Tostig'sson
Part Twelve
February, 1066
GODWINE'S MANOR:
Years earlier, in the late King's youth, there was a rebellion
in Wales. After the revolt in Powys, and the ensuing capture and
punishment of the Welsh Prince, Gruffydd ap Llewellyn, the
English army had briefly occupied what little remained of the lands
of the ancient Britons. In subsequent years, they pulled out, but
reinforced their army units serving along the Welsh border marker,
constructed by king Offa (the great defensive ditch cut from the
Irish sea to the river Wye at Bristol Channel).
Now, recently returned from army duty in the Welsh Marker
Counties, was Tostig's son. Having heard only recently of his
father s disgrace, he had requested leave to return to his family
home, to try and claim it for himself. The best way to fix that
would be to come to terms firstly with his uncle Harold, and so he
had made his way, with an armed escort of loyal personal retainers,
to his Grandfather s old manorhouse to meet with the real power
behind the throne. But his reception with Harold was queered by
mutual suspicion.
He feared Harold's judgement, even though the weeks
following his return to Wessex were filled with polite reassurances
from Harold's camp. Nevertheless, the youth had no confidence
under his uncle's roof. That was before Edward s death.
It was clear, now that the King was dead, that Harold had
suddenly become the actual master of all England. Tostigson was
given orders to release his escort and confine himself to the estate.
This turn of fortune presented him with an unbearably bleak
future, and so he became determined to flee. The opportunity
presented itself during Harold's vespers.
In the darkness after dinnertime, Tostigson quietly removed
himself from the manorhouse and, since there were busy
preparations under way for the Earl's descent upon Westminster
for coronation, he made ready his flight without drawing
curiousity.
He met with his loyal guard at the stables. By the end of
vespers, these men were cinching the saddles for the last time.
Tostigson gave his horse a last knee in the belly and pulled on the
cinch as the horse gasped and surrendered hidden wind. He tucked
the leather strap expertly in place and then grabbed the saddle with
both hands. Putting foot in stirrup, he jumped and gave a great
pull up into his saddle, all his leather gear and tack squeaking and
rattling, loose metal armaments sounding against fixed. Young
Tostigson thrilled to the aroma of gear and tack, mingling with the
holy incense from the chapel upwind. He felt a benediction from
these pleasures, and took it as a sign that he had made a wise
gamble. It was good to be on the move again.
His yeoman of arms looked to him for direction, and
Tostigson at once nodded. The man grunted an order, and the
small band of cavalry filed out from the warm light of the Godwine
stables into the night, and trotted towards the manor gate. Only
now did they attract notice.
Earl Harold's guards heard them from across the crowded
moonlit courtyard, and looked at one another in witless inquisition.
Unable to see the context of these guests taking their leave, they
took no action.
When he heard of it twelve minutes later as he sat eating,
Harold's own Captain of the Watch saw the meaning of it
immediately. He got up and stormed across the room to peer out
the window. From where he stood in the upper floor of the keep,
he had a view towards the emptiness of the road leading away
from the main gate, a hundred yards away. He turned to the
thegns who took supper with him and said, "Tell the King, his
nephew makes himself outlaw. He has gone over to his father."
Then he turned to the stairwell, motioning his men to help him give
chase to the traitors.
As his column of mounted horse entered the ancient roman
highway and set pace at a full gallop through the snow, Tostigson
turned back to take one last look at his grandfather's manor,
windows glowing brightly in the dark winter night of the icy
Wessex heartland. It made him feel momentarily desolate. It was
here he guessed that he might never see Wessex again. He turned
his back on it, and set his mind on Flanders ahead.
Part Twelve
February, 1066
GODWINE'S MANOR:
Years earlier, in the late King's youth, there was a rebellion
in Wales. After the revolt in Powys, and the ensuing capture and
punishment of the Welsh Prince, Gruffydd ap Llewellyn, the
English army had briefly occupied what little remained of the lands
of the ancient Britons. In subsequent years, they pulled out, but
reinforced their army units serving along the Welsh border marker,
constructed by king Offa (the great defensive ditch cut from the
Irish sea to the river Wye at Bristol Channel).
Now, recently returned from army duty in the Welsh Marker
Counties, was Tostig's son. Having heard only recently of his
father s disgrace, he had requested leave to return to his family
home, to try and claim it for himself. The best way to fix that
would be to come to terms firstly with his uncle Harold, and so he
had made his way, with an armed escort of loyal personal retainers,
to his Grandfather s old manorhouse to meet with the real power
behind the throne. But his reception with Harold was queered by
mutual suspicion.
He feared Harold's judgement, even though the weeks
following his return to Wessex were filled with polite reassurances
from Harold's camp. Nevertheless, the youth had no confidence
under his uncle's roof. That was before Edward s death.
It was clear, now that the King was dead, that Harold had
suddenly become the actual master of all England. Tostigson was
given orders to release his escort and confine himself to the estate.
This turn of fortune presented him with an unbearably bleak
future, and so he became determined to flee. The opportunity
presented itself during Harold's vespers.
In the darkness after dinnertime, Tostigson quietly removed
himself from the manorhouse and, since there were busy
preparations under way for the Earl's descent upon Westminster
for coronation, he made ready his flight without drawing
curiousity.
He met with his loyal guard at the stables. By the end of
vespers, these men were cinching the saddles for the last time.
Tostigson gave his horse a last knee in the belly and pulled on the
cinch as the horse gasped and surrendered hidden wind. He tucked
the leather strap expertly in place and then grabbed the saddle with
both hands. Putting foot in stirrup, he jumped and gave a great
pull up into his saddle, all his leather gear and tack squeaking and
rattling, loose metal armaments sounding against fixed. Young
Tostigson thrilled to the aroma of gear and tack, mingling with the
holy incense from the chapel upwind. He felt a benediction from
these pleasures, and took it as a sign that he had made a wise
gamble. It was good to be on the move again.
His yeoman of arms looked to him for direction, and
Tostigson at once nodded. The man grunted an order, and the
small band of cavalry filed out from the warm light of the Godwine
stables into the night, and trotted towards the manor gate. Only
now did they attract notice.
Earl Harold's guards heard them from across the crowded
moonlit courtyard, and looked at one another in witless inquisition.
Unable to see the context of these guests taking their leave, they
took no action.
When he heard of it twelve minutes later as he sat eating,
Harold's own Captain of the Watch saw the meaning of it
immediately. He got up and stormed across the room to peer out
the window. From where he stood in the upper floor of the keep,
he had a view towards the emptiness of the road leading away
from the main gate, a hundred yards away. He turned to the
thegns who took supper with him and said, "Tell the King, his
nephew makes himself outlaw. He has gone over to his father."
Then he turned to the stairwell, motioning his men to help him give
chase to the traitors.
As his column of mounted horse entered the ancient roman
highway and set pace at a full gallop through the snow, Tostigson
turned back to take one last look at his grandfather's manor,
windows glowing brightly in the dark winter night of the icy
Wessex heartland. It made him feel momentarily desolate. It was
here he guessed that he might never see Wessex again. He turned
his back on it, and set his mind on Flanders ahead.
GODWINE'S MANOR:
Years earlier, in the late King's youth, there was a rebellion in Wales. After the revolt in Powys, and the ensuing capture and punishment of the Welsh Prince, Gruffydd ap Llewellyn, the English army had briefly occupied what little remained of the lands of the ancient Britons. In subsequent years, they pulled out, but reinforced their army units serving along the Welsh border marker, constructed by king Offa (the great defensive ditch cut from the Irish sea to the river Wye at Bristol Channel).
Now, recently returned from army duty in the Welsh Marker Counties, was Tostig's son. Having heard only recently of his father s disgrace, he had requested leave to return to his family home, to try and claim it for himself. The best way to fix that would be to come to terms firstly with his uncle Harold, and so he had made his way, with an armed escort of loyal personal retainers, to his Grandfather s old manorhouse to meet with the real power behind the throne. But his reception with Harold was queered by mutual suspicion.
He feared Harold's judgement, even though the weeks following his return to Wessex were filled with polite reassurances from Harold's camp. Nevertheless, the youth had no confidence under his uncle's roof. That was before Edward s death.
It was clear, now that the King was dead, that Harold had suddenly become the actual master of all England. Tostigson was given orders to release his escort and confine himself to the estate. This turn of fortune presented him with an unbearably bleak future, and so he became determined to flee. The opportunity presented itself during Harold's vespers.
In the darkness after dinnertime, Tostigson quietly removed himself from the manorhouse and, since there were busy preparations under way for the Earl's descent upon Westminster for coronation, he made ready his flight without drawing curiousity.
He met with his loyal guard at the stables. By the end of vespers, these men were cinching the saddles for the last time. Tostigson gave his horse a last knee in the belly and pulled on the cinch as the horse gasped and surrendered hidden wind. He tucked the leather strap expertly in place and then grabbed the saddle with both hands. Putting foot in stirrup, he jumped and gave a great pull up into his saddle, all his leather gear and tack squeaking and rattling, loose metal armaments sounding against fixed. Young Tostigson thrilled to the aroma of gear and tack, mingling with the holy incense from the chapel upwind. He felt a benediction from these pleasures, and took it as a sign that he had made a wise gamble. It was good to be on the move again.
His yeoman of arms looked to him for direction, and Tostigson at once nodded. The man grunted an order, and the small band of cavalry filed out from the warm light of the Godwine stables into the night, and trotted towards the manor gate. Only now did they attract notice.
Earl Harold's guards heard them from across the crowded moonlit courtyard, and looked at one another in witless inquisition. Unable to see the context of these guests taking their leave, they took no action.
When he heard of it twelve minutes later as he sat eating, Harold's own Captain of the Watch saw the meaning of it immediately. He got up and stormed across the room to peer out the window. From where he stood in the upper floor of the keep, he had a view towards the emptiness of the road leading away from the main gate, a hundred yards away. He turned to the thegns who took supper with him and said, "Tell the King, his nephew makes himself outlaw. He has gone over to his father." Then he turned to the stairwell, motioning his men to help him give chase to the traitors.
As his column of mounted horse entered the ancient roman highway and set pace at a full gallop through the snow, Tostigson turned back to take one last look at his grandfather's manor, windows glowing brightly in the dark winter night of the icy Wessex heartland. It made him feel momentarily desolate. It was here he guessed that he might never see Wessex again. He turned his back on it, and set his mind on Flanders ahead.