The Heavy Crown
Gainsborough, England – August 1133
Eadward pushed through a very heavy throng of courtiers as he did his best to move beyond the hall. There were many there that sought to catch his eye but it was one that he himself found that stopped him in his tracks.
“Brother Nylan...you remain from Lincoln?” he asked with some surprise.
The monk pulled his robes close and offered a slight bow, “His Grace had wish so I have let go of my progress. Peace be with you, my Lord Prince.”
“And also with you, Brother,” Eadward gestured with his hand, “I have been gone for some long time and though I have seen to His Grace, I would like to hear your thoughts.”
“I be not his confessor...” Brother Nylan suggested with a smile, “...but I could still say little of what he speaks to me, my Lord.”
The Prince Regent held a hand close, “I may understand, but I would dearly love to hear your thoughts at any ways. I do know that my brother, the King, does trust you well and you would be of the most assistance to let me know how he has been for these last few months.”
Brother Nylan offered a sorrowful face, “He remains quite ill, my Lord Prince. And full of question.”
“I have many, myself...” Eadward pulled the monk aside, “...I am told that he has met with our brother.”
The monk smiled, “Do you wonder if the meet with Prince Beorhtmaer be fruitful?”
Eadward frowned, “I wonder if it be necessary? It is fine to have the Prince back to Gainsborough as I miss him sorely, but I do not think to disturb His Grace when his rest is most needed.”
“I had naught to do with it, my Lord Prince Regent,” Brother Nylan offered another brief bow, “I come when I am called and all else is away from my ken.”
The Prince pulled him close, “I should like very much for you to take more care for His Grace. Confessor or no, he does need a man like yourself about him at this time. What think you?”
“Whether I be called by him or by you, my Lord...” the monk held question, “...I would answer.”
Eadward looked around the crowded hall before turning his face back to Brother Nylan, “Would you follow me, sir? I would have more words to say and ask. May you spare a moment?”
The monk offered a comforting smile, “Your brother, the King, does like it well and if I may be of service to you, my Lord...here I be.”
The two moved swiftly past a few courtiers that tried to gain the Prince’s ear but he found an anti-chamber just off the hall and hurriedly closed the door behind them, “They would all now know to look to me for their favor and so the great hall bustles once more and I like it not. Happy was I when it remained dark.”
“Happier days still prior to that, my Lord Prince...” Brother Nylan smiled, “...when the King did lead in his cheer and kept to his full health.”
They found themselves in the empty chambers of the court herald and Eadward sat on the corner of the desk as he gave nod, “That much is certain, Brother. What I would not give to go back to those beauteous times.”
The monk offered a kindly nod, “As regent for the realm, you do much the work of a King. As I have spoken with His Grace often over these last many years, I do understand the heavy burdens that come with such a task as this.”
“It is never ending,” Eadward sighed, “I fear it to have worn my brother down to a nub.”
“He remains somewhat sharper than that, my Lord Prince,” the monk grinned, “But your words have some understanding to me. His Grace is greatly troubled.”
Eadward found question, “By what, if I may ask? I know well that his infirmity causes him a great deal of discomfort, but is there more?”
“I’ve told you, my Lord Prince...” Brother Nylan offered a slight bow of his head, “...I truly could not say. I should think, however, the answer be right before you with some thought.”
“The war with Glamorgan...” Eadward gave a quick nod, “...he would never let go of his martial spirit.”
The monk bowed his head once more, “You may have some of it, my Lord.”
Eadward stood with some exasperation, “The war goes well! Our nephews should see Cardiff fall soon and what may be left of the Welsh stragglers continue to find defeat. In truth, I am told we find a prisoner at the now from one of their best generals.”
“I be certain that His Grace found this news well met,” Brother Nylan cocked a brow, “Yet he may wish himself there rather than here at the now. For one so bold, it is a harsh truth to be removed from that which is so beloved.”
“The very heart of it,” Eadward stepped closer, “And yet, I believe this to be not his only source of misgiving.”
Brother Nylan smiled once more with a kind face, “You would not tease it from me, my Lord Prince, for you are a shrewd man and know your brother well. What else does give him pause?”
“Is this how it goes with the King?” Eadward found a slight grin, “So many riddles?”
“I am a firm believer in God’s gift to us all of a fine mind,” the monk grinned in return, “The answers are usually readily at hand even before the question is asked.”
The Prince gave nod as he moved to a window, “Then yes...I know well that His Grace is gravely concerned over his son and the fate of our realm when he is finally gone.”
“I think that you may have it, my Lord Prince,” Brother Nylan held a brief finger to his tonsured head in reply, “He does speak to a great worry.”
“I do not know how well you know of the great Lords of our realm, Brother...” Eadward turned back to him with a furrowed brow.
The monk smiled, “I should think that I know fair enough, my Lord, as it is my hope that my history is sound for this time.”
Eadward stepped closer to him, “From one end to the other...we are like to be back as if my father nor my brother ever wore this crown. What think you?”
“I am but an observer in these matters...” Brother Nylan suggested, “...my counsel may only speak to the spiritual and not some other.”
“Come now, Brother...” Eadward found a grin, “You would ignore the truth of it simply to have your facts straight? Though we be a realm whole, there are kingdoms both within Mercia and Normandy at the now. Powerful Lords each and with all the manner to challenge when the time does come. In truth, I am told that our Lord Robert does prefer his title of Duke of Flanders to that of Normandy.”
The monk simply gave nod, “I know not what to say. It is not my worth to judge these men and women, though I do think Lord Robert to be a pernicious sort as his father was before him...as was
his father before him. Yet that is not my task. Mine own is to be true to God and I do believe that the writing of this history with our bold King is part of that task. I may do no other.”
“It does not disturb you to see these movements, as I do all of the time?” Eadward asked, “These great Lords planning their play as if the beast is soon to fall...and even these others...these heretics and rebels. Derby holds the Lollards...and now Bedford? It is some other, but heretical still. Even in Normandy, there comes revolt from Vendome. These things do not cause you pain as you think of God’s wish for this realm?”
Brother Nylan offered a brief sigh, “I must admit that I am not immune to the words of the common folk of our realm, and as much as the uncertainty of our future causes these Lords to act out, I do believe the same could be said for all others. I would tell you that I have mentioned it also to His Grace.”
“Yet what to do?!” Eadward found a plea, “What would His Grace say?”
The monk could only shrug causing the Prince to offer a sigh of his own, “Very well. I would speak to him and he would tell me of his thoughts, but I remain interested in yours as you be so learned, Brother. The truth of it is that I myself do not know what may happen when this sad day does arrive. I have worked tirelessly to reach out to the Prince and convince him of his great duty, as has His Grace, and no word would return. I do not think him willing to take up this great charge, and then...”
“And then...who may it be?” Brother Nylan asked with a curious brow.
Eadward turned back to him with question, “What mean you, sir?”
“I think it an obvious question, my Lord Prince,” the monk folded his hands within his robe, “If the heir to our bold King be not his son, then who will be King after him?”
“The Prince Oscytel IS the heir!” Eadward remained adamant.
The monk kept at his teasing line of question, “And if the Prince should refuse? Who then?”
Eadward shook his head, “I do not know...mayhap the younger Prince...Eadgar?”
“If the one may abdicate his duty...” Brother Nylan questioned, “...then why would both not do so? I would say that His Grace does mention few words from the younger Prince himself. If such occurred, then what?”
The Prince Regent waved a hand as he moved back to the window, “You must have spent some time down to Norfolk to speak with my Lady wife or mayhap my sister.”
“Why, my Lord?” the monk asked with a slight grin, “Do these fine ladies also come to mind with what I see now before me?”
Eadward turned with a shocked face, “Because we have the law, sir! Codified by my father and found assent by these great Lords. If you think to look to me, then I would have the very same answer that I have given to my Judith...it cannot be so!”
Brother Nylan offered another shrug, “Then the realm finds itself with a great quandary, my Lord Prince, as you do yourself. We may not know what will happen to the Kingdom when His Grace does pass for it seems that no man has wish to pick it up.”
“That be not my wish...” Eadward tried to explain but the monk stopped him with a gentle hand.
“You must speak with your brother, the King, about these matters much more, my Lord Prince...” Brother Nylan suggested with a kind face, “I have loaned him a fine tome from our library at Lincoln that may be of help. A history of our great Saxons Kings of yore...it may enlighten us all. I know that the future is murky, but as I have told His Grace, I shall also speak it to you...look to God, my Lord. There you may find your answer.”
With that, the monk offered a last slight bow and backed away to leave the small chamber as Eadward watched after him with great consternation. It was a preposterous idea what this friar seemed to suggest and he’d told his wife so when she herself presented the same to him some months past. Eadward was rather sore with Mildrith that it seemed to come from her. And yet, he returned to his original question...what to do?
He did not wish to press his brother, but with every passing day the question loomed larger. King Uhtræd was not getting better and if the Prince would not return…
...as Regent, Eadward had need to sort it out. But how? The monk was right. That was the true question.