed that he accepted the King’s decision. ‘We must send mounted men to watch the gates of Southwark. It’s just possible that Godwin will turn pirate where he stands, and ride out to ravage the south. Until he has begun his journey to the coast we can’t be certain that he has chosen exile.’
The King nodded agreement. The magnates of England sat round the supper tables, waiting the return of the Bishop of Winchester.
Within an hour Stigand was back, angry and ill at ease and a little frightened. ‘I delivered your sentence, my lord,’ he said sulkily. ‘Godwin took it very hard. In his rage he overturned a table, and in the heat of the moment he said things which I shall not repeat. But he obeys the King’s decree, though he protests that he has been treated with injustice. Before I left he had begun to collect his gear.’
‘He must do that, whatever he does after. He can’t stay quietly in Southwark,’ objected Earl Leofric. ‘We shan’t know whether he really submits until our scouts have seen him ride out.’
‘We shall wait here for news, until dawn if need be,’ said the King.
The housecarles cheered this announcement also, either because they admired the stern hardihood of their King or because they relished the prospect of an all-night session with the ale-casks.
The King sat happily on his throne, a new look in his eye. He was triumphant, but he was also responsible; for the first time in his life truly King of the English, with no minister to do his work for him. He drank very little; but he was alert, chatting happily about affairs of state.
Before midnight we heard news of the Godwinssons. First came a message from the portreeve of London, saying that Godwin
himself, his wife Gytha, and four of his sons, Sweyn, Tostig, young Gyrth and little Wulfnoth, had all ridden out on the road to Bosham. They took with them a few horseloads of treasure, and Judith the young Flemish princess who had recently been married to Tostig; but no housecarles, save for a small escort to guard the treasure. They rode quite openly, and had sent for the portreeve that he might bear witness that they were travelling peaceably to Flanders.
‘All the same, it was bad manners to set out in the middle of the night,’ said Leofric. ‘They could have waited for dawn and still reached Bosham with time to spare. Either the old fox judges you by himself, my lord, and fears murder; or, more likely, he wants people to think he flees in fear of his life, so that they will blame you.’
‘Never mind,’ Siward put in. ‘It would be odd if Godwin behaved frankly. Have you noticed that no one saw Harold in that party? He’s a dangerous man. I wonder what he’s doing? He may be trying to raise the Londoners in rebellion.’
‘The Londoners wouldn’t follow him, or I don’t think they would,’ answered Leofric. ‘Tostig now – he could gather an army anywhere, because the people like him. It’s lucky for us that he chose this month to get married. He must take young Judith to safety before he sails on Viking cruise.’
‘We shall wait for news of Harold all the same. I shan’t go to bed until I know that all the Godwinssons are safely on the way to Flanders.’ The King spoke firmly. ‘There’s another one old enough to bear arms, isn’t there? What’s his name, Leofwin?’
We had grown very bored and sleepy by the time our scouts brought tidings of Harold. It was well that Earl Siward had remembered to post them; for the portreeve of London thought only of avoiding trouble for his town, and feared to make enemies by revealing more than he had been told to tell. Siward’s horsemen reported that Harold and Leofwin had ridden westwards, alone.
‘Now what can that mean?’ asked Earl Leofric. ‘They must be planning something, or they would have ridden with their father. Young Harold is amazingly self-confident, but surely even he can’t be trying to raise the West Saxons, of all people, in rebellion against the house of Cerdic?’
‘Even he wouldn’t try that,’ the King agreed. ‘But Harold is a romantic young hero. He won’t go tamely into exile. Perhaps he will wander over the western moors like a real wolfshead, instead of guzzling in Bruges through the winter with no work and no excitement.’
‘You are too kind to Harold, my lord,’ said Earl Siward in his harsh practical Danish voice. ‘He looks like a hero, and he’s as brave as any young Viking. But though he will run risks without flinching he always has some commonsensical object in view.… What can it be this time? Ah, I just said it myself – Viking. He isn’t riding into Wessex, he’s riding through Wessex to join the Vikings of Ireland.’
‘And he has five days’ grace,’ added Leofric regretfully. ‘A pity. He knows the coast of Devon. Probably he has agents in the towns. If he brings a Viking fleet against the west country he can do us a great deal of harm.’
‘Then why should he have five days’ grace?’ asked the King sharply. ‘As I understand the law those days are a favour accorded to a peaceful exile, so that he can collect his baggage and go oversea in comfort. Strictly speaking, an outlaw is a wolfshead from the moment sentence is pronounced. Furthermore, a traitor riding to join the Vikings may be killed by anyone who meets him. Isn’t that so, Earl Siward? What do you think, Bishop Stigand? Our laws against Vikings are more Danish than English, and I will accept the opinion of the two leading Danes in my Council.’
Siward answered briefly: ‘You may cut off his head, if you can catch him.’
Stigand looked uncomfortable. He hated to condemn a Godwinsson, and perhaps the King was cruel to make him express an opinion. But the law was plain, and he could only nod agreement.
‘Then order the scouts to ride after them,’ commanded the King. ‘They are to take them if they will yield, and cut them down if they resist.’
‘No good, my lord,’ said Siward at once. ‘Those scouts have been mounted since dusk. They will never catch two travellers who ride fresh horses. Send a single messenger, with a warrant to impress horses on the road. Let him warn some magnate already in the west, and tell him to catch these pirates.’
‘That’s it,’ said the King. ‘Send the messenger to Bishop Aldred. He is guarding the Severn, and his housecarles will be ready.’
Stigand sighed with relief; Leofric looked doubtful, but said nothing. It was notorious that Aldred the Peacemaker never caught any criminal who had the good sense to run away; every outlaw has kin who may avenge him, and the Bishop did not like to make enemies.
Later we heard that the two Godwinssons had sailed from Bristol unmolested.
Next morning the King slept late, though when he called to me to dress him he was fully awake and bubbling with excitement.
‘For the first time I am really King of the English,’ he exclaimed. ‘For eight years I have been afraid of that terrible Earl Godwin, and when at last I pluck up my courage to attack him he flees without a drop of blood spilled. Now I can do whatever I like. I can crush those raiding Welsh, I can bring the Scots to order. I can hire Norman experts to teach my men how to fight on horseback. Best of all, I can nominate my successor.’
‘Yes, my lord, it is indeed a splendid prospect. Shall we be staying long in London, or will you now return to the Lady in Gloucester?’ Perhaps that was unkind, but I wanted my lord to apply his mind to a problem that seemed to have slipped his memory.
‘Oh dear, the Lady.… Yes indeed, that will be an unpleasant meeting. Yet why should I meet her? She has shown herself content to live a virgin, if she may live in luxury. The place for her is a comfortable easy-going nunnery. I shall make no move to put her away, though Rome will give her an annulment if she chooses to apply for one. She remains the Lady of England, but she lives in a convent while I go hunting.… That’s fair, and it will satisfy everyone. Do you agree, Edgar? Then go out and find a clerk, and tell the clerk to tell the senior chaplain to tell the Archbishop of Canterbury that I would like to see him. Do it properly, mind. The Archbishop is not to be summoned by a mere chamberlain.’
The King grinned broadly. Now that he was the real ruler of England he enjoyed the etiquette which had irked him when he was a figurehead for Godwin.
5. The Return of Earl Godwin
By the time we got back to the King’s favourite country, the hunting lodges of Cotswold, the Lady and her women had retired to a suitable convent. Archbishop Robert arranged it without bothering the King. It was unkind of him to send her to the strict community at Wherwell, but I suppose when an Archbishop hears that a grown woman wishes to try the religious life he takes it for granted that she is eager for its full rigour. As soon as she asked for a change she was sent to Wilton, her old school. In after years she never complained of her treatment, so she must have been reasonably content.
It was the happiest winter of the King’s life, and of mine. The King passed every morning in some church, every afternoon hunting, and every evening discussing intellectual riddles with learned men. I very seldom went out of doors, and had plenty of time to look after the jewels of the regalia; but at night the King would speak to me freely, and I knew all the secrets of that blameless and godfearing court.
Luckily the land was at peace, and there were few problems of government; for when problems arose the King was not clever at dealing with them. On the brink of his fiftieth year he had never learned how to manage men; on broad questions of principle he saw where the right lay and pursued it unswervingly, but when it was a question of some nice little office that must be given either to A or to B he hovered undecided and then plumped for the wrong man. He had never before dealt with efficient rascals, or with soldiers who were at the same time loyal and avaricious. He could squash an obvious scoundrel, and trust an honest man; most ordinary Englishmen are something in between, and they baffled him.
In these matters he took the adv
ice of Archbishop Robert, which was usually bad. The Archbishop was well-educated, practical, and experienced in administration. But he was a foreigner, impatient of English prejudice, refusing to bother his head with the ramifications of English feuds. I once heard Bishop Aldred trying to explain to him that Earl Alfgar, son of Earl Leofric, must naturally be preferred to Earl Odda, who had risen solely by royal favour; and that it would be risky to set either of them to rule Anglo-Danes, who despise all Mercians. Robert answered shortly that Odda was a good man, chaste and charitable; the Danes of Mercia must obey him, or take the consequences.
The King remained immensely popular, whatever he did; to the English it seemed novel and invigorating to be governed by a thoroughly good man, even if he made mistakes. Those who thought themselves ill-treated blamed the Archbishop for misleading the King; it became a popular catchword that Canterbury ought to be ruled by an English Archbishop.
Meanwhile the King continued to work at the project nearest his heart, without consulting his Council. He made his arrangements secretly, and told us only when everything was ready. I remember the first I heard of it, one evening in Advent when I was preparing the King for bed. He opened the subject in a roundabout way.
‘Edgar, you are a real West Saxon, aren’t you, from the old stock that made England one Kingdom? Suppose I should drop dead this minute, who would you cheer for as my successor?’
The King was asking a serious question. I did not waste his time by denying that one day he would die.
‘I haven’t an idea, my lord,’ I answered. ‘I suppose any Cerdinga who had the backing of the great Earls.’
‘There isn’t one, you know. I am the last of my house. Well, that’s not quite accurate. I may have a kinsman somewhere in Hungary. My eldest half-brother, Edmund, had a son who was smuggled oversea as a baby for fear of the Danes; and the story goes that he fetched up in Hungary. It’s odd to think that I may have a nephew nearly as old as I am. But if that baby lived he will now be completely Hungarian. That’s a very foreign kind of foreigner. I don’t think the English would care to be ruled by him.’
The Cunning of the Dove Page 11
