THE
LAST GREAT SAXON EARLS
GODWINE KINGMAKER
THE SONS OF GODWINE
FATAL RIVALRY
They showed so much promise. What happened
to the Godwines? How did they lose their grip? Who was this Godwine anyway, first Earl of Wessex and known
as the Kingmaker? Was he an unscrupulous schemer, using King and Witan to gain
power? Or was he the greatest of all Saxon Earls, protector of the English
against the hated Normans? The answer depends on who you ask.
He
was befriended by the Danes, raised up by Canute the Great, given an Earldom
and a wife from the highest Danish ranks. He sired nine children, among them
four Earls, a Queen and a future King. Along with his power came a struggle to
keep his enemies at bay, and Godwine's best efforts were brought down by the
misdeeds of his eldest son Swegn.
Although
he became father-in-law to a reluctant Edward the Confessor, his fortunes
dwindled as the Normans gained prominence at court. Driven into exile, Godwine
regathered his forces and came back even stronger, only to discover that his
second son Harold was destined to surpass him in renown and glory.
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EXCERPT
Canute deals with Eadric Streona
It was nearing dark, and the servants were lighting the
torches while Godwine played chess with the king. They sat in Canute's favorite
room—perfect for entertaining the early arrivals of the Yuletide celebration.
Already, Earl Eric of Northumbria was present, tasting some of the breads at
the sideboard. Tovi was in his usual place behind the king speaking quietly
with two other Danes, and a musician was in the corner, plucking on a harp.
The door opened and Godwine, whose back was to the
newcomer, concluded who it was from Canute's grimace. The sleek voice of Eadric
Streona confirmed his guess. "Good even', your grace. I hope you are
well." All other voices in the room stopped.
Canute moved a piece, nodding an answer.
Two servants followed Eadric into the room, carrying a
batch of firewood. For a moment, the sound of wood being stacked filled the
silence. Then the servants left the room, bowing.
"And yourself, My Lord Eric?"
The Northumbrian Earl moved closer to the king, bending
over the chess-board. "Considering the rare quiet within my earldom, I am
content. And yourself, Eadric?"
Godwine heard the newcomer striding back and forth behind
him. His concentration broken, the Saxon quickly turned around, watching Eadric
rub his arms as though he needed more warmth. Godwine turned back to the board,
but not before he noticed Eadric's mouth twitch.
"I could be better." Eadric's tone brought
Canute's head up questioningly. Godwine straightened in his seat but Canute
caught his eye, nodding at the board. Eadric took a stick and poked the fire.
Taking a closer look at the earl, Godwine noticed that
his hair was unbrushed, his fingernails were cracked, his clothing wrinkled. He
began pacing again, adjusting his belt.
“How is that Christmas pie?” Canute asked Eric, holding
out a hand for a taste. The Dane cut a piece for him, proffering it on the edge
of his knife. Taking a long time to sample it, Canute leaned back, evidently
enjoying the taste. He licked all five fingers and wiped his hand on his tunic,
then reached for another chess piece. Eadric stopped pacing and faced Canute,
his arms crossed over his chest.
"And what might be the problem?" The king's
voice sounded appropriately concerned.
"My earldom is restive,” he started slowly.
"The populace has not yet recovered, the revenues are poor, and the people
are hungry."
"That is a pity."
"More the pity that the king does not concern
himself with their troubles."
"I see," said Canute, interested. "And
what of the exemption I gave them from this year's taxes?"
Closing his eyes, the other gestured as if it were
nothing.
"Eadric, this is not what is bothering you."
Stopping, the earl glared at the king, unable to hide his
antipathy. He came to the table, leaned over it. Godwine could smell alcohol on
his breath.
"All right. I believe that I deserve better than
this. You have given me the most devastated, the poorest earldom in the
kingdom. You exclude me from your council. You treat me like a stranger. After
all I have done for you."
"And what is it that you have done for me?"
Eadric straightened up, crossing his arms again. He took
a deep breath. "You know damned well."
Intrigued, Canute gave Eadric his full attention. "I
know damned well," he repeated softly.
The tension between them was so strong it felt as though
there were only two people in the room. Everyone knew Canute was at his most
dangerous when he was totally quiet. But Eadric seemed beyond caring.
"Ask Edmund Ironside, if you could."
Godwine gasped aloud, more in amazement at the man's
blatant admission of the deed than its actuality. Even Canute had paled.
Getting slowly to his feet, he faced Eadric so fiercely that the other stepped
back.
"Then you shall get everything you deserve. You
killed your own lord! My sworn brother! Your own mouth has pronounced you a
traitor; let the blood be on your head.
"Eric, dispatch this man, lest he live to betray me
as well."
The earl of Northumbria was not loth to obey. Pulling an
axe from his belt, the man moved purposefully toward his enemy, narrowed eyes
reflecting his satisfaction with Canute's command.
For a moment, Eadric froze, unbelieving. Then his
instinct for survival gained sway, and he pushed the table over, making a dash
for the door.
But Godwine blocked the way—Godwine, this nonentity, who
had barely rated his acknowledgment. The Saxon was standing with legs apart and
drawn sword, opposing his exit.
Preferring to die under the blade of an equal, Eadric whirled,
pulling his sword. But he was already too late. Eric's axe was making its
deadly arc, and Eadric's blade came up uncertainly, not even delaying the
impact of the edge as it cleanly severed his head from his body.
Canute had been watching from the fireplace. "Throw
the wretch's carcass from the window, into the Thames."
Eric was glad to do so. He had hated the earl, and saw
this as a fitting end to a despicable career. Seizing one of the convulsing
legs, he dragged the body across the floor, oblivious to the gushing blood.
Stooping, he hoisted the corpse onto the sill and dumped it unceremoniously
into the river.
Godwine stared at the disembodied face, as it gawked back
at him. Then he grabbed the hair and came up behind Eric, flinging the head
through the window and far out over the water.
As he listened for the inevitable splash, Godwine felt an
eerie satisfaction; at least this once, he had done his part in wreaking
revenge on the betrayer of Edmund Ironside, and possibly his own father way
back in 1009.
Both bloodied Earls turned to Canute, who had observed
the scene dispassionately. "Thank you. You have done me a great
service."
Godwine controlled his trembling with an effort.
"You drove him to it, didn't you?"
"You might say that. Although I was expecting his
demands in a more rational form...and at a better time." He glanced at the
horrified servants, who were huddled at the newly opened door. "Yes, come
in, come in. As you can see, it is time we met the queen in the great hall and
started our celebrations in earnest. Send for some water and buckets and take
care of this mess.
"Oh, and come, my friends. Let me arrange for some
clean tunics before you present yourselves."
Mercedes Rochelle
Mercedes
Rochelle is an ardent lover of medieval history, and has channeled this
interest into fiction writing. She believes that good Historical Fiction, or
Faction as it’s coming to be known, is an excellent way to introduce the
subject to curious readers. She also writes a blog: HistoricalBritainBlog.com
to explore the history behind the story.
Born
in St. Louis, MO, she received by BA in Literature at the Univ. of Missouri
St.Louis in 1979 then moved to New York in 1982 while in her mid-20s to “see
the world.” The search hasn’t ended!
Today
she lives in Sergeantsville, NJ with her husband in a log home they had built
themselves.
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