The Rightful King
York, England – May 1071
It was dark in the Duke’s inner chamber but as Eadgar held forth the candle, he soon spied Duke Morcar as he sat silent at the large oak table. What once was a fresh soup now sat cold and uneaten as the pallid figure of Morcar looked up to spy his Marshal. He did not speak, but did give over some slight smile as much as he was able. Eadgar moved closer and pulled a chair to sit as he held out the candle to see his full face.
There was a large bulbous wound at his neck that oozed pus, yellow sickness that stood in stark contrast with his pale face. The sweat seemed to pour from his skin and he had little strength as witnessed by his poor attempt at a greeting. Reaching forward to grasp at Eadgar’s hand, his own stopped midway and landed with a thud on the table.
“I am sorry Atheling. I am to waste.”
“Come now, my Lord Duke,” Eadgar attempted some soothing words to keep his spirits lifted. “You will be better in a fortnight. It has hardly been but one moon since your sickness and yet you still live with us. All others have succumbed in quick time. You will live, sir.”
Morcar tried to smile, but it was clear the attempt was painful. “You do speak softly and well…my would be King. Would that your words were true. I know them always to be, but I fear…”
When he spit up some blood, he could no longer finish and Eadgar went to bring him some ale. He pulled the goblet to the Duke’s lips and allowed him to drink at it slowly. Once or twice, he seemed to choke, but it was clear that Morcar wished for such and so Eadgar helped him finish the drought.
“You are no fool, and that I know.” Morcar finally lifted his head and looked upon his Marshal.
“And you are a great Duke, and more…my father as much as I may know one.”
Morcar smiled and lifted a hand to reach out again and this time felt at Eadgar’s face. He allowed it to linger and though it was full of sweat, Eadgar did not try and stop him.
“See…we are all of the living. Though many be dead, we live, my Lord Duke. You will become better. This I know.”
As Eadgar cradled the Duke’s hand in his own, Morcar moved to lean back and yet again smiled. It was clear he was in some delirium, but he seemed to have a calm look upon his face and looked clearly into the Marshal’s eyes.
“What know you of your family?” he asked with a slight cough.
Eadgar simply smiled, “Not much. And that is the truth. My father was a weak man that left me when I was young. His father, a strong one that I never knew. Why, my Lord?”
Morcar beckoned Eadgar to come closer as he pulled himself to the table as best he could, “One was King…one was not…what of the other?”
“The other, my Lord?” Eadgar asked, as he felt at the Duke’s head and found it burning hot.
“Æthelred…what know you of he?”
“Little and less, my Lord Duke. What import has this for today? You need sleep. These tales of years gone by can wait.”
“They cannot!” The Duke suddenly stood tall in his chair and pulled the empty goblet close for another drink. Not finding any, he slammed it down again. “And that is why!”
“You do speak strangely, my Lord…I am sorry to have disturbed you on this night.”
Eadgar attempted to rise but the Duke’s weak hand stopped him, “Do not leave me, my King. I will be fine. But you must…hear this.”
As Morcar slumped back in his chair, Eadgar rose to assist him and was battled by the Duke.
“I will be fine!” he roared with a strength either knew he possessed at that moment.
“Then speak, my Lord…tell me what you wish to say.”
Eadgar helped him to gently sit again and Morcar beckoned for another goblet of ale. As he drank, he sat back softly in his seat and began to tell Eadgar of a tale.
“There was once a noble squire. He found a love that was far beyond him in life, and she had a great beauty. He was the envy of every man, and she their desire. In due time, this woman brought many great men around her and the squire was not unhappy for it brought him great wealth and prestige in tow. As long as he did not grow unhappy. And happy, he was. And would remain. Though she lay with other men…and did speak unkindly of this squire many times…and cared not for the realm or people…she did find favor with the King. And the squire was happy still. And when that King found trouble in his life, he did go to this woman and ask for her advice and her advice was none to help the realm. It was always about herself.”
Duke Morcar began to cough and so Eadgar went to retrieve another drought but was stopped, “No…hear this Eadgar.”
As he sat again, the Duke continued, “Where was I? Ah yes…the wench and her paramour…but it was not she that was unready. Nor her squire husband who had also found favor with the King. And due to her great beauty, this squire was able to say many unwise things to this King such that he be unwise himself. He would eventually lose his crown because of this ill counsel. All because of the beauty of a woman.”
“You do speak in dreams, my Lord Duke,” Eadgar once more attempted to calm Morcar but it would be no good as the Duke screamed out.
“This is reality, boy! This is truth! This is history that you should well know!”
Eadgar sat back in his chair, unsure of what next to do to help the Duke. He finally asked, “And the moral, sir? The moral of the tale?”
“The moral? This is your question? The moral is that Æthelred was a perfectly ready king. He did not give over the Danegeld because he wished to lose his crown…except he knew not what was right. He was…ill-counseled.
Unræd!”
“So you speak this story of my great grandfather…” Eadgar attempted to soothe the Duke.
“No sir! It is mine own blood! That is the ill counsel!”
Morcar moved to stand and fell by his chair causing Eagar to help him back up. Morcar held tightly to the Marshal and pulled his face in close, “My! Own! Blood!”
Eadgar helped the Duke to sit once more as he pulled a rag to his face and wiped away the sweat. “You are unwell, my Lord Duke. You speak of strange things that you would not otherwise say. I will not remind you of this because you would not like it. You need sleep!”
“I need…” Morcar lifted his head to look into the man’s face, “…you to hear me. I give you no ill counsel. Especially now.”
“Move with me, my Lord…sleep will do you well,” Eadgar attempted to help the Duke once more to a nearby bed.
“You do not understand, my King…”
Eadgar moved Duke Morcar to lie down and pulled some covers over him that the Duke threw off immediately. “It is too hot!”
“Morcar!! You must rest!”
“You fool…” Morcar lay back on the bedding and smiled with his eyes closed. “YOU will need your rest. We are with child.”
The Duke began to laugh uncontrollably and Eadgar paid it little mind for a few moments before he realized what had been said. “My Lord?”
“I speak true. While you have been so busy upgrading the city walls of Boston, it comes to me that your wife is with child.”
The Duke was moving to get comfortable with the bedding around him and Eadgar was forced to try and pull him back to lucidity, “What say you, my Lord?”
“I said you are going to have a child, Eadgar…and so am I.”
“A child, my Lord Duke? This is but one of your dreams brought on by sickness.”
“Aye…but it’s not.” Morcar was nearly asleep at this point, but still opened his eyes enough to look at Eadgar, “The Danes land foolishly on the Irish in the south, but what is our care? Hextilda is with child. And that child will receive no ill counsel.”
Eadgar of Wessex knew not what to say as he pulled the little bit of cover he could towards the Duke’s chin. Morcar seemed to drift off to sleep with a smile and a few last words, “Nor mine…Atheling. Nor mine.”
