The Conqueror (32 page)

‘Read it for me then, fool,’ the Duke said, still breathing the clean scent of the rose.

‘You have seen England and Normandy, brother, two countries, yet joined under one ruler; both hale once upon a day, but one now dead, rotted and stinking, hanging on the other, which still by its wealth and vigour supports it.’

‘Folly!’ said FitzOsbern scornfully.

The Duke did not raise his eyes from the rose he held. ‘Go on, friend Galet. Which of these two by your reading is Normandy?’

The fool pointed a bony finger, and they saw that it was shaking. ‘Do you not know, Brother William? Eh, but you know full well, you of the hawk’s eyes! Normandy is that carrion flesh that saps the life-blood from England. For England shall take out of Normandy all that she can give, and leave her languishing to die, as you have seen today – yea, and as your sons’ sons shall see in the years to come, to their bitter cost!’

FitzOsbern stood staring with dropped jaw; Raoul was watching the Duke, who had glanced quickly at the jester under his brows.

There was a moment’s silence. The Duke’s hard gaze left Galet’s face. ‘So be it,’ he said deliberately, and bent his head to sniff at the rose again.

Six

They rode northward to St Lo, upon the Vire, in the wild Côtentin country. Here messengers met them from Rouen, with letters for the Duke. He read them quickly and only dwelled long upon one, which brought him tidings out of England. He handed the sheet presently to Earl Harold, saying: ‘These concern you, I think.’ While the Earl read the letter he went on slitting open his various despatches, and never once raised his eyes to see how the Earl received the news contained in the brief account he held.

But Harold’s face betrayed nothing. He read unhurriedly, his eyes thoughtful. The letter told of the King’s failing health: he hunted less often than of yore; spent much time in prayer and meditation, and was fretful with the masons at work upon the Abbey that was slowly building to the glory of St Peter on the Isle of Thorney, outside London. This was to be his last resting-place, and he had taken a notion into his head that the masons would not have reached the end of their labours before his body was ready for its sepulchre.

The despatch went on to tell of trouble in the north, where Tostig ruled. Earl Harold folded it carefully, and gave it back to William. The Duke had taken quill and ink, and was writing an answer to Rouen. His pen moved boldly, with thick downward strokes characteristic of the man.

Not lifting his gaze from the cotton-paper under his hand, he said: ‘I find I have little patience to waste on such turbulent men as that brother of yours, my friend.’

‘I have none,’ the Earl replied rather grimly.

William went on writing for a while in silence. He came to the end of the sheet and sprinkled fine sand over it and shook this off presently on to the floor. He laid the sheet aside and dipped his quill into the ink-horn again. ‘I think,’ he said, with a deliberation the Earl found maddening, ‘I think that it is time you set sail for England, Earl Harold.’

The Earl felt an itching desire to get up and move about the small room. He curbed it and sat still, his eyes
on William’s face. ‘It is time, and more,’ he said, as though he picked his words. He watched the Duke’s pen travel across the sheet, once, twice, a third time. He found that his fingers were drumming against the carven arm of his chair, and closed them on the hard wood to stay their fidgeting. He wanted the Duke to speak, but William went on writing. The Earl’s brain weighed and rejected phrase after phrase. He said at last, abruptly: ‘Be plain with me, Duke William: what is it you require of me?’

The Duke raised his eyes at that, and laid aside his quill. Pushing the papers from him he linked his hands together on the table, and said: ‘Earl Harold, many years ago when I was an untried boy still in the care of my guardians King Edward dwelled in my Court and was my friend. In those days he made me a promise that if ever he became King of England, and begat no children of his own body, myself should be his heir.’ He paused, but the Earl made no remark. He was leaning back in his chair, his head resting against the dark wood. His face showed nothing but a calm interest. The Duke looked him over with a certain measure of approval. ‘Fourteen years ago,’ he went on, ‘I journeyed into England upon a visit to the King, when he renewed his promises to me, giving me as hostages, Wlnoth, Hakon, and Edgar, the son of Eadwulf. This I think must be known to you?’

‘I have heard it,’ Harold answered, expressionless.

‘The King is stricken in years,’ William said, ‘and I am not the only one who looks towards his throne.’

The Earl’s eyelids flickered, but he said nothing.

‘There is Edgar, the child-Atheling,’ William continued after an infinitesimal pause. ‘I have little doubt there are many will seek to set him up.’

‘It is very like,’ Harold said. He moved his hand so that a ring of balas-rubies which he wore caught the sunlight; he studied it through half-closed eyes.

‘I need a man to hold for me in England,’ the Duke said, ‘guarding my interest until the time comes when Edward is called to his fathers – and after.’

‘Myself?’ There was a hint of steel in the Earl’s voice.

‘Yourself,’ William agreed, ‘bound by oath to uphold my claim.’

The Earl smiled. He looked up from his ring, and found William’s gaze upon him. He met it full, and while a man might count fifty the long interchange of glances held, in a silence unbroken by any other sound than the high sweet song of a lark lost somewhere in the blue haze outside. ‘So that is why you are holding me,’ the Earl said at last, without surprise or heat.

‘That is why,’ William answered. ‘To be honest with you, Earl Harold, had you been other than you are I would not have spent these pains on the matter. I tell you in all frankness you are the only man I have met in all the years of my life for whom I have felt – respect.’

‘I am honoured,’ Harold said ironically.

‘You may well be,’ the Duke replied with a gleam of humour. He watched the last grains of sand trickle through the hour-glass upon the table, and turned it.

‘What bribe do you offer me, my lord Duke?’ Harold asked.

The Duke’s lips curled. ‘Earl Harold, many things you may call me, but I beg you will not call me Fool. I keep bribes for lesser men.’

Harold inclined his head slightly. ‘My thanks. I will word it thus: what reward will you bestow upon a son of Godwine?’

The Duke considered him for a moment. ‘Harold, if you choose you may stand second to me in England,’ he said. ‘I will give you my daughter Adela in marriage, and engage to confirm you in the possessions you hold today.’

If the Earl saw anything ludicrous in the offer of espousal with an infant years younger than the offspring of his own first marriage, he gave no sign of it. ‘Why, this is noble!’ he murmured. Again he studied his ring. ‘And if I refuse?’

The Duke, knowing his man, replied: ‘Using no half-words, son of Godwine, if you refuse I shall not let you depart out of Normandy.’

‘I see,’ said Harold. He might have added that he had seen for many months, and long since weighed the chances of escape, and considered what must be his answer to the Duke’s demands. There was no smile in his eyes now; his lips had taken on a stern look. He drew in a deep breath, as though he had come to the end of a struggle that cost him dear, but his voice, pleasant as always, perfectly under his control, betrayed nothing of this. ‘It seems that I have no choice, Duke William. I will take the oath,’ he said.

He told Edgar that night what he had done. Edgar lighted him to his chamber, and when he would have left the Earl at his door Harold said curtly: ‘Wait: I have something to tell you.’ He dismissed the sleepy page who was holding a taper to the candles on the table, and flung himself down on a chair that stood against the wall, out of the circle of light. ‘Shut that door, Edgar. I leave for England in a week, or maybe a little more, taking you and Hakon with me. Wlnoth remains.’

Edgar stayed still by the door. ‘Leave for England?’ he echoed stupidly. ‘Do you tell me the Duke has relented?’ He sounded incredulous, but as a thought occurred to him he added with some eagerness: ‘Is this because you did so well by him in Brittany, lord? I know that he loves courage, but I never dreamed –’ He stopped, for the Earl had given a scornful laugh under his breath. Edgar took a quick step forward, trying to see his lord’s face. ‘What is the price of freedom?’ he demanded. His hand closed on the edge of the table and gripped it.

‘I have promised to swear an oath to him, engaging to uphold his claim to England,’ Harold said. ‘To deliver up to him when the King dies, Dover Castle, and to wed his daughter Adela as soon as she is of marriageable age.’

‘Soul of God, are you jesting?’ Edgar snatched up the heavy candlestick from the table and held it high above his head so that the light fell on the Earl’s face. ‘Are you mad, my lord?’ he said harshly. ‘Jesu, are you mad?’

The Earl put up a hand to shade his eyes. ‘No, I am not mad,’ he answered. ‘I take the only road that leads to freedom.’

‘Swearing away a crown, a life’s ambition!’ The candlestick shook in Edgar’s hold. ‘What of us, the men who have trusted in you, followed you, died for you? God on the Cross, is it Godwine’s son who speaks?’

The Earl moved restlessly. ‘Fool, do you not know that if I refuse to take the oath William will never let me go? What of you then, you who trust in me? Should I not fail you? Answer!’

Edgar set down the candlestick with a crash. ‘Lord, you leave me without words, without understanding. Be plain with me, I beg of you!’

‘I have told you: it is the only way left to me. If I refuse I must remain a prisoner, and lose what I have striven for all my life.’ He paused, and added meaningly: ‘Have you forgot how I swore to you a year agone that I would escape his net, not matter by what means, or at what cost?’

‘What shall it profit you, this shackled freedom?’ Edgar said. He realized suddenly what the Earl’s words implied, and sank down on to a stool by the table, resting his head in his hands. ‘Oh, heart of God!’ he said. His fingers writhed in the strands of his hair. ‘I am dull-witted indeed,’ he said bitterly, ‘to think that Harold Godwineson would be torn asunder before he broke faith. Forgive me! I have fed on dreams.’

The Earl rose, and stood before his thegn, leaning his hands upon the table that separated them. ‘Tell me, with whom shall I break faith: with William or with England?’ he asked sternly. ‘Speak! With one or other it must be. Shall I shrink from staining mine honour, and betray our England to this Norman tyrant? Is that what you would have me do? Is that work for Harold Godwineson? Torch of the Gospel, if that is the image you nurse of me, banish it and know me for myself, no puppet of your fancy! I stand for England, and England I will hold till the breath leaves my body. Think me what you will: though I break faith with all others, to England I will still be true. What shall I care though my soul be damned in hell, if it must be said of me that what I did I did that England might be safe?’ His voice filled the room; he ceased, and a deep silence fell. The candle-flame burned steadily, unshaken by any draught; beyond the window a star shone in the darkness.

The hoot of an owl broke the quiet. Edgar started, and raised his head from his hands. ‘Forgive me!’ he said again, in a changed voice. His face darkened. ‘What devil’s cunning to put this upon you! Ha God, there shall be a reckoning! Yet might he not guess, lord? Might he not suspect that such an oath would not bind you?’

‘Guess! He knows,’ Harold answered. He began to move about the room; a short laugh escaped him. ‘Lanfranc!’ he said. He unclasped the belt that girt his tunic round his waist, and threw it on the table. ‘What, do you not see it all yet? Think, when England’s crown is set upon my head what an outcry will be raised by William against Harold, a breaker of his oath!’

‘It is black, lord,’ Edgar said in a low voice. ‘An offence against God and chivalry, a stain upon your shield.’ He rose suddenly and pushed back his stool. ‘I thought he had a kindness for you! All these weeks while you have slept, ate, fought together – ah, he bears two faces, the Wolf!’

Harold paused in his striding up and down; he looked curiously at Edgar. ‘You are wrong. You think he has counterfeited liking for me. He does like me, and if I would bend to his will I might be sure of his friendship. Why, he offered me – Well, no matter for that. I have chosen the path I must tread.’ He came close to Edgar, and gripped his arms. ‘Your heart misgives you: do you think mine is not heavy at this hour? Stand by me; trust in me yet, though I lay perjury upon my soul. I need your trust as never before.’

He let him go. Edgar dropped on his knees and put up his hands, palm to palm. ‘God knows I trust in you, my lord, and you know too. Come what may I will follow you to the end.’

The Earl laid his hands lightly on either side of Edgar’s. ‘Yea, I know.’ He raised his thegn. ‘It grows late, and there is no more to say. Leave me now, and pray that William may not require so solemn an oath of me as must put me, in the breaking of it, beyond the Church’s forgiveness.’

They took the road again next day. Edgar rode close behind the Earl, holding aloof from his Norman friends. FitzOsbern rallied him on his coldness, but stopped soon enough, warned by Raoul’s frown. He cantered alongside Raoul, and said: ‘What ails him? I have not seen him so glum these many years.’

‘Let him be, William !’ Raoul said wearily. ‘Cannot you guess how he must hate us?’

‘Hate us!’ ejaculated FitzOsbern. ‘What, because of this oath to be sworn at Bayeux? No, no, what is that to him?’

Raoul heaved a sigh of exasperation. ‘What would it be to us if William stood in Harold’s shoes today? Oh, I do not doubt that Edgar loves his friends still, but in his heart is bitter hatred of our race. Leave him: you can do nothing.’

‘But I see no reason,’ FitzOsbern persisted. ‘No force has been put upon the Earl; it is settled between him and William as between two who understand each other well. Now why out of hell do you laugh?’

‘No force?’ Raoul repeated. ‘God’s eyes,
FitzOsbern, is torture the only force you know? I would we were done with this business.’

They came to Bayeux in due course, and were received there by the Bishop. If the Earl’s eyes searched for the Prior of Herluin in the assembly they found him not. Earl Harold was as gay as ever, talking easily to the Duke, and to Odo, often laughing at some jest as though no care weighed on him. Only his followers, Edgar, and Alfric, Sigwulf, Edmund, Oswine, and Earnulph, wore grave faces, and watched him with trouble in their eyes. Each one was in his confidence, each one had sworn to keep silence, but though they said stoutly that no oath extracted thus could bind him, foreboding crept over them, and a vague alarm possessed their minds.