Conquest

‘But you would be the choice of the Witan; all the earls would support you.’

‘Edward doesn’t believe kings should be chosen by the earls and the thegns; he thinks that it leads to intrigue and anarchy. He says that monarchs should rule by dint of their bloodline, so that succession is beyond argument.’

‘My Lord, I can’t begin to think of England under Norman rule. All Anglo-Saxons will fight to the last man to prevent that.’

‘I think you’re right; our people will fight and thousands will die. Edward knows that if I support the Duke and he gives me and my fellow earls appropriate concessions, we might create an alliance that most of England could be persuaded to accept and war would be averted. However, what no one knows is whether William would make such a bargain and, if he did, whether he would keep it.’

Sensing that these matters would be talked of many times before a decision was made, Harold abruptly changed the subject of the conversation to a preoccupation more typical of soldiers on campaign. He reminisced about the seductive qualities of Edith Swan-Neck, who had given him five children, before moving on to the merits of Norman women. Few had impressed him, but there was a young girl at William’s court to whom he had taken a particular liking. If William would agree, he intended to bed her as soon as they reached Rouen. He had been away for many weeks and a romp with a soft and slender young beauty was long overdue, especially one as sweet as the girl he had in mind.

Hereward smiled inwardly at Harold’s earthy manner. There was nothing devious or complicated about him; he had simple virtues and easy vices, just like his soldiers. The more Hereward thought about it, the more he was convinced that, after Edward’s death, England had to be ruled by Harold. Plain man or not, Harold would do what was right according to the old ways: merciless in battle, magnanimous in victory; harsh with wrongdoers, kind to the righteous.

Hereward looked at the Earl of Wessex riding beside him and, in that moment, resolved that he would do all in his power to persuade him to become king, and that if he took power, he would stand at his side and fight to the death for him and his kingdom. He reached for the Talisman, grasped it under his smock and added another personal conviction: should Harold be crowned King of England, he would place the Talisman around his neck and bring to an end his odyssey as its envoy.

On the evening of the triumphant return to Rouen, William hosted a celebratory banquet in the Great Hall of his palace. William retained control throughout the proceedings, while most around him became more and more inebriated and raucous.

Harold was no exception. William had granted him his young concubine, and he had eyes only for her during the feast. But William had devised a trap which he was about to spring.

The Duke had taken care to invite the Bishops of Cluny, Paris and Rheims to the great celebration to bear non-partisan witness to the devastating coup de grace he was about to deliver.

The Duke rose with a solemnity of purpose and addressed Harold directly. There was an instantaneous silence among the gathering, abrupt enough to suggest a rehearsed event.

‘My Lord Earl, Harold Godwinson, Earl of Wessex, Earl Marshal to King Edward of England, our noble and esteemed friend from the north, I invite you to join me in an oath.’

Harold shook himself out of his drunken and lustful euphoria. Hereward looked at him anxiously. As in a game of chess, a disguised gambit was about to be revealed, a move that would seal the fate of a kingdom. Harold, swaying a little, joined William at the head of his great oak dining table.

‘In the presence of our revered guests, my Lords temporal and ecclesiastical, I do swear, when God determines it should be so, to place myself at the service of England as its King in succession to Edward, that most wise and noble of monarchs. I hereby further swear that I entrust the command of my army in England to my gracious and worthy friend, the noble Lord, the Earl of Wessex, who will serve as my Earl Marshal, answering to no one in England or Normandy save me.’

William beckoned Harold closer to him, smiling benignly as he did so. ‘My lord Earl, place your hands on mine on this ancient Bible, carried here by the monks of Mont St Michel, the most holy relic in our land, and swear with me this oath.’

William had called ‘check’ but Harold knew it was ‘mate’; there was nothing for him to do but to swear. Harold pulled himself up, found some clarity of thought and voice through the fog of inebriation, placed his hands on William’s on the Holy Book and uttered the fateful words.

‘I do swear.’

Even before Harold sat down, the Norman scribes had begun to commit the proceedings to parchment.

History’s course was set.