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Back in 1998 I had decided to write a novel about the events that led to that fateful day of October 14th 1066. I started researching, pouring over various tomes written by various exalted authors, making copious notes and starting to wonder why on earth had I chosen this massive subject?
I visited Bosham (pronounce it Bozzum) near Chichester in Sussex, where the Godwine family had their main 'seat of residence' and which is featured in the Bayeux Tapestry:
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| Harold and his brother boarding a boat bound for Normandy Note the steps... |
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| ... my friend James sitting on similar steps that are there today |
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| Bosham Harbour It is probable that the Godwine manor house was situated where the buildings to the right of the church are now © Peter Facey Wikimedia |
I was still hesitant. Could I write this novel?
Living as I did then, in N.E.London I was close to Waltham Abbey and the tranquil area of the River Lea and the open space of the Lee Valley Park where I walked the dogs nearly every day in the spring and summer of 1998.
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| River Lea |
One night, I had a dream. It was very clear, down to the minutest detail. I could see and hear as if I was there, standing beside the wind-whispering reeds of the River Lea. Four horsemen were riding by, accompanied by their dogs. Two of the men were arguing - and they were all very, very clearly Saxon noblemen. I knew at once that this was the young Harold, Earl of Essex, with his father Earl Godwine of Wessex and two of his brothers Swegn and Tostig. On the other side of the river I could see a young lass hiding beneath the trees. She wore a kingfisher-blue cloak and I knew she was Edyth Swanneck, destined to become Harold's handfasted wife for over twenty years.
I woke, recalling everything of the dream and wrote it down. Was it a dream or was I witnessing an echo from the past? Whatever it was, the entire sequence became the second chapter of what I then knew would be my next novel.
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Here's my dream... set as the second chapter:
Excerpt Harold The King / I Am The Chosen King
Excerpt Harold The King / I Am The Chosen King
To Harold, in his happiness, the sky was a bright blue and the sun shone with the full warmth of midsummer. No matter that in reality the spring day was dull, with a distinct damp chill, accompanied by a wind that tugged at his cloak with the persistence of a bored child trying to attract attention. He was the new-acclaimed Earl of Essex and East Anglia, and no grey clouds or sullen spatter of rain was going to spoil his delight. The prestigious title had been bestowed upon him with full honour during the two days of Council following Edward’s coronation at Winchester – Earl! The two eldest sons of Godwine of Wessex were now made earl – a fine reward indeed for a family so loyal to the royal line.
The smile beamed wide upon Harold’s face as he rode with his father, brothers Swegn and Tostig, and all their escort, beside the ambling river. In his one and twentieth year he was now set equal to Swegn, his elder by two years, and to those proud, dominating lords at court, most especially the Earls of Northumbria and Mercia, both sharp rivals and vociferous opponents of Harold’s father.
There were some who privately whispered, and as many who openly scoffed, that the Godwines – father and six sons, the daughter counted for naught – sought only power and wealth, and would lie and murder and cheat without pause for their own gain. Hah! With the recent swinging changes of kingship and the chances available for anyone who could think straight, ride fast and use a sword to its best advantage – who would not?
“Look at that little slut hiding beneath the trees! Does she think we are so blind that we cannot see her?”
Harold’s idling thoughts interrupted, the glow of pleasure dimmed as he glanced to where his brother Swegn pointed. Beneath the sweep of willows dressed in their new, spring-bright array, on the far bank of the Lea River, a girl, huddled small, with legs curled beneath her, fingers clamped around the muzzle of a rough-coated dog to keep it from barking. Harold had already seen her a few moments past; had watched her scurry beneath the shelter of the trees, dragging the dog with her, intent on not being seen by the group of men on horseback. Trust Swegn to notice her also.
“Some lazy servant girl I would wager, lurking here to meet a secret lover. I would have her whipped.” As ever, Swegn’s words were snarled; he said little that did not have an edge of sneering contempt to it. His expression was always puckered, as if there were some putrid smell constantly beneath his nose.
The younger of the three, Tostig, lobbed an insult back at him. “Only whip her, brother? What? Would you not force her first?”
Anger instantly aroused, Swegn raised his riding whip, Earl Godwine’s rumble of disapproval coming as immediate. “Calm your fire, boy, and you.” He turned with a glare to his third-born son. “Keep your moralistic tongue to yourself.”
The two brothers glowered at each other, but the petty argument was ended. None of the brood would dare oppose their father; all had tasted the sting of his belt across their backs merely for a wrong word, a wrong glance. Godwine was the son of Wulfnoth, a Saxon thegn turned pirate, who ruled his family with a sternness that would have put his father’s seafaring hard-headedness to shame.
They looked much alike, these three eldest sons, had the same slight-curled fair hair, wore the same style moustache, although Tostig’s had yet to mature to its full lustre and thickness. Blue eyes, firm chins, muscular but lean bodies. Like their father, they were tall men, although perhaps Harold stood an inch or so the tallest. Only their characters made it difficult to believe that the three had been born from the same womb, set there by the same seed. Harold, despite his love of hunting and tendency to follow the easiest course through life, was conscientious, just and even-tempered. He was quick to laugh and the first to admit his own many faults. Tostig, at eighteen, was impatient to grow into the responsibilities of manhood, but was not as quick-witted as others of the family and resented the advantages held by his two elder brothers; while Swegn, arrogant and sour in mind and tongue, was contemptuous of all who dared cast a shadow over his path. Some maggot had surely wormed its way in with his begetting! Swegn was brash and quick to reach for anger, and often, coming close behind, for a dagger or sword.
Harold’s fist had tightened round the rein, jerking his stallion’s head higher. Twice already this day Swegn and Tostig had come close to exchanging blows. Harold was becoming sickened of these squabbles. He had only glimpsed the girl, the river was five and forty – fifty – yards across, yet he had clearly seen the alarm on her face, and that she was no drab of a serving girl. There had been a flash of gold from bracelets on her arms and her cloak, bright-coloured, was surely fine-woven.
The dogs, sniffing and circling ahead of the horses, set a brace of wild duck into a shrill of whirring wings and raucous quacking. The brindle bitch snapped at tail feathers, her darker, quicker daughter fastening her jaws around the other bird’s neck. Tostig and Swegn spurred their horses forward, beat at the dogs with their whips, the younger man leaping from his mount to retrieve the bird before it became too torn and bloody. He tossed the carcass to a servant, remounted.
They were a distance further along the track by now, the horses jogging and prancing at the sudden scatter of excitement, the girl forgotten. Harold was the only one to turn round, take a last look at those secretive willows that rippled beside the ambling waters. She had gone, taking her chance to dart through the sweep of leaf and branch.
And then he saw her again, briefly, as she ran across the new green of the common-land meadows, heading for a thicker belt of forest trees, a protection of oak and beach and hornbeam. His smile returned, and the happiness bounced back into his chest. He was an earl and he had come to see for himself the lands that had been granted him. A nuisance that his father and brothers had insisted on riding with him, but for all that, the days ahead beckoned with a promise of excitement and adventure.
They would rest tonight with the thegn Eadric of Nazeing and when Harold had toured all his earldom and seen all there was to see he would consider where to build a house. A manor, an estate fit for a new, young earl. And maybe he would also find a wife to give that manor the necessary comforts of a home…or at least, if not a wife, a suitable woman to keep the bedplace warm.
The dog, a great-pawed, tawny-coloured hound, bounded at the girl’s side, ears flapping, tail whipping. The girl ran fast, her skirt gathered in her hand. Her legs, Harold fancied, would be long and slender. A slim ankle, a shapely calf.
She ran with a swirl of sun-gold hair and fluttering from her shoulders a cloak that was coloured as bright, and as bold, as the startling blue of a kingfisher’s feathers.
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| About the Book |
Harold the King (UK title)
https://viewbook.at/HaroldTheKing
I Am the Chosen King : (US title)
https://viewBook.at/ChosenKing
(same book different titles)
Two men. One crown.
England, 1044. Harold Godwinesson, a young, respected earl, falls in love with an ordinary but beautiful woman. In Normandy, William, the bastard son of a duke, falls in love with power.
In 1066 England falls vulnerable to the fate of these two men: one, chosen to be a king, the other, determined to take, by force, what he desires. Risking his life to defend his kingdom from foreign invasion, Harold II led his army into the great Battle of Hastings in October 1066 with all the honour and dignity that history remembers of its fallen heroes.
In this beautifully crafted tale, USA Today bestselling author Helen Hollick sets aside the propaganda of the Norman Conquest and brings to life the English version of the story of the man who was the last Anglo-Saxon king, revealing his tender love, determination and proud loyalty, all to be shattered by the desire for a crown – by one who had no right to wear it.
“Helen Hollick has it all! She tells a great story, gets her history right, and writes consistently readable books” Bernard Cornwell
“A novel of enormous emotional power” Elizabeth Chadwick
“Thanks to Hollick’s masterful storytelling, Harold’s nobility and heroism enthrall to the point of engendering hope for a different ending…Joggles a cast of characters and a bloody, tangled plot with great skill” Publisher’s Weekly
“Don’t miss Helen Hollick’s colourful recreation of the events leading up to the Norman Conquest” Daily Mail
“An epic re-telling of the Norman Conquest” The Lady
“If only all historical fiction could be this good” Historical Novel Society Review
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1066 Turned Upside Down: Eleven alternative 'what if' short stories by nine different authors https://myBook.to/1066TurnedUpsideDown
For the story of the earlier years of 1066...
The Forever Queen (US title) A USA TODAY BESTSELLER
https://viewBook.at/ForeverQueen
A Hollow Crown (UK title) https://viewBook.at/HollowCrown
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A wonderful excerpt from a brilliant book - thanks so much for sharing this scene!
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