by Jean Plaidy
The next day Harold announced that he would marry Aldgyth, widow of Gruffydd the King of Wales whom his armies had recently slain during the Welsh rebellion.
Delay was dangerous, it was decided. Edwin and Morcar hinted that they wanted immediate action. Harold had made promises to the Duke of Normandy which he had not kept. The Earls of the north wanted to see the promises made to them carried out.
In the midst of the preparations Harold’s sister Elfgiva died. Some thought this an evil omen as Elfgiva was she who had been promised to Normandy. She was buried quietly lest the idea grow that her death could be construed as some sort of judgement that had grown out of the anger of saints whose bones had not been treated with due respect.
Without further delay Harold was married to Aldgyth.
There was no question of consummating the marriage. Aldgyth was well aware of his relationship with Edith, and she knew that he had married her because her brothers had demanded it.
But she was the Queen and her place was on the dais beside him. She would never forgive him for making her a widow for, although his may not have been the hand which had slain her husband, it was his men who had done so.
The marriage had been forced upon them both, and she, no more than he, wished it to be anything but in name only.
She eyed the beautiful Edith Swanneshals with disdain, although she did feel a pang of envy for that incomparable beauty; and it had to be admitted that Harold with his fair good looks and Edith with her calm beauty were as handsome a pair as could be seen through the country.
As for Harold, the crown had brought him little joy. Often he brooded on how different everything might have been if he had never been shipwrecked on the coast of Normandy. If he had made no promises to William he would have been free to turn his attention to the north, and subdue Edwin and Morcar instead of having to placate them with his distasteful marriage.
There came news from William.
It was with trepidation that Harold broke the seals.
William wrote reasonably. He knew that Harold could not have forgotten an oath taken with such solemnity and sworn over the dead bones of saints. He understood how, on the death of Edward, he had been put into the position which he now held.
William was ready to forgive if Harold would immediately put right the wrong he had done. It could be simply arranged. He would send his sister to Normandy that the marriage. William had arranged for her should take place; his own affianced bride Adelisa should come to him. He would fortify Dover castle on William’s behalf and publicly renounce his crown.
On receipt of this command Harold cried out: ‘I’ll not be dictated to by the Norman bastard. What right has he to the throne of England? No greater one than mine and I have been elected by the Witan and I have their pledged support.’
He answered William somewhat jauntily, implying that he had no intention of complying with any of the demands save one. If William so wished he would send the dead body of his sister to Normandy.
He was now firm in his intention. He would fight to the death to hold what he had.
At the Easter celebration Harold appeared in public in his crown – a handsome figure of a man, kingly in his bearing. The people cheered him. How different from pallid Edward! He was a great commander, a just man; his love for Edith of the beautiful swan neck pleased their romantic notions; his marriage with the less attractive Aldgyth showed them that he would put duty before pleasure.
They were pleased with their King, although rumours reached them that across the channel the fierce Duke of Normandy was seething with rage.
Then a terrible fear came to the nation for there appeared in the sky what many of them believed to be a sign of God’s anger. A flaming body – as big as the moon – with a long tail appeared in the sky.
People stood about looking up at it, expecting the skies to open and God to appear in his wrath.
They were sure that God was angry.
Edward was dead and there was a new King of England – a King who had sworn away his kingdom on the bones of saintly men.
Was this why God was angry?
In the north it was seen. It was a warning, said the men of the north. Old men said that their grandfathers had seen it blazing in the sky and it was always followed by invasion. The Danes had come in their hordes and ravaged the homesteads; they had plundered the riches of the land and taken the women. It was a sign of God’s anger.
It hung over Westminster, said some. It was God pointing to what had angered him. It was God’s fingers, some said. It was a sword, said others.
It meant that there would be war and a disaster in the land.
The men of the north said it was a sign to them to rise for the comet hung over the north.
In the south they said it meant disaster for the King for it hung over the palace. In Normandy they were saying it was a good omen because it hung over Normandy and it was God showing the Duke the way.
Its presence was interpreted by people according to their mood, and the fact that the Normans regarded it as a sign of God’s approval and the English as a sign of his anger was an indication of the mood of the people.
At night as soon as darkness fell the comet blazed in the sky.
Harold and Edith watched it from the window.
‘What does it mean?’ asked Harold. ‘What can it mean?’
‘It is like a sword,’ said Edith. ‘It could mean that William will come and you will defeat him.’
How she comforted him! He smiled at her and thought of Aldgyth whom he had married; and he thought of his vow to William of Normandy and said in anguish: ‘Oh God, what have I done?’
He looked at the comet. ‘Go away,’ he said. ‘I beg of you go away.’
And after seven days and nights had come and gone the comet was no longer there. But men and women continued to talk of it.
Preparations
THE COMET HUNG over the castle of Rouen.
‘By God’s Splendour,’ cried the Duke, ‘this is a sign. God is on our side. He has set a sword in the sky as sign. I am to go and take that which was vowed to me.’
Harold’s insolent reply had come to him. His sister was dead, but he had married Aldgyth; and he had been crowned King of England.
He must show Harold that he, William, was not to be crossed and that he would not stand meekly by while others took that which had been promised to him.
He shut himself into his chamber; he wanted no one to interrupt him; not even Matilda. She respected his mood for she knew that his head was full of plans.
He was going to cross the sea and conquer England but he needed ships and men; and he needed to know that the whole of Normandy stood with him.
He must state his case to a council of his vassals; he must tell them that he needed their help. They had sworn fealty; now was the time he could demand it.
To demand was not wise. There had been trouble enough in Normandy. What he needed was a united Normandy even as Harold needed a united England. Trouble on the home front could destroy them both.
He thought first of men whom he could trust. There was his Seneschal William Fitz-Osbern, son of that faithful man, who so many years ago had been done to death in the bed in which they had lain together. There were his two half-brothers, Arlette’s sons by Herlwin, Robert, who was now Count of Mortain, and Odo who was the Bishop of Bayeux.
He summoned these three men to him and told them that he was determined to take England and he wanted every influential baron and knight in Normandy behind him.
‘They will need to be persuaded,’ said the Bishop.
‘Persuaded to do their duty!’
‘Ay, persuaded,’ added Odo.
‘They must be reminded of their oaths of fealty.’
‘Which,’ pointed out the Bishop, ‘applied to the defence of Normandy.’
‘Come,’ said the Duke impatiently, ‘are they such dullards that they cannot see what this could mean to them?’
The three men looked at
each other and William said to Fitz-Osbern, ‘I charge you with this duty. You will summon them all and make clear their duty to them.’
The Seneschal said he would do what was required of him.
‘And with all speed,’ added William. ‘I grow impatient.’
Fitz-Osbern forthwith summoned a meeting of the barons. They knew for what purpose they had been called together. Harold of England had sworn a sacred oath to their Duke which he had flouted. He had promised to help him to the throne of England and had taken the crown for himself; he had agreed to marry the Duke’s daughter and had now married another woman. The honour of Normandy was at stake.
‘The honour of the Duke,’ said one of the barons, ‘which is not necessarily that of Normandy.’
‘Are you such fools that you cannot see what great good this would bring to us?’ demanded Fitz-Osbern. ‘There would be lands and riches, for naturally the spoils of the conquered land would fall to those who had helped the Duke to obtain it.’
‘Death could also be our reward,’ said another.
The general opinion was: ‘We have pledged to support the Duke in any attack on Normandy; we have taken no oath to conquer foreign lands.’
When the Duke heard this answer he was enraged. But he would not allow his temper to take charge of him. He needed all his astute statesmanship and nothing was achieved in anger that could not be better done through calm.
He visited his shipyards. He said that work must go on apace. He was going to need many ships and of the best within the next few months.
It was clever Odo who had the idea.
‘Your vassals have refused to assist you in assembly. They stood together as one man. “No foreign adventure,” they said. But if you were to ask them singly, would their answer be the same? Invite them to come to you, flatter them, tell them you need their help, tell them that you know them for the most reliable and worthy of your vassals. Say to each separately: “My friend, I cannot do without help.” Promise them spoils. They say the Saxon women are very fair. Try this, William. I think it would be more successful than asking for loyalty and service in an assembly.’
William saw the wisdom of this.
It was surprising how successful Odo’s strategy proved to be.
Matilda spent a great deal of her time at Bayeux working on her tapestry.
She delighted in it. There on her canvas blazed the comet. There was Harold taking his oath over the bones of the saints; there was Edward on his death-bed pointing to Harold. She brooded as she worked. She could not go into battle; all she could do was help her husband whenever possible and recreate the story in her stitches. She had caused a ship to be built which would be the first of the fleet which sailed to England. She had not told William yet; the ship was to be her gift to him; she was going to name her Mora and she should be a ship the like of which had never been seen before and have the honour of carrying William to England.
She laughed to herself when she thought of that mighty enterprise. He was going to conquer. She could not conceive otherwise. She would stay at home working her tapestry, acting as Regent here in Normandy while he went ahead with the conquest of that country.
She smiled secretly. Somewhere in England a man of her own age would be thinking of Normandy, perhaps of her. He would be saying: ‘Matilda of Flanders will become Queen of England. Does she remember how I refused to marry her?’
No, Master Brihtric, I do not forget. Nor shall I ever forget till I have taught you what it means to humiliate a Queen.
William was preoccupied with his advisers. She did not disturb him nor ask him anything he did not wish to tell. But he talked to her, though perhaps not as much as he once had. The children had in some measure come between them; it was Robert who had done this. Robert was critical of his father and criticism was something William had never liked, and that it should come from his own family was intolerable to him. Robert was reckless and mischievous. He liked to taunt his father just as far as he could without bringing his wrath down on his head. Matilda often laughed inwardly to hear the little shafts Robert sent in his father’s direction.
‘Such a pair as we are could never have expected a peaceful brood,’ she often told herself and William.
William’s reply was: ‘I expect respect from all my vassals, including my own son.’
Robert would not like to hear himself referred to as a vassal. He already fancied himself as Duke of Normandy.
He had said only the other day: ‘Why, Mother, if my father conquered England he would be its King, would he not?’
‘He would indeed.’
‘Then he cannot be a King and a Duke, can he?’
‘Your father could manage them both very comfortably I doubt not.’
‘If he is a King, then I should be Duke of Normandy. He cannot govern two lands at the same time.’
‘You might be considered over young to govern,’ Matilda reminded him.
‘At thirteen?’
‘A great age my son!’
‘You mock.’
‘Only with love.’
‘Mother, you would always be on my side?’
‘Are you not my son?’
‘But he is your husband.’
‘You talk as though it must be a matter of taking sides.’
‘So must it be . . . in time.’
‘Nay, you will work together.’
But she knew it would not be so and something in her mind exulted. She had always loved excitement and conflict. Somewhere at the back of her mind she had been wondering for a long time whether her later years might not be enlivened by the pull of loyalties.
The two who touched her feelings more than any others: her admired husband, her beloved son! She would be interested to see which of them she loved the best. If it were a matter of taking sides, which would she take? Time would show her.
There was excitement at Bayeux. Tostig had arrived with Judith and the children. His eyes were alight with the desire for adventure.
Matilda received the family with delight. William guardedly.
Tostig was an attractive creature, Matilda decided. These Saxons often were. While he was closeted with William Judith talked to her, and Matilda had always got what she wanted from Judith.
‘What does Tostig hope for?’ she asked. ‘The crown of England?’
Judith’s eyelashes fluttered down and she hesitated just a second or so too long. Did not Matilda remember her gestures from their childhood?
‘How could he be? That is for William,’ said Judith.
‘Indeed yes, sister. But that does not stop Tostig’s hoping.’
‘He has come to offer his help to William.’
Matilda nodded. She knew what was in Tostig’s mind. Let William conquer England and then some sly piece of treachery and there would be Tostig waiting to snatch the crown.
‘Against his own brother?’ asked Matilda.
‘Tostig has always hated Harold.’
‘He has been jealous of his elder brother doubtless.’
‘Harold was his father’s favourite. Harold could do no wrong.’
‘By all accounts he is the people’s favourite. Poor Tostig was outlawed, was he not?’
‘It was all due to that pair of traitors, Edwin and Morcar.’
‘Who are now Harold’s brothers-in-law. How complicated these family relations are! Well, Judith, life with Tostig must be enthralling. You can never be sure where you will be.’
‘Tostig is a great man, Matilda,’ said Judith earnestly. ‘One day . . .’
Matilda held up her hand. Don’t say it, Judith, she thought. You will regret it. In any case there is no need to say it. It is as clear to me as daylight. Tostig wants to be King of England; and that, my dear Judith, is. a position which God has reserved for my William.
In the quiet of the bedchamber she talked to William.
‘What of Tostig?’
‘I don’t trust him.’
Matilda drew a deep breath. ‘I kne
w there was no need to warn you.’
‘So you have sounded Judith?’
‘Poor Judith, she is a devoted wife but scarcely a good strategist. I hope I shall do better for my husband when he leaves me for the conquest of England.’
He took her face in his hands, tender suddenly. ‘My dearest love, I constantly ask myself what I should do without you.’
Nay, William, she thought, you have constantly asked yourself nothing these last weeks but how you can begin the conquest of England.
‘You would miss me sorely, William,’ she said, ‘if I were not here. But here I am, your good and patient wife, stitching at her tapestry while she asks herself how best she can serve you. I gathered today from Judith that, in spite of his desire to help you to the crown of England, he rather fancies wearing it on his own head.’
‘I would not trust Tostig for one moment. He is as treacherous as his brother.’
‘Poor Harold, he had little chance to be anything else.’
‘He swore to me . . .’
‘Under duress.’
‘I believe you have a softness for the fellow.’
‘Well, he is a very handsome man and one whom I began to regard as my new son, which he would have been had he taken Adelisa.’
‘By God’s Splendour how he has tricked me!’
As surely, she thought, as you tricked him, my lord.
‘What shall you do about Tostig? I gather he has come to offer to fight beside you in the expedition.’
‘I am giving him a few ships . . . nothing of great importance. If he can sail back and harry Harold in the north while we attack in the south, he could be useful.’
She nodded. ‘I might have known you would do the wise thing.’
‘Come, Matilda, do you fancy yourself as a general?’
‘I fancy myself as anything that can serve my lord.’
He smiled at her and gently stroked her hair.
‘May God bless you for ever,’ he said, his voice tinged with tenderness and even a hint of passion.
But the tenderness was because he could rely on her and the passion was for the ships which were being built and which would carry him to England.
