CHAPTER III.
No subject of England, since the race of Cerdic sate on the throne,
ever entered the courtyard of Windshore with such train and such state
as Earl Godwin.--Proud of that first occasion, since his return, to do
homage to him with whose cause that of England against the stranger
was bound, all truly English at heart amongst the thegns of the land
swelled his retinue. Whether Saxon or Dane, those who alike loved the
laws and the soil, came from north and from south to the peaceful
banner of the old Earl. But most of these were of the past
generation, for the rising race were still dazzled by the pomp of the
Norman; and the fashion of English manners, and the pride in English
deeds, had gone out of date with long locks and bearded chins. Nor
there were the bishops and abbots and the lords of the Church,--for
dear to them already the fame of the Norman piety, and they shared the
distaste of their holy King to the strong sense and homely religion of
Godwin, who founded no convents, and rode to war with no relics round
his neck. But they with Godwin were the stout and the frank and the
free, in whom rested the pith and marrow of English manhood; and they
who were against him were the blind and willing and fated fathers of
slaves unborn.
Not then the stately castle we now behold, which is of the masonry of
a prouder race, nor on the same site, but two miles distant on the
winding of the river shore (whence it took its name), a rude building
partly of timber and partly of Roman brick, adjoining a large
monastery and surrounded by a small hamlet, constituted the palace of
the saint-king.
So rode the Earl and his four fair sons, all abreast, into the
courtyard of Windshore [127]. Now when King Edward heard the tramp of
the steeds and the hum of the multitudes, as he sate in his closet
with his abbots and priests, all in still contemplation of the thumb
of St. Jude, the King asked:
"What army, in the day of peace, and the time of Easter, enters the
gates of our palace?"
Then an abbot rose and looked out of the narrow window, and said with
a groan:
"Army thou mayst well call it, O King!--and foes to us and to thee
head the legions----"
"Inprinis," quoth our abbot the scholar; "thou speakest, I trow, of
the wicked Earl and his sons."
The King's face changed. "Come they," said he, "with so large a
train? This smells more of vaunt than of loyalty; naught--very
naught."
"Alack!" said one of the conclave, "I fear me that the men of Belial
will work us harm; the heathen are mighty, and----"
"Fear not," said Edward, with benign loftiness, observing that his
guests grew pale, and himself, though often weak to childishness, and
morally wavering and irresolute,--still so far king and gentleman,
that he knew no craven fear of the body. "Fear not for me, my
fathers; humble as I am, I am strong in the faith of heaven and its
angels."
The Churchmen looked at each other, sly yet abashed; it was not
precisely for the King that they feared.
Then spoke Alred, the good prelate and constant peacemaker--fair
column and lone one of the fast-crumbling Saxon Church. "It is ill in
you, brethren to arraign the truth and good meaning of those who
honour your King; and in these days that lord should ever be the most
welcome who brings to the halls of his king the largest number of
hearts, stout and leal."
"By your leave, brother Alred," said Stigand, who, though from motives
of policy he had aided those who besought the King not to peril his
crown by resisting the return of Godwin, benefited too largely by the
abuses of the Church to be sincerely espoused to the cause of the
strong-minded Earl; "By your leave, brother Alred, to every leal heart
is a ravenous mouth; and the treasures of the King are well-nigh
drained in feeding these hungry and welcomeless visitors. Durst I
counsel my lord I would pray him, as a matter of policy, to baffle
this astute and proud Earl. He would fain have the King feast in
public, that he might daunt him and the Church with the array of his
friends."
"I conceive thee, my father," said Edward, with more quickness than
habitual, and with the cunning, sharp though guileless, that belongs
to minds undeveloped, "I conceive thee; it is good and most politic.
This our orgulous Earl shall not have his triumph, and, so fresh from
his exile, brave his King with the mundane parade of his power. Our
health is our excuse for our absence from the banquet, and, sooth to
say, we marvel much why Easter should be held a fitting time for
feasting and mirth. Wherefore, Hugoline, my chamberlain, advise the
Earl that to-day we keep fast till the sunset, when temperately, with
eggs, bread, and fish, we will sustain Adam's nature. Pray him and
his sons to attend us--they alone be our guests." And with a sound
that seemed a laugh, or the ghost of a laugh, low and chuckling--for
Edward had at moments an innocent humour which his monkish biographer
disdained not to note [128],--he flung himself back in his chair. The
priests took the cue, and shook their sides heartily, as Hugoline left
the room, not ill pleased, by the way, to escape an invitation to the
eggs, bread, and fish.
Alred sighed; and said, "For the Earl and his sons, this is honour;
but the other earls, and the thegns, will miss at the banquet him whom
they design but to honour, and----"
"I have said," interrupted Edward, drily, and with a look of fatigue.
"And," observed another Churchman, with malice, "at least the young
Earls will be humbled, for they will not sit with the King and their
father, as they would in the Hall, and must serve my lord with napkin
and wine."
"Inprinis," quoth our scholar the abbot, "that will be rare! I would
I were by to see. But this Godwin is a man of treachery and wile, and
my lord should beware of the fate of murdered Alfred, his brother!"
The King started, and pressed his hands to his eyes.
"How darest thou, Abbot Fatchere," cried Alred, indignantly; "How
darest thou revive grief without remedy, and slander without proof?"
"Without proof?" echoed Edward, in a hollow voice. "He who could
murder, could well stoop to forswear! Without proof before man; but
did he try the ordeals of God?--did his feet pass the ploughshare?--
did his hand grasp the seething iron? Verily, verily, thou didst
wrong to name to me Alfred my brother! I shall see his sightless and
gore-dropping sockets in the face of Godwin, this day, at my board."
The King rose in great disorder; and, after pacing the room some
moments, disregardful of the silent and scared looks of his Churchmen,
waved his hand, in sign to them to depart. All took the hint at once
save Alred; but he, lingering the last, approached the King with
dignity in his step and compassion in his eyes.
"Banish from thy breast, O King and son, thoughts unmeet, and of
doubtful charity! All that man could know of Godwin's innocence or
guilt--the suspicion of the vulgar--the acquittal of his peers--was
known to thee before thou didst seek his aid for thy throne, and didst
take his child for thy wife. Too late is it now to suspect; leave thy
doubts to the solemn day, which draws nigh to the old man, thy wife's
father!"
"Ha!" said the king, seeming not to heed, or wilfully to misunderstand
the prelate, "Ha! leave him to God;--I will!"
He turned away impatiently; and the prelate reluctantly departed.
