celebration.
The King, increasingly incapacitated, held on to life and continued his plans for his Christmas consecration.
14. Circling Vultures
It was a minor miracle that King Edward arrived at his church for his Christmastide Court on Christmas Day, 1065.
He had suffered yet another malady on Christmas Eve and had collapsed into his bed in a state of semi- consciousness. However, the next morning he was there on his throne, sceptre in hand, to preside over the proceedings. The occasion had all the ostentation appropriate for a gathering of England’s finest, yet it was a sombre affair. All eyes darted from a stricken King, barely coherent and unable to stand, to a sturdy Earl of Wessex, the anticipated successor and putative saviour of a threatened land.
The ceremony was conducted quickly, so that Edward could return to his bed. Three days later, Edward rose one last time — a tribute to the King’s obstinate determination to see his emblematic creation consecrated.
As Edward, King of England, looked around his abbey on the twenty-eighth day of December 1065, he declared himself satisfied. The power of God had been reaffirmed throughout the land; the Celts of the west and the Scandinavians of the north were held at bay by the most powerful army in northern Europe; the throne of England was respected by all nations; and scholarship flourished in the abbeys and monasteries in every part of the realm. Most importantly of all, despite not having a direct heir, he had identified a man who would continue his legacy and that man was waiting patiently in Normandy. It had been a difficult task, but his life’s work was done.
The consecration, splendid, pompous and protracted, took a heavy toll on Edward and within moments of its end, he had to be rushed from the church straight to his bed.
It would prove to be his deathbed.
Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury, Queen Edith, Earl Harold and several senior courtiers assembled as the King lapsed into a deep coma, from which it seemed he would not recover. However, unexpectedly, he suddenly sat bolt upright with a look of torment on his face. In a rasping but clear voice, he called for pillows to keep him upright and demanded that the room be cleared, except for Stigand, Edith and Harold.
With eyes staring wildly into the distance, he spoke in a trembling and menacing tone. ‘I have seen the apocalypse! The Lord in His mercy has granted me a vision of a terrible fate that awaits the good people of this land.’
He paused for some time, shook his head and gave little whimpers of anguish, as if reliving the vision.
He then took a deep breath. ‘They rejected Duke William as King! God punished them by sword and pestilence; they perished in their thousands. My Lord of Wessex, come close to me.’
Harold stepped forward and the King grasped him firmly by his sleeve, his bony knuckles made white by the powerful grip of a frightened man.
‘Harold, you are the strongest man in England, the people need you.’ He pulled Harold even closer and stared at him like a man possessed. ‘I make you their protector. You must do this for me. Convince the earls and the thegns, the burghers and the townspeople and the peasants of the land; tell them that their future lies with the Duke of Normandy. He is strong; he will keep Hardrada at bay and put the fear of God into the Scots and the Welsh. He respects you and will let you lead his army as Earl Marshal.’
‘My Lord King, you ask too much. Don’t ask this of me.’
The King continued, undaunted. ‘You must do this for England.’
Harold made one final attempt to dissuade him. ‘Sire, it is the Atheling, Edgar, who should be King, not William.’
Edward bellowed so loudly in reply, it echoed throughout Westminster. ‘I will not hear of it! Do you heed me? I will not have it!’ He then turned to Stigand. ‘You have heard my testament, Archbishop, it is my verba novissima. Mark my words well, as God is my witness.’
They were his final words.
He fell into a deep coma and died seven days later, on 5 January 1066.
In that tortured week between the King’s last words and his death, Stigand, Edith and Harold spoke many times about his verba novissima. They decided to take his words literally: Harold would be declared Protector of England and, as all the earls were still in London, a Witan would be called immediately upon the King’s death, to decide who should succeed.
Edward’s wishes would be made clear to the nobles but, in accordance with hundreds of years of Anglo- Saxon tradition, the assembled nobility would take the decision.
Every man who spoke at the Witan understood the gravity of the proceedings and the importance of his contribution. Some spoke for Edgar the Atheling, mainly out of a sense of loyalty to the Cerdician line, but most were firmly for Harold, despite Edward’s wishes. Harold was questioned directly about the oath in Rouen. He acknowledged the question, but asked that his answer be deferred until the Witan was ready to vote on the succession.
By the time Harold spoke, he was King in all but name. Almost to a man, Harold was their choice. They all knew that England faced a perilous future, and that the only man who could lead England was the Earl of Wessex. When Harold got to his feet, there was a hush of expectation.
‘My Lords of England, leaders of our noble race, I stand before you humbled by the circumstances of this gathering. A good and learned King has died. He was a Saxon of the royal blood, who did many great things for his realm, and he deserves our gratitude and respect.’ He paused as ripples of concurrence went around the gathering. ‘But there is a part of his legacy which we should reject without hesitation. He believed that our Saxon ways will hinder our future and said many times that our future lies with, in the King’s words, “Europe’s empires and kingdoms of learning and sophistication”. But do we not have our own ways?’
Harold’s rhetorical question was met by yells of agreement.
‘Europe is beset by bitter rivalries and dominated by the vagaries of Rome and its henchmen, the Normans. And I will have no part of it!’
A great roar exploded from the Witan as Harold paused for breath.
‘Almost two years ago, I swore an oath before papal witnesses affirming that I would serve as Earl Marshal of this land for its future King, William, Duke of Normandy. I swore that oath at King Edward’s bidding in a moment of weakness.’
Harold was interrupted by several cries of ‘No!’
‘I will not be weak again. On his deathbed, King Edward made me Protector of England and his final testament surpasses my oath to William. He said that God had shown him what we all fear: the destruction of this land in a terrible fight, as the people resisted the rule of Normandy. I am now the guardian of this ancient kingdom and its people. They face the gravest of threats to their safety and prosperity. I now ask you to make your choice. The late King’s request was that I ask you, the wise men of England, to accept William as your King. How do you say?’
‘No! No! No!’ was the unanimous response, as the Witan, to a man, rose to its feet.
‘So be it. Therefore, will you permit me to fulfil my duty to England and confirm me, Harold, Earl of Wessex, as your King?’
A great chorus of ‘Aye!’ filled the hall.
‘I am not of royal Cerdician blood. My pedigree is that of a warrior, descended from ancient Saxon and Danish champions of arms. I will serve as your loyal King for one purpose only — to protect this country from those who would destroy our way of life, lay waste our lands and murder our people. If you will lend me your strength, together we can defeat Hardrada and William. So help me God!’
At this, the earls rushed to Harold and raised him on to their shoulders.
The doors of the Great Hall at Westminster were flung open and King Harold II of England was carried into the midst of the rapturous crowd gathered outside.
The old King was buried the next day and Harold was crowned within hours.
