Chapter 54, Lambeth Palace, Surrey, 1st September 985 AD
‘I would strongly advise it madam’ the old duke said, low-voiced, as they traversed the verdant palace gardens, scullions and courtiers alike pausing to bow low to the two most powerful people in England, for good or ill. The duke dressed simply in brown cotton tunic, embroidered with gold leaf, Braes with light mantle and broadsword hanging by his side. His female interlocuter was dressed more regally, in deep blue damask shift with a headdress and gold circlet alluding to her high rank and station.
Yikes! With a diplo score like that you'll make your grandmother look like Mother Theresa!
‘A strong advisement is mayhap something I should take most seriously from the Lord Advisor,’ princess regent Wulfwynn opined, the beginnings of a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as they perambulated – she always loved this time of year that combined the promise of summer with spectacular foliage displays and temperatures that were warm but not unpleasant. She stopped to admire some particularly bright verdure as they proceeded downhill, their guard following at a discrete distance behind. ‘For the last time I failed to heed such admonishments I almost ended up in very warm water indeed. Is that not so my lord of East Anglia?’
Duke Eadwine chuffed grumpily whilst purveying this young woman who he had sworn to advise and protect – a sacred vow made upon his dying friend, the king’s, deathbed. It had taken many months and a herculean effort of will to rise from the despond that enveloped him in the time following that grim evening in 982 – but made it he had, using the strength of his promise as a crutch.
‘Mayhap you speak true my lady, but, as you know well, you left me little choice…’
Eyes a-glitter with some dangerous re-lit spark Wulfwynn snapped back: ‘to force my hand, my lord, with threats of force, strikes me not as the action of a friend!’
This again, the old duke thought, sighing. Oh, for the company of his young friend, Harold of King’s Lynn, safely ensconced on his own estates and far from the cloying intrigues of the regency court. Or, indeed, his homely second wife, Hextilda – always a comfort but who he had insisted stay at home as her advancing years meant she did not travel so well – even if only the thirty-five leagues from Norwich to Lambeth.
‘you should look to your own weary bones greybeard!’ She had teased as he took his leave of her that last time – memories of warmer, simpler times for certes…he had now been stuck in Lambeth for well over six months – had arrived in April, as the trees were blooming, to disquieting reports from Bishop Byrthnoth, the royal Chaplain, that the Regent intended to reinforce her powers at the expense of the council’s. As things stood an uneasy truce existed between the princess, on the one side and her two brothers, one Chancellor and the other Steward, ranged against her. By an accord, agreed on the king’s death, that all weighty decisions would be put to the vote and with the Duke and the Bishop generally acting as a counterweight to the princes, an unsteady peace had held in place in the years following Osweald’s passing and this despite the best efforts of the royal siblings to upset the applecart at every turn. If it was not agitating for the election of one of their creatures to the council as Spymaster after the odious Osræd of Mercia was murdered in Ulster – a battle which he and the princess had lost in April, the Grand Mayor of Lancaster being duly appointed to that post, it was the turning of the Lord Marshall, Earl Sighere of Gwent to the prince’s faction which now gave the brothers the controlling votes on the Council…
That was the mess that he had returned to that spring. ‘Your actions were unlawful madam – and rash. Would have made a mockery of your father’s dying wishes.’ He sighed.
It seemed that Wulfwynn had neither forgiven nor forgotten for she immediately shot back ‘my father! You talk of my father, my lord duke! What good my father’s wishes when they were to be utterly suborned by my brothers and their acolytes! No sir, you have done me very ill indeed. Regent? I am more like an empty vessel!’
Eadwine’s patience was nigh on at its end and now anger wreathed his craggy features, ‘think you to channel the spirit of your grandmother madam for she had her struggles ere she was sainted!’ He snapped. ‘Think on! Power benefits you not if you have no control and your reckless plan to divest the Council of both would have left you with neither!’
At their raised voices, passers-by gave them a wide berth for all at court knew that there had been almost a fatal ruction that spring which culminated with the ultimatum delivered by Eadwine. With all the council and most of the magnates of the land behind him to enshrine in law the right of the council to check the Regent’s power – all matters would henceforth be voted on and the Princess’s vote would carry no more weight than any others. It was a humiliating climbdown for Wulfwynn and most unexpected as hitherto she had seen Eadwine as a bulwark and a friend – someone she had shared her father’s dying hours with, after all. What she could not know was that long had it been whispered that her powers of diplomacy were lacking, she seemed to possess many of her father and grandmother’s flaws without the balancing virtues.
She was hurrying ahead now, face flushed with anger and shame, the duke lengthening his stride to keep pace. She at last paused by a pond, her hazel eyes scanning the placid waters therein and some swans that serenely sailed upon them.
‘I had thought you to be my ally, sir,’ she said quietly.
The old duke, now at her side again, looked on her with no little warmth now. ‘I am that, still, my lady. My vote and those of the bishop and the lord marshal will still go with you – that I can vouchsafe for.’ He paused to see if his kinder words were hitting home. It seemed they were, so he continued; ‘you are not without guile madam – your plan to buy your brother’s favour with money from our overstocked treasury. Yours to bring Sighere of Gwent in from out of their compass. Do not throw all that away I beg you.’
Ahh what a fine body of scurvy scum and backstabbers I have assembled around me...
‘And my whoreson brothers? You will help me stand against them?’
Sighing Eadwine responded, calmly: ‘mayhap my lady it need not always be war between you. You are all siblings after all. You are one family-you, your brothers, your nephew in Saxony and your king above all.’
Her shoulders, tense and hunched hitherto now finally slumped as if in some sort of surrender. ‘Mayhap you have the right of it, sir,’ she said finally, ‘sometimes it is hard to remember my nephew in Saxony is the second son of my beloved eldest brother – may God assoil him…’ Her eyes were fixed upon the lake, some faraway memories of her eldest sibling, who all had loved so much, assailing her.
‘Eorcenberht would have made a wonderful king, my lady,’ he said as if reading her thoughts.
Tears starting to her eyes she cuffed them away and turned back to the palace, saying ‘aye he would have done and so would his eldest, but both have been taken away from us untimely – mayhap it is God’s will.’
‘Mayhap madam, but to my earlier point – about King Eanfrith of Saxony…’
‘Methinks we are back to that with which we started. You would have me reach out, as Regent, to my nephew in Saxony, even though many say he covets the throne of England – turns jaundiced eye upon his own nephew, our king.’
They were now returning towards the palace, mindful of the gathering dusk. Braziers and torches were even now beginning to be lit by the evening watch.
‘He
is the heir, whether we like it or not madam. If aught should happen to the boy, then the laws of the land dictate that Eanfrith is our next king. You must reach out to the man.’
‘The boy, as you put it sir, remains hale and hearty, though still unsightly to look at. I am hoping that people will get used to his – ah – deformities…’ the princess mused, thinking of a recent happenstance that had much intrigued her. She had been on the balcony outside her quarters leaning down to survey life below her, wondering whether things were good for her and how her fortunes had turned in only a few years, when she had been aware of something behind and had spun round to see the young king – a boy of only five summers – with misshapen head, nonetheless observing her intently through his startling blue eyes. He was on one of his wheeled toys looking as though he was about to aim it towards her when her sudden attention spun him around and he was gone, the shouts of his nurse and tutor ringing after him. A strange occurrence for certes!
Now you weren't about to doing what I think you were...were you???
The duke did not need to know, she decided. ‘Very well my lord-I will make the arrangements to have a letter sent to my nephew, welcoming him to the amity of the Regency Council – it is not as if he was not raised here after all, even if in faraway Cornwall for most of his years. He is not the stranger most seem to think he is.’ She paused before continuing, ‘though you and I both do well know that should anything happen to the king’s grace many of the realm’s magnates will once more be agitating to put my brother Osræd on the throne…’
Eadwine did not want to contemplate the divisions that might follow such so he adroitly changed the subject: ‘I hear tell the king was excited to be going on his first hunt my lady-that was well done indeed.’ For all had heard how excited the lad had been about this excursion proposed by Wulfwynn. The boy had chafed at all the bounds upon him recently, ever more aware of his kingly status, it seemed.
Of a sudden there was a commotion up ahead of them, voices raised first in alarm then in shock and fear. The hubbub rolled down towards them and at its head came running a young servant. He was white as a sheet and hardly remembered the correct protocols as first he addressed himself to the duke then, realising his error, turned to the Regent.
‘Speak sirrah! What news?’ Wulfwynn asked, voice barely trembling with some sought for fear.
‘My lady regent – dread news without! The guard, the king’s guard have returned…they. There is-‘
The duke stepped forward and grabbed the boy by the shoulder, spinning him round, ‘calm yourself lad! Out with it. What has happened to our king?’
The messenger was now on his knees, shaking and crying but he managed to stammer out something intelligible: ‘my lord the huntsman that was procured to – to show the young king the ways of the wild. He -he…’
But the youth could not continue, quite overcome. Eadwine, quick witted hailed one of the palace stewards: ‘Ecbert! What news sir! What has happened?’
The steward, one of the palaces many, was ashen faced himself-he must know what had befallen their liege.
‘Sir, madam! Grievous news has reached us from the king’s hunting party. The huntsman was a snake planted in our very bosom…like some Brutus…’
The duke grasped the man by the shoulders ‘enough sirrah! Speak!’
‘That poor boy sir, the huntsman was in the pay of someone…has murdered our king…it was a deed most foully done.’
He was only a little boy Paradox you bastards!!!
At that advisor and regent both visibly blanched – the king assassinated -the murder of a child and their kingdom’s fortunes and those of their Godhelming rulers once more plunged into the deepest uncertainty…
And that, my friends, draws the Godhelming saga to a close at a point that was a natural end for the game (though I have played slightly ahead). I may or may not add an epilogue if I can think of something suitable to append it with. It's been quite the ride-just glad to have been able to conclude it.
FIN