Sward And Sword: The Tale of Earl Godwine - John Broughton

Historical Fiction Set In 11th Century England

Sward And Sword: The Tale of Earl Godwine by John Broughton

Book excerpt

I had been vague about the surprise awaiting her and she took it to be Cumtun and its surroundings. To see it for the first time with fresh eyes must be a wonderful experience, as was revealed in Gytha’s expression. With pride, I pointed out the places familiar to me since childhood, but with the joy of sharing the unimpaired freshness of her appraisal.

I commenced with the building which was to be her home.

“It is a vill, given by King Alfred to his nephew Aethelm who held it before my father. You see, there is a royal connection and now, my dear, you are Queen of the Farmstead.”

I led her outdoors and pointed to the rolling greensward of the downland.

“Many hundreds of years ago, these hills were covered in forest, but now they are given to sheep and corn farming.”

My outstretched finger shifted to a hill. “There is Cumtun Hill. It stands at thirty rods in height. Its northern slope is steep and wooded but the opposite incline is pasture. You can see the ewes and lambs and it is but slightly wooded. My favourite trees are in the Kinglea Vale, north-west of here. There grow twisted and ancient yews many hundreds of years old and some have a girth of four rods. Think, Gytha, the Downs run for more than eighty leagues from west to east.”

“Where do they begin, Godwine? I wish to know everything about my new home.”

How I loved her enthusiasm. It suited my mood to perfection.

“It’s a moot point, but I’m of the opinion they start at Winchester Hill to the west of the River Meon. Cumtun is close to the border with the next scir – Hamtunscir. It is there Knut’s Court resides. The Downs are chalk grasslands and the springy sward mantles the white cliffs that emerge on the coast, farther east than Brighthelmstone. You will see for yourself one day.”

Her eyes twinkled at the mention of the coast.

“The ridge yonder can be followed, as we did, but for the whole length of the Downs. We travelled along a part of it from Kent in the east, then cut down to the coast. The trackway is as old as mankind. The first men built the hill fortifications, dug the flint mines and heaped the burial mounds like the famed Devil’s Humps.”

Gytha gasped at the name and her hand went to her neck-cross.

“Those ancient haunts are steeped in tales of wraiths and spirits and you can feel their presence.” I deepened my voice to add lustre to my account.

“I would stay far from such places,” she said, widening her eyes.

“Have no fear, there are many dells where you will prefer to stroll. When spring comes, there is a sudden explosion of bluebells. They make a blue carpet in the hazel coppices. And when you tire of the trefoil, vetch, fairy flax and the hills, we can take a boat on the sea.”

“And visit Wight!” she exclaimed.

“But this is not the surprise I spoke of.” I turned and whistled, intent on fetching a servant to saddle our horses. The shrill sound had the desired effect but also brought my hound bounding to my side, its tail wagging and tongue lolling out. “This is Guess, a gift from the King. You must become fast friends and he will defend you to the death. But now for my surprise… we are off to meet the Queen.”

“Emma?”

“Do not mention that name again today. No, Knut’s wife, Aelfgifu. She’s a neighbour.”

“But –”

“Hush! It’s complicated. In simple terms, Aelfgifu is a friend, Emma, an enemy.”

“And we are to meet this Aelfgifu?”

“We are if you mount your horse before the sun sets.”

“No need to mock me, husband.”

On the three-league ride to Bosham, Gytha pestered me for details about Aelfgifu and this pleased rather than annoyed me. In this way, I explained the background to the Queen’s troubled situation until I reached the recent birth of Sweyn.

“You see, Gytha, even a joyful event such as the delivery of a son brings with it danger and anxiety. Who would be a King?”

That question would one day return to haunt me.

I had not warned Gytha that Bosham lay on a peninsula, so she was overjoyed to glimpse the sparkling sea.

“It has its own harbour.” I pointed seaward. “The village stretches around the inlet. The King’s farmstead is reached before coming to the coast, separated by open country. Over yonder, across a bigger bay, lies Chichester where you bought your ribbon,” I glanced at the red band tying her plaited golden hair.

“May we go down to the sea today, husband?”

“Let’s see what Aelfgifu has to say about that.”

Just before leaving the woodland that opened onto the open country, Gytha asked, “Yon ceorl, what is he doing?”

She pointed to a fellow digging into the soft ground among the litter of leaves and twigs. I nudged my horse over and recognised the bone-worker of Bosham, Garth by name.

“Good day to you, Garth. My lady would know what it is you are doing.”

The fellow straightened and his mouth fell open, making him look awestruck and foolish at the same time. But he was quick to recover and said, “Lord Godwine, my Lady, look at the ants. The fine fellows will strip the fat off these swan’s bones.” He was right; wood ants swarmed all over the litter he had disturbed. He flourished the wing bones of a swan. “They’ll leave them as clean as a whistle – in fact, it’s for whistles these bones are meant!”

“Why must you dig deep?” Gytha wondered, with the natural curiosity I loved in her.

“Otherwise, foxes’ll dig ’em up, my Lady and they’ll damage ’em beyond repair.”

“Of course. Do you make combs, Master Garth?”

“Antler or bone, my lady, as you prefer.”

“Then I must pay you a visit.” Gytha stared meaningfully at me.

“Before the sun sets,” I sighed.

We took our leave of the busy craftsman and headed for the King’s farmstead.

The first notable change to strike me at Knut’s holding at Bosham was the security. Our approach was challenged by vigilant armed guards, who only let us advance when their Lady’s command rang out. “Why, it is Lord Godwine! Let them pass!” A female voice charged with authority rescued the sentinels from my wrath.

My irritation overcome, I was pleased with the precautions and once inside the hall, I remarked, “My Lady, I am delighted and astonished at the watchfulness of your guardians.”

“The sad truth is they are necessary. My well-placed friends saved me and my child twice this year from the malice of the… the Norman woman.”

I gazed in horror at the Queen. Could this be true? At once, I knew it to be so. What better time for murder than when Knut was out of the country?

“What happened?”

Aelfgifu’s eyes became too shiny for my comfort, but she breathed deeply, twisted the cloth of her tunic, gathered herself and spoke in a calm voice.

“In late spring, that woman dispatched a band of killers from Winchester to slay me and my darling child. But they were pursued by those in the pay of one who wishes me well. They overcame the wrongdoers in a forest, beheaded their leader and sent the head whence it came. Thwarted on that occasion, she – the Devil’s spawn – tried again in the summer, with a similar result. This time, her rogues were all taken and hanged as a warning to others.”

I stared aghast, my mind in a whirl. Who was the hitherto unnamed well-wisher so suitably placed and informed that he could counter the plots of the Norman witch? I asked the question, but Aelfgifu ignored me in order to continue her tale.

“Since the birth of her son, Harthacnut, Emma has become more spiteful. She knows Sweyn was born at much the same time and fears Knut will favour him over her child for the succession. I share the same disquiet quite the other way. Mind you, I will not stoop to evildoing.”

She paused and looked longingly at me. “What of Knut, Lord Godwine? Is he well?”

“Most surely, My Lady, and now is proclaimed King of Denmark. He has great responsibility for two realms.”

“Is that why he does not come to see his little son?”

The unaccustomed bitterness in her voice startled me and I was about to reassure her that we had been back in England for but three days, when my wife intervened.

“May we see your babe, My Lady?

I presented Gytha, who hitherto had stood in silence apart and the two women stared in appreciation at each other.

Aelfgifu, the object of my wife’s approbation, led us into a rear room, where a nurse, who sat rocking a cradle, rose at our approach.

“She’s lovely!” Gytha whispered in my ear as we moved into the child’s bedchamber.

I had no real interest in infants, I still prefer a good horse or hound, so I left Gytha to coo over the babe. My attention strayed as I struggled to imagine who was Aelfgifu’s saviour, until my wife begged to take the boy in her arms. The ferocious shield-maiden! I blinked and began to question my attitude toward the newborn. What if the child in Gytha’s embrace were my son? What a warrior he would be with such parents! Suddenly, the idea appealed, so I moved closer to inspect the tiny fingers and toes. I suppose it is the first time I appreciated the miracle of creating life – I, one more used to ending it.

Little Sweyn wriggled and contorted as babes will when colic torments them. Gytha shrugged off the nurse’s attempt to retrieve the child and, with soothing motions and a well-placed pat on his back, elicited a belch befitting of an aetheling. I asked myself, was my wife expert at everything?

I left the beaming women to their growing friendship and to the attention they wished to devote to the babe. I had more urgent matters on my mind.

Striding outdoors, I halted before the first guard I spotted.

“Take me to your leader!”

Startled by the peremptory command, the man hesitated but, alerted by the flash of temper in my eye, nodded and led the way to a barn. Therein, sitting on a stool next to an upturned barrel where a candle flickered over a map of the area, a man of imposing stature pored over the chart.

The guard coughed politely and the large, shaggy-haired head lifted to gaze at us with curiosity.

“What is it?” The tone was impatient.

“Lord Godwine wishes to speak with you, Thegn.”

The thegn leapt up. “Lord Godwine? We were together at Gainsborough and Sandwich after the death of King Sweyn.”

It accounted for his stature. This was no Saxon but a Danish warrior.

“Well met, my friend, but you have me at a disadvantage – I do not know your name.”

“Arne. Arne Svensson.”

“And who is your lord?”

I thought I knew the answer and it came as no surprise.

“Thorkell the Tall.”

“Then he it was who set you to guard the farmstead?”

“Ay, he it was.” Arne gestured to me to study the map. He pointed and, with the same grime-encrusted finger, tapped on the chart. “I have men here, here and here. No-one can get near the place without me knowing.”

“Good work, Arne. I believe you are right.” I grinned into the man’s face and noted the look of relief. Being judged by a close friend of the King can make an impression on a thegn. “I’ll leave you to it and depart in the knowledge that the Queen is in capable hands.”

Thorkell the Tall filled my thoughts as I returned to Aelfgifu to learn more.

After our farewells, as we rode down to the village, I wondered whether rumours about Aelfgifu’s father siding with the Danes when the Forkbeard invaded held any truth. It would help explain his murder, Knut’s marriage to her and Thorkell’s solicitude for her safety. Word had it that Thorkell was still secretly pagan and, as such, would have sympathy for Aelfgifu’s situation. One thing was certain – two Queens was one too many.

We did not make it directly to Garth’s workshop, for the roving eye of my wife was drawn to the gaudy beads hanging from a cane in the glass-maker’s hut. I made to ride past but Gytha grabbed my arm. “Two minutes with the maker of these lovely beads,” she implored.

Minutes in a woman’s brain, I find, are hours in mine. One thing I will say in favour of Gytha is that her inquiring mind surpasses even my curiosity. Thus, I learnt that ships from the eastern Mediterranean arrive at Bosham and unload boxes of natron. Until this day, I had ignored the existence of that substance, a kind of soda, but Hlaford the glassmaker, a wiry fellow without eyebrows, assured us that mixed with sand, it made better glass than the usual potash. I also found out that he lacked eyebrows due to the constant singeing they received from his kiln.

Had Gytha contented herself with the purchase of beads, we would have been out of the stifling surroundings in the promised two minutes she had deceived me with. Instead, we had to discover the whole of the glass-maker’s craft, from the original mixing of the raw materials, its constant raking and stirring in the oven, to the addition of copper to make the glass red, and finally, his masterstroke, the entertaining of Gytha by his blowing on a blob of molten glass from the kiln through a hollowed cane, to produce a miraculous vitreous bubble inside a wooden mould. This would become a red glass beaker when hardened. After our visit to Hlaford, I would henceforth not take for granted any glass vessel that came to hand.

Beads bought, we proceeded to Garth’s workshop across the road and, by skilful steering on my part, we avoided the potter’s workshop lurking on our way. Gytha bought her finely-decorated combs and although I had no intention of buying anything when I set out, I returned home with a new and very expensive drinking horn, my purse the poorer but my mind the richer, and with a thoroughly contented Lady by my side.

Book Details

AUTHOR NAME: John Broughton

BOOK TITLE: Sward And Sword: The Tale of Earl Godwine

GENRE: Historical Fiction

SUBGENRE: Medieval Historical Fiction

PAGE COUNT: 211