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CHAPTER ONE -- A PARTING PROPHECY

Westminster Abbey, England, January 6, 1066)

It was near dawn, and King Edward was dying. Like wheat ripe for the harvest his soul awaited the sweep of mortality’s scythe. Shivering at her husband’s bedside from the wind passing through the cracks in the shuttered windows of the candle-lit bedchamber Queen Edith Godwine’s-Daughter wrapped her long blue wool cloak tighter about her petite frame, casting an embittered glance at the two figures conversing upon the other side of Edward’s deathbed. With great indignation Edith turned to Lord Hugolin, a French-born courtier and devoted friend of her spouse of more than twenty years, venting her intense anger at what she anticipated would prove an imminent attempt by her brother to usurp Edward’s royal succession.

“Edward will be gone soon, alas, and I fear the worst in wake of his departing, Hugolin. God knows my brother Harold will stop at nothing to grasp power as he’s long planned, and I’m afraid there’s little I may be able to do to prevent such an unlawful action. Ah, if only I’d more authority behind me, if I could lead an army in defense of my husband’s estate from any move my brother intends, I’d be able to … “ Lord Hugolin placed a reassuring hand on Edith’s arm in solace and confidence, offering her encouragement. The Queen sighed, once again glaring at the pair across from her with a heart full of wariness and resentment.

“Fear not, ma reine, for what you can do you’ve done and it shall prove sufficient, I promise you. Harold’s a practical man and I truly doubt he’ll risk incurring the wrath of Duc Guillaume by any rash act of royal seizure. He’d not only have Normandy but Rome itself set against him as Duc Guillaume wields critical influence over the Holy See due to his alliance with Guiscard. And we mustn’t forget your brother has Earl Tosti, and perhaps even Norway to calculate into any plot to take the throne against both his oath to Normandy and roi Edward’s own wishes. I counsel you not to despair, Madame. In the event your brother is foolish enough to pursue such an impulsive and irresponsible course as to try and take the crown by force, the measures which

you’ve taken to impede Harold’s effort at usurpation shall prove more than adequate to frustrate it, ere long. As you Anglais are known to say about gambling, in certain situations the best roll of the dice is to throw them away. Oui, ma reine?” Queen Edith smiled in a wan fleeting fashion, hoping Hugolin’s perspective proved accurate but still bracing herself for treachery on Harold’s part. Harold tried to catch Edith’s eye, but she refused to oblige him.

The Earl of Wessex, the most powerful man in the kingdom since his sire Godwine’s death thirteen years earlier, frowned as he gazed down upon King Edward’s pallid countenance, incensed at the mere thought of being denied what he held his just inheritance for his many valiant services to England. Stroking his thick mustache in anxious impatience Harold spat in disgust, determined to prevail against all opposition to his garnering of his royal brother-in-law’s succession regardless of consequences. Shaking his head the tall muscular nobleman reiterated his absolute intention of becoming England’s sovereign to Archbishop Stigand of Canterbury, a cunning survivor of almost fifty years of intriguing around the center of power who’d been acting as Harold’s chief counselor of late for his own crooked reasons.

“Look at him, Stigand. As useless at death’s door as ever he was in life, and stubborn to the last, God curse his conniving soul! All I require is but a single word, or a gesture, and I would be empowered to press my proper claim of succession as I merit, but will His Majesty see fit to oblige me, I ask? Not if his loyal wife my good sister has her will of matters, I daresay! Edith’s as set against my obtaining her husband’s throne as I’m resolved to have it, and where Godwines conflict there lies trouble, as the popular saying asserts. As if she hasn’t done enough already to render my necessary task of assuming England’s governance more difficult than it ought be, by her malicious conspiring with that old man and my enemies, our villainous brother Tosti included! I’ve a fair mind to throttle Edith where she stands for how she’s compromised me, placing the kingdom in peril just to satisfy her personal spite! I tell you, Stigand, I shall not prove denied in this instance if heaven itself must shatter for justice to be done, by Christ and His blessed saints!” Archbishop Stigand nodded, seeking to restrain Earl Harold’s notorious temper so it wouldn’t place the irate Wessex’s prospects of succession in further jeopardy by its untimely eruption. Whispering in the low cold tone of expert duplicity the elderly cleric urged Harold to maintain self-control and bide his time, certain of inevitable fortune.

“Discretion is the firm foundation upon which the palace of victory is built, my son. Edith can do nothing to keep you from the crown, though I must advise you again to reflect ere you attempt to take power by force. It’s not too late I’m sure to reach an arrangement with the faction of Edgar Aetheling, behind whose outward authority you would still wield the true royal prerogative owing to the boy’s youth and general incompetence despite Lady Agathe’s pretense to her whelp’s regency. Given the circumstances of your oath to Duke William bestowing your sworn support to his right to his cousin’s estate, and your pledge to wed Normandy’s daughter in the bargain, prudence may be the better part of ambition for the moment.” Earl Harold remained adamant in his resolution to attain sovereignty, the Archbishop regarding him with disapproving resignation at such reckless presumption. Recognizing the futility in endeavoring to persuade the Earl toward a more considered course Stigand yielded to Harold’s whim, concerned more about the retaining of his own endangered office than with the effect of Harold’s proposed usurpation upon himself or the English kingdom.

“No, Archbishop. I’ll not allow that foreign brat and his accursed relations to wreck this country through their manifest corruption and inability, by God’s gray beard! England must have strong and capable government such as I have provided it these many years since inheriting my father’s title and its manifold burdens of responsibility. If I were to leave this land in the hands of Edgar Aetheling and Normandy made effort to seize Edward’s authority as he may well do, defeat would mean disaster, and my efforts at combating the threat would be gravely hampered by Agathe’s blasted interference out of fear and jealousy, I know. There can be no hiding behind a fool boy in this instance, Stigand. I am fit to reign, and reign I shall, no matter the cost. I shall have no further debate of the issue. Understood? I’ll deal with the Bastard in my own time and fashion after the crown is mine.” Archbishop Stigand bowed, prepared to serve Earl Harold as he was instructed. Having overheard Harold’s remarks Queen Edith was compelled to respond with vigorous objection to her brother’s inference, his sister’s confrontation provoking Harold’s anger that he attempted to rein with considerable difficulty.

“I’m afraid I must disagree with your rather arrogant contention, Harold. You are ineligible to succeed my husband for obvious reasons. England cannot risk the displeasure of Rome just for your ambition’s sake, nor should our people need fear suffering of reprisal from Duke William a violation of your given word would impose, or hadn’t you even thought of that, pray? You must resign yourself to having the Witan determine who shall receive my husband’s estate, brother, that is, if you’re at all interested in sparing this land from invasion or a civil war, since Edgar Aetheling’s faction would offer stiff resistance to their candidate’s forceful exclusion from consideration for the crown, don’t you think? So far as the world is concerned, you’re Duke William’s sworn man, Hal, and nothing under heaven can change that. Nothing. So you might as well accept matters as they stand, and concern yourself with how you’ll go about pleasing your young wife-to-be. After all, a virgin’s blood runs hot once it’s been shed, and you’re not as young as you were when you and Ealdgyth exchanged hand-fast vows. Are you, my good lord?”

Edith’s mocking tone and lewd winking along with Lord Hugolin’s smirking infuriated Harold, who came around to the Queen’s side of the bed and took Edith by the arm, forcing her to the side for a private heated conference. Hugolin started to intercede but Edith halted him with the wave of her hand, willing to indulge Harold if only for her own amusement. Archbishop Stigand advanced to obtain a better hearing stance as the antagonistic siblings entered into a conversation that swift became a fierce argument.

“Well, Hal? What is it you have to say at this late juncture, brother? You’re not going to lay blame for your current circumstance at my feet again, are you? Ah, of course you are. When the serpent’s coils wind tight the trapped rat must affix responsibility for his mortal predicament as best he can if only for his own pathetic edification at the last, isn’t that so? And I’m your most convenient scapegoat, my lord, yes? In your mind, Edward and I are the insidious architects of your entrapment by Duke William and Lady Matilda, and Tosti as well, lest I forget our good kinsman your misplaced bitterness sent into exile abroad with utter and I daresay expensive injustice. Everyone was and is against the great Earl Harold Godwinesson, the fair Roland of our age whose only thought is of duty to house and homeland, correct? Please. You carved your own sepulcher, Harold, out of your vaunting pride and appetite for power. So don’t blame me now that the hour’s come for you to lie in it. Of course, you can elect to rest with my husband if bending the knee to his inheritor doesn’t please you. I’m sure Edward won’t mind sharing his eternal crypt, if it is the only choice left you that is digestible.” Harold reddened at Edith’s tart suggestion and retorted with equal barb, revisiting his accusation of the Queen as accomplice to his fateful misadventure in Normandy two years earlier while ostensibly in service to King Edward upon a mission of crucial import. Queen Edith evinced derisive contempt at Harold’s agitated condemnation, having to restrain herself from laughing outright in his face.

“You may deny your treachery all you wish, sister, and that of the King and Tosti, but such protest alters not the facts if what transpired, not in the slightest. I went to Normandy only at the request of your husband to procure the liberty of Edward’s nephew Count Walter and his family, after the invasion of Maine by the Bastard. As I recall you pressed me with earnest imploring and even tears to likewise secure the release of our brother Wulfnoth and our nephew Hakon Sweynsson from Norman custody as well, having informed Mother of a certain evil dream you’d had in which young Wulfnoth came to harm in captive hands. It was on account of this vision’s sharing that Lady Gytha made me swear I’d let no injury come to Wulfnoth, under any circumstances. You and Edward were so insistent upon the mission’s undertaking you wouldn’t even wait for the summer storm which was then brewing to pass ere I departed. And when I suggested Tosti might be better able to negotiate with the Bastard due to their relationship as kinsmen through marriage, our good brother demurred upon some flimsy grounds that you and Edward didn’t see fit to so much as question. I grant you, it was only upon reflection in wake of later occurrence I realized what perfidy had been perpetrated, but there can be no further denial of what was done on your part, Edith. Edward sent me abroad to be victimized by his cousin with the blessing and cooperation of you and Tosti. At least have the dignity to admit it, at last, won’t you?” Queen Edith shook her head, contemplating Harold with scorn and pity as the Earl awaited her response to his charge. After looking with poignant fondness at her husband Edith once again denied Harold’s constant allegation to her brother’s chagrin.

“There’s nothing for me to admit, Hal. It’s true Edward asked you to go and plead for Walter, as a personal favor between kinsmen, and it’s true I seconded my husband’s petition, like any devoted wife would’ve. Tosti had pressing business to pursue in Scotland on Edward’s behalf, and you after all were then basking in the glory you’d just won in Wales, or has the memory of your lauded triumph already paled in your selective memory? So Edward presumed you’d fare as well as Tosti regarding what we all held to be the execution of a routine diplomatic embassy. As I recollect, Harold, it was you who proved impatient to leave at once for Normandy, fearing neither the storm’s fury or a possible encounter in shipwreck’s wake with that terrible creature the Norse are always going on about, what’s its name again? The kraken? Anyway. You can go on blaming everyone else for what happened during your stay abroad, my good lord, and by the way, Hal, you didn’t have to take the oath to Mother any more than you did that one you swore to Duke William. In each instance you made a deliberate decision to do so. You alone, Harold Godwinesson. Not me, not Tosti, and not my husband. You flew like a bird to the Duke’s court anticipating of yet another laurel being added to the plume of your reputation. And I remind you, brother, that Count Guy of Ponthieu was your boon friend, not mine or Edward’s. Maybe he was persuaded to betray you, but if so, you must look elsewhere for the guilty party. Edward and I are innocent in the affair, God as my judge and witness, truly.” Harold refused to accept the Queen’s self-serving answer and in frustration seized Edith by the throat, lifting her off of her feet as she gasped in pain and choked within his iron grip. Lord Hugolin moved forward to defend the Queen, warning Harold against further abuse of Edith’s royal person.

“Unhand la reine Edith, Monsieur, at once, or else I shall need force you to refrain from such an outrageous indignity as you now impose upon Her Majesty. Unhand her, I said, or you shall regret your present action, seigneur, now!” Earl Harold gazed at the older nobleman with great deploring and releasing Edith advanced upon Hugolin, grabbing him by the front of his emerald tunic and placing his face mere inches from the Frenchman’s. Queen Edith rubbed her throat as her brother and her loyal retainer confronted one another, unable to speak. Archbishop Stigand intervened to her relief, endeavoring to prevent a more violent engagement.

“Gentlemen, in the name of Lord Christ Our Blessed Redeemer, I beseech you. Yonder King Edward lies dying, not far from the seat of the Almighty’s judgment. Let us not profane the last moments of His Majesty with the knavish cacophony of petty squabbling. Truly, there’s naught to even dispute in this instance since we all know that the natural law of inheritance royal or not is ever beati possidentes. “Blessed are those who possess.” And we all know who is in the best position to assert claim to our native crown under the auspice of such a firm decree. Do we not?”

Queen Edith’s face darkened at the Archbishop’s smug pronouncement, and she leveled a sharp observation of rebuttal at the devious cleric. Earl Harold let go of Hugolin, stepping back while regarding the crimsoned courtier with wrathful resentment.

“I would remind His Excellency my lord Edward isn’t dead yet, and so still retains power to exercise a choice concerning his succession, thank you. I must say, Archbishop, I’ve always held it a pity you weren’t extant in the days of Christ’s sojourn on earth. I’m sure an enterprising villain like you would’ve doubled Iscariot’s price for the Savior’s holy scarlet, or even tripled it, perhaps.” Stigand scowled at Edith’s stinging rebuke, then an abrupt moaning broke from King Edward’s lips, concentrating attention upon the stricken sovereign. Edith reached to clasp hands with her husband, kneeling at his side while Harold loomed over the dying man, determined to wrest a formal recognition as his inheritor from Edward ere the old monarch expired.

“Sweet Jesus. The time draws near. My good lord Edward hovers upon the brink of eternity, and I will not have his final minutes disturbed by the selfish machinations and bitter rancor of a man too small to accept responsibility for his own actions. If you can’t muster enough decency to show proper respect to my husband in his last few moments, Harold, then go. Hugolin and I shall attend to His Majesty and convene the Witan afterward to ensure a quick and fair decision regarding Edward’s succession. Go, I say, and leave the King to die in peace.” Harold angered Edith by laughing at her display of fidelity to Edward, and refusing to grant her request to leave the old man to pass from life without any further harangue. The Queen flushed at her brother’s callousness, wishing she’d a man’s strength to smite the Earl where he stood.

“How touching this late show of tender connubial devotion is, my lady. It appears you love Edward more in death’s shadow than ever you did for most of your married life, my dear sister.

As I seem to remember, it wasn’t long ago you were begging for legal separation from Edward, first from Father and then from me. And when denied your urgent request, you hardly resigned yourself to finding what happiness you could as His Majesty’s royal consort. Did you, Madam?

Robert FitzWymara is prepared to testify at length, concerning your wanton lack of such noble conjugal allegiance to your good husband as we now witness, in case you’re interested. I daresay his testimony would prove delicious grist for the popular appetite should its lurid details perhaps be revealed, wouldn’t you say, Edith?” Queen Edith arose and confronted Harold with bold fearlessness, unhesitating to hurl dung for dung with her unscrupulous kinsman.

“How dare you presume to impugn me, Harold, and refer to my former marital discontent as if guiltless in its imposition and the consequences thereof! I was an unhappy bride, true, wed at twenty to a man twice my age I neither knew nor loved, and at cost of surrendering one whom I adored as much as Osgot Clapa loved me! I begged our parents to reconsider, and for you my dear brother to assist me in avoiding such a heartless arrangement, but you did nothing, none of you, and so my years of abject misery commenced. Edward’s nature, disinclined towards even the consummation of our enforced political union he resented as much as I did, denied me that small solace of having my own child to occupy the endless, empty hours of our empty troth, and I could turn to no one for counsel or comfort for years after you and Father had arranged for my darling Osgot’s exile. You never cared how lonely and despairing I was, Harold. Not until I was needed to prevent you, and your good wife from being, shall we say, ill-used by our late brother Sweyn, or have you forgotten? I haven’t, I can assure you. Every detail of our covert conspiracy, first to remove Sweyn from your path and then to do likewise for Earl Godwine when his suspicion of Sweyn’s sudden mortality clouded your presumed inheritance of Wessex and its authority is forever etched within my mind, Harold. And what think you the populace, not to mention the world beyond our shores and the church shall make of my testimony, should it be compelled to support my own defense against your scurrilous and spiteful charges? Take ye care, my brother. I’m not quite as powerless as you choose to believe in this sorry situation. If you force my hand into a fist, that fist shall prove the David to your vaunted Goliath, mark me! Measures have been taken to keep your ambition in check, Harold, and they’ll prove your ruin should you attempt to resist what your own folly and natural fate have wrought. You shall not be king, Harold. Never. Challenge my dictate if you dare, and be prepared to face the deluge that follows. I, Edith Godwine’s-Daughter, Queen of England, have spoken!” Harold glanced over at Archbishop Stigand in wary anxiety at Edith’s scandalous insinuations, fearing the wily cleric’s certain abusing of any damaging revelations. Pushing the Queen into a corner of the bedchamber the Earl proceeded to scold Edith for her tactless unveiling of their dark secrets in the presence of Stigand, entreating his royal sibling for practical conciliation.

“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing, fool wench? You’ve as much to lose through any indiscreet exposure of our private affairs as I do, Edith, for your guilt is as great as mine concerning the necessary fates of Father and Sweyn. I admit things didn’t unfold as I’d promised you, sister, and for years I’ve tried to make amends for it. I can’t restore Osgot to life, alas, but if you’ll cooperate in assisting my smooth transition to sovereignty I swear there shall be nothing further denied you, truly. You’re still a young woman, Edith. Perhaps I can find you a new spouse, of your own choosing, of course, who’ll be pleased and proud to give you the family of your own you’ve always craved. Anything is possible, after all, isn’t it? All I ask in return is that you put aside your hostility toward me to do what’s in the best interest of England, and our noble house. Please, sister. Help me now, and let me repay such favor in kind as you well deserve.” Harold paused, awaiting what he hoped in earnest would be Edith’s affirmative reply. The Queen’s answer however was anything but accommodating.

“Go to hell, Harold. I was duped by you before, when you swore I should be set at liberty to wed my true love Osgot if I agreed to accomplice the calculated eliminations of our brother and sire, and what came of a sister’s naïve trust in her duplicitous kinsman? Naught save despicable treachery and heartbreak! I administered the poison of your procurement to Sweyn and Father, first to ensure Ealdgyth should not be subject to our elder brother’s notoriously vicious lust, and later to prevent your impending disinheritance when Godwine began to discern your culpability for Sweyn’s curious passing. I did it, Hal. I helped you murder our own kinsmen with wanton disregard for the utter atrociousness of such actions, all for the sake of love, brother. My love for my precious Osgot Clapa, whom you invited home with promise of his happy reunion with me, only to cast him at once into prison as a means of maintaining me in a convenient wedlock with the husband I could respect to some degree but never care for, nor receive caring from. You lied to me, Harold, like I was one of those cheap ignorant Southwark sluts you’ve been ever so fond of bedding and discarding, and when Osgot pined away and perished soon after your dastardly betrayal, you wouldn’t even permit me to mourn him or attend his funeral and internment. I’ll never forget, or forgive you such terrible trespass, not in a thousand years, do you understand?

If I’ve plied the shameless course of adultery in Robert FitzWymara’s embrace, it was you who drove me to such disgrace, Harold. Although you might be interested to learn it was none other than Edward who introduced me to the half-Breton and then encouraged our deepening intimacy with one another. Edward and I came to a certain understanding, you see, brother. After all, as events turned out, we both ended by desiring the very same thing, all personal differences aside.

And now, at long last we’ve achieved our objective, or will have, when my husband’s crown is denied you. Abyssus abyssum invocat. “ Hell calls hell.” Or as we’re want to say in chess, my lord, checkmate.” Queen Edith’s gloating grin and superior tone bid fair to push Harold to the point of violent outburst, but he managed to retain tenuous discipline over his roiled emotions.

Placing his hands upon Edith’s shoulders Harold attempted once more to persuade the Queen to a reasonable rapprochement regarding their critical estrangement.

“Edith, please. I’m imploring you, let us not continue as enemies under the present perilous circumstances. This kingdom requires unity if it’s to survive the efforts of foreign opportunists to lay conjured claims to its royal estate. You’re a Queen, Madam, I remind you. I bid you act as one, and serve England’s interest as your high station’s duty demands, and abjure now from the ill-timed advancement of your misguided private agenda of harmful vindictiveness. Please, my lady. I’m begging you. Take my hand, Edith, and let us be as one blood again.” The Queen laughed, folding her arms across her chest in staunch defiance and shaking her head in refusal of Harold’s desperate proposition. Harold felt a hot rush of scarlet to his head at Edith’s relentless frustration of his vital design.

“As the French say, Harold, va te faire foutre! You’ll get nothing from me save contempt and unwavering opposition, brother. I won’t hesitate to shout from every rooftop in England of how we conspired to kill our own father and brother for sake of your ambition, and to protect Lady Ealdgyth from having to serve as Sweyn’s harlot as he’d demanded, his price for not revealing you as the true murderer of our cousin Earl Beorn whose wife you were fool enough to seduce with such carelessness that Beorn discovered the tryst and would’ve killed you in drunken fury if your sober thrust hadn’t disposed of him aboard Sweyn’s ship. And I should warn you, Hal, you also need fear the word of our kinswoman Lady Judith abroad in refuge at her sister Matilda’s court. She came to see me on Tosti’s behalf ere they departed England in disgrace thanks to you, and as with my husband I came to a practical arrangement with her. I wonder what people will say when Judith relates how you, her own good brother-in-law, villainously assaulted her in her very own manor while her husband was absent, on several occasions. I daresay the response will prove quite profound, and expensive. What think you, my dear lord Wessex?” Harold’s heart swelled with rage at Edith’s malicious manipulations and he balled his fists until his nails bled his palms. In a harsh tone of inflamed hatred the Earl excoriated his conniving royal kinswoman for her dissembling and demanded Edith confess to having been responsible for his compromise in Normandy as he had long attested. The Queen giggled, deigning to oblige her brother out of sheer malignant sport.

“You God-cursed little cunt! You’d leave England prey to the tyrannical designs of foreign adventurers just to exact your own petty vengeance upon me for denying you the sordid passion of a damned degenerate dog such as Osgot Clapa, who like Robert FitzWymara only ever desired you because of your willingness to yield him perverse pleasures without the slightest demurring from their vile enactment! Spoiled slut! You’ve been a disgrace to our house, and a disgrace to the crown of England, and your supreme sin of betrayal’s been to steep my rightful claim to this realm’s royal governance in contrived controversy! I command you to confess what you did to me, you wicked bitch, confess at once, or so help me I’ll thrash an admission of guilt from you!

Confess, I said, you devious putain!” Edith ruminated a moment before nodding and admitting her responsibility for Harold’s entrapment with a broad smile of cruel relishing. Harold seethed with a raw bitterness as the Queen reveled in explaining the sundry details of his compromising, his heart full of implacable hatred.

“Oh, why not? Yes, Hal. It’s true. Edward, Tosti, and I did combine in conspiracy to ensure your public ensnaring, and I must say your overwhelming pride and puerile faith in the luck of our house rendered the entire enterprise that much easier to encompass! We knew you’d take the bait of a mission of mercy abroad to inflate your reputation further, the better to ease your path to the throne at length, or so you presumed, didn’t you, brother? Of course, as you later discerned, everything had been arranged ere you left England, quite a while in advance, as a matter of fact.

The residence of our young kinsmen Wulfnoth and Hakon at Duke William’s court provided us a convenient catalyst to begin with, which the invasion of Maine and the capture of Edward’s own nephew merely augmented. From there, we arranged with Duke William that you should accompany him on a pre-planned campaign against Brittany, during which an incident would be staged to permit the Duke occasion to elicit what at the time would appear an innocuous gesture of courtesy upon your part, the acknowledgment of him as your liege lord with all due formality before an army of witnesses. Meanwhile, back in Caen, Alianore, daughter of Count Guy with whom both Wulfnoth and Hakon Sweynsson were on intimate terms, would shout rape against Wulfnoth with Hakon supporting her claim of his cousin’s habit of physical abuse towards her.

A more perfect scenario couldn’t have been conjured by the cunning of Lucifer, wouldn’t you agree, mon cher frere? All I had to do before you departed was to seed the fear of Wulfnoth’s possible peril through the relation of my manufactured nightmare, and I knew Mother would insist you take all measures to ensure our brother’s protection, no matter the cost to yourself.

And you proved fool enough to oblige her, Harold, without so much as a moment’s practical hesitation, so confident were you of swift achieving an easy enviable triumph and additional public acclaim through your embassy! I only wish I could’ve been present myself to see the expression upon your face when informed the price of Wulfnoth’s manhood being spared the axe’s cleft would be your reiteration with all binding legality of that witless promise of yours to honor Duke William’s claim upon Edward’s royal estate before your own! And then the Lady Matilda placed the perfect crown upon our covert effort by imposing an arbitrary betrothal with that girl of hers! When your good wife – or should I say, your informal consort Lady Ealdgyth heard you’d become lawfully engaged I though for certain the earth would split in two, I swear!

To be frank, there was some speculation regarding whether you’d truly prove stupid enough to accommodate Duke William by reaffirming your word to him concerning the crown’s ultimate disposition. Edward and Tosti feared you might take the noble road as it were and refuse to be William’s pawn, choosing instead to remain as his voluntary captive rather than yield the prize you’d coveted for so long. I knew better, however. I knew you’d do what you deigned necessary to avoid the prospect of perpetual confinement, no matter how galling or undermining of your position, temporarily. You’d already lied and betrayed and murdered for power’s sake, I understood, so there was never a question in my mind regarding your inevitable reaction to our rather deft maneuvering. You feigned submission, and came home to plot how you’d evade the trap we’d set when the time came. Alas, my lord, your hope of doing so is in vain. There is no escape, Harold. None, is that clear? You have no other choice but to become Duke William’s resigned subordinate in perpetuity, chained unto his slip of a daughter. Otherwise, Harold, it’s finis, plain and simple. Justice is slow, God knows, but it comes, never fear. And in this fine instance, it’s almost as sweet in its savoring as Robert FitzWymara’s skilled tongue thrusting between my thighs. An art you’d best get to practicing ere your expectant bride arrives to be feted upon your wedding night, Secondarius.” Harold’s temper exploded at Edith’s taunting and he struck her a hard blow to the face, sending the Queen sprawling in pain and shock. Hugolin leapt forward to defend Edith, being met by the enraged Earl with equal brutality. Archbishop Stigand called for reason to prevail without result.

“How dare you lay your filthy hands upon la reine Edith, cochon! I warned you against such outrageous conduct, Godwinesson, and now you’ll pay dear for violating Her Majesty’s dignity!

I’ll teach you proper respect for royalty if I have to flay you alive, sale con!” Harold’s response to Lord Hugolin’s challenge was to aim a crashing blow to the older man’s chest, staggering him, and then to deliver another powerful punch beneath Hugolin’s chin, which lifted him off his feet to collapse in a motionless heap. As Edith groped to rise, semi-conscious, Stigand beseeched an agitated Harold to calm himself, leading him away from Edith’s proximity for stern admonishing concerning the Earl’s reckless behavior.

“Harold, my son, for the love of bleeding Jesus, man, control yourself! You’re not far from becoming sovereign over this land, and yet you’d jeopardize your prospect and capacity to wield power effectively through such imbecilic abusing of the realm’s most esteemed Queen dowager?

Don’t be a damned fool, Harold! Think, I pray you! Edith has many friends and admirers here and abroad, your chief rival in Normandy being the most potent! What do you think will occur if Edith departs this place bearing incontrovertible evidence of your deplorable mistreatment upon her countenance? And she’ll have that blasted Hugolin to support her contention of having been laid hands on by her own brother, in the presence her still-surviving royal spouse! Think, damn you! You can’t afford any further scandal, my lord, not if you wish to retain the authority you’d grasp from Edward’s death-chilled hands! Hold your emotions in firm check until you’re King, and conserve your store of wrath for proper visiting upon your enemies. God knows you’ll soon have fair opportunity to vent your fury upon Norman and Norse ranks alike, I daresay.” Harold was chastened by Stigand’s fierce hectoring, and nodded in sullen understanding and acceptance of the calculating Primate’s counsel. Queen Edith wavered unsteady upon her feet, blinking her eyes to adjust her vision. Peering down at Hugolin’s still form Edith paled and knelt by his side in intuitive alarm. Gazing up at Earl Harold and the Archbishop in horror, Edith then issued an accusation in stunned disbelief, pointing a condemnatory finger at her brother.

“Oh my God, Hugolin, he’s … You! You’ve killed him, Harold! Add that to your record of proud and noble accomplishments, the vicious beating to death of a brave and decent gentleman whose sole mortal trespass was fair fidelity to his sovereign friends! You’ll pay for this, Harold, upon both my life and soul’s salvation, I swear, you’ll pay!” Earl Harold dismissed the Queen’s heated threat, deriding Hugolin’s private relationship with King Edward. Edith glared at Harold in loathing, wishing she’d a weapon to thrust into his heart.

“Bah! That insolent Gallic invert was no more than your mincing husband’s preferred partner in Sodom’s most abominable sport, sister, as everyone’s known since Edward first returned from abroad steeped in peculiar vices. Tell us, my good Archbishop. What did you see regarding my unfortunate but alas unavoidable altercation with the late Lord Hugolin? I pray you, Stigand, do be quite specific. And bear in mind ships depart our shores for Rome almost every day, Primate of England.” The Archbishop started at the unsubtle menace contained in Harold’s petition and frowned at the contemptuous look given him by a disgusted Queen Edith. Placing self-interest first as had ever proven his scrupulous habit of survival, Stigand didn’t disappoint Harold by a failure to report as expected for mere truth’s sake.

“I … I saw Lord Hugolin lose possession of his normal reason and self-restraint, and attack you, my lord Wessex. He left you with no other choice but to defend yourself from his extreme and unprovoked assault, alas with mortal consequences to the noble courtier. May Almighty God have mercy on his poor soul. Such is my solemn testimony, to which I shall gladly swear in Our Lord Christ’s holy name.” Harold smiled in smug approval of the Archbishop’s craven support for his version of events as Queen Edith regarded the scheming cleric with familiar distaste and abhorring. Edith was about to offer a curt cutting commentary upon Stigand’s cowardice when King Edward groaned anew, and a sudden frigid wind blew open the window shutters to sweep the bedchamber. As the candlelight flickered, a fevered Edward bolted upright in his death-bed, his eyes wide and fixed upon some ghastly sight only his mortally addled senses could perceive.

At the foot of his bed the dying man beheld the hooded presences of two ominous figures, who upon throwing back their faded cowls revealed the frightful fleshless countenances of skeletons, imparting a message of dire portent to Edward ere they vanished, as silent and abrupt as they’d arrived. King Edward fell back convulsing, his eyes rolling and his lips frothing as Edith, Earl Harold, and the Archbishop attended him, anxious to hear the stricken sovereign’s final decree regarding his succession.

“Edward! My good lord, I beg you, speak to us if you can and settle your estate upon Duke William as we’ve planned! Please, my dearest husband, render us your irrevocable dictate ere you pass to God’s abode! Edward! Can you hear me? Oh, you must speak to us, now, before departing, you must! Edward, please speak! Speak, for the love of all that’s sacred and decent, I implore you! Edward! Edward!” Earl Harold pushed Queen Edith aside and leaned over King Edward, lifting him by the shoulders and shaking the old man in effort to arouse the incoherent monarch. In an impatient tone Harold then demanded acknowledgment as Edward’s royal heir, spittle from his lips splattering his dying kinsman’s face.

“Damn you, Edward Aethelredsson! You will not deny me what’s mine by right, you hear? I command you to recognize me as your sovereign successor, I command you! Say it, Edward, for the time left you runs short! Say I, Harold Godwinesson, Earl of Wessex, shall follow you to the throne of this realm, and be gone! Speak, old fool, and leave the governance of England unto me as is only proper, and earned, speak and declare me the crown’s rightful inheritor! Edward, damn you, can you hear me? Edward! Archbishop! Make yourself useful, and persuade His Majesty to depart this world in good conscience by naming me his successor! Go on, Stigand, and speak as my champion to Edward if you wish to remain England’s most powerful cleric! Go on, make my case, and be quick about it!” Archbishop Stigand approached King Edward as bidden and in a tone of unctuous piety appealed to the uncomprehending sovereign for Harold’s blessing as his inheritor of royal authority. Queen Edith made a jeering sound at Stigand’s oily effort, which to Harold’s acute frustration garnered no satisfactory harvest.

“My good lord Edward, as the Almighty’s appointed shepherd of His flock within this noble realm, I petition you now to grant your loyal servant and kinsman Harold Godwinesson solemn recognition as the sole righteous receiver of your venerable sovereignty. Give us indication of your favoring of the Earl of Wessex, please, that you may pass from this sinful sphere unto the perfect and eternal glory of the Divine presence in peace, knowing at the last your fair action’s safeguarded England and its people who’ve dearly loved you from all harm at the hands of the foreigners who’d usurp the unbroken succession of native reign from Alfred to your good sire Aethelred. Name Harold as your heir, and then embrace your reward in heaven, your Majesty.

Requiescat in pace. And may the Lord extend you mercy. Amen.” Edith laughed at Stigand’s hypocrisy, reminding the Primate of that critical part he’d played in effecting alien domination over England in his day to great personal profit. The Archbishop bit his tongue, refusing to be goaded by the Queen’s mockery.

“Hah! That’s truly amusing, Excellency. It seems your advancing years have affected your memory of the past you did so much to render brutal and humiliating for this land and populace, Archbishop. I myself recollect hearing from my father all about your perfidious role in securing King Aethelred’s ouster, and the exile of my husband and his brother to Normandy, for sake of placing Canute the Dane on this country’s royal seat, along with his Norman wife, Lady Emma, your generous co-patron along with Godwine. Rumor’s long had it you were the one who led the witless Aethelred to his doom at my sire’s hands, and helped to restrain the deposed monarch as my father disposed of the wretched man in a particularly barbarous and demeaning fashion. And I’ve also heard it was you who sent that invitation which allured Prince Alfred hence during the royal contention between Canute’s heirs Harold Harefoot and Harthecanute, a fateful manuever which led to the ultimate cruel mutilation of Edward’s brother in Earl Godwine’s custody under circumstances mysterious to this day. Of course, there are other likewise unflattering whispers pertaining to your involvement in other nefarious episodes I could repeat, but why bother? The record of history speaks for itself concerning your purported love of country, Stigand. All I can say in observation is I’m sure Pyrrhus of old was every bit as doting regarding his land’s fortune, though no more effective in its defense.” Stigand bristled at Edith’s tart remarks but before any retort could be made by the irate Archbishop King Edward’s frail stumbling voice was heard to articulate a cryptic prophecy which left all present possessed by a sinister thrill of dread.

“H-hear … me. When the … f-fiery star … alights … the n-night … sky, you shall … know the c-curse of … Saint Dunstan … shall be … f-fulfilled. The s-scarlet of … Edward … Martyr shall be … p-paid by … C-Cain’s … scion in w-wake of … the n-northern bridge’s … slaughter. When the s-sun … rises … over the s-southern … hill, the royal … pretender … s-shall be there … d-dispatched by … Sebastian’s … angel. S-Santlache … shall w-witness … the judgment of h-heaven … exacted. M-mark ye … m-my words, mark ye m-my … Oh Jesus, into Thy hands I c-commend my … Santlache … Santlache … Santlache … Edith, I … Ah!” With a last lingering rattle King Edward Aethelredsson passed to his eternal rest, his eyes left staring and his drooling mouth ajar. Queen Edith knelt beside him, and bowed her head in prayer for her husband’s soul as tears of mourning stained her face. Earl Harold, his countenance crimsoned with intense rage and aggravation, turned to Archbishop Stigand in desperation to engage the cleric in a final ploy to obtain the royal inheritance by calculated deceit.

“You heard Edward, didn’t you, Excellency? He declared me his successor. You’ll swear to it, won’t you, Stigand? Well, won’t you?” Edith’s head snapped up, her expression outraged at her brother’s proposed perjury. Rising to confront him the Queen vowed to thwart the usurping of Edward’s crown by Harold, hurling herself at him in a fury of scornful opposition.

“No! No, by the Blessed Virgin Mary’s holy tears! You’ll not succeed in such an ignoble and illegal enterprise! I’ll not stand by while you seize sovereign power not afforded unto you by the process of law, or by my lord Edward’s righteous selection, Harold, never! It is for the Witan to decide who follows Edward to the throne, not you, damn it! Not you! No duplicitous, corrupted, and murdering scum such as you is fit to inherit the esteemed mantle of great Alfred, and I’ll not allow your base ambition’s lawless instincts to run rampant without a challenge, brother, do you hear me? You’ll swift find I’m not without support or resource to put a halt to your evil scheme, in fact, I’ll have you arrested this very instant ere you can pursue your illicit opportunism further, so help me! Help, oh, help, I say! The Queen of England requires some immediate assistance to prevent a terrible injustice from being perpetrated! Loyal Huscarls, your royal domina implores you, help me, help me at once!” Edith ran toward the door in attempt to summon her husband’s personal guard, but to her surprise she was met there by William Malet, Earl Harold’s Norman-born lieutenant, armed and grave of mien. The extent of Harold’s design to ensure his elevation to sovereignty against any obstacle was revealed in full by Malet’s initial report.

“Hail, my lord Harold. I’ve come to inform you all is ready for your coronation. Your men stand prepared with the forces of Earls Morcar and Edwine to facilitate an uncontested transfer of sovereignty, presuming le roi Edward is dead. The Lady Aldgyth awaits you at the altar in great eagerness and Archbishop Ealdred’s just arrived from York to officiate at your wedding ceremony as scheduled. You’ve only to appear with your consort to recite the vows and your reign shall be commenced with your and Aldgyth’s anointing.” Earl Harold returned Malet’s salute as Edith and Stigand stared at him in disbelief, the Archbishop being taken aback by his exclusion from Harold’s coronation in violation of their prior agreement.

“My lord Harold, what nonsense is this? You’d promised me I’d be the one to preside over your ascension to the throne! You gave me your word on it! You know my tenure as England’s Primate urgently requires the validation of such an august officiating to bolster its current crisis of credibility inspired by the long-standing criticism of my enemies, here and at Rome, so why is Archbishop Ealdred now being given the critical privilege you’d guaranteed me, why? Haven’t I served you well as I served your sire before you? This is a most terrible and unpardonable slight, I warn you, which places you and your reign in severe peril of imminent failure, unless redressed at once, at once, my lord!” Earl Harold ignored Stigand’s livid threat, instructing William Malet to place his sister in custody and to escort the Archbishop back to Canterbury. Malet nodded his obedience, inquiring about the corpse of Lord Hugolin and its disposal.

“Malet, you will bring my good sister Edith unto Dover castle, where the former Queen will reside until such time as she has the grace and good sense to tender support to me as England’s lawful sovereign. See to it she’s no contact with anyone, save with my awareness and approval. Also, please make sure His Excellency arrives safely back at Canterbury and remind him upon whose favor his continued liberty rests. That’s all, William. You may inform Lady Aldgyth I will join her shortly to enact our wedding.” The Norman saluted, then pointed at the body of Lord Hugolin. Harold cast a fleeting glance at the husk, indifferent to its fate.

“Very good, my lord. What happened to him, by the way? Apoplexy, I’ll presume? What should I do with Lord Hugolin’s remains?” Queen Edith started to accuse Earl Harold of Hugolin’s murder, but Harold issued a terse response first which silenced Edith, the estranged siblings left contemplating each other with deep mutual resentment. Archbishop Stigand was tempted to denounce Harold, but his instincts bid him maintain discretion despite his profound bitterness at Harold’s betrayal.

“Yes, Malet. The tension and sorrow of King Edward’s passing proved too taxing for Lord Hugolin’s heart. Make certain he receives a proper burial. And observe maximal discretion in attending to Hugolin’s interment and if you need remark regarding his death and its cause. I trust I’m quite understood, William. Take the Queen and the Archbishop, now. And thank you for the loyalty you’ve shown me, Malet. It won’t be forgotten.” William Malet bowed and gestured for Queen Edith and Archbishop Stigand to follow him from King Edward’s bedchamber. Stigand’s departure was marked by no more than a final vengeful glare in passing, but Queen Edith paused to impart a last critical perspective to Harold, her face and tone wan with regret.

“Ah, Hal. You’ve made many grave misjudgments this day, brother, and worst of all’s your decision to marry that horrible bitch Aldgyth, a wanton harlot and murderess of her last husband who shall prove a sore talisman of misfortune to you, and England, I fear. As Scripture declares, pride goes before a fall, Harold. Your folly leaves me, and the realm no viable alternative but to pray the luck of the Godwines you’ve chosen to wager the entire future of England and our own house upon holds. Otherwise the summer of your present contentment will prove short, Harold, and the frost that replaces it killing in its nature, mark me. Farewell, and God help you. For by Christ and His blessed saints, I shall not.” As Edith departed with Malet and Stigand an abrupt chill caused Harold to shiver, the Earl frowning at its trembling effect. All was silent as Harold examined King Edward’s still body, curious regarding the eternal mystery the old monarch had confronted courtesy of death’s passing touch.

Later in the day, after King Edward Aethelredsson was buried in Westminster Abbey, Earl Harold Godwinesson of Wessex wed Lady Aldgyth Alfgar’s-Daughter and was duly crowned as King Harold the Second. Word of events spread swiftly across the waters, hurling the dice of fortune upon destiny’s wind.

CHAPTER 2