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CHAPTER THREE – THE HAUNT OF OLD GHOSTS

(Corfe castle, England, March 18, 1066)

 

Pacing about within the Great Hall of Corfe castle King Harold struggled to contain his acute discomfort arising from its eerie, forbidding environment, his discomfort inspired by familiarity with the brutal events associated with the castle’s not-too-distant past. All his life Harold heard whispers about how his grandfather Wulfgar had been one of those responsible for slaying the young King Edward Martyr within these very walls, and of the terrible curse the murdered boy’s venerable tutor Saint Dunstan had pronounced in wake of his royal charge’s savage slaughter. The grim words Dunstan had uttered echoed in the anxious King Harold’s mind like chimes of ominous portent, the sobering confines of Corfe rendering them more potent and disturbing to the uneasy sovereign’s rampant imagination.

“Two score ten and trine of five, the invert saint to reign arrives. Three score ten and trine of six, the vengeful torch of Mars is lit, and Deity’s wrath this land afflicts.” Repeating the ancient verse somehow made King Harold feel less insecure, and he shook his head in annoyance at his own folly in allowing such irrational fear to reign over him even for a moment. Casting his gaze around the Hall in pensive curiosity Harold observed that Lady Agathe had maintained the castle in fair condition, and stepped before a large mirror hung near the entrance to inspect his personal appearance ere his hostess joined him for conference. As he peered into the glass however King Harold was taken aback to spy the faint image of another figure within its reflection, a small thin entity garbed in rich clothes sporting great tears splashed with crimson. In sudden horror Harold recognized the pale apparition, for he could now discern its unnatural transparency, as the specter of Edward Martyr, his ancestor’s alleged victim, and turning confronted the ghost’s angry visage and pointing finger of transferred guilt for his barbarous death’s most treacherous encompassing. King Harold drew the blade sheathed at his waist and brandished it at the silent glaring phantom, commanding the spirit of the slain youth to depart while denying any culpability for the Martyr’s base slaying.

“Away with you, unhappy revenant, and haunt me no more! Away, I say, go back to hell and harass the shades of Wulgar and his criminal cohorts, for it was they who brought you to your tragic end in violence, not me, not me, you hear? I’m not responsible for your admitted unjust killing, the sins of my grandfather are his to bear, not mine, so fly back to the pit and harangue the damned soul truly liable for your premature embrace of eternity, Edward Martyr, and leave me be, do you understand? Leave me be, for the love of Almighty God!” Harold perceived a slight smile to cross the ghostly countenance of the Martyr, and the apparition floated away to the ceiling before vanishing as quickly and quietly as it had manifested itself. The King found himself shaking and breathing heavily to his intense chagrin in wake of the unsettling visitation, but before Harold could fully recover the door to the Great Hall opened and Lady Agathe strode up the small staircase to greet him, her English still thickly accented after almost a decade since her and her family’s arrival from her native Hungary.

“Gute day, my lord Harold. It honorz me zat Your Machezty voot deign to call on me in zis hour of zeriouz criziz, truly. Pleaze zit and tell me vat I may do for you, my gute lord. How fare you in your role as zis noble kingdom’z royal liege, pray? I’ve hurt it zed zat zere’s zum trouble in your houze, zire. I hope my informazion’s in error as zis is a mozt critical inztanze to confront enemez from vithin, in addizion to ze conziderable threatz pozed you by ze Norman and Norvay. Have you hurt anyzing from your brudder by janze, my lord? I pray dat ze Lady Judid farez vell abroad, as I’ve alvayz admired her dignity and candor. I darezay I’d believe her if Judid zed zat pizz vaz vine, and ze oppozite. Vootent you, Your Machezty?” As he grudgingly accepted Lady Agathe’s invitation to be seated at a nearby table King Harold frowned at her deliberate taunting, irked by her gloating over the circumstances that required his petitioning of her faction’s alliance and determined to conduct his reluctant business with the grasping foreign noblewoman with due speed so he might vacate Corfe’s unpleasant precinct without delay. Agathe, a plump woman of forty-five with large glittering dark eyes, a full mouth, a jutting aquiline nose, and light gold hair worn loose and gleaming with gems entwined within her faded locks in the manner of a younger maiden, a conceit Harold found absurd but typical of Lady Agathe’s legendary vanity, observed her guest with smug anticipation, as if possessed of some secret withheld from the King.

“With all due respect, Madam, let’s not waste each other’s time, if it please you. I find that I now need you to assist in the bolstering of my rightful reign over this land and I’m thus prepared to advance you what I think you’ll find a most generous offer for effecting formal union between our noble houses. In return for your public declaration and display of support for my sovereignty I will agree to take your fair daughter young Lady Margaret as my next royal consort once I have dissolved my present troth with Lady Aldgyth. Further, I shall assent to the installation of Edgar your son as Earl of Northumbria, and decree him Secondarius of the realm. And of course I will find a suitable match for Lady Christine, with your approval. So, Lady Agathe. What say you to my terms? I’ll have your answer now please, as I’ve pressing matters to attend to elsewhere. Do you accept the bargain, Madam, or not?” Lady Agathe appeared to ponder Harold’s offer, but in a moment she smiled and began to laugh in an irritating fashion, the King reddening at her mirth. In a gruff tone Harold demanded to know the source of Agathe’s offensive humor as he issued a stern warning against its tactless continuance.

“May I inquire concerning what yields you such misplaced amusement, Lady? I don’t believe I’ve said anything here thus far that’s of a risible nature. If I were you, Madam, I’d display more thoughtful discretion under the circumstances, since the fortune of your entire family in this land depends on my favor, make no mistake.” A sudden chilling breeze blew through the Great Hall at King Harold’s admonition, and Harold thought he heard a thin whisper call his name, causing him to rise and look about the Hall in alert foreboding. Lady Agathe grinned with delight at the nervousness demonstrated by her royal visitor as a servant entered the Hall to place a flagon on the table where she and Harold sat along with a pair of fine silver cups. Pouring for herself and Harold as the King stood with his senses vigilant for any sign of peril, Lady Agathe bid Harold to rejoin her as she proffered him refreshment and replied to his terms of alliance.

“Pleaze, my lord, zit down. Have zum vine, and ve’ll talk. However, I vootent antizipate a pozitive rezponze to your propozition, Harold. You zee, I don’t need you to enzure my family rezeeves everyzing due it by natural right. King Edvard, my late huzband’s gute kinzman, vas kind enough to leave behind a zertin tezdament ere he pazzed to God’z bozum. One vich left no doubt az to whom hiz zuczezzion vas to fall upon his deadt. King Edvard’s chozen heir vas not you, Harold Godvinezzun, but my zun, Edgar, ze great grandchild of Aedelred ze Unready and last of zat unfortunate liege’s royal blood. My dear brudder Count Andor, who you may recall departed England not long ago on vat was held urgent family buzinezz at home iz now bearing King Edvard’s final zecret vill to Rome for inzpeczion by Hiz Holinezz, and ve expect ze Pope vill be quick to uphold Edgar, and declare your reign illegitimate az ve know it to be, Machezty. Inzomuch az Edvard’z tezdament vas vitnezzed by your own zizter Edith, ze ezteemed Queen conzort of zis realm, I don’t imagine zoze who are already dizpozed againzt you here zhall be inclined to tender you zeir zupport onze Edgar iz proclaimed az ze rightful ruler in your plaze. Zo, Harold, I’d zay you’re finizhed, or zoon vill be. All I have to do now iz vait upon your fall, and my zun’s azenzion to power. Of course, if you were to beg for my charity for yourzelf and your family vit ze proper dizplay of humility I might be moved to extend you zum zmall mercy. Perhapz, if your petizion pleazes me.” King Harold darkened, rising in his seat and slamming a fist down on the table before his smirking adversary. Lady Agathe demonstrated no fear in face of Harold’s anger, regarding him with a cool mocking demeanor of unshaken confidence.

“To hell with that, Madam, and with you and your accursed house! I don’t believe you! The King and Edith never could’ve kept such a testament occulted from my awareness, and even if one exists and finds its way to Rome, Lady, bear you in mind I’m still sovereign here and shall remain so if Saint Peter himself should pronounce against me! Your wretched child shall never displace me as England’s royal master, mark me, Agathe, and so far as his alleged royal blood’s concerned, from what I’ve heard, it’s more likely he’s the scarlet of some drifting Dick than the crimson of Aethelred flowing in his veins! Indeed, it’s my understanding you couldn’t even be bothered to conceal your incessant trysting from your weak simpering spouse, and that Edward the Exile’s pleasure derived from such sordid indulgence’s inverted observance behind a closed door! If your husband had it in him to sire a royal heir, Madam, he wasted it on his own fist and upon the floor where he stood in excited beholding of your tawdry adultery’s wanton enactment! So don’t presume to threaten me with your little bastard’s unfounded posturing, or I’ll give him and his slattern sisters to my royal Huscarls for their rough and rending entertainment at length! Do we understand one another, you God-cursed foreign old cunt, or shall I ram it into you from behind to ensure the bitter truth’s unequivocal absorption, you arrogant conniving bitch!” Lady Agathe flushed at King Harold’s abusive retort but retained her composure, sipping her wine as if enjoying an amiable exchange. Another curious blast of wind shivered Harold and he heard a voice call his name, or so he thought, and whirling about drew his dagger once more and stalked around the Great Hall, convinced that Lady Agathe was engaged in some deliberate covert effort to accomplish his unnerving. Waving his blade at Agathe, the agitated King demanded to know who else was secretly present and the precise purpose behind his hostess’s devious strategy.

“There’s no use in dissembling, Madam, regarding the stationing of your accomplices within this confine. Who do you have assisting you in this transparent scheme to incite my terror, and why’ve you chosen to try and effect my frightening as though I were just some unsophisticated peasant afraid of every rustling shade? You will answer me, Agathe, or so help me I’ll bleed it out of you, and your degenerate ilk! Speak, woman! What are you about, with all this damned whispering, and what proof have you of my sister Edith’s purported treason against me?” With a cold laugh Lady Agathe arose and walked over to where a large glass case hung upon a wall, her eyes full of malignancy. Harold’s gaze followed hers, falling upon the items contained inside the case, a pair of daggers, a thin metal tube, and a long iron poker. The sound of invisible groaning reverberated, startling Harold, as Lady Agathe began to explain the rather sinister significance of the artifacts to the King’s involuntary shuddering.

“Tell me, my lord. How vell do you zleep at night? Do you ever dream, Harold? Of ze pazt, perhapz, and ze people of your prior acquaintanze you’ve vronged, pray? I dream quite often if I do zay, zire. And more frequently zan uzual on ze eve of zum critical event’s obzervanze, zuj az today, for example. You do remember, of course, zat today iz ze anniverzary of Edvard Martyr’z murder here, by unknown azzailantz, yez? Dey zay zat hiz ghozt ztill hauntz ze cazle, you know. Indeed, dere have been occazions ven I’ve imagined I’ve zeen hiz zpirit flitting about. Imagined, or maybe it vaz more zan dat. By ze vay, my lord, I don’t zink you’ve ever had ze opportunity to zee dis dizplay of mine. Itz truly a mozt zpezial one, I azzure you. For here I’ve collected all ze inztrumentz rezponzible for encompazzing ze cruel deadz of Edvard Martyr, King Aedelred, and Prinze Alfred Aedeling, whom I believe your fodder was onze accused of zlaying, vazn’t he? My colleczion’z a zourze of great pride to me and I am honored to have you view it, Your Machezty. Voot you care to examine it more clozely?” King Harold paled and just shook his head, stepping back from the case as though it held writhing scorpions. Lady Agathe smiled, shrugging, glad of the King’s negative reaction as if it affirmed a private belief.

“Vat’z ze madder, my lord? Don’t tell me ze great Harold Godvinezzon iz afraid of a meager colleczion of old itemz I’ve gaddered deze last few yearz? Or iz it dis cazle you’re afraid of and ze zpiritz zed to rezide here, Majezty? I vonder, vhy voot you need fear dis plaze and any ghozts herein, Harold, if you and your houze are truly innozent of ze crimez behind ze deadz of all doze zat may abide vithin dese valls beyond ze flezh? Vat have you to hide, vat zecret burden do you carry zat makes you zo very anxious to be here, Harold? You needn’t anzer, for I already know. Your guilt haz been revealed to me in my dreamz of late, dough I alvays zuzpected you of vat I now know beyond doubt you encompazzed. You and your houze are drenched in blood, Harold Godvinezzon, and dere can be no redemption of your manifold zinz, none, you hear? Ze zpiritz have vaited long to confront you and now dere’s novere for you to hide or flee from dem in deir righteous fury! I told you onze I’d have my revenge on you for my huzband’z murder, and now ze hour of juztize iz cloze at hand!” King Harold contemplated Lady Agathe in dreadful disdain of her heated outburst and started to make his way toward the Hall’s exit. To his shock and utter horror, however, the air grew abruptly cold and before his astonished eyes a sextet of apparitions appeared between him and the door leading out of the Great Hall. The King recognized Edward Martyr’s shade among them, and his mouth hung open in mute terror and amazing as the specter advanced to again point an accusing finger at him while intoning a dire imprecation.

Hear me, Harold Godwinesson. When the tide of Barry rises the sea shall then spew forth the ordained justice for the crimes of thy evil house. Ivar of ancient fame shall be expelled from his obscure crypt, and the pyre of his old bones shall prove the herald of your imminent destruction. When the fiery star alights the evening sky in public warning of the fulfillment of Dunstan’s curse and the foot of the forsaken maid touches this realm’s soil, within half a year the scarlet verdict of battle shall be rendered and the mortal stream of Santlache carry Cain’s crimson to the sink of its everlasting damnation. As Edward Martyr’s ghost retreated another floated forward, this shade bearing a royal crown upon its head. The revenant of King Aethelred the Unready issued another condemnation of the Godwines, shaking its fist at Harold as it spat another prophecy of ominous fortune in cryptic fashion.

Hear me, Harold, bastard scion of my vicious tormentor unto death, he who thrust a red-hot implement of death within my fundament to impose eternity upon me at the wicked behest of my unfaithful consort. I say unto you now you will garner naught save sorrows from your usurping of this land’s sovereignty, as I did. Bitter shall be your heart, heavy with cares and sore regrets, all the hours of your brief reign. As did Judas to Our Lord, you will betray your own for sake of your ambition as before, and at length they will be scattered to the wind to live out their broken melancholy days lamenting your memory in eternal despairing and fallen England holds you to accursed account as it groans beneath the tyrant’s cruel heel. Thus shall the house of Godwine meet its doom, in shame and exile far from the native soil tainted by its mortal pretensions and base conspiracy. King Aethelred’s voice faded, and his phantom withdrew to be succeeded in addressing Harold by the most ghastly of the assembled spirits, one whose visage was shorn of eyes and whose mouth hung slack to expose the stump of its severed tongue. The ghost’s lack of the latter proved no impediment to its incensed articulation of both deathless hatred and vengeful prognostication, the shade of Prince Alfred Aetheling piquant in its baleful decree.

Hear me, Harold, my son of Gytha, she who mutilated me unto death. As adultery proved my downfall, so shall it be with you. As I suffered at your mother’s hands for sake of a bastard girl, so too shall a bastard girl of your siring prove the instrument of your eclipse, a true daughter of Saint Sebastian who shall pluck out your eye just as mine were blinded by the stab of vengeance. When the soil of Santlache runs red with the noble blood of England the four swords shall come forth to dispose of you and you will lie in a common grave hewn by weeping women beneath the carmine ground of the victorious invader’s conquest. You are for the worms, Harold, and I will rejoice in hell at your brutal slaughter as my sire you hold as yours delighted in mine, mark me!

King Harold attempted to move but found his limbs to be frozen as if by some spell’s influence, his gaze transfixed upon the incredible supernatural tableau before him. As the next ghost came forth to chastise him Lady Agathe rushed to greet it, her hands clasped in fervent exhorting.

“Yez, my love, my darling Edvard, come, come and confront him who had your life ended by ze mozt dezpicable treachery, come, huzband, come! I’ve brought Harold Godvinezzun here az you’d commanded in my dream, my lord, dat you may condemn him to hiz faze for ze crime of murder committed againzt you! Speak, Edvard, and inform dis Englizh dog of ze penalty for ze evil he haz done! Speak, my dearezt love, speak, I pray you!” The specter of Edward the Exile raised a hand and pointed at King Harold, its eyes ablaze with loathing. Harold struggled not to embarrass himself due to the tremendous strain of fright he experienced, resolved not to extend Lady Agathe the satisfaction of intuiting the ghostly spectacle’s terrifying effect upon him.

Hear me now, Harold Godwinesson, you who had me poisoned at the hand of Flanders. Your unlawful seizure of my son Edgar’s rightful estate shall soon bring calamity to this kingdom and as your father’s base murders of my sire Prince Edmund Ironside and his father King Aethelred before him left this realm the possession of a foreign liege, so too shall your crimes in Godwine’s vein render England a wasted country subject to rapine and slaughter. Waltham Abbey waits for you, and the black of the pit’s hopeless eternity forevermore. Lady Agathe nodded and cackled in maniacal glee at the apparition’s grim pronouncement, and Harold again tried to move to no result. After the Exile’s ghost retreated the last pair of phantoms advanced, King Harold to his extreme horror recognizing them as his own kinsmen. Frozen in dread, Harold could only stare at the shade of his sire Earl Godwine as his father’s ghost first denounced him and then tendered Harold a stark ultimatum regarding his possible evasion of decreed disaster.

Hear me, Harold, my son who was no true son. Like a viper at my breast you dispatched me to the tomb through poison’s bitter agency to protect yourself from retaliation for your brother’s similar disposal. As I did, you murdered for power’s sake, indifferent to such atrocity’s cost to England and our house, and like me you’ve not scrupled to hesitate in betraying your own blood in pursuit of sovereignty. For crimes against your own flesh you are hereby rendered the Judas goat of our line, liable now for the sins of us all, not just your own. Only by denying yourself the prize for which so much innocent blood was shed can you hope to avoid the otherwise inevitable judgment of heaven that shall be visited on you, should you still sport the ill-gotten crown when the sun rises over the hill of Santlache upon the feast of Callistus. You must yield the throne or die, Harold, and if you refuse death and destruction unprecedented shall be unleashed upon the land and our noble house blotted from the earth in ignominious defeat and disgrace. Take heed, and save yourself, save yourself before it’s too late, too late, too late … As Earl Godwine’s cold admonition faded the sixth and final revenant, that of Earl Sweyn, Harold’s elder brother, hurled a last savage burst of wrath at the besieged monarch, promising Harold the taste of suffering and death as just consequence for Harold’s deliberate plying of covert murderous conspiracy. Harold felt the harsh damning words of Sweyn burn into his mind and soul as if by a brand’s cruel touch and trembled in fear at the appalling fortune they foretold.

Hear me, Harold, my dissembling half-nephew! You murdered me to usurp my inheritance in rank ambition’s name and to keep from repaying a secret scarlet debt I’d assumed for your sake, but the time draws near for all your crimson sins to be answered for, in kind, treacherous swine! My son Hakon shall prove the instrument of my due vengeance upon you, Harold! Know that as he has already once served as an agent of your compromising, he shall do so again, twice! First when the foreign wench comes to wed in vain and second when the last breath of peace has been spent in Battle’s chapel! Be warned, kin of Cain, soon the mortal storm shall be loosed upon you and when the sky is thick with death over Santlache, amidst the wild carmine melee of England’s downfall, look to see us but once more ere you embrace the worm and the last of your adherents groan in battered broken debacle! Take heed, Harold, for as I have spoken, so shall it soon pass! At the conclusion of Earl Sweyn’s vengeful rant the sextet of spirits began to dissipate, and then vanished, leaving King Harold to regain gradual mobility as his heart pounded like a battle drum and Lady Agathe capered about him, preening herself as she taunted Harold concerning the fate the apparitions had predicted for him. King Harold glared with simmering resentment at Agathe for the galling duplicity at work behind her reception of him.

“I … I should’ve known better than to trust you, Madam. Rest assured I’ll not make that kind of grave misjudgment again. It’s clear you received me this day under false pretenses, so I’ll not waste any more time soliciting your reasonable assent to alliance. Rather, I’m placing you under arrest with your family. I didn’t come hence alone as you may have assumed. A group of armed horsemen escorted me, and they’re stationed a short distance away. They will arrive soon to take you and your children to Dover keep where you shall remain, Madam, alongside Lady Edith, my obstinate and deceitful sister, until I can conceive of a strategy to counteract your apparent covert collaboration. And I wouldn’t count on Count Andor proving successful in his effort to bring the alleged testament of King Edward to the attention of His Holiness. You seem to have forgotten, alas, that you and Edith haven’t only betrayed me, but also the Bastard as well through your little ruse, my lady. And do you seriously think he’ll do nothing to stop or silence Andor, ere his own cherished claim to England’s royal estate is jeopardized by that of your mewling brat’s, old hag? I hope you bid Count Andor a very fond farewell when he left this shore, Agathe, for by Christ and His blessed saints, you’ll not see him again save in scarlet sections, that I can promise you!” Lady Agathe evinced almost hysterical defiance at Harold’s stern warning, rushing to seize the display case and thrust it at the scowling sovereign with a wild jeering laugh. Harold examined the sobering mortal instruments within it in a pensive manner, as Agathe proceeded to expound upon the prophecies of doom previously enunciated with her own violent imprecations.

“Don’t you dare dreaten me, Harold Godvinezzun, for ze time of your illizit reign growz zhort and zoon enough ze judgment of God zhall be upon you, and your God-curzed house, all of you! You hurt ze zpiritz az I did, Harold! You’re not only a criminal and a royal usurper, but a mere pretender to your own name, a baztard as muj az Villiam of Normandy, maybe more zo! Vat do you dink vill happen ven ze vord circulatez dat Harold Godvinezzun, the great King of England by armed forze, is nodding but a fraud, an illegitimate product of his whoring mudder’s adultery vid a man she murdered, King Edvard’s own beloved brudder? A prinze who himzelf vaz born of zimilar infidelity between your zire Godvine and ze Lady Emma, Aedelred’s faidless queen! Do you know vat dat makez you, Harold, and your proud mudder, do you, Machezty? I know! And I vill zoon tell ze entire vorld, you murdering Englizh zcum, I vill tell it all, you mark me!” King Harold responded to Agathe’s baiting by smashing the display case against a nearby wall and then stooping to pick up the dagger purportedly used to slay Edward Martyr. Pressing his hostess by the throat with his free hand King Harold placed the mortal artifact to Agathe’s eye, as the flustered noblewoman petrified for fear of blinding, glaring at Harold with a deep hatred tinged with madness.

“Let us understand one another with absolute clarity, Madam. If I hear even the slightest bit of scandalous insinuation that can be traced to you or your agents, I’ll have your two daughters consigned to the brothels of Southwark until there’s nothing left of them to mount. And young Edgar will endure the mortal agony of Aethelred until his worthless arse is seared to a fine crisp. I trust I’ve made myself quite clear, Lady Agathe. Or will it be necessary for me to deprive you of vision in one eye to improve that in the other? What’s that, I didn’t hear you, speak up, bitch! I asked you, do we understand one another? Well, do we?” Lady Agathe’s lips quivered in rage at King Harold’s brute menacing but she chose discretion over defiance as she nodded prudently in affirmation. Harold then released Agathe, throwing aside the dagger as he let go of her. Lady Agathe’s reaction was to pick up the blade and rush at Harold with a wild cry, but Harold smote her in the face, knocking Agathe backwards to fall on her rump, the knife sliding away from her across the Great Hall’s floor. Agathe groped to her feet, spitting her own scarlet at Harold as he shook his head in contempt and made to depart, her commentary fierce with detestation.

“Dat’s it, Godvinezzun, run, run avay from me, if it pleazez you, but you cannot ezcape from ze trude, no madder how far you fly! Ze zpiritz and deir vordz vill follow you, Harold, dey vill haunt you until your lazt breadt, mark me, and ze time for dat iz coming zooner dan you dink! I vill pray your deadt proves hard, Godvinezzun, and ven you fall, Machezty, I zhall rechoice, do you hear, I vill zing praizez unto Almighty God to have lived to vitness your eternal eclipze and if pozzible danze vid choy upon your cold and lonely grave! Dis I zwear to do, Harold, upon ze lives and immortal zoulz of my beloved children! Bevare, Harold, bevare the day of judgment at Santlache, Santlache, Godvinzzun, Santlache, Santlache, Santlache!” More fearful at her parting words than he’d ever have admitted, King Harold raced from Corfe castle, his steps propelled by a primordial terror. Astride his horse King Harold spurred the beast fast away, anxious to put as much safe distance as possible between him and unsavory history’s sanguine shadows.

CHAPTER 4