32

I went along when the Witan gathered. They came in dark colours for the king’s funeral, showing mourning and giving him honour. Yet they came also to choose a new king. When the funeral was over and Eadred had been placed in his tomb in the minster, his Witan walked in procession to the great hall, taking their seats around the central aisle.

Prince Edwy and Prince Edgar took places on the benches there, with every noble earl and thane from Winchester to Scotland. Both young men wore black and bore swords at their waist. Edwy stared around with one eyebrow raised, as if we bored him, as if he owned us.

I was there as royal treasurer, but also as witness, bishop and abbot. I had no proper seat on the Witan as I had not been elected to one. As a result, I had no vote that day, though I could still address the gathering and play a part. We were without a king. The whole country waited for the good word to come out of that meeting.

We all knew the Danes would hear in a month or two, if they had not already. I am sure they had spies in that hall. There are always some whose honour can be purchased. No one else had any great desire to see the Vikings return. If they did come, we needed a king on the throne to lead our men to battle. A man of the line of Alfred and Æthelstan.

Yet it was not so simple. Edwy was the oldest boy, but he was neither warrior nor scholar, nor man of God. He was just a minstrel gadabout, and I will not say worse of him, though I could.

Before King Eadred was in his tomb, I had visited Archbishop Oda at his private home in Winchester. He’d welcomed me to a study that contained models of ships, to my slight surprise. I examined them closely and he explained how he had made them from memory, recreating the vessels he had known as a boy. He had food and wine brought and settled himself to hear me. All priests are familiar with men and women seeking them out, overborne with some great problem. It is part of our role as shepherds, and he expected something like that from me.

‘You are the foremost man of the Church in England, Your Grace,’ I said to him – for archbishops and cardinals are addressed as princes, and given the same courtesies when they travel to a foreign court. I was a mere bishop of Worcester, though I still hoped for a position in London or even Winchester.

‘Your Grace, this cockscomb prince, this headstrong boy, has no real faith, no desire to rule well, beyond his lusts and his greed. I have met a hundred men and found not a single one willing to speak well of Edwy.’

‘Truly?’ Oda asked. He tutted in dismay as I confirmed it.

‘If there was no other, Your Grace, I would say it was God’s will, but we do have a better son, in Edgar.’

‘He is too young,’ Oda said immediately.

I shrugged.

‘He is fourteen – older than I was when my father took me to the abbey at Glastonbury. Older than you when you came to England. The Mercians speak well of the lad and he has impressed me. They would follow him and that . . . that is what matters. The king does not have to wield a sword if he has the confidence of his lords. Edwy cannot command that confidence.’

‘Yet Edwy will be king,’ Oda said.

‘The Witan chooses the king who will be best for the land,’ I said patiently. ‘Not always the eldest of the line – just as Eadfed wore the crown while these boys grew. They chose King Æthelstan only because he gave an oath not to marry. Edmund was their first choice. Father, Your Grace, we have one chance here, to turn the path of history. If we say nothing, if we do nothing, a spiteful, cocky boy will wear the crown for fifty years. Yet if you and I speak for Edgar, the Witan will be forced to listen. To me, as abbot and bishop, but more to you, as archbishop of Canterbury. You are the voice of the Church in England. They will not turn away from you.’

‘Who will Wulfstan support, do you think?’ Oda asked. The archbishop of York had spent some time in prison under Edmund and learned some valuable lessons from the experience. We’d heard nothing from him after that.

‘He will not speak,’ I said, though I did not know. ‘You and I can persuade the Witan, together, no other. If you agree Edgar is the right choice.’

‘I will pray on it,’ he promised, but I knew even then. Oda too had seen Edwy’s lies and thefts and cruel games. An old hound, half-blind, had snapped at the prince a year before. Edwy had kicked it to death in rage for that slight hurt. No one cared about one old cur, but the public temper, the childish, spitting fury, had disturbed many.

Oda needed only the faintest push to be persuaded. He had wanted to hear what I had to say.

The Witan was made of earls and thanes and shire reeves and old members of the court, elected when a place came free, which was rare. England had more than a million souls, so they said. In representing such a number, the Witan was a great gathering – the voice of the subjects. When those men came together as they did that evening, their greatest and most sacred role was to choose the king to rule them.

Edwy was smiling to himself, I saw, like a sly cat almost, with his head half dipped and his blond curls catching the last rays of the sun. Perhaps that beauty was what ruined him. There is honesty in ugliness, I have observed. An ugly woman is often a faithful one, with no temptations to draw her from the path.

I had made up my mind to stand between Edwy and the crown. Though I could feel my heart beating so hard as to make me faint, I signalled my desire to speak. The room fell silent. I drew myself to my feet and, though they were all around me, I could feel Edwy’s gaze.

‘It is my understanding, as one who has counselled kings, that the Witan chooses the best of the bloodline to serve the land. That is our way, from older courts than this, to times our fathers and mothers would not recall. We choose who rules us – and that is their power over us all, that they know they were chosen. It is our honour, bound into one decision and never challenged again until death or betrayal.’

I looked around at them all and a part of me was surprised at how closely they listened. In some ways, I still thought of myself as a callow youth, but the truth was I had advised kings, especially Eadred. All men there knew me, and most respected my judgement. I had assumed I needed Oda in support, but to my pleasure, I realised that I might not. Somehow, through some combination of mere age and the seam of my talent, I had become a man to whom others listened. It was a moment of giddiness in that place and I gripped the bridge of my nose and took a slow breath.

‘A king must have strength and wisdom – or the seeds of both, in two candidates so young.’

A stir went around the room at that. Until that moment, Edwy had been the heir apparent, unchallenged. I had not even told Edgar of my intention to speak. I could almost feel Edwy’s smile slip, replaced by a scowl in the gloom.

‘I fought at their father’s side at Brunanburh,’ I said. ‘I have known battle in all its blood and noise. I saw the greatness in Prince Edmund then – and I guided him until he was taken from us as king. I saw then how the trials of the north wore at King Eadred and how much of his strength he bartered away, to kill those who tried to steal the land. I have known kings – and I know now what makes a good one. I see that strength in one son of King Edmund, but not the other.’

The stir was louder then and a few called for me to sit down and be quiet, no doubt the defenders and friends of Edwy making themselves heard. I had to wait for a time before they were still, or close enough to it for me to say what I had come to say.

‘I have witnessed weakness and spite in one son, dignity and honour in the other. Therefore, I urge the Witan to choose Prince Edgar over his brother.’

There was pandemonium for a while, as if they’d all drawn in a breath just to howl at me. When I sat down it was to a great roar of noise. Yet when it died away, both Archbishop Oda and Edwy himself were on their feet.

The prince looked at the older man in contempt. He might have had the sense to give way if he hadn’t been exactly the spoiled brat I’d known he was.

‘Sit down, Your Grace,’ Edwy said softly.

Oda did so immediately, though he wore a dark look as Edwy went on.

‘I have heard enough from whining clerics. Some of you may not favour me as your king, though I am. Yet before this Witan votes, I remind you that I am first-born of my father, Edmund, who was your choice and would rule now if his life had not been ripped away. You know what his will would be in this. You know my right.’

He had the cheek then to turn to his own brother. I think we all stopped breathing for a time.

‘I’m sorry, Edgar. I would choose you in all things, but not in this, In this, I must be king.’

His brother gazed back, watched by everyone there. If Edgar had nodded or agreed in any way, I think it would have been settled then and there. He did not. I saw the muscles of Edgar’s jaw clench. The younger brother knew Edwy better than anyone.

Edwy resumed his seat, red-faced, his climax missed somehow. In his place, Archbishop Oda rose and spoke in his halting English. He was as good as his word to me and threw his office and the Church behind Edgar. The archbishop even acknowledged my gaze as he took his seat. Edwy had gone such a dark shade and was so tight-lipped, I thought he might condemn himself in a tantrum.

A dozen others spoke after that, in support of both princes. Some were too full of their own importance to make much of a mark, while others argued well. My feeling was that Edgar’s supporters were of a better sort, but they were mostly from Mercia, and perhaps their words did not have as much weight in that chamber. It was hard to know how it would fall and I began to wish I had waited until later, in case my words were forgotten. That would have been a coward’s path, though.

It was some hours before the speaker for the Witan finally looked left and right and received nods. They had heard enough. The royal guards cleared the hall, ushering us all out. Oda remained to represent the Church – and to cast his Witan vote, which was why I’d approached him in the first place.

As I left in a crowd, I found myself almost alongside Prince Edwy and endured the flicker of anger passing across his face, though he knew better than to say anything.

I suspected something was wrong when neither I nor the princes, nor any other witnesses, were summoned back that day. I confess I grew nervous with each passing hour. If the Witan chose Edwy, though the whole world could see he was not suited for the crown, I would have thrown away twenty years of work. I’d be lucky to keep the abbey I had built. There had been something very personal in the slow way his eyes had drifted across me, a promise of retribution.

I’d never heard of the Witan taking so long to discuss the succession. I passed a few coins to the servants taking food and wine into the chamber, but all they could tell me was that there was a very heated argument going on. The council of the Witan preferred to keep such things to its private self, so they stopped whenever they had a break or summoned servants.

In the morning, they gathered again and when the sun was high in the sky, the doors were thrown open and all those who waited rushed back in. The two princes walked first among them and I noticed by then that each brother had his own supporters around him, almost as twin armed groups. I found myself glancing to the closest door in case fighting broke out. If the council refused Edwy, there was a chance I would have helped to begin a civil war.

The speaker for the Witan stood and held out a piece of fine vellum, nicely cut, with a proclamation followed by the witness names of all those present. We craned to read the choice, but it was impossible and he merely teased us with the sight of it before he read.

‘ “We, who have sealed our names below, make this judgement in the matter of succession, that Prince Edwy shall be king . . .”’

I felt it like a blow over my heart, that stole away my breath. I had gambled and lost. For once, I had followed my conscience and acted not for my own good but for the good of the country – and I had destroyed myself.

The man stopped reading as a great shout went up from all Edwy’s supporters. I exchanged a glance with Oda and he gestured sharply towards the speaker, so that I looked back as the man bristled.

‘Silence! Be silent, by God!’ the speaker roared at them. ‘You have not heard all!’

He had to pick up a staff and rap the floor with it for an age before they subsided. I did not know him well, but he had a fine voice, I remember that. His name was Capell, or Capet, something like that.

‘ “Prince Edwy will be king of all land south of Cirencester, that is the kingdom of Wessex and all the south, including London. Prince Edgar will be king of all the north, including Mercia and York. In suchlike way, two brothers will rule England, both of the line of Alfred the Great, both the choice of the Witan.” ’

The old fool then read the names and titles of all the halfwits gathered there who had come to such an extraordinary decision.

There was more muttering than stunned silence, as the crowd asked one another what it could mean. Slowly the noise grew once again, like a shout on the battlefield almost, a great chorus of jeering and anger from all sides. The members of the Witan were protected by guards, but those men had to look sharp to stay on their feet as the crowd pushed and shoved.

Prince Edwy reacted badly, his blood fired by the noise around him, the press and the heat of that place. I saw him go from shocked stillness to bawling anger, while his friends tried to hold him back. The guards had spears and swords, and they were nervous. We were an eye-blink away from bloodshed.

I looked to Edwy’s brother on the other side of the hall, in time to see Edgar exchange a glance with one of the Mercian earls. Both men shrugged and gave equal half-smiles. They were not too displeased at the judgement.

Edwy drew his sword. It was a line of silver that flashed in the gloom before his friends grabbed him and it went skidding across the floor underfoot. The young man might have been king in Winchester at that moment, but his own lords held him rather than let him run berserk.

All those who had spoken against Edwy taking the throne left at a good pace, not quite a run. As his roaring faded behind us, I saw Oda was alongside me. We all streamed away like rats, looking back to see if we would be followed.

‘The Witan are fools if they think this will stand,’ I said, bending close to his ear. ‘Could you not stop it? They gave Edwy reason to hate his enemies and the power to act, in the same moment!’

I swallowed as I considered the truth of my own words. Edwy had lost half a kingdom because of me. No. I let blame fall from my shoulders. I would not carry it. Edwy had lost half the kingdom because his conduct and his manner were cruel and petty and venal.

I was grim with foreboding as I made my way to Lady Elflaed’s old home, still then my own possession as her inheritor. I washed myself with slow deliberation, though it was not spring. It has been my habit for each coronation and I found it restful and calming.

Prince Edgar came to see me there before he rode back to his Mercian keeps and fortresses, now as their king. I went out onto the street to greet him, though he sat with a dozen armed men on horseback. I had no fear of that young man and I wondered then if I should ask to accompany him to his new court. If I’d had a horse, I might have done.

‘I wanted to thank you, father, for what you said in the Witan hall. It was a brave thing to do – and I did not expect their answer to take that form.’

‘You are not displeased, though,’ I said, reading him.

Edgar smiled and once more I was struck at his dignity. He was a man to follow, for all his youth.

‘I am not displeased. I thought I would leave that place with nothing, father. I came away as king of the north. Better still, my older brother has had a right blow to his self-esteem. That should not please me . . .’

‘. . . but it does,’ I finished for him. I sighed. ‘I wish you well, Your Highness. Perhaps I might call on you when I am next in Worcester. I am . . . a bishop of Mercia, after all.’

‘Yes, so you are! Of course you may. You will always be welcome wherever I am, for my father – and for the service you did me. I will not forget it.’ He thought for a moment, unsure in his youth how to end the conversation. ‘I do not think I will attend my brother’s coronation, Father Dunstan. He would not like to see me there, not while his temper is hot. Still, I would like to hear it described when you come to see me next.’

‘I would be delighted, Your Highness,’ I said.

He inclined his head and rode off. One of his lords nodded to me and I returned the gesture, pleased to be well thought of in at least one part of the country. I was a hero in Mercia that year, though for a Wessex man, that is not a particularly grand ambition.

The coronation of Edwy took place a month or so later, at Kingston. In a gesture of reconciliation, Archbishop Oda was asked to crown the prince and did so to a cheering crowd. I was surprised at the numbers who turned out to see him, but then Edwy looked like the idea of a king, almost, the perfection of a man. I heard him called ‘King Edwy the Fair’ almost immediately as the crowd cheered and raised cups to toast a long and happy reign. I could not help thinking of his father, who had been called ‘Edmund the Magnificent’ for his battle victories and his manner.

The coronation feast was to be held in the great Guildhall in London, as it was just eight or nine miles away. I did not remark on the fact that Edwy’s father and uncles had been crowned in that place because it stood on the border with Mercia and so demonstrated the reach of the Crown. He could no longer claim that kingdom as his own. I wondered if that ate at him as the crown was lowered to his head.

The huge crowd accompanied us in procession as we walked. I stayed close to Archbishop Oda as I considered my future. I thought once more that if I left that night, I could appear and be made welcome at Edgar’s home, yet it was not something I liked to contemplate. I did not want to leave all I had made! For fear of some gilded boy on the throne?

I told myself I’d rather spend a few years of peace as abbot of Glastonbury, creating relict boxes in silver. All that work awaited me. Yet I enjoyed being where power lay, though it should not have been my concern. I have, on occasion, lost sight of the object of true contemplation and fallen instead into the concerns of the world.

On the night of the coronation feast, I destroyed myself. Standing close to kings is like leaning in to a great fire. One who has a spot in a royal hearth can be warm and dry, even as others shiver in the darkness outside. Yet step an inch too close, or see a spark alight on your robe and pierce a hole to grow and grow – and all is undone. I tell you, over the passage of a single hour, I tore down a whole lifetime.