TLV - 03 - The Sign of the Raven (15 page)

At Northampton he met the rebels, a huge and sullen host. Morkar's brother Edwin had joined them with his own levy, and the countryside smoked from their looting. They made way for Harold. Some even cheered him, as he dismounted before the house where the Alfgarssons were staying.

They gave him a cold welcome. They were both tall, slender men with the long bony face of their father, years younger than Harold but already renowned warriors. The earl plunged into talk the moment he was seated.

"Ill is this," he told them. "You rise against God's anointed, and set Englishmen at the throat of Englishmen, at a time when half the world lusts to rule us,"

"We give our duty to the king," said Morkar sharply. "Not to the house of Godwin."

"The king himself gave Tosti earldom in the North."

"Which was our father's by right," said Edwin. "He is no earl who robs and kills his own folk. We seek but justice,"

Harold waved a hand at the door. "I saw burned garths and slain yeomen. Call you that justice?"

"Our folk are wrathful and wild," said Morkar. "Can you blame them? You know not how they have groaned and feared for their lives."

Harold stared at his lap. There would be no turning these bleak young men without battle; and civil war would leave England open for the first enemy that came.

"In God's name, let us have a reconciliation," he said. "1 myself will go between you and Tosti and the king."

"There can be no peace with Tosti," said Morkar. "He himself has robbed God—churches and abbeys and holy men; he has bereaved the folk over whom he had power of life and land. We would ourselves be slain by our men if we accepted less than outlawry for him."

They spoke at length, and with heat; finally Harold yielded, and went to seek King Edward. Meanwhile another great council met at Oxford; weapons were rattling too close to London.

"Yes
...
yes
...
let them have their way. . . ." The king fingered a crucifix; it trembled in his thin grasp. "God help us, we can do naught else. Let Knut's law be renewed in Northumbria, and— and—"

The Oxford Witan heard out Harold's last attempt to mitigate, but their judgment was foregone. Tosti Godwinsson was declared outlaw, granted short time to depart lest his life as well as his lands be forfeit. Morkar would go to York as earl, and Edwin would dwell nearby to aid him. When the northern men heard that, they raised a shout which sent rooks whirling aloft from the housetops.

Harold sought out his brother. As he came in, Tosti spat and said: "Sweyn, Wulfnoth, and now me! You work fast to rid yourself of us."

"Peace," said the earl. He sank wearily into a chair. "I strove for you."

"With your tongue bulging out your cheek!" Tosti threw back his long hair. "Oh, cunningly have you wrought, my dear sib. But perhaps you have already made one betrayal too many."

"Be less rash," advised Harold. "Bide your time, and I shall work to have you inlawed again. 1 know you are hasty, but do not do that which would make it forever impossible to get you home."

"When I come home," said Tosti, "it shall not be to kiss the foot of King Harold. My wife and children have wept.
I will not forgive those North
umbrian clods for that."

Harold rose. "I see I'm unwelcome." He sighed. "If you forget all else, Tosti, remember that England is greater than any one man."

"Save Harold Godwinsson?" Tosti turned his back.

In a wild November gale, the outlaw departed with his family and several ships of friends
...
for he could be charming enough to make some men die for him. It took skill to cross the narrow seas in such weather, but he reached Flanders unscathed. Count Baldwin received him well, and he spent the winter at St. Omer's. It was no small treasure he had carried along. He used it to hire bold men who would spy and speak and fight.

3

Everyone could see that King Edward was sinking fast. Almost no flesh remained on him; it was as if the naked soul shone out between his bones. He had scant strength, but a quiet cheer lit his face. Very tired, longing only to go home to his God, he found naught left to do on earth but finish the great abbey church he was building in Westminster.

Edwin Alfgarsson visited Earl Harold in Wessex.

They spoke carefully of small matters for a while, sitting before a crackle of fire; an early snow drifted down outside. Then Edwin took the word.

"I fear our good king will not be with us next Easter."

"God grant him many more years," said Harold, dutifully but without much fervor.

"No, now . . . you know I wish him no ill. What is wrong with his dying? He'll surely be numbered among the saints. But we worldly men must think on worldly matters."

"And stand together."

"Behind whom? Edgar the Atheling is the last of Alfred's house, and he a sickly child. Can he bear the weight of Norse or Norman?"

Harold regarded him closely. "You have not often echoed my own thoughts," he said.

"I know not how far I echo them now," answered the younger man. "Our houses have not always been friendly. The Witan waver between Edgar's right and England's need. My brother and I would fain be your friends, Harold, yet we know not how far we can trust you. It were foolishness to make you king only to have you turn on us because of Tosti."

"I would not do so," said Harold, checking his temper. "I would need you too much."

"And when the hour of need is past? . . . No, be not angered. Morkar and I have threshed this out, and decided it were best to end old feuds and join our two lines."

"What mean you?" asked Harold, though he could guess.

"Our sister Aldyth was never glad to wed the
Welsh king Griffith ap Llewellyn. She could scarce bring herself to mourn him decently when he died. Her mind has ever been kindly toward you. . . ."

England's need, and England's crown, and Edith the fair and gentle. Harold bowed his head. "Let us think on it," he mumbled.

The betrothal feast was held soon afterward.

On Childermas the abbey of Westminster was consecrated, to the glory of God and St. Peter and all God's saints. King Edward was joyous, though he was so weak that he could not be at the service. Folk had swarmed into the town, and the great lords and the Witan were met, but talk was of only one thing and there was scant joy of the Christmas season.

Edward lay as if dead. Now and then he would rouse, but his eyes looked not on this world. A lowering sky pressed down over the whitened earth. On Twelfth Day Eve, word ran through the royal household that the king wrestled death's angel.

Harold, guesting there, was roused by a frightened servant, and pulled on his clothes and hastened across the courtyard. Torches streamed in the early winter gloom; the household folk scurried about knowing not what they did. As he entered the king's house, Harold heard a bell tinkling, and drew back crossing himself in awe; for it was the Host that went before him.

When Edward had received the Wayfaring Bread, the men of the realm entered his bedchamber. His queen, Edith, knelt near her lord's head. Earls and archbishops were on their knees likewise. The child Edgar Atheling was shivering with fear and cold.

Edward lay staring at the can
opy. His eyes caught the candle
light in a red gleam, and his wasted frame was utterly still; but they heard his breath labor in and out, the soul fluttering and clawing at its shell.

He spoke at last, a whisper, but it was clear: "God shield the land. For the sins of the people, God's anger is come on us. . . . May He show us His mercy when it pleases Him. . . ." The voice faded.

Harold rose and went to the bedside. His shadow fell black and misshapen over the king's face. "Lord," he said gently, "make known to us your will. Who shall follow you on the throne?"

Edward moved cold lips, but could get no word out.

"Lord, the land is in sore need," said Harold. "Grant us your counsel."

The white head lifted, just an inch, as if it would rise to see who stood there and to single one out.

Harold gathered his courage. Dark wings were beating close, but he could hear the whimper of wind, as if from a storm across winter seas. And England's crown—he had not bartered half his hopes for less.

"Tell us, my lord, whom you would have," he said, and bent his ear close. His hand brushed Edward's and felt an icy cold.

A voiceless whisper, and then a rattling back in the throat.

Harold stood up. His eyes swept the room, and he said into its silence: "Now I take you here to witness, that the king has given me the kingdom and all power in England."

He went back to his knees and prayed with the rest while the death struggle ebbed out before him. It did not last long.

Epiphany dawned cheerless gray, but the great of the realm had no time for mourning. It was old usage that a king was hallowed on a high feast; this was the last day possible before Easter, and the land could not wait that long for a master. Not only King Edward's burial, but the making of a successor must take place today, in a ripping haste which told how perilous a new year had begun.

After vigil and deathwatch, Harold repaired to the Witanagemot. Edgar Atheling was there, like a wistful little ghost whom folk paid scant heed. Not a voice was raised for him, or Duke William, or Harald Hardrede; as one, the chiefs named Harold Godwinsson, and the people cried yea till walls shivered.

Coiffed, anointed, and crowned, the new king sat at feast that night. It seemed forever since he had slept, but no sleep was on his eyes; before him went a steady march of rememberings, Wulfnoth, Tosti, Edward, Edith Swan-neck. "Have done," he groaned under his breath.'
"I could do naught else."

The earls Edwin and Morkar, who had crowned him, had seats of honor. They lifted their beakers to him. "Hail, lord king!" cried Edwin. "Joy to your reign!''

"It will be a troubled one," he answered.

"The more chance for it to be glorious, my lord," said Morkar.

Harold bent his head in thanks. But it was true, he told himself, it was true. Let him only weather this year, and there was nothing he could not do.

Even as he sat, he began thinking of war. The Northumbrians must be reconciled to having Tosti's brother for king. Yes, best he go speedily up to York with the Alfgarssons and win their love. Ship levies would have to lie out, come summer. There must be guard mounted and spies sent into Normandy, Norway . . . Could he look for help from Denmark or Ireland? Rome favored William; Harold must at the least get England's bishops on his side. A mighty task! But his ghosts did not follow him when he went into the maze of it.

IX

How St. Michael Drew His Sword

1

Harald Sigurdharson remained in Oslo the winter after he put down the Upland rebellion, and had trusty men out in foreign parts. Word ran about the land: Edward the Good was in his grave, Harold Godwinsson sat a shaky throne, Tosti Godwinsson gathered English outlaws and Flemish hirelings at St. Omer's, William the Bastard had messengers hurrying over hundreds of miles and gave out he would knock England's crown off Harold's head. . . . Aye, aye, this was a time of uproar, the old men shook their heads and peered through dim eyes into the coals, the young men spoke of riches to be had, the women began to lie awake nights and grow silent by day. The king kept his own counsel, but he was often seen sunk in thought.

Early in spring, he sent to his chief men who had gone elsewhere for the winter, bidding them hasten down to Oslo. Ulf Uspaksson rode down from the Throndlaw with a small following. He was overnighting at a yeoman's house in Sogn—his way
south skirted the Uplands, which he did not care to visit again—when Eystein Gorcock came thither.

As the sheriff entered, he was seen to be tired and muddy; his garments were somber, against his known usage, and the handsome face troubled. Ulf did not rise for him, but waved him to a seat next to his own.

"Good evening to you, Eystein," he said. "I thought you'd have been in Oslo erenow."

"I lingered, in hopes I'd meet you, and asked what roads you'd been taking." The sheriff slumped into the seat and stretched long legs out toward the fire. "It seemed well if we could travel together."

Ulf's shaggy brows went up, but he said nothing. Eystein was shocked at how much the marshal had aged in a few months. His skin hung in gray folds over the heavy bones, his eyes were deep sunken, and eld lay like rime frost in the coarse black hair.