Conquest

Without hesitation or a hint of repulsion, she pulled at the tunics of body after body to reveal their belly below the navel. At last, she found what she was looking for and sank to her knees to touch him. He was tattooed just above his pubic hair with the Wyvern, the Dragon of Wessex, and coiled around the dragon’s legs was a phallic serpent, its head and protruding forked tongue pointing towards his manhood. Only the King’s torso was intact; his limbs had been scattered and his head, severed from his body and bludgeoned beyond recognition, was only discernible by his distinctive mane of golden hair.

Edith was sobbing profusely, her dress and cloak covered in blood. She turned to William Malet and screamed, ‘You cowardly barbarian! You bastard servants of a bastard lord, you’ve hacked his manhood from his body. May you and all Normans be cursed for ever!’

When William heard Edith’s accusations and learned that Hugh de Montfort had committed the crime, he immediately ordered that he be banished from Normandy for a year. Then, in front of Edith, he was stripped of his weapons and armour, tethered to a horse, and ridden out of camp.

There was a strange irony in the severity of William’s response. Warrior knights were expected to behave savagely in battle, but to castrate a man in death was the action of a heathen. According to a knight’s code of chivalry, men fought for honour or gain, where any level of brutality was permitted, but only savages fought for barbaric prizes like an opponent’s manhood.

It had begun to rain heavily as William Malet’s men helped Edith Swan-Neck gather the parts of Harold’s body. They were wrapped in a plain linen shroud brought specially from Bosham and transported to the shore as William had instructed. A pile of stones to mark a grave was not permitted and while the monk from Bosham read over him, King Harold of England was interred in a shallow pit in the sand just above the high-water mark. Then, by following a circuitous route in total darkness, the Normans tried hard to ensure that it would be difficult ever again to find the King’s grave.

Nonetheless, Edith used every method she could think of to memorize the King’s last journey.

A few months later, in the dead of a January night in 1067, Edith was able to retrace her footsteps.

With the help of four monks from his abbey at Waltham, and after many hours digging in the sand, Harold’s body was retrieved. Later, in a clandestine ceremony, it was reinterred beneath the high altar of Waltham.

William and the Norman hierarchy never discovered the truth, but among the English people word soon spread about Harold’s final resting place and Waltham Abbey became a place of secret pilgrimage for all Englishmen from that day forward.

John Comnenus had grown concerned about Godwin of Ely. His vivid account had extended late into another night and, as he described the gruesome encounter of Senlac Ridge, his hands had begun to shake and perspiration had dripped from his brow.

‘Would you like to rest for a while?’

‘You are very kind, my Prince. If I may, I will go to my shelter and spend a few hours alone.’

‘Of course; take as much time as you need. Perhaps Prince Azoukh and I will walk in the mountains for a while when the sun comes up.’

After sleeping for a few hours, the two princes, accompanied by a platoon of bodyguards, stretched their legs in a leisurely circuit around Godwin’s mountain-top retreat.

Both deep in thought, John Azoukh broke the mood of reflection.‘It is certainly a tale of mighty warriors, my friend. I’m glad that the likes of Harold and William lived far to the north and never threatened the gates of Constantinople.’

‘My father has told me about Hardrada. People at court still talk about him with reverence, as they do Godwin of Ely. I wonder if England has benefited from the presence of men of such stature, all living at the same time? Or has it been a curse? Just imagine: the giant Hardrada, William the fearsome redheaded ogre and the two golden-haired English heroes. What times they were! The Greek poets couldn’t have invented a finer cast of characters.’

‘Yes, and there seems to be much more to hear.’

‘I hope so’

John Azoukh looked at his friend with a hint of concern on his face. ‘My friend, when you hear of the trials and tribulations of kings and rulers, does it inspire you? Or does it fill you with dread about your own succession?’