EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.
"As I was banished, I was banished,
But as I come, I come.--
Will you permit that I shall stand condemned
A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties
Plucked from my arms perforce, and given away
To upstart spendthrifts?
What would you have me do? I am a subject,
And challenge law; attornies are denied me;
And therefore, personally, I lay my claim
To my inheritance."--SHAKSPERE.
After the banishment of earl Godwin, the English court must have
resembled the joyous uproar which often breaks out in a school during
the absence of the master, for the days which followed are described
as "days of rejoicing and big in fortune for the foreigners." The
dreaded earl in exile--his warlike sons far away from England--and the
beautiful queen Editha weeping among the cold cloisters--left nothing
more to do but revel in the triumph of the victory thus attained.
There was now a Norman archbishop of Canterbury, a Norman bishop of
London, and in nearly every fortress a Norman or French governor; and,
to crown all, William, duke of Normandy, called alike the Bastard and
the Conqueror, came over with a numerous train to visit king Edward,
and to see how matters stood in England. It is difficult to prove
now, whether the duke of Normandy was invited by Edward, or came over
at the suggestion of his countrymen, "to see how the land lay;" the
latter is the more probable; and we can imagine the picture which
must have been drawn of England, either in the letter sent, or by the
messenger who went over; and how the son of Robert the Devil (for such
was the surname his father bore in Normandy) must have smiled at the
ascendancy his countrymen had obtained over the weak-minded king of
England. We can fancy some such gentleman as the count of Boulogne,
full of "smart sayings," recounting how he and his followers "amused"
themselves at Dover; and how the few trifling murders they committed
were instrumental in driving out the family of Godwin; in a word, that
do whatever they might, Edward would stand up to support them, and that
they could now ride rough-shod over the Saxons.
Before proceeding further, it is necessary that we should give some
account of this new guest; who, either by good fortune, cunning, or
valour, changed the whole face of England, and shook into dust the
power from which, through a succession of many centuries, had sprung a
race of powerful kings.
This William, who will ever bear the proud title of the Conqueror,
was the natural son of Robert duke of Normandy, who was nearly allied
to Emma, the queen of both Ethelred and Canute, and the mother of
Edward. William's mother was the daughter of a tanner, or some one
humbly situated in the town of Falaise, and was one day busily engaged
in washing clothes at a brook, when the eye of duke Robert chanced to
alight upon her as he was returning from hunting. Pleased with her
beauty, he sent one of his knights to make proposals to her father,
offering no doubt, on pretty liberal terms, to make her his mistress.
The father received the proposition coldly, but probably dreading that
his daughter might be carried off by force--and our only wonder is that
she was not--he went to consult his brother, who is said to have lived
in a neighbouring forest, and to have stood high in the estimation of
all around for his sanctity. The "pious" brother gave his opinion, and
said that in all things it was fitting to obey the will of the prince.
So Arlette, or Harlot, as her name is sometimes spelt, was consigned to
duke Robert, who, we must conclude, was already married. Illegitimacy,
as we have shown in several reigns, was thought but little of at this
period, many of our own Saxon kings having had no better claim to the
crown than William had to the dukedom of Normandy. However, Robert the
Devil, as he was called from his violent temper, was greatly attached
to both the tanner's daughter and the child she bore him, whom he
brought up with as much affection as if he had been the son of a lawful
wife.[11]
When William was only seven years old, his father was seized with a fit
of devotion, and resolved to make a pilgrimage, on foot, to Jerusalem,
to obtain forgiveness for his sins. His chiefs and barons rightly
argued that such a journey was not free from danger, and that if he
chanced to die, they should be left without a ruler. "By my faith,"
answered the duke, "I will not leave you without a lord. I have a
little bastard, who will grow up and be a gallant man, if it please
God. I know he is my son. Receive him, then, as your lord, for I make
him my heir, and give him from this time forth the whole duchy of
Normandy."
The Norman barons did as duke Robert desired; and placing their hands
between the child's, acknowledged him as their ruler. The duke did
not live to return from his pilgrimage; and although some opposition
was offered to the election of William, and a civil war ensued, the
adherents of the bastard were victorious.[12] Nor was William long
before he gave proofs of that daring and valour which form so prominent
a feature in his character; he was soon able to buckle on his armour,
and mount his war-horse without the aid of the stirrup; and on the day
when he first sprang into his saddle without assistance, the veterans
who had drawn their swords in defence of his claim to the dukedom made
it a day of great rejoicing. Bold, fearless, and determined, and as if
resolved to triumph over those who had objected to his election on the
ground of his birth, he occasionally issued his commands, and put forth
his charter with the bold beginning that proclaimed his origin, and
wrote, "We, William the Bastard, hereby decree, &c." He soon evinced a
love for horses and military array, and while yet young made war upon
his neighbours of Anjou and Brittany. Nor did he fail to punish those
who made any allusion to his birth; although he himself at times made
a boast of his illegitimacy, yet to none others would he allow that
privilege in his hearing without resenting it as an insult; and his
vengeance was at times accomplished with the most merciless cruelty.
While attacking the town of Alençon, the besieged appeared upon the
walls, and beating their shields, which were covered with leather,
exclaimed, "Hides! hides!" in allusion to the calling of his mother's
father. The cruel Norman immediately ordered the hands and feet of
the prisoners he had captured in an attempted sally to be cut off,
and thrown over the walls into the town by his slingers. Such was the
inhuman act committed by the savage who now came as a spy and a guest
to the court of England.
Great must have been the delight of duke William to see, wherever he
moved, his own countrymen at the head of the navy and army. If he
visited a fortress, a Norman was ready as governor to receive him; if
he entered a church, a Norman bishop stood forth to meet him; if he
remained in the palace, Norman friends surrounded him; and he heard
only the language of his own country spoken, and was acknowledged by
all who in England approached him (excepting the king, and a few Saxon
chiefs) as their lord and governor. Wherever he moved, he was met by
Normans, and bowed down to, as if he had already been England's king;
for nearly all the high offices in the kingdom were either in the
hands of the Norman or French favourites. What secret consultations
he had with his friends, what notes were made on the strength of the
fortresses, the safest roads, the best landing places, is not recorded,
although it is evident that the Norman duke had already fixed his eye
upon the crown of England, and but waited for a favourable pretext to
seize upon it.
Edward, beyond doubt, received his cousin William kindly, perhaps
more so than he had done any other Norman; for all his affections
seemed planted in the land where he had spent the years of his youth;
beside, William's father had been kind to him and his brother Alfred,
when they had no friends in England whom they knew of. Nor could
William well allude to the English throne becoming vacant on the
death of Edward, nor deplore that he left no son behind to reign in
his stead, for Edward, the son of his half-brother, Edmund Ironside,
was still alive; so William wisely held his peace, and left all to
time and chance--taking care to watch both. Previous to his return,
Edward presented him with arms, horses, dogs, and falcons, loaded his
attendants with presents, and gave the duke every proof of his sincere
affection. After his departure, the Norman favourites became more
arrogant than ever; for there is but little doubt that they now began
to look upon England as their own, and but waited for the death of the
weak-minded king, and the return of duke William, to take possession.
All this seems secretly and silently to have been arranged. These
plans, however, were for a time doomed to be frustrated. Earl Godwin
and his powerful sons were still alive, and making such preparations
as the court parasites had never dreamed of for returning to England,
and avenging themselves upon their enemies. Still, the cunning of duke
William failed him not. Chances favoured him; and we seem as we were
now about to weave and unweave the web of a wild romance, instead of
recounting the truthful events of history.
Yet, in the great drama which we are about to open, popes, and crowned
kings, and mitred bishops, princes, and priests, are the actors; and
the prize contended for is that England which now claims the proud
title of "Queen of the World"--that little island which has dwarfed
ancient Rome and classic Greece by its gigantic grandeur.
Earl Godwin during his exile had not remained idle; he had still a
few friends in England who would take care to acquaint him with all
that was going on at court. Here and there a Saxon had also managed
to retain the command of a fortress, and but few of his countrymen
now remained that were not heartily disgusted with the arrogance and
tyranny of the Norman favourites. Such wealth as Godwin had carried out
with him, or been able to muster, he had made good use of; and having
got together a powerful fleet, he, in the summer of 1052, ventured once
more upon the English court. He had taken the precaution to despatch
faithful emissaries before him, and thousands of the Saxons and Danes
had sworn an oath, that they would take up arms, and "fight until
death for earl Godwin." His first attack was not very successful; for
although he managed to elude the fleet, which was commanded by his
enemies the Normans, he was at last discovered, pursued, and compelled
to shelter in the Pevensey Roads. A tempest arose while Godwin lay at
anchor, and dispersed the royal fleet.
Near the Isle of Wight he was joined by his sons, Harold and Leofwin,
who had returned from Ireland, and brought with them both men and
ships--a clear proof that Godwin had carefully arranged his plans.
Wherever the Saxon fleet now moved along the coast they met with a
warm welcome; wherever they chose to land, armed bands appeared, and
joined with them; the peasants brought in stores of provisions; and
the name of earl Godwin was again proclaimed with as much heartiness
and sincerity as when he alone dared to beard the Norman favourites in
the palace--the current of popularity had every way set in his favour.
Part of his forces he landed at Sandwich, then daringly doubled the
North Foreland, and sailed like a conqueror up the Thames, to the very
foot of the grey wave-washed wall where Edmund and Canute had carried
on the struggle, when London was besieged and defended. What a buzzing
there would again be in the old city throughout all that summer night!
what whispering in the secret corners of the old-fashioned streets! for
Godwin had managed to land many of his followers, and they had friends
on shore, and appointed places of meeting and passwords, by which
they could recognise each other in the dark; and arms would be seen
glancing, half concealed by short Saxon and Danish cloaks, and treason
be as rife in every hole-and-corner as it ever was in any of the
centuries which have since elapsed. From the royal army, troops were
deserting every hour, and all around the coast, and up the Thames, the
ships that were sent out to oppose him turned round their heads, and
either willingly, or through fear, followed in his wake, and, instead
of becoming enemies, strengthened his formidable fleet.
Before a blow was struck by his impatient followers, Godwin sent a
respectful message to the king, requesting the revision of the sentence
which had been passed against him, and demanding a restitution of
his property and honours; in return for which he promised to become
a true and faithful subject in all duty to the king. Edward refused
the proffered submission, though every hour saw his forces thinned,
and, with the exception of his foreigners, those who remained appeared
unwilling to fight. Other messengers were despatched to Edward, for
Godwin was reluctant to employ the large force under his command
against the weak and wavering followers of the king, whose numerical
strength bore no comparison to his own; for he clearly saw that, if his
army would but have the patience to wait, he should obtain a bloodless
victory; it was, however, with great difficulty that he could restrain
them, so eager were they to be revenged on the Normans. Nor were the
latter at all backward in urging Edward to commence the attack, for
they well knew that concession on the king's part would be their ruin,
while, in the chances of a fight, Godwin might probably be killed, or
if even victorious there would be something for all who ventured into
such a scramble. But the few ships which Edward had drawn up above
London-bridge could not be depended on; the king knew that a battle
on his part was a hopeless affair, yet still he remained unbending
and obstinate. There were still a few Saxon nobles true to Edward;
they were of those whose ancestors had followed Alfred, and Athelstan,
and Ethelred through good and through evil report; and who, like the
nobles that have for centuries succeeded them, resolved to remain true
subjects while ever one sat upon the throne in whose veins the blood of
Hengist or Horsa flowed. To such as these in the hour of real danger
Edward was still wise enough to listen. He for once disregarded the
advice of his Norman favourites, and leaving Stigand, his bishop, to
act as president, permitted the Saxon chiefs who belonged to his own
party to meet those who came over in the favour of earl Godwin, with
the mutual intention of effecting a reconciliation. Where both parties
were anxious for peace, there was but little probability of a war;
this the Normans saw, and well knew that there was not a moment to be
lost. And now our old English chroniclers fairly lose themselves in the
feelings of delight with which they describe the hasty departure of the
Norman favourites. Never before was there amongst them such packing
and saddling! at every little portal-gate they were seen sallying out
of London; in his hurry to escape, the Norman archbishop of Canterbury
left behind his pallium. Stigand found it, threw it over his own
shoulders, and on the strength of the sanctity which it was supposed to
contain, set up archbishop on his own account. Some galloped off and
left all their effects behind, glad to get to the seaside at any price,
and to creep into little dirty fishing-boats, filled with "ancient
smells," and there concealing themselves, crept over to the opposite
coast as speedily as possible. Others, following the example set them
on a former occasion by Eustace of Boulogne, trampled underfoot the
children that were playing in the summer twilight in the streets of
London, and thus slew by proxy earl Godwin's Saxons, for of such metal
were these foreign favourites made of. We can picture the Saxon wives
of that day picking up their dead and wounded children, and cursing
the cowards as the thunder of their horses' hoofs died away in the dim
distance.
The witena-gemot again assembled in London for the trial of earl
Godwin; the balance of power was this time in his own hands--there were
no Norman enemies to fear--and the Saxon boldly defended himself; his
sons also showed that they were justified in acting as they had done,
and "all the great men and chiefs of the country," before whom they
appeared, were satisfied. The sentence of banishment was recalled;
their honours and estates restored; and it was then decreed that all
the Normans should be banished from England, as "promoters of discord,
enemies of peace, and calumniators of the English to their king." A
son and grandson of Godwin's were then given up to Edward as hostages;
and, for better security, the king sent them over to duke William of
Normandy--these we shall have to return to again as our plot deepens,
and we draw nearer to the end of the bloody tragedy which ended in the
destruction of the Saxons. Editha left her convent, and the family
of earl Godwin were once more triumphant at the English court. An
exception was made to one of the old earl's sons, named Sweyn, not
for the part he had taken in ousting the Norman favourites, but for
offences of a graver nature. He, however, became penitent, donned a
pilgrim's garb, walked barefooted to Jerusalem, and died, as Robert the
Devil had done before him, on his way home.
A few exceptions of but little note were made to this decree of
banishment against the Normans; the archbishop, who had run away
without his pallium, was restored; and a few others, who appear to have
stood aloof from the quarrels fomented by their countrymen, or who,
at least, had the tact to steer clear of open danger, were, at the
intercession of Edward, permitted to remain in England.
We have attempted a sketch of the English court after the exile of
Godwin's family--of the joy and triumph that reigned in Edward's
palace: the picture reversed must have presented a faithful
representation of the rage and hatred of the Normans, when, after their
hasty flight, they again assembled at duke William's court. What raving
and storming must there have been amongst the disappointed courtiers,
what a stamping of armed feet and dropping of sabres, as they swore
what they would do if ever they met the Saxon earl in arms! Above all,
what curses loud and deep must have been vented against Godwin and all
his family! We can picture duke William biting his lip, and walking
moodily apart, until the two hostages arrived; and then his cunning eye
would brighten for a moment, as he felt he had still a hold, though but
a slender one, upon the weak-minded monarch of England.
Godwin, who was now an old man, did not long survive his triumph. The
account of his death is given in various ways by the old chroniclers.
It appears to have taken place at the Easter festival, in the year
1053; and although not so sudden as some of the monkish writers have
described it to be, the earl never rallied again from the hour when he
first fainted at the banquet table in the presence of the king. One of
the servants, while in the act of pouring out a cup of wine, stumbled
with one foot, and would have fallen but for the dexterity with which
he advanced the other. Godwin raised his eyes, and, smiling, said to
the king, "The brother has come to assist the brother." "Ay," answered
Edward, looking with a deep meaning on the Saxon chief, "brother needs
brother, and would to God mine still lived!" "Oh, king," exclaimed
Godwin, "why is it that, on the slightest recollection of your brother,
you always look so angrily on me? If I contributed even indirectly
to his death, may the God of heaven grant that this piece of bread
may choke me!" Godwin put the bread in his mouth, say the authors
who relate this anecdote, and was immediately strangled. His death,
however, was not so sudden; for, falling from his seat, he was carried
out by his two sons, Tostig and Gurth, and expired five days after.
But the account of this event varies, according as the writer is of
Norman or English race. "I ever see before me two roads, two opposite
versions," says an historian of less than a century later; "I warn my
readers of the peril in which I find myself."[13]
Siward, the chief of Northumberland, who had at first followed the
royal party against the Saxon earl, but eventually assisted in
expelling the foreign favourites, expired soon after Godwin. He was by
birth a Dane, and the population of the same origin over whom he ruled
gave him the title of Siward-Digr, Siward the Strong; a rock of granite
was long shown, which he is said to have split with one blow of his
axe. Feeling his end approach, he said to those who surrounded him,
"Raise me up, and let me die like a soldier, and not huddled together
like a cow; put me on my coat of mail, place my helmet on my head, my
shield on my left arm, and my gilt axe in my right hand, that I may
expire in arms." Siward left one son, named Waltheof, who being too
young to succeed to his government, it was given to Tostig, Godwin's
third son. Harold, who was the eldest son, succeeded Godwin to the
government south of the Thames; and Edward showed more kindness to
the son than he had ever done to the father, for on him there rested
no suspicion connected with the death of Alfred, a subject which was
ever settling down like a dark cloud upon the sunniest moments that
Godwin and Edward enjoyed. Harold was the most gifted of all Godwin's
sons, and soon became as popular with the people as his father; having,
moreover, no enemies in the court,--for to such favourites as the king
wished to retain Harold offered no opposition; nor was it necessary,
for Edward was now fast verging into dotage; his intellect, which,
at best, was never very brilliant, now became clouded, and he passed
a greater portion of his time amongst his priests. No one ever sat
upon the Saxon throne worse adapted to play the part of a king than
Edward the Confessor; he was not cut out for the rough business of this
work-a-day world. To a peasant who once offended him, he said, "I would
hurt you if I were able;" an exclamation, as Sharon Turner observes,
"which almost implies imbecility."
For some time there was a dispute between Harold and Algar, the son
of Leofric, the governor of Mercia. Godwin, on succeeding to the
earldom, had either voluntarily, or at the request of Edward, given
up the command of East Anglia to Algar; but no sooner did Harold find
himself in full power, than he compelled the son of Leofric to give
up the governorship, and, accusing him of treason, made war upon
him. Nothing daunted by his first defeat, Algar went into Wales, and
obtaining assistance of Griffith, one of the Welsh kings, and mustering
many powerful allies amongst his own connexions, he returned, ravaged
Hereford, burnt the abbey, and slew several priests; and Raulf, who
commanded the garrison, being a Norman, rather encouraged than opposed
the ravages of Algar. It is said that he caused the Saxons to fight
on horseback, a mode of warfare to which they were unaccustomed. But
Harold was not long before arriving at the scene of action, when he
soon defeated Algar and his Welsh allies, driving them back into their
mountain fastnesses, and, it is said, compelling the Welsh chiefs to
swear that they would never again pass the frontier of Wales. Harold
granted the prisoners he had taken their lives, on the condition
that the oath was kept, while on his part he solemnly vowed, that if
a Welshman was taken in arms on the English side of Offa's-dyke, he
should have his right hand cut off. To Algar these terms extended not,
and Harold was at last compelled to negotiate with him, and restore him
to his former dignities. Meantime Tostig but succeeded indifferently
in the governorship of Northumbria. Siward, who had so long had the
command over them, was himself a Dane; and as the inhabitants of the
North, with but few exceptions, were of Danish origin, they took
a dislike to the son of Godwin. He imposed heavy taxes upon them,
violated their ancient privileges, and seems, in fact, to have rendered
himself as unpopular as the Norman governors had ever been with the
Saxons. Worn down by oppression, the Anglo-Danes at last rebelled,
attacked the city of York, in which the chief residence of Tostig
stood, and put many of his principal followers to death, amongst whom
were several of their own countrymen. Although Tostig escaped, and the
Danes seized upon his treasures, they rested not satisfied with such
a victory, but assembling a great council they pronounced sentence of
banishment against him, and elected Morkar, one of the sons of Algar,
governor in his stead. Morkar took the command of the rebel army, and
drove Tostig into Mercia; he was also strengthened by the Welsh force,
who, led on by his brother Edward, had, in despite of their oath, once
more ventured across Offa's-dyke in arms. The old feeling was not yet
dead amongst the ancient Cymry, who seem to have been as eager as ever
they were before time to fight against the Saxons.
There is considerable confusion in the time and dates of these attacks
upon the Welsh, by Harold and his brother Tostig, and it is difficult
to separate one invasion from the other, although it seems evident
that the Welsh king, Griffith, fell in the latter, and that his head
was sent to Harold. But though the Welsh were defeated, terms of
negotiation were entered into with the Anglo-Danes. Harold required
of them to state their grievances. They did; and boldly told him that
his brother's tyranny was the cause of their appearing in arms. Harold
tried to exculpate his brother, and promised that he should rule better
for the future, if they would again accept him as their governor. They
refused. "We were born free," said one of the Danish leaders, "and
brought up free, a haughty chief is insupportable to us; we will, like
our ancestors, live or die free. We have no other answer to give to
the king." Harold not only delivered the message, but dissuaded Edward
from protracting the war, and on his return ratified their rights with
his own signature, as representative of the king; sanctioning the
election of the son of Algar, and the rejection of his brother. Tostig,
in a rage, departed to Flanders to his father-in-law, vowing vengeance
against Harold and his countrymen.
As the tax called Peter-pence began to fail, so did the friendship of
the church of Rome towards England abate; there was no longer any law
in existence to enforce the payment, all that was sent over being a
voluntary contribution. It was then that the mother church began to
complain of simony being practised in England, of Saxon bishops who had
purchased their sees; not that the church of Rome was herself guiltless
of such transactions, but that she objected to a system in which
she partook not of the profits. The storm first broke over the head
of Eldred, archbishop of York, who, when he went to Rome to solicit
the pallium, was refused, and it was only through the interference
of a Saxon nobleman that he at last obtained it. Robert, the Norman
archbishop of Canterbury, had again been driven from his see by the
Saxons; and Stigand, who had before snatched up the pallium, which the
archbishop had left behind in his eagerness to escape, again officiated
in the place of the banished primate. But Robert this time flew to
Rome, and there branded the Saxon bishop as an usurper. The result was,
that the archbishop returned with a letter from the pontiff, commanding
Stigand to resign. But before Robert reached England another pope had
been chosen by the principal Roman families, and to Benedict the Saxon
bishop appealed, who granted him permission to wear the pallium. The
election of Benedict was the signal for an army to advance upon Italy,
and enforce another election which the king of Germany approved of. Two
popes could not reign; the last was victorious. Benedict was defeated,
and excommunicated, and the pallium he had given to Stigand was now
useless. Had Benedict been victorious, it would have been as good a
pallium as ever pontiff blessed; packed up, and despatched from the
eternal city, as it was, "it was a thing of naught."
Trifling, as matters of history, as such petty squabbles must appear,
they, nevertheless, had their weight and influence--widening the
breach which had already been made between the church of Rome and
England; and when the time arrived, and the vindictive mother saw the
opportunity of striking a blow effectually, she did so, and brought
all the power she possessed to aid William the Norman when he attacked
England. Norman Robert and Saxon Stigand, though but feathers floating
in the air, showed unerringly that the wind which blew from Rome was
unfavourable to the interests of England. While Britain also seemed
drifting away daily wider and further from Rome, William of Normandy
was still drawing nearer to the eternal city, and constantly seeking
its favour and protection. Alexander the Second, who had driven out and
excommunicated the anti-pope, Benedict, had refused to sanction duke
William's marriage with Matilda, a refusal which was countenanced by
the learned monk, Lanfranc, then resident at the Norman court. Although
the fiery duke dared not do more than murmur at the opposition of the
pontiff, which was grounded on the near relationship of William to
Matilda, still he was resolved not to brook the reproaches of Lanfranc,
much as he valued the monk as a councillor; so he banished him from
his court. Lanfranc went to Rome, grew in favour with the new pope,
and, instead of resenting William's harsh treatment, the monk obtained
from the pontiff a dispensation. Alexander the Second acknowledged
the marriage of William of Normandy and Matilda, and Lanfranc was the
bearer of the good tidings to the Norman court. Who so grateful as duke
William--who so highly honoured as the monk, Lanfranc, the man who had
more power over the pontiff than the duke himself? Who so blind, that
he cannot see the chain which now reached from Normandy to Rome--the
links, William, Lanfranc, and all the friends of the pope? We must bear
in mind that on every mount in Normandy were perched those ill-omened
birds of prey, who were wetting their beaks, and looking with hungry
eyes towards England, from which they had been driven by Godwin and
his sons, just as they were about to gorge themselves. On the coast
of France, also, many a disappointed cormorant might be seen, looking
eagerly in the same direction.
About this period, Edward sent over to Hungary for his nephew, the son
of Edmund Ironside, who must by this time have been a man far advanced
in years, as Edmund himself died about 1016, and it seems to have been
some time between the year 1057 and 1060, when Edward the son of Edmund
arrived in England, at the invitation of his uncle. It appears to have
been the intention of Edward the Confessor to have appointed his nephew
Edward successor to the throne of England; but this was prevented by
the death of the son of Edmund Ironside. Dark hints are thrown out
respecting the death of this prince, and Harold is hinted at as having
hastened his end; but there seems to be no solid ground for such
suspicion, and the rumour was probably circulated by the Normans, whom
Edward still retained, and who were envious of the power the son of
Godwin had acquired. There still remained Edgar, the grandson of Edmund
Ironside, and the son of Edward, who died soon after his arrival in
England; but the king does not appear to have turned his eyes towards
him as his successor.
As the end of Edward the Confessor draws nigh, our attention is divided
between William of Normandy and earl Harold, the son of Godwin; and as
we may consider the king as already dead, for his name scarcely appears
again, unless as connected with the events which succeeded his death,
we will leave him to his devotions, and take up the clue which leads us
through the dark labyrinths to the gloomy end of this portion of our
history. The clearest light which has been thrown upon the mysteries
of this period, and the best reason given for Harold's visit to
Norway, will be found in the following extract from Thierry's "Norman
Conquest:"--
"For two years internal peace had reigned in England without
interruption. The animosity of king Edward to the sons of Godwin
disappeared from want of aliment, and from the habit of constantly
being with them. Harold, the new chief of this popular family, fully
rendered to the king that respect and deferential submission of which
he was so tenacious. Some ancient histories tell us that Edward loved
and treated him as his own son; but, at all events, he did not feel
towards him that aversion mingled with fear with which Godwin had ever
inspired him; and he had now no longer any pretext for retaining, as
guarantees against the son, the two hostages whom he had received from
the father. It will be remembered that these hostages had been confided
by the suspicious Edward to the care of the duke of Normandy. They
had, for more than ten years, been far from their country, in a sort
of captivity. Towards the end of the year 1065, Harold, their brother,
and their uncle, deeming the moment favourable for obtaining their
deliverance, asked permission of the king to go and demand them in his
name, and bring them out of exile. Without showing any repugnance to
release the hostages, Edward appeared greatly alarmed at the project
which Harold had formed of going in person to Normandy. 'I will not
compel you to stay,' said he; 'but if you go, it will be without my
consent; for your journey will certainly bring some evil upon yourself
and upon your country. I know duke William and his crafty mind; he
hates you, and will grant you nothing unless he gain greatly by it; the
only way safely to obtain the hostages from him were to send some one
else.'"
Harold, however, went, in spite of this friendly warning, with his hawk
on his wrist, and his hounds baying at his heels, hunting and hawking
on his way, until he arrived at Bosham in Sussex, where he quietly
embarked with his followers to visit William, duke of Normandy, and
fetch back his brother and nephew. We must now follow the perilous
footsteps of earl Harold, and for a short period draw the attention of
our readers to duke William and the court of Normandy.