1066: The Oath

EXCERPT from Harold the King
The Oath

   Bayeux December 1064 The Christmas Court

Harold found the prospect of this ceremony distasteful. In England a housecarl pledged loyalty to his lord out of respect and love for that man. They chose which lord they would serve and their faith maintained that lord’s position. If he did not keep faith in return then a lord would fall as swift as a mouldering fruit is flung to rot on the midden heap.

   These oaths of allegiance being sworn here did not come from the heart. There was no pride in the step of each man, no sincerity in their muttered words. Serve me, be loyal to me, or lose all you have. That was the only choice available to these harnessed mules.

    Eyes and bodies were swivelling towards Harold. 

   “My Lord Earl? Will you not also grant me the honour of declaring your intention of prospective kinship?” 

    The Hall had fallen silent. Harold stood, bewildered. William sat forward on his throne, one elbow resting on the naked sword blade that lay across his knee. His mouth smiled, but there was a glint of something else in his eyes. “Sir?” he repeated. “You are my knighted comrade. Will soon, perhaps, become my son by marriage? I think it right you do swear the oath to me also. Do you not agree?” 

    This, Harold had not expected. Anger shuddered through him. He licked his lips, trying to think what best to do, glanced at the watching faces. No one met his eyes. How many had known of this trap? 

    And then Harold saw his nephew,  Hakon, standing at the back, his face drained of colour. Behind him stood two of William’s guards, apparently positioned there by chance, but Harold could see their fingers hovering over their swords. Knew that if he were to refuse then both of them would be seeing Duke William’s damp and foul-smelling dungeon. Or would meet with death.

    How binding was a promise? Ah, that depended on the nature of the oath and the amount of honour within the man. When a man offered his sword to his chosen lord he was bound to keep his word or lose his honour. An English lord paid homage and loyalty by undertaking to do his best by the men who served him. To protect the children and womenfolk, to lead bravely in battle. To take upon his shoulders the responsibility of caring for those men who had promised to serve without question. And above all else, a man could knowingly declare false oath and not be perjured for that swearing, if the safety or honour of another depended on it. Such was English law. This would be an oath taken against his will and better judgement. Yet had not most of the men here proclaimed their troth under the same harsh conditions? Swear, or lose your land and freedom. Or your life. 

    Duke William was holding his be-ringed hand out to Harold. “We are allies, are we not? Soon, alas, we must set you on your way home to England and in return for our prospective kinship you will represent my care and concern for the future of England’s throne. You will remind King Edward that he did favour my claim. I shall expect him to honour that favour in the making of his will.” 

    The fury choked in Harold’s throat. Vomit rose in his gullet. So this was why he had been kept in Normandy, why he had been played for the simpleton! Once the day of oath-taking was past, once he had pledged this foul promise, he would be free to return to England, bribed with the lure of the daughter of the duchy as wife, threatened with harm to his brother and nephew if he refused. Yet for the good of another an oath might be made and broken without loss of honour. For the good of his men, and the safety of England…

    They were only words, after all. 

    Harold stepped forward, his throat and lips dry, his fists clenched. He stared with a hard dislike at William, then knelt, touched the sword and set his lips to the Duke’s ring.

    William nodded his acceptance, but before Harold could repeat the oath said quickly and with menace, “I think I may need some further assurance from you, my Lord Harold. Being that you do not reside here in Normandy.” He clicked his fingers; servants brought in two wooden caskets. “These contain the holy relics of Normandy’s most precious saints. Swear your oath on them, Earl Harold, make your words truly binding.” 

    Harold’s rage almost boiled over. It was one thing knowingly to break an oath made to a man, another to do so against God. Yet was not God, too, just and honourable in His wisdom? Did He not respect the time-cherished ways of the Saxons?  Not bothering to mask the rage Harold laid a finger on each casket, repeating aloud the words of fealty that Bishop Odo dictated: “I pledge to my Lord Duke William my fealty and loyalty. Do offer my duty as Earl of England to your honour. To speak your words, as if spoken from your mouth to the noblemen of England’s realm. To provide for you, when Edward is called unto God, the crown, the sceptre and the throne of England, so that you may rule in the way of Edward’s wisdom.”

    It was done. With gorge in his mouth, but done. 

Duke William nodded, satisfied. He took and held Harold’s hand between his own palms a moment. Met, as he rose to his feet, Harold’s blazing eyes. In them there was no hint of fear. In that instant William realised he had made a vast error of judgement. All these long months observing Harold, assessing him, deciding his worth, moving each piece of the game, square by square, slowly, surely; calculating the ultimate goal. Again and again William had won his private tournament against this English Earl Harold. 

    Looking direct into Harold’s eyes, that December afternoon, William belatedly understood, with stomach-churning dread, that Harold, too, had been playing a game. His complacence and mild manners had lulled his opponent with blithe ease into a false appraisal. 

    Harold said nothing more as he turned without bowing and made his way through the low murmuring of the crowd to the doorway, Hakon following at his heel. He left the Hall and went direct to the quarters where his men lounged. 

    “We are leaving,” he announced curtly. “Now, as soon as horses may be saddled.” 

    Over the spilt blood of death would William become King of England, and never with help from Harold’s hand. That was a second, silent oath that he had made as he had spoken aloud those obscene words. That never, never, would he allow William on to English soil. 

    If the need came, if there was no one worthy or suitable to follow Edward, then he, Harold Godwineson himself, would take up the crown and do his best, unless death prevented it, to protect England from the tyranny of Norman ambition.

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USA Today Best Seller - The Forever Queen 

(US edition - shorter than the UK edition A Hollow Crown, 

but essentially, the same story of

Emma of Normandy, Aethelread and Cnut)

read more about 1066 on my blog
more about the oath (or return to) on Anna Belfrage's Blog