The Wind From Hastings by Morgan Llywelyn

Author:Morgan Llywelyn
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2011-02-14T05:00:00+00:00

At Bedford we were joined by a large group of the thegns of Northumbria, come down to escort us into their territory and on to York. I was right glad to have their company in the gloom of the great forest of Nottingham; cottages were few and set far apart; and beneath the ancient trees was perpetual twilight.

When we reached the Derwent, the timbered bridge that stood across the river was found to be quite rotted in the center, and Osbert, who was once again captaining my escort at the King’s request, decided that nothing would do but we must ford the river.

So of course a goodly portion of my dowry chests got wet, and much of my wedding finery would reach York in a bedraggled state. I made a big noise about it that accomplished nothing and put a crimp in my otherwise pleasant relationship with Osbert. Men do not always understand what is really important to ladies.

The cold March wind abated somewhat as we neared the city of York. We slept our last night outside the city in the house of a cousin of the murdered Cospatric, and although we were treated courteously, it was easy to tell that hatred for the former Earl still ran hot. Harold had been crowned in the West Minster, but Tostig’s brother was not yet wholeheartedly accepted as King in Northumbria.

“That bastard Tostig was bleeding us to death with his endless taxes!” I heard in the Hall that night. “When our cousin from Bernicia spoke out against him he was foully murdered; his blood is still damp upon the ground of Thorney Island! And Bernicia was not the only area to suffer; all Northumbria was aswarm with the Earl’s spies, sniffing out hidden wealth and stealing it from us. We would have supported the Earl Tostig, had he been just, with our grain and our wood and our fighting men. But we will not accept the yoke of a tyrant! We are proud men here, not soft and fat like the thegns of Wessex, and if the new King abuses us we will break his plow-blade for him!”

Shouts of “Aye! Aye!” rang down the Hall. I wondered how Harold hoped to fuse all these separate men into one people. I owed Harold nothing, God knows, but I felt it would only be honorable for me to speak up for him in this hostile assembly.

“I am not yet wed to the King”—I addressed myself to our host, Sihtric—“but I would have you know that the word he has given me he has always kept. As Earl of Wessex he has much wealth already; he does not need to increase his personal fortune at your expense. It was his vote which sent Tostig to Flanders and rid you of him, and it was Harold who gave you Morkere as Earl in his stead. Morkere is not a Godwine but mine own brother, raised in the land between North and South, and I trust you

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