One week prior to Sir Richard’s summons, Harold’s Saxon Council met in London. Harold had them gather at the house he provided for his mistress Edith Swan-neck. It was for the most part people he could trust, his brothers, Wulfnoth was being held hostage in Duke William’s castle in Normandy, but the other Godwinesons were there: Gyrth, Leofwine and Tostig. The two most influential churchmen were present as Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury, and Ealdred, Archbishop of York. Edwin, Earl of Mercia and his brother Morcar allied themselves with Harold too which solidified the hostile ferine north.

“Earls and Archbishops of England, brothers all, I’ve called this meeting to consider our course of action now that Edward the Confessor’s health has declined. There are a number of claimants to the throne as Edward is childless. First there is Swegn Estrithson, King of Denmark and a descendant of Cnut. Second there is the child Edgar Aetheling, grandson of Edmund Ironside. Thirdly, Harald Hardrada, King of Norway thinks he has a claim on the north, Northumbria and York as you are well aware Tostig. Fourth is the great deceiver, William the Bastard of Normandy, with some spurious claim that Edward “promised “ him the throne. Finally, there is my claim. I also carry the blood of King Cnut, I am an English Lord, I am the power behind the throne, and I have maintained the kingdom in a position of strength in spite of that pious kneeling old man we call King. He has promised the throne to me in the presence of witnesses for my diplomacy, tact, management, and strength in internal and external affairs.

King Edward said, “Only you can prevent untold calamity on this kingdom.” We need a united front in the face of external invasions. I expect all of you to support my claim for I don’t think Edward will see the end of 1064.”

“Archbishop Stigand?”

“Canterbury recognizes the need for unity in the land, Lord. Too long have we been subjected to assaults from foreign powers and torn asunder by petty internal disputes. We accede to your proposed ascension.”

“Archbishop Ealdred?”

“York has too long been subjected to raids, battles and wars by marauding Vikings, Danes, and Scots. These wild men have torn the robes of peace and docility for centuries. It has turned our populace into either wild wolves or irenic sheep. We need a power in Westminster to bring order to the land. We support your proposed ascension.”

“Edwin, Morcar?”

“Morcar and I are subjected to these constant raids by the fierce men of the north. Anyone who can bring order and peace will be our chosen king. We will support you in your ascension.”

“Gyrth?”

“Brother, you have sustained the country of England in spite of the weakling Edward. Since Father’s death we have been blessed with an outbreak of peace unprecedented in the history of the land. I support you.”

“Leofwine?”

“Brother, as younger brother, orphaned in youth, I have looked to you as father of the family of Godwines and father of England. I support you.”

“Tostig?”

“I support you.”

“Tostig, you don’t seem convinced by the others support.”

“What could I say after the glowing accolades by the others?”

“Tostig, may I remind you how you got your present earldom?” Tostig nodded “Yes, Tostig, and I will remind you too that retaining that earldom depends on my support and the mark of King Edward. We have had complaints about your tactics in the north. Your thanes will not put up with your harsh rule.

Harsh rule! My God- they call it murder, torture and theft. You had better mend your ways. They say you vacillate between ethical moral standards and depravity. They believe you are two people in one body. If King Edward did not look upon you as a son, and I did not look upon you with my brotherly love you would not retain your holdings. Do you understand?”

“Yes Brother.”

“You had better!”

“Now let’s consider the pretenders. Edgar Aetheling likely had the best claim to the throne, but no doubt as a child, he is the weakest choice as successor. He has a few supporters who hope to gain power through the lad. Tostig, what is your view of Harald Hardrada?”

“Brother, he is acquistive. He believes he can create a Viking empire. Vikings founded York and Hardrada wants a base to conquer England. Northumbria and York would do it.”

“Now Tostig, your job is quite clear. You must unite the north ready to call out the Levy in the event of Norse invasion. Brothers, what is the position of the Dane Estrithson?”

“Gyrth and I have talked to him. He claims blood ties with King Cnut. He is Cnut’s closest living relative and is an ambitious empire builder.”

“Now for William the Bastard. How many times will he try that old artifice. “He promised it to me!” It sounds like a child. He pulled it in the conquest of Maine. “Well, Count Hubert promised me!”

What a jackass!”

“Pardon me, Lord Harold, but as Canterbury I know William has the ear of the pope. I’m certain this pope can be bought for gold and the Bishop of Bayeaux, Odo, has a direct line to the papacy. The pope’s acceptance lends credence to this pseudo claim.”

“Brother,” said Leofwine, “ The last time the Bastard met with Edward was 1051. William was only twenty-three or four year old. The two must be distant cousins. Edward was likely impressed by William’s size and said something like, ‘You’d make a good king.’”

“No doubt. However, Gentlemen, I think William of Normandy the greatest threat to invasion of England. He has the money, unlimited continental resources, the faint blood line, vaulting ambition and the pope in his pocket.”

“It is said,” noted Gyrth, “that even his wife has commissioned boats to be built.”

“That’s one given. He must come by sea. We’ll need a naval presence. If we meet him on the sea our ships will be in fighting trim. His will be loaded with supplies for his conquest. Gyrth, I want you to check on our available fleet.”

“Brother Harold, Edward had three ships at Portsmouth and they were tiny.”

“Gyrth! I want you to scour the coast from Exmouth to the Thames. I want numbers, owners and size, and I want the answer yesterday!”

“Yes, Lord Harold.”

“Leofwine, if you were making an incursion into England from Normandy where would you land?”

“Brother, Harold, the obvious choice is the south coast anywhere between Land’s End and the mouth of the Thames. I wouldn’t want to expose my armada to the perils of the North Sea, a treacherous place, or the open Atlantic, which can be fierce. I would keep my fleet in the shelter of the Channel and opt for a beach landing with interior access.”

“Just so!”

“Morcar and I,” said Edwin, “wouldn’t rule out the Bristol Channel. The Danes were always prone to select a route that cuts to the interior heartland of the country.”

“True.”

“On the other hand, My Lord, we in Canterbury always worry about the Thames, partly because of our proximity, partly because of the power of the English Church, and partly because of the direct route to the capital. London is vulnerable.”

“Quite true.”

“Edwin, Morcar and I,” pointed out Tostig, “likely have little to fear from a Norman sea invasion, but a concerted attack by Hardrada or Estrithson or a combination of both coupled with a Norman attack would be devastation.”

“Impossible Tostig. I know the Bastard. He shares no power. He would have England to himself. What can we do to cut William’s options to a minimum?”

“Canterbury and the church are no recommendation for military advice, but Archbishop Ealdred and I were just talking about a device of the north. One of the lesser nobles in York used an innovative method to prevent Vikings from sailing up the river. He had his smith create a heavy chain and stretched it across the stream. It prevented Viking transportation and with a few men the chain represented death to the Viking. Suppose we had a great chain or chains across the Thames. Somewhere where the shore was marshy, the chain would put Normans aground in the swamp. They’d be easy pickings for determined English defenders.”

“Good idea Archbishop. We’ll consider that. Here is some information most of you are not aware of. It might change your ideas over a Norman conquest. We have been visited by a group of Norman spies under the guise of wine merchants.”

Canterbury drew a quick breath. “Oh!”

“Yes Archbishop, they visited you with a gift of wine. These men were led by Robert de Mortain, William of Normandy’s half brother. They spent several days studying the English south. They sailed our south coast and east past Dover and landed at Margate. While a portion of them delivered your “gift” Archbishop, the others were busy mapping and interrogating the neighborhood.”

Tostig exploded, “Why didn’t you kill them!”

Harold continued. “They were, Brother, under the auspices of King Edward and while they were in London three of my best men disappeared. Don’t ask me Tostig! We had no evidence. I suspect they were killed, but we couldn’t find a trace of them. No bodies, no blood, nothing. We did lose De Mortain for a couple of days. We found a sailor from Portsmouth murdered, but the body was outside a pub as if he had been slain there. All the inhabitants denied seeing the victim that night. De Mortain? Likely! They sold a good deal of wine and investigated the coast from Bognor Regis to Hastings. I believe they have decided to land on the Channel coast. Personally, I would try the beaches Bognar to Brighton, but they may even hope for Pevensey to Hastings. When I am crowned, and I WILL be crowned, we must defend the Channel coast. Our fleet will be all important. I will pressure Edward’s council to create a naval presence. We will have to cut the church budget, Archbishops. We must have a marine force.”

“Yes, My Lord.” They answered in unison.

“I am going to Portsmouth tomorrow to take a survey of the Channel coast. I want to see what the Norman spies saw. Much of war is common sense ,and anticipation of offense and defense is all.”

“Brother, I don’t know that you should do that. What if you are taken by a Norman ship? Let someone else do it?”

“And Leofwine, who do you suggest? Do you know a better sailor?”

“Well no.”

“Do you know a better soldier?”

“Well no Brother, but you must be careful.”

“As you said Leofwine, ‘It is not the North Sea or the Atlantic.’ It’s only the Channel and inshore at that. We will meet again on my return from my observations.”

The meeting dispersed. Harold and a small retinue set off for Portsmouth the following day, a matter of 60 miles-an easy two day ride.

“Well Captain, when will we sail?”

“My Lord, you have come at an inopportune time.”

“What do you mean?”

“My Lord, see those clouds that look like mare’s tails?”

“What?”

“Those wispy clouds are omens of bad weather. We can count on rain inside of two days.”

“Omens be damned! The weather is fine!”

King’s Man

“My Lord, the sky was blood red this morning. It is a sure sign of bad weather.”

“Captain, we will not leave the Channel. We will remain close to the South Coast. Now if you can’t handle the assignment I’m certain I can find your replacement.”

“We will sail at dawn, My Lord. We need some time for supplies.”

“I will be here at dawn, Captain.”

A further warning was evident at sun-up. Not only did the eastern sky blaze red, the distant shores took on a blue color. The water vapor in the air broke down the sunlight and to the west it colored the shore line of the blue planet. The captain didn’t argue further. He took aboard Harold and retainers. The sailors set to their sweeps and soon had the Maria underway. They cleared the harbor and the sail was raised on the English war vessel. The west wind carried them east in a gentle following chop. As the sun rose so did the humidity. It became oppressive to sailors and passengers. Thunderheads, monster cumulo nimbus clouds, began to grow in the west. A weather front was bearing down on the vessel. The captain would have run for shore in any other situation. Harold seemed oblivious. Out of the calm before the storm a breeze began. Wavelets lapped against the ship. In minutes gale force winds had torn at the sail in an attempt to turn the boat turtle. The sailors pulled the shreds of the sail down and manned the sweeps. The captain hand-wrestled the tiller to keep the ship bow into the waves. The Channel was a maelstrom. The winds were cyclonic. The rain came in sheets.

The captain screamed and motioned to Harold. Harold fought his way to the tiller.

“Bail you son of a bitch or we are going under!”

Harold and his men grabbed oaken buckets and in the storm-tossed ship they tried to keep up with the on-take of rain and sea. The shore was out of the question as the monster bore down from the northwest. The coast had disappeared in the first deluge of rain. The vessel ran before the storm, farther and farther from the friendly confines of the south coast.

As a stout English ship she survived, damaged, but afloat. She was bereft of a sail, two sweeps and had a broken tiller. One sailor had been swept overboard in trying to affix a sea anchor. Wet and cold after the passing of the front, the occupants sighted a landfall. The captain steered with a jury-rigged rudder and made for the nearest cove he could discern. He urged his tired crew to catch the lee shore of the cove, but the following north wind would have none of it. They rested on their oars to catch the next bay. They strained mightily and slipped under the wind at the point of land.

“Come lads. Run her up on the beach!”

The ship slipped over the rocky shoal into the calm waters of the northern beach. It was deep water inside the shoal as the current scoured the silt between the shoal and shore. They ran in close and beached her. The lead sailor jumped for the sand and pulled the hawser up the beach to secure it around a large rock. When he relaxed, job done, he discerned movement out of the corner of his eye.

“What in hell?”

“Bonjour Monsieur, I suspect you are Anglo. Parlez-vous Francais?”

“You’d better speak to the captain or the lord on board.”

“Who?” one of the armed riders questioned.

“Lord Harold.”

“Well now. We may have a prize here, mes Amis.”

The crew and passengers disembarked and were quickly surrounded by the patrol.

“Well, well, bonjour Lord Harold! Welcome to Ponthieu. Welcome to Normandy. I am certain that Duke William will be pleased to see you. Until such times as Duke William can formally welcome you, you will be my guest. Meanwhile your sailors may return to the ship by day to make repairs.”

“Good morning Guy de Ponthieu. I appreciate your hospitality, but after a few repairs and favorable winds we’d rather be on our way.”

“I couldn’t hear of it My Lord, and the Duke would be aghast at my poor manners.”

“I could make it worth your while.”

“My Lord Harold, I have to live with Duke William after you leave!”

“I understand, Guy de Ponthieu. Let’s be out of this cold and possibly you could feed my men.”

“Certainment Monsieur. Come along gentlemen. It is not far. Sir Reginald will stay with your ship. Nothing will be touched.”

A rider was dispatched Ponthieu to Rouen. A rider was dispatched Rouen to Sir Richard’s estate and the source of Sir Richard’s mission was revealed.

Richard summoned Thomas who had been at the Trivett vineyard to break his betrothal to his parents. The parents were ecstatic

Duke William, his armorer, his squire and a hand-picked troop were soon astride their chargers and on their way to Ponthieu. Count Guy had already consummated a deal with the sea captain and Harold to free the sailors and the ship. They made their repairs and were ready to sail north with a favorable wind. Harold and his three retainers were the unwilling guests in the count’s castle. Only at night were they under lock and key, naturally. These English geese would lay the golden egg for Count Guy. It certainly meant gold, but more importantly it meant favors. Gold usually didn’t last long, but favors you could call forever.

Duke William wasted no time in arriving. ‘First things first’. Guy de Ponthieu and Duke William of Normandy met as count and liege lord. Guy knew his place. However, in five minutes they were negotiating. Just how much was Harold Godwineson worth? How much did William want him? Guy stretched his limits when he knew how quickly Duke William had responded. A deal was struck and as Guy suspected it was a combination of gold and promises of future considerations. Then they were off to meet Lord Harold.

“Lord Harold, my friend, it’s so good of you to visit Normandy. Did you come on vacation? On trade? Or has your family had a falling out with King Edward again? I haven’t seen you since your visit to France in 1051. Of course, I spent some time with King Edward while you were in the French court.”

“Duke William, we have expected you to be here. You needn’t have taken time from your busy schedule to greet us. If you and Count Guy could decide the cost of lodging for me and my friends we’ll be off for England.”

“Oh, I think not, Mon Ami. I wouldn’t hear of it. You must be my guest. You should never consider missing Norman hospitality.”

Both power hungry men soon tired of the ironic chatter. Arrangements were made to transport Harold and men to Rouen. Ponthieu provided horses from his ransom money and happily waved good-bye

to the Norman/English entourage. Although they were going deeper into Normandy, Harold was resigned to his fate. He would have done the same to William if he had caught him in Kent or Sussex. Harold had some worry about the concessions he would have to make to gain his freedom. The worst scenario would be his unfortunate accidental death as he fell on his own knife. No, William would be more creative than that-an accidental death in a joust?-possibly. On the other end of the spectrum, Normandy may be satisfied with gold for he and brother Wulfnoth, but the two extremes would be unlikely. Harold ,weighing the probabilities and rocking on the cantering horse, was not as attentive as he supposed.

‘What was that?’ he wondered.

“Pardonnez-moi, Lord William?”

“I said, we are about to attack Brittany. They have appointed Conan II as duke and of course the reins were promised to me. You could ride with us.”

‘Same old story- Again!’ “Oh Lord, I would not like to be involved in someones personal affairs.”

“Very wise of you Lord Harold, but this will be a lightning campaign, a game we shall both enjoy. I’m certain you couldn’t refuse.”

Harold recognized the loosely veiled threat.

The rest of the journey to Rouen might have been a group out for a Sunday picnic.