'No!' snapped Sihtric. 'You don't know the man. When it became clear that Edward was likely to remain childless, Harold went to Hungary to bring back Edward's great-nephew, known as Edgar the Atheling, the true heir. Harold went to fetch this boy. Now, is that the action of a man who seeks the kingdom for himself? When Edward dies, as he will soon, there will be challenges for his throne-'
'From William.'
'Yes. And from Harald Hardrada King of Norway-that's a complicated business to do with the sons of Cnut. Maybe there will be others. But Harold will work to secure the succession of the Atheling, the rightful heir, and thus to unite England.'
Orm snorted. 'So you like to believe.'
Godgifu said, 'My brother seeks to get involved in this tangled story. For he believes that through Harold's career his prophecy will be fulfilled.'
Orm studied Sihtric. 'It is a murky business, and dangerous too, to meddle in the destinies of kings. What's in it for you, priest?'
'He's ambitious,' Godgifu said immediately. 'He fancies an archbishopric some day – don't you, Sihtric?'
'I resent that,' said Sihtric pompously. 'I'm doing my holy duty. There is a tradition of clerical devotion to the Menologium, if you look at its history. And you are nothing but envious of me, sister, as you have been all your life.'
Godgifu pulled a face.
'So,' Orm asked, 'why has Earl Harold come here? Surely he's at risk.'
'He's come to make peace with William, if he can,' Sihtric said. 'For he knows William is dangerous.'
William, thirty-seven years old, had been born the illegitimate son of the Duke of Normandy by a tanner's daughter. It wasn't an auspicious birth, and woe betide you if you reminded him of it. When William's father died on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem the warrior-aristocrats of Normandy immediately turned on each other. William, only eight, never learned to read, but he learned to fight.
Northern Frankia, with a weak central monarchy, was split into dukedoms, all in a state of constant warfare. William was still in his early twenties when he started launching raids against his neighbours. Perhaps because he had been born out of sinful lust himself he became an austere, pious sort of soldier who slew with brutal efficiency and then prayed for forgiveness from a vengeful God.
'And now,' Orm said, 'he has his eyes on England.'
'Harold always seeks peace first,' Sihtric said. 'He knows that William, with this 'promise' of Robert's in his pocket, will be a threat in the future. So he's come to seek an alliance with William, through a marriage to his own sister.'
'And Harold has also come for his brother,' Godgifu said. 'Wulfnoth, who has been a hostage of William's for more than a decade. That's why he's come here. As for the risk, you've met him, Orm. Harold can look after himself.'
'You think so?' Orm said dryly. There was a commotion outside, and Orm nodded to the tavern's open door. 'Take a look.'
Sihtric and Godgifu left the tavern, followed by Orm. And they saw the unmistakable figure of Harold, flanked by his brother and his other companions. His arms pinned by burly Normans, Harold, white with fury, was being led towards Odo's church.
Godgifu asked, 'Should we help?'
Orm shrugged. 'I owe him my life. I must.'
Sihtric hesitated. Orm saw calculation and cowardice warring in that thin face. Then the priest said, 'Yes. Yes, we must help.'
They hurried after Harold.
IV
The church was packed. Orm had to use his shoulders to force a way in through a crowd of prelates, armed warriors, and the retainers of William and Harold. The atmosphere was tense; English and Normans alike fingered the hilts of their swords.
Harold and his brother Gyrth had been brought to stand before William. They were a contrast, the tall, red- haired, blue-eyed, well-built Englishmen before the short, portly Norman. But with his face shaved and the jet black hair at the back of his head scraped to the scalp, William glowered with menace. At the altar stood Odo, bishop and half-brother to the Bastard. In his expensive vestments Odo was a sleeker copy of his corpulent brother. He held a leather-bound Bible, and a small gilded box.
Sihtric, with the avid ears of a courtier, picked up the mutterings of the English in the crowd. William had sprung the trap he had evidently been planning all along. The box held by Odo contained a holy relic, the finger of a saint. Now William required Harold to swear allegiance to him, an oath to be sworn on the relic – and Harold was to promise to uphold any claim William made to the throne of England.
Orm, astonished, realised that he had been catapulted into the eye of a storm that might engulf a kingdom.
Harold, his face like thunder, glared around. When he saw Sihtric he beckoned him. The priest was shocked and frightened, but when he was allowed to pass he hurried forward, and Orm and Godgifu followed.
'I think I need some holy advice, priest,' Harold muttered.
'I am here to serve, lord.'
'I can't believe the arrogance of the man. This blustering brute demands such an oath of me. Well, it is a trap into which I have fallen. What should I do? If I make the oath and keep it, William will surely take the throne. You saw his methods, what he did in Brittany. I will not have that befall England. But to take the oath and break it would be a sin.' The oath was the very foundation of the law, binding kings and lords as well as free men. Oath- breaking was a grave offence – and to break an oath sworn on holy relics was graver yet. 'But if I fail to take the oath at all-'
'Then we will all be cut down, brother, here and now,' Gyrth said grimly.
Orm saw Harold's hand move towards his sword, and the tension in the church tightened even further. 'At least we can die fighting.'
Sihtric spoke rapidly to Harold in English, perhaps hoping that William could not hear. 'You are twice the man the Bastard is, ten times. In your wisdom you are a man of the future; William is nothing but aggression and greed, a throwback to a darker past. You must think of the greater good, lord.'
'The greater good? You're saying I should take the oath to stay alive, knowing I will not keep it?' Harold looked agonised. 'But my soul, priest,' he said. 'My soul.'
Sihtric said, 'An oath made under duress is not binding, and no sin.' But even Orm the pagan knew that he was lying.
Odo advanced with the Bible and the reliquary. Harold, his expression torn, placed a hand on the reliquary, faced William the Bastard, and gave his oath.
V
Under a bleak winter sky the Norman ship sailed cautiously up the crowded river. The ship was one of a small flotilla belonging to a Norman lord, Orm's current employer. With its mast lowered, driven by its oars, it passed under the single bridge which united Lunden, north and south of the river.
It was early January, in the Year of Our Lord 1066.
Orm Egilsson stood at his place in the prow and peered out curiously. On both river banks wharves and jetties crowded to the water like the snouts of pigs to a trough. Further away buildings rose like a stony wave to cover the hills. Centuries after the last legionary had left his post the famous Roman wall was huge and unmistakable, a brooding mass of concrete and worked stone.
Orm's nostrils twitched at a stink of wood smoke, broiling meat, and sewage. Even the water was strange, black with filth, its surface littered with turds, ashes, scatterings of dead fish – and a few bloated human corpses. The city's sprawl and bustle and sheer scale dwarfed the petty towns of Normandy. Lunden was the hub of England's trade with Europe, and huge quantities of wool, England's principal export, flowed out of here to the
