London - Edward Rutherfurd [91]
Ruthless, ambitious, probably driven by the sense of his illegitimacy, William of Normandy was a formidable adversary. Marrying into the family of Edward the Confessor’s wife, he saw the chance to succeed the childless monarch and make himself king. From across the English Channel, he was claiming that Edward had promised him the throne. “And knowing the king, he probably did,” Barnikel remarked gloomily.
But now the two men fell silent. The Witan was emerging.
“Look down upon our humble prayers and bless this Thy servant whom we, with humble devotion, have chosen to be King of the Angles and Saxons.” So ran the prayers they used as they held the crown over the new king’s head. Then came the coronation oath, in which the king promised peace, order and mercy. After this, the bishop, invoking Abraham, Moses, Joshua, King David and Solomon the Wise, once more asked God’s blessing and anointed the king with oil. Only then was he invested with the crown of good King Alfred and given the sceptre for power and the rod for justice.
In this way, just hours after the funeral of King Edward, the traditional English coronation for the first time took place in Westminster Abbey. As Leofric and Barnikel looked at the well-built, brown-bearded figure whose clear blue eyes stared out boldly from the throne, they felt a new hope. Saxon King Harold would do very well.
It was as they came out of the Abbey at the end of the service that Barnikel of Billingsgate made his great mistake.
The hooded man who had been watching them was positioned near the door. His head was bare now, the hood pushed back on to his shoulders.
He was a strange figure. Standing close to one of the church’s massive pillars, he might have been taken for a statue, a dark excrescence of the stone. His cloak was black and furled around him like the wings of a bird. His uncovered head revealed that his face was clean-shaven and his hair cut in a close-cropped circle well above his ears, in the current Norman fashion. But it was another feature that was truly remarkable. Emerging from his pale, oval face was a nose of notable dimensions. It was not so much broad as long; not pointed but rounded at the tip; not red but somewhat shiny. A nose so distinctive, so serious, that with his head tucked down it seemed to descend into the folds of his cloak like the beak of some ominous raven.
As the congregation started to move out, he remained where he was, and this time the two friends saw him. He bowed.
Leofric returned the bow briefly.
The Saxon is careful, he thought. So much the better. But the Dane, flushed with relief, turned to him with a contemptuous growl.
“We have an English king, thank God. So keep your great French nose out of our business.” He stomped out, while Leofric looked embarrassed.
The strange figure said nothing. He did not like people referring to his nose.
Leofric stared at the girl. Then he grimaced. After standing about in the cold all day, his back was hurting abominably. But it was not the pain that made him frown.
How innocent she looked. He had always thought of himself as a decent man. A man of his word. A good father. How, then, could he betray her like this?
He was sitting on a stout oak bench. Before him, on a trestle table, a fat-burning lamp smoked continuously. The hall was spacious. The timber walls were roughly plastered; on one hung an embroidery depicting a deer hunt. There were three small windows covered with oilcloth. The wooden floor was carpeted with rushes. In the middle stood a large brazier full of smouldering charcoal, its smoke drifting into the thatched roof above. Below was a large basement for storing goods; outside, a yard surrounded by outbuildings, and a little orchard. An improved version, in fact, of the old homestead of his