chaplain had doubted our resolve before, he surely did not now.
‘Whose is the body?’ I asked again.
Outside the wind continued to howl; it rattled the shutters and rustled the thatch. I stepped towards the priest, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet; he tried to edge away but I reached forward and grabbed him by the collar of his undershirt. He stared back at me for what seemed an eternity, trembling in my grip, and I saw the fear in his eyes.
‘It belongs …’ he said, his voice starting to quiver. He broke off, and even in the dim light I saw drops of sweat forming upon his brow.
‘To whom?’ I demanded.
‘It belongs’, he said, speaking slowly, ‘to the man who, three years ago, would have been king. To the oath- breaker and usurper, Harold Godwineson.’
Thirty
I stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. This wasn’t what I had expected to hear. Harold Godwineson. His was the body that Eadgyth wanted to see.
I let go of Aefwold’s collar and stepped back; he sank back on to the bed. I glanced at the other two, and they back at me.
Wace frowned. ‘Is this true?’
‘It is the truth,’ the chaplain answered, eyeing us nervously, as if unsure what to expect from us. As well he might, for this was far larger than any of us had been considering.
Eudo held his sword out once more, towards his face. ‘If you are lying to us …’
‘By God and the saints, I swear it is the truth!’ Aelfwold said, his eyes wide, his voice trembling even more than before.
‘But why should Malet know where Harold’s body is?’ I asked.
Wace frowned. ‘I thought it had never been found. From what I heard no one could identify it among the fallen, so trampled and broken were all the corpses that day.’
I’d heard the same tale. We had all been there at HAestinges, but there had been so much confusion that few had known exactly when the usurper had been killed and the field became ours. Some said that he was already maimed when an arrow had pierced his eye; others that it took the efforts of four mounted men, Duke Guillaume himself among them, to defeat him as he fought on alone, clinging to the vestiges of his power to the very end. The only thing we knew for certain was that it had been done.
Of his corpse, however, nothing had ever been said. Like most people, I assumed it had never been found: that he had simply been left to be eaten by the wolves and the crows, no different from the thousands of Englishmen who were slain that day. For as long as he was dead, it did not matter what became of his body. In the eyes of God he was a perjurer and a sinner, and even had he been recovered, no Christian burial could have been accorded him.
‘That at least is the story as King Guillaume would wish it told,’ Aelfwold said. ‘But it is not what happened. The body
‘He sent for Eadgyth,’ I finished for him. Her words came back to me now, from that night when we had spoken in the church at Wiltune, and I understood what she had meant. She had been there after the battle, she had told me so herself. And she had seen her husband’s battered corpse. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’
Aelfwold nodded, still watching us warily. ‘They came to an understanding, that if she identified the body, in return she would be told where it was to be buried.’
‘That was the promise Malet made to her, then,’ I muttered. My heart beat faster; everything was beginning to make sense at last. ‘And she upheld her part of the arrangement?’
‘She did,’ he said. ‘She was able to recognise him by certain marks on his body: marks that only a wife could know. Though once she had done so, the resemblance soon became clear to the rest of us. His head had been severed, and was found some way from the rest of him, which even then was missing one leg, hacked off at the thigh. But it was him nonetheless.’
‘You have seen the body?’ I asked. ‘You were there as well?’ It was not unusual for chaplains to travel in their lords’ companies, even to war, but I had not thought Aelfwold would have the disposition for it.
‘I was,’ he said with a touch of impatience. ‘And I was on your side then, just as I am now.’
‘Perhaps.’ I wasn’t sure that I yet believed him. ‘What happened to Harold’s body after that?’
‘After that the duke entrusted it to Lord Guillaume’s safe-keeping. He was told to see to its burial.’
‘Except that he obviously went back on his word,’ Wace pointed out. ‘He didn’t tell Eadgyth where he was burying it, or else she wouldn’t be asking to see it still.’
‘Where is it, then?’ Eudo said. His sword was still in his hand, though it was no longer pointed towards the priest.
‘I cannot say,’ Aelfwold replied. ‘It has been hidden these past two years. No one knows where it is, save for the vicomte himself.’
‘Hidden?’ said Wace. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t you understand?’ The priest rose to his feet, staring at each of us in turn. ‘There are many who still support Harold, even this long after his death — many who now regard him as a martyr. If the place of his burial were to be made widely known, it could become the centre of a cult, a rallying point for rebellion. The king cannot allow that to happen. No one may know where the body is — not even Eadgyth.’
The priest was right, I realised. There were already many who wished to see us gone from these shores. I thought of the army that had attacked us at Dunholm, which even now was besieging the castle at Eoferwic — all those thousands of men. How many more might there be if King Guillaume had allowed the English to openly honour the usurper?
‘Do you know?’ I demanded of Aelfwold.
‘No!’ he said. ‘I told you. Only the vicomte knows. Even I am not trusted with such knowledge.’
That hardly surprised me, but I did not say it. Certainly after all that had happened in the course of our travels, I would hardly trust him. Though Malet had felt secure enough at least to give him the letter in the first place. But then again, there had been nothing in it of any consequence, even if one knew what it was referring to-
And all of a sudden I understood how the pieces fitted together. ‘So that was what he meant,’ I said, turning to Eudo and Wace. ‘He couldn’t risk telling her where it was, in case word got out, and so that was all that he could say.
‘How do you know that?’ Aelfwold said. Anger flashed across his face as he turned to look at me.
I opened my mouth to speak, but I had no answer. Silently I cursed myself for having let it slip.
‘The vicomte will hear of this,’ Aelfwold said, and it was not the first time that I had heard those words from him. ‘You swore an oath to him!’
‘We thought he was conspiring with Eadgyth against the king,’ Wace said.
The chaplain gazed sternly at him. ‘And so instead you betray the confidence which he placed in you. You are fools, all of you. You think you know what you’re doing, but you’re just interfering in matters that are beyond you. Lord Guillaume is no traitor, and never has been.’
I remained silent. Beside me, Eudo sheathed his sword.
‘What about the other three?’ Aelfwold asked. ‘Have they had a part in this too?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘They haven’t.’
‘Perhaps that is as well.’ The chaplain sighed. ‘Now, I’ve told you all that I know. You have what you wanted. Leave me, please.’
He closed his eyes as if in silent prayer. This was the man who had done so much for me after my injury at Dunholm. What had happened to our friendship to cause it to sour so quickly — to sow such distrust, such enmity?
