The Cunning of the Dove

by Alfred Duggan

  By April 1061 Tostig and Bishop Aldred were in Rome; but it was proved that the Northumbrians could not manage without the protection of their Earl. The Scots poured over the border, ravaging far and wide. I heard afterwards that King Malcolm justified his attack by explaining that he was the sworn brother and friend of Earl Tostig, but not of his subjects. I am the unwarlike son of a burgess, and I shall never understand the code of honour that binds warrior Kings.

  In Rome the pilgrims met with some curious adventures. Pope Nicholas II, who had recently replaced the usurper, was still busy reforming the abuses which creep back into the Church whenever the Keys of St. Peter have fallen into unworthy hands. In particular the new Pope was hot against pluralism. When he learned that the Archbishop-elect of York, come humbly to seek his pallium, intended to hold at the same time the Sees of Worcester, Hereford and Wiltshire, there was a frightful scene. At court we heard the whole story from a follower of Earl Tostig who had been present.

  Poor Aldred had accumulated these preferments not because he was avaricious, but because he was a better man of business than any other English clerk. But the Pope gave him no opportunity to defend himself, and in the middle of the papal tirade some busybody voiced a doubt about the regularity of Aldred’s consecration. The Pope seized the opportunity for a severe rebuke. Aldred was commanded to return to England a simple priest, not even Bishop of Worcester.

  An accident afforded the Holy Father an opportunity for second thoughts. Outside Rome the returning pilgrims were attacked by the men of a local Count and robbed of all they carried. They went back to the Curia to borrow money for their travelling expenses. Then Pope Nicholas realised that Aldred had obeyed him without demur; if he was at fault he was willing to begin life anew as a simple parish priest. Such loyalty atoned for any irregularities in the past. The Pope still maintained that three Dioceses and a Metropolitan See were too much for any one clerk; but he himself repeated Aldred’s consecration, to set all doubts at rest, and sent him back to England with the pallium of York. For the time being he was permitted to keep Worcester in plurality, until the revenues of York had recovered from the ravaging of the Danes. But Hermann was commanded to leave his monastery and take up his duties in Wiltshire; and for Hereford the Pope appointed, without the formality of election, Walter of Lotharingia, the court chaplain whom the King had chosen when Athelstan died.

  This last appointment was a splendid vindication of the judgment of King Edward. If the Pope, to whom Englishmen and Lotharingians are equally foreign, chose a Lotharingian for an English Bishopric it proved that the Lotharingian was the best man for the post. The Roman Curia avoids arousing opposition if it can; since Walter was the friend and chaplain of the Lady the Godwinsson faction did not object.

  Thus in England we had once more a properly consecrated Archbishop, his obedience to Rome symbolised by his pallium. Without one we would have been in an awkward position. Even with Aldred to perform the functions of which Stigand was incapable the work of the Church was in many ways impeded. Stigand enjoyed the revenues of Canterbury, and in secular affairs took precedence as the first subject in the Kingdom. But no one accepted his authority as Metropolitan, though he was undoubtedly a priest and a Bishop.

  In 1062 two legates arrived from Rome to clear up the tangle. This was a novelty. No papal legates had visited England since St. Augustine was sent from Rome to convert our ancestors. The King approved the innovation, and Earl Harold did not openly object. It is significant that the legates did not attempt to remove Stigand; so long as the great Earl upheld him even Rome was powerless. Their most important task was to make sure that Aldred resigned from Worcester, and to choose his successor. The Bishop they chose was the holy Wulfstan, and his actions after he had been enthroned show how difficult it was for a clerk to steer his way through the tangle; for he must have consulted the legates before he behaved as he did.

  Worcester lies within the province of Canterbury, but Wulfstan sought consecration from Aldred of York. He then went to Canterbury and professed canonical obedience to Stigand. If such a devout and fearless prelate, with legates to advise him, could not find a more tidy solution there was no easy way out.

  At court we were not concerned. King Edward no longer ruled England; he had resigned the management of affairs to Earl Harold. We heard all the news, but we did not make it.

  That was a kind of life which suited me very well. I like to know what is happening, but I also like to sleep safe. Our routine was as regular as if the court had been a monastery, except that every ten days we moved to another hunting forest. On our travels I rode a quiet horse, beside the carts which carried the King’s robes of state. That gave me enough fresh air and exercise to keep me in health; except when we travelled I seldom went out of doors. In the morning I accompanied the King to Mass, and while he hunted in the afternoon I supervised the lesser chamberlains who cleaned and mended his robes and jewels. At dinner and supper I stood behind his chair. At night I prepared him for bed and then slept in a corner of his chamber. I was as close to him as a nurse to the infant in her charge, and almost as much in his confidence as if he had been my fosterling. I was on duty seven days a week and never had a holiday. But the court was my home and the wellbeing of the King my chief interest. If he had commanded me to go off and enjoy myself I would have pleaded to remain in his company.

  The King’s interests were narrowing. Since the visit of the legates he had abandoned his efforts to oversee the Church; by recognising the merits of Abbot Wulfstan, who was personally unknown to the King, the legates had chosen a better Bishop than he would have found by himself. Now that Rome took an interest there was no need for King Edward to intervene in what theologians are agreed is not the province of the laity. Though Stigand still kept his scandalous and equivocal position at Canterbury the Bishops and clergy of England were not obviously worse than those of other countries, and it was not for the King to make them better. His chaplains he chose with care, and he spent more and more time talking with them in private or praying under their direction; he was training the soul of Edward Cerdinga, instead of elevating the standard of religious life in his Kingdom.

  In temporal affairs he hardly bothered to keep himself abreast of the news. Anything important was decided by Earl Harold, though in small matters of promotions and salaries and grants of land the King would sometimes exert himself to please the Lady or Earl Tostig. Alone among the magnates, Earl Tostig was personally a welcome visitor at court. I think he enjoyed these visits, but there was little the King could do for the great Earl of the Northumbrians. The Lady asked for a stream of little favours, and received them; she was too tactful to seek anything important, lest the King be driven to admit that it was no longer within his power to grant it. Perhaps if Tostig and the Lady had combined to work against Harold they might have weakened his position. But though they disliked him as a man (as did King Edward) they could not quarrel with his policy. Under his guidance the English lived prosperous and peaceful.

  8. The Wars of Earl Harold

  In the summer of 1062 there died Earl Alfgar of the Mercians, the only magnate of the first rank who owed nothing to Harold or to any other of the Godwinssons. His death was unexpected, for he was not yet old. Now Harold was without a rival, towering high above any other Englishman. There was no difficulty about the succession to Mercia; Alfgar had been the son and grandson of Mercian Earls, and of course the great province went to his son. But this Edwin was only just of an age to bear arms, and in Council no one heeded him. He was not on good terms with Tostig, the only other Earl who was independent of Harold.

  In England the death of Earl Alfgar caused little stir; it was otherwise in Wales. King Griffith had never trusted in the friendship of the English, and of course he was quite right, Wales ought to be ruled by the King of the English, and the mountains that we cannot subdue ought to be divided among many petty chieftains; a King of all the Welsh was an anomaly and a perpetual threat to Wessex. For the last year
or two King Griffith had kept the peace because he could rely on the friendship and protection of his father-in-law, the great Earl of the Mercians. Now he decided to attack before the English attacked him. In the depth of winter, just before Christmas, his men raided right up to the Severn and beyond.

  We were in Gloucester for the Christmas crownwearing when we heard of this Welsh raid. All the Earls had come to court for the meeting of the Council; but naturally they had with them only the few housecarles of their bodyguards. At first we feared that the faithless Griffith might swoop on Gloucester and capture the King; then our scouts reported that the Welsh had turned for home, driving a great booty before them. The irruption had been a raid, not an attempt to drive back the frontier of England. Snow and mud would soon close the passes, and there would be no more danger until next spring.

  The whole Council was furious with King Griffith, but young Earl Edwin was especially outraged. Alfgar his father had been Griffith’s ally and protector, and for that very reason he had neglected the defences of Mercia. Griffith had no grievance against the Mercians, except the standing grievance of all Welshmen, that in times past the English drove them westward not the barren hills. It was decided that when spring came the whole levy of England should march into Wales, and remain there for as long as King Griffith lived.

  ‘But I can’t sit here, drinking the Christmas wine, while those plundering Welsh roast our stolen cattle,’ said Earl Harold, looking round the Councillors as they sat at supper.

  ‘Why should we leave them in peace for the winter? By spring our cattle will be slaughtered, and our fellow-countrymen sold as slaves to the Vikings. To get back that booty we must strike at once.’

  ‘This is Christmas,’ objected young Edwin. ‘The thanes are drinking, like everyone else. If you call them out in the middle of the holiday half of them won’t come to the muster.’

  ‘Exactly, it’s Christmas,’ Harold replied. ‘The Welsh will have scattered to feast in their separate valleys. King Griffith will be drinking in his hall, with only his household to defend him. The housecarles I have brought with me will be more than a match for them. All my men are mounted, and on good horses. If the Council agrees I shall ride into Wales tomorrow, and come back with the head of King Griffith.’

  ‘Can you make your men charge mounted? That would shake the Welsh more than anything else you could do,’ asked the King wistfully.

  ‘It would shake my housecarles also. I’m sorry, my lord. I know that’s the way they fight in France, and there it’s effective. But the French practise at it from the moment they are old enough to ride. One day, when I have time, I shall train my men in the art. For the present they had better make war after the fashion of their ancestors.’

  ‘I wish you would listen to me. I’m sure it’s the best way of fighting. But you are the commander of my levies, and you must do as you think best. Don’t get caught in those Welsh valleys. Griffith can’t kill you, but the snow can.’

  My lord did not like Earl Harold as a man; but like everyone else in Gloucester he knew him to be the best war-leader in the realm.

  ‘Are you really going to ride from end to end of Wales in the worst of winter, with no following but the bodyguard you bring to a Council?’ asked Tostig in admiration. ‘That will be a famous deed, whether you come back triumphant or leave your head in the mountains. Shall I come with you?’

  ‘Better not, brother. They need you in Northumbria, and if anything goes wrong we don’t want all the war-leaders of the English to perish together. Besides, if we can catch King Griffith in his hall my housecarles will be enough. But in the summer I shall be glad of your help, if the war isn’t finished by then.’

  ‘You shall have it, the pick of the Northumbrians. We shall ride on our best horses. Who knows, we might manage a mounted charge.’

  I could see a wave of sympathy for Harold travelling through the hall. He was ambitious and unscrupulous and greedy for power; but he was also a hero.

  Earl Harold was back in Gloucester soon after Epiphany. He had ridden through all Wales, from south to north, and by the speed of his advance escaped ambush in the passes. Spies told him that King Griffith was keeping Christmas at Rhuddlan, on the north coast; it was the ancestral seat of his family, from which he had conquered all Wales. The English housecarles swept down the valley, riding out from the mountains which have always been a protection to the Welsh; it was a direction from which attack was never expected. They very nearly caught King Griffith sitting over his wine; he had barely time to flee to the river-mouth and jump on the nearest ship. While he coasted west with a handful of followers Harold’s men killed as many of his household as they could catch, sacked and burned his hall, and at leisure destroyed most of his ships, laid up in the river for the winter. Then they rode swiftly back to England; they were out of Wales before an avenging army could be gathered.

  It was a mighty deed, and of course a deadly insult to King Griffith. War must follow. It proved to be a war without quarter, which the King thought unchristian and unnecessary. I heard Harold justify his policy at the Lent Council, while his men were gathering to march.

  ‘The Welsh have been with us always,’ he said heavily; he was then about forty years old, and beginning to affect the manner of a veteran. ‘We shall have them with us always. They are a nuisance, but not dangerous. King Griffith is the exceptional danger, because he has united all his countrymen. But that unity will not survive him. Therefore, during this coming summer, we must abolish King Griffith. I shall proclaim to all the Welsh that my army will remain in their land, ravaging and slaying, for as long as King Griffith lives. Then, if he won’t face us in battle, and we can’t catch him, some Welshman will kill him for us. We must finish this war as quickly as we can. The Danes and the Scots will invade us in the autumn if they learn that the whole levy of England is tied up in Wales.’

  ‘You will be driving subjects to murder their lord, and that can never be right,’ answered the King. ‘In addition, you propose to ravage like a Viking, killing helpless unarmed peasants. That sort of warfare may seem prudent and farsighted, but it carries a curse with it. Unless God sends a miracle your housecarles must conquer the Welsh. But I feel it in my bones that, before their beards are grey, they will lie dead and defeated on some other field.’

  There was a stir in the hall, for the King spoke as though he could foresee the future. Harold answered stoutly: ‘My housecarles are warriors. Every warrior should be prepared for death in battle, on one day or another. Anyway, whatever the future holds for us, that is how we shall conquer Wales.’

  ‘I don’t like it. But you command my army. You must fight this war as you think best.’ The King said no more.

  Everyone else thought highly of Harold’s plans, which were indeed well considered. He brought his own ships right round England from Bosham to Bristol. He filled them with picked men, housecarles and rich thanes, well armoured and well equipped. Such a small force could be fed even in the barren valleys, but it was stronger than any army the Welsh could bring against it; the men were his own commended vassals, and would obey him faithfully.

  With this little squadron he sailed over to south Wales, the land which not long ago had been conquered by King Griffith and where many still disliked him. At the mouth of every valley the English landed, burned the houses and the crops, and killed every grown man; though King Edward had forbidden them to kill the women and children. In this crisis the conquered southern Welsh refused to fight for King Griffith; most of them fled starving to the mountain tops. Meanwhile Earl Tostig and a picked body of Northumbrians rode westward along the north coast from Chester. King Griffith lay with his army in the north, but he was not strong enough to challenge a pitched battle. He blocked the passes, hoping to delay Tostig; but the Northumbrians on their fine horses always found a way round the ambush, until presently the brothers joined forces in central Wales.

  Then began such a devastation as the country had never seen. If the Welsh tried t
o hold a hill-fort Harold stormed it, and killed the defenders to the last man; if they fled they saw their crops destroyed, so that next winter they must starve. Embassies begged for peace, but Harold answered that while King Griffith lived the war must continue.

  On Cotswold we heard nothing but admiring reports of the discipline and fortitude of the English; on scanty rations, in the appalling mountain weather, they marched for many miles and did all their leader commanded. But the messenger who told us this admitted in answer to the King’s questions that the campaign had its compensations. Some old-fashioned housecarles liked to keep a tally of heads taken; now there was no more room for notches on the hafts of their axes. For others there was the amusement of rape, and the killing of prisoners by novel and striking methods. Wales is a poor land, but a lucky man might stumble on a hoard of plunder, stolen long ago from the English. Our warriors knew that they were enduring hardship like heroes; but the war was not dangerous, and it had its enjoyable moments.

  ‘They are wrong. This is a very dangerous war,’ the King said to me that evening. ‘Cruelty and pride bring a punishment, even in this life. One day Harold and his followers will be ground down, even as now they grind down the Welsh.’

  ‘They have beaten the Welsh until they cannot rise again,’ I answered. I don’t like Welshmen.

  ‘There may come other foes, foes the English have never yet faced,’ said the King bodingly. He was aware of coming evil; and long ago he had seen the death of King Magnus even while it happened hundreds of miles away. I shivered.

  All the same, Earl Harold was a cunning war-leader, and his ruthless plan succeeded. All summer the army ravaged Wales, until early in August a shamed and frightened Welshman brought Harold the head of King Griffith.