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  Regenbald was appointed Chancellor and welcomed by all at court. There was not a sharper administrative mind in Europe and it was seen as only fitting that he take up the vacant position.

  After the council meeting, Godwin, Harold and Beorn went back to Southwark to discuss events. A few minutes’ ride took them across the Thames to Godwin’s Southwark residence. As the three rode across the courtyard and up to the hall the servants sprang into life, performing their assigned duties with vigour. It was easy to see Godwin’s anger and no one wanted to incur his wrath. The earls dismounted and Godwin strode into his hall with Harold and Beorn hard on his heels.

  ‘What’s the point in having relatives if you don’t have alliances with them?’ Godwin was seething and kicked over a chair. ‘What does he think the point of marriage is? He seems to have forgotten that now he’s married to Edith, all of her relatives are now his. He could use this to England’s and his own advantage. Swein is his family now, and yet he seems to think he has no obligation. My God, there’s an opportunity here to bring Denmark and England together again and to make us both the stronger for it, yet he’s passing up the chance. Who knows, some time in the future we could have a united kingdom of England, Denmark and Norway, just as we did in Knut’s time. Think of that!’

  ‘You think he’s against this because he hates the Danes?’ Harold asked tentatively.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But surely, a king wouldn’t allow his personal feelings to cloud his judgment when the matter is so important.’

  ‘Not in Edward’s case and I’m afraid that might always be so. But still we won’t give up, eh, lads? One day we’ll win him round.’

  Neither of them was optimistic enough to think Edward would ever see eye-to-eye with a Godwin over the Danes or Denmark. They waited for him to resume speaking.

  ‘Anyway, I have another happier matter to discuss,’ he continued in a lighter tone. ‘Harold, you would never let your heart rule your head in matters politic, would you now?’

  Harold was on his guard in an instant. He had fallen foul of his father’s traps too often and was alert to any danger that might lie in an innocent-sounding remark.

  You know me, Father, my heart rules my head every time,’ he replied.

  ‘Harold, you are too modest. When it comes to politics you have a reputation for being most astute. That’s why I know you’ll be glad to hear your mother and I have at last found someone for you. She has everything a nobleman could want in a woman - a fine genealogy and a good education in the finest nunnery in Flanders. She is a sparkling conversationalist, a great beauty and what’s more, has a fine dowry. She is none other than the Lady Judith, sister of Count Baldwin of Flanders.’ Godwin was beaming his roguish grin, happy that something has worked out that day.

  ‘Well that’s a great honour and I thank you for it.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad you’re pleased. Your mother is delighted.’

  ‘I didn’t say I’d marry her.’

  Silence descended on the room. Few defied Godwin.

  ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘I’ve never met her and I don’t know her.’

  ‘I have told you about her. What more is there to tell?

  ‘I haven’t seen her for myself. We might not make such a good match.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

  ‘Father, I’m not saying I won’t marry her. What I am saying is that I won’t marry someone I don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand, Harold. It’s taken months to arrange this.’

  ‘Why didn’t you consult me?’

  ‘We didn’t want to disappoint you in case negotiations fell through. Anyway, there seemed no need.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Harold, a lot of preparation has gone into this; to back out now would be an insult to Baldwin. It will bring disgrace on our family and think how much you’ll disappoint your mother. You have to marry Lady Judith. It’s all arranged.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘You will, Harold. It is your duty as a son.’

  ‘Do you think it the duty of a son to marry a woman of his parents’ choice?’

  Just as Harold knew it would, this final comment stopped Godwin in his tracks. Lady Gytha’s parents had not welcomed his attentions all those years ago. They had had hopes for someone better but little say in the matter of whom their daughter married.

  ‘Times have changed, Harold. We are a highly respected family. This marriage will bring power to us and where there is power, there is security. You know that.’

  ‘Yes, but I haven’t said I won’t marry her, just that I can’t promise I will.’

  ‘I need to give Baldwin a date for the wedding. Harold, I think it best you give this some serious thought and when you are calmer, come to me with your answer. Take as much time as you need.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Let me have your decision by the end of the week.’

  ‘It will remain the same.’

  Whitsun at Waltham

  So abundant was the May blossom that year that its weight forced boughs to droop to the ground. In the woods the last of the spring bluebells carpeted the ground. The trees flushed fresh green, the new season’s leaves bright against a clear blue sky. Everywhere the scent of early summer hung heavy in the air. Through the sultry air four riders were seen approaching Harold’s hall, which lay on the edge of Waltham. One of the riders blew his horn to signify he was coming in friendship. Harold watched them approach and instantly recognised Edyth, Magnus, Wulfgith and Finn. He walked round to the front of his hall to greet them.

  The four dismounted and their horses were led away by a servant, while another servant took care of their baggage. A maid appeared and took Magnus, Wulfgith and Edyth to their rooms. Once she had unpacked, Edyth changed into her finest dress and waited until she heard Magnus and Wulfgith before opening her door to greet them in the passage. The three of them then made their way to the hall to join the rest of the guests.

  Edyth was feeling a little nervous. Finn was talking with Harold and she recognised Ansgar and Skalpi but the others were unknown to her. She could not help but notice there were several other women there, all of whom seemed better dressed than her. She glanced quickly round the room and noticed there was food and drink in abundance. The hall itself, though spacious, seemed rather bare. Perhaps Harold needed more time to do something with it, she thought.

  Harold caught sight of Edyth the instant she entered the room and went over to join her, taking Ansgar with him. A servant appeared with a tray, some goblets and a jug of wine. Ansgar engaged Magnus and Wulfgith in small talk, enquiring about their journey. As Edith sipped her wine Harold said, ‘I’ll introduce you to people as we take our places.’

  ‘Do you have many guests staying here, Harold?’

  ‘About forty have travelled here and there are some local people. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I had expected something more… ’ she hesitated.

  ‘More intimate?’ he suggested mischievously.

  ‘Yes,’ she smiled.

  ‘Come, join me at the table,’ he invited, as he started heading toward the dais.

  As he took his place at the high table, Edyth took hers beside him. Ansgar led Magnus and Wulfgith to their places and the steward guided everyone else. Once they had sat down, the conversation continued.

  ‘Is Waltham yours now?’

  ‘Yes. It was a gift from King Edward when he made me an earl. The land and buildings belonged to Tovi the Proud. He and the King had a difference of opinion and what was once Tovi’s is now mine. I am told Tovi has gone to live in Denmark.’

  ‘That was fortunate.’

  ‘For me, yes. It was Tovi who had the Holy Cross brought here from Somerset.’

  ‘The Holy Cross?’

  ‘According to the story, a carpenter in Somerset had the same dream for three nights, instructing him to dig on the hill above his village. At first he ignored the d
ream but each night it returned and so eventually he decided he had better start digging. He dug a great hole in the place he’d been shown in his dream and there he found a marble slab broken in two and under it a huge cross with an image of Christ cut into black flint. Beneath the crucifix were a book, a bell and a smaller cross. He was amazed but unsure of what to do, so he went to Tovi, who at that time was the lord of the village. Tovi thought the best place for the relics was a religious centre but was undecided, so he had the treasures loaded onto a cart which was hitched up to two oxen. He stood in front of them calling the names of every abbey or minster he could think of until the oxen moved.’

  ‘Who told you this?’

  ‘Leofgar.’

  ‘Leofgar?’

  Harold indicated, with a nod, a huge man like a Norse seafarer dressed in a cleric’s garb. ‘I introduced you earlier.’

  Edith looked over. ‘Ah yes, I remember, he stood next to Ansgar. And it was not a joke?’

  ‘No, I assure you, it was not. To continue the story: Tovi called out the names of the grandest and greatest places in the land but the oxen refused to move until Waltham was mentioned. Only then did the cart begin to trundle forward and so the cross was brought right across the country to be here. Tovi had the church rebuilt to house the relics and people came from far and wide to see their wonder.’

  ‘It must have brought trade to the town.’

  ‘I suppose so, yes.’

  ‘That was fortunate for Tovi.’

  Harold gave her a stern look.

  ‘That the oxen insisted on bringing it here is almost a miracle,’ she said, with an impish look in her eyes.’

  ‘Quite.’

  Sitting next to Harold at the high table that evening was a real honour for Edyth that both flattered and embarrassed her. The evening was much grander than Harold had experienced at West Wickham and she was flattered because she was treated as an esteemed guest, but embarrassed at the humble fare they had offered Harold. But as the evening wore on and she and Harold talked, she relaxed. Harold appeared naturally gregarious and seemed to enjoy entertaining. Ansgar was getting on very well with Magnus but Harold was careful to include as many guests as possible in conversation.

  After a wonderful evening of food, wine and entertainment the women went to bed, leaving the men telling tales that grew wilder and bawdier as the night wore on.

  The next morning a cock crowed to announce daybreak. The church bell rang and Harold and his guests made their way to church. The party, with everyone dressed in white as was the custom at Whitsuntide, made its way to the crowded church. Entering with Harold, Edyth approached the altar, noticing with each footstep beautifully coloured frescoes depicting scenes she recognised from the Bible. And there, in pride of place to one side of the altar, standing against the wall was the holy cross of Waltham.

  ‘Do you like our little church?’ asked Harold.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘I have plans for something much greater.’

  ‘That is a pity. This seems perfect.’

  ‘Well, I think the Holy Cross deserves something more.’

  Their conversation ended as Leofgar entered to take Whitsuntide mass. After celebrating, the congregation collected their weapons from the porch where they had left them before returning to Harold’s hall to change for a visit to the local fair.

  An hour later, after they had changed, Harold and his guests were making their way back to the village when they were greeted by laughter and good-natured shouting. Peddlers, musicians, jugglers, magicians and anyone with a talent for entertainment had arrived, hoping for rich pickings from the extra crowds who had turned up to see the new earl. Some of the more accomplished hoped for an invitation to perform at Harold’s home that evening and for a few, their efforts were rewarded.

  Joining in all the games, enjoying all the distractions, Harold and Edyth fell into easy laughter. She admired him when he won an archery competition. He found her confidence in his abilities flattering. When the time came, he was reluctant for them to leave.

  But the evening lay ahead and in good humour the party made its way home, knowing the pleasure would continue. The only shadow cast over Harold’s day was the thought that he might be sickening for a cold.

  That evening, Edyth once again sat at the high table with Harold, as did Magnus and Wulfgith. Finn was there, of course, sitting with Harold’s housecarls, who had welcomed him warmly.

  ‘What is planned for us tomorrow, Harold?’ enquired Edric of Laxfield, landowner and shire reeve, one of Harold’s guests for the holiday.

  ‘I thought we might go hawking… ’

  ‘Harold,’ Edyth interrupted, ‘do you know that man?’

  Harold and the shire reeve followed her gaze to a tall man moving from table to table. Neither of them knew him. ‘Why do you ask?’ said Harold.

  ‘He has a great many pockets in his cloak and most of them are stuffed with food from your tables.’

  ‘Let’s see who he is.’ Getting to his feet, Harold called out, ‘You there!’

  The thief, like everyone else, looked round. Everyone else had the luxury of following the earl’s gaze; the stranger did not.

  ‘Who, me?’ was the meek reply.

  ‘Yes, you. Come here.’

  The man complied and nervously approached Harold’s table.

  ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

  ‘My name is Herfast, my Lord.’

  ‘And who speaks for you?’

  There followed a silence.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘No one, my Lord, at least, no one here.’ He slouched and had difficulty meeting Harold’s gaze.

  ‘Then what are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m a peddler, my Lord, from Ipswich, here for the fair. I heard that the entire village was invited to the feast and I thought it churlish not to come too.’

  ‘You knew, did you not, that the invitation was meant for those who lived in the village and on my land?’

  ‘No I didn’t, my Lord,’ Herfast lied.

  ‘You thought you’d join in the celebration with everyone else?’

  ‘That’s right, my Lord’

  ‘So tell me, Herfast, why are you lining your pockets with our food? Is that an Ipswich custom?’

  The thief would have to think fast now.

  ‘No, no, my Lord. No, it’s not an Ipswich custom, my Lord. It’s my wife, she’s… err, she’s ill, you see.’

  If it came to the ordeal he knew he could not stand it. Pulling an iron rod from coals or lifting hot stones from boiling water to prove his innocence had no appeal for him. He knew his hands would blister and bleed; the sure sign of a transgressor.

  ‘You’re sure of that, are you?’

  Images of infected wounds and damaged hands shot through Herfast’s mind.

  ‘I am, my Lord, I am.’

  ‘Usually when people are ill they lose their appetite but I’d say by the contents of your pockets, your wife is voracious.’

  ‘Well, she’s making a bit of a recovery, my Lord. I just wanted to help her along.’

  ‘You know, Herfast, I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘Thank you, my Lord. That’s very kind of you, if I may be so bold as to say so.’

  ‘Tell me, Herfast, I am, as you may know, not from these parts; I am in fact from Wessex. Do you know anything of me by reputation?’

  ‘I do indeed, my Lord. It is said you are a kind and generous man, my Lord and honest and fair, it’s said. And very forgiving,’ he added hopefully.

  ‘Quite,’ said Harold, reaching for a flagon of beer, everyone in the hall watching closely to see what would happen next. ‘You know, I wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation so soon and have you or your wife think me mean,’ he continued, rising to his feet. ‘With all that food you have for her, your wife will work up quite a thirst,’ he said, walking right up to his uninvited guest. ‘So it’s probably best if you take her something to drink.’ And with that
Harold pulled on the stranger’s coat, exposing a hidden pocket, and poured in the entire contents of the flagon. The thief stood shamed, drenched down his front. Everyone erupted into raucous laughter.

  ‘Which do you find more humiliating, Herfast, getting caught or looking a fool?’ said Harold quietly.

  The man’s face was crimson. He looked fit to cry and yet full of fury but he said nothing.

  Harold looked more serious now. ‘Tell me, Herfast, what do they do with thieves in Ipswich?’

  The man remained silent.

  Harold stepped towards Herfast until their faces were only inches apart.

  ‘I’ll ask you again, Herfast, if that’s your name. What do they do with thieves in Ipswich?’

  ‘They cuts off their hand, my Lord,’ came the choked reply.

  ‘The hand that committed the theft?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  ‘Then swear to me you won’t steal anything again.’

  ‘I swear I won’t steal anything, ever again, my Lord, I swear.’

  ‘Then you’d better get back to your wife.’

  Herfast made his way to the door where he was stopped by the steward who relieved him of his plunder and sent him on his way with a cuff round the ear.

  Despite an unsuccessful day’s hawking, Harold and his male guests returned in good spirits. The women had remained indoors catching up on news and their embroidery. For Edyth the time had dragged. Pleased though she was to make the acquaintance of so many fine ladies, she just wanted to see Harold again. It was the dragging of the time that first alerted her to her feelings towards him, that and her inability to concentrate on anything for more than a minute at a time. Magnus knew nothing of his niece’s feelings but Wulfgith noticed how her behaviour changed whenever Harold was present. To her it seemed almost as if Edyth’s entire vocabulary consisted of only one word and that word was Harold. She said as much to Magnus that evening before they went down to eat and he dismissed the idea as wishful thinking. But later that same evening, after he had observed Harold and Edyth together, he was inclined to agree with his wife.