(Book is still on the writing table...)

                                                                             XXV

            Beorn leaned over toward Harold and Tostig as they waited for the Witenagemot of 1047
   to begin. "I heard that Swegn has gone on to Denmark without getting your father's permission,"
   he said. 
            Tostig smirked. "And he is furious about it, I can tell you. He has sworn to leave my 
   brother to his own devices."
           "It's about time," Beorn answered. "He has caused Godwine more trouble than a pack of
    wolves." 
            He glanced across the room, where Godwine was deep in discussion with Earl Seward.
   The Danish Earl was nodding uncertainly. Just then the King entered, and the room quieted.
   Edward surveyed the assembly before he sat down next to Godwine. 
            "The first order of business," he said, "is to determine what to do with the vacant earldom,
   now that Swegn Godwineson has been banished." He could not forbear a triumphant glance at
   Godwine.
            "After giving the matter much thought, I have divided it three ways. Herefordshire will
   come under the control of my cousin, Ralf de Mantes. Oxfordshire will henceforth be annexed
   to Earl Beorn's territory. And Gloucestershire will be given to Earl Harold." 
            Harold and Beorn exchanged smiling glances. Tostig bit his lips, turning a dark red; he had
   expected the earldom to go to himself. 
            But Godwine had only eyes for Leofric, whose baleful stare promised trouble. The Earl of
   Mercia started to get up but thought better of it, balling his hands into fists. It was no secret that
   Leofric resented so much of England's rule going to the house of Godwine. From the river 
   Humber in Yorkshire, south and west all around the coast of England, Godwine controlled the
   choicest ports, the largest cities. This left Leofric with a little chunk of land bordering the Welsh
   marches and the Mid-lands. 
            He saw this as no fair division, and it was getting worse all the time. Godwine still had four
  more sons; were there going to be earldoms for all them as well? What of Leofric's son, Aelfgar?              Knowing the consternation he was causing, Edward nevertheless pointedly ignored Leofric.
   Nothing was permanent, the King thought. In time, Godwine will have enough rope to hang
   himself, and he will take his greedy sons with him. 
            But Leofric knew nothing of the King's thoughts. All he could see was favoritism, and he
   promised himself – not for the first time  – that he would do everything he could to frustrate
   Godwine's authority. 
            "The next matter is the Danish question. Earl Godwine will present his argument." The
   King leaned back, listening while some of his Norman friends whispered in his ear. Godwine
   stood. 
            "King Svein Estrithson is presently in great need of our help. Magnus of Norway has been
   very successful with his incursions into Danish territory. Already he has overrun Jutland and
   Sjaelland, leaving Svein only Scania. I propose we send fifty ships to his aid, before Magnus has
   complete control over all of Denmark as well as Norway." Leofric was the first to jump to his feet.
            "This is absurd! Why risk English blood over a foreign cause?" Many in the room voiced
   their agreement.
            Godwine remained calm. "Who risked his ships and men to save us last year, when
   Magnus threatened to invade England? If it wasn't for Svein's intervention, we might this day
   be Norwegian subjects." 
            Edward frowned; the room was silent. 
            Godwine went on, "If Magnus gains undisputed control of Denmark, he will surely turn his
   attention back to us. This is not a foreign war, I say!" Godwine's voice filled the room without
   having to shout. 
            Leofric was still on his feet. "And I say that Godwine wants to expend our men and riches
    to secure the throne for his own nephew! We all know that his renegade son has joined Svein's
   cause.  Do we really want to support such as him?" 
            The room resounded with shouts of agreement. Godwine sat down, deflated. His career –
   his influence – destroyed by the reckless act of one son. He couldn't look at Edward; Godwine
   knew that the King would be savoring his humiliation. 
            Edward stood, hand out. "Then it is decided? We will not give aid to Svein? Let us put it
   to a vote." 
            Godwine had to try one more time. "Remember," he said, "if my predictions are true
   and Magnus does attack, we do not have the means to defend ourselves against him." 
            This time the murmurs were thoughtful. Godwine had struck at the heart of the problem,
   and they knew he was right. Magnus was a powerful force at sea, and his navy was more
   than triple what England possessed. 
            But when the vote came, it was overwhelmingly against Godwine's proposal. Leofric
   had carried the day. Even Seward voted against Godwine. 
           

            During the feast afterward, it seemed that nearly everyone was in a bad mood. Godwine
   ate silently, scowling. Queen Editha felt sorry for her father; she knew what the Danish
   campaign meant to him. Tostig didn't eat at all, but filled his goblet again and again, emptying
   it each time in one draught. Seward was deep in thought, and Leofric found himself glaring
   at Godwine every couple of minutes. 
            Only Harold and Beorn were celebrating, and their good mood was shared by Edward,
   who was pleased with himself for winning the day against Godwine. Catching Harold's eye,
   the King gave him a toast. 
            "Here's to you, Harold, and may you ever continue in prosperity." 
            Harold stood and bowed, enjoying himself. He didn't see Tostig jump unsteadily to his
   feet and lunge toward him, grabbing him by the hair. 
            "It's always Harold, isn't it?" Tostig roared, and pulled his hair viciously with both hands.
   Harold was off-balance, and couldn't right himself; he tumbled to the ground, Tostig after him.
   The pair rolled over each other, punching and kicking. Yet Harold's superior strength told in his
   favor, and he was soon towering over his brother – knees on both shoulders – pummeling Tostig
   in the face. 
            The guests, already mostly drunk, cheered them on. But Edward was appalled that there
   was brawling in his presence. He pushed away from the table, staring at them, while Godwine
   and Eirik leaped to their feet, and went to break up the fight. 
            Tearing these two apart was no easy matter. Godwine used brute strength against
   Tostig, lifting him off the ground before he could pull him away. 
            "Everything goes to Harold," Tostig shouted. "You think you are so glorious, that men
   will die for you. Well, I tell you, Harold, you are nothing but a pompous fraud!" Harold strained
   against Eirik, who had wrapped both arms around him.
            "Enough!" Godwine shouted. "I am ashamed of you!"
            Accustomed to obeying – even through their tempers – Godwine's sons stood still,
   puffing and glaring at each other. Eirik let go of Harold, whose arms had relaxed. 
            The King looked at the offenders, his eyes clouding and vacant. They stared back,
   confused; no one knew what to do. "Beware of your quarrels, sons of Godwine," he said in
   a queer and unearthly voice. "For all of England will suffer for it. I see great misery for you,
   Tostig, because of your greed and jealousy. Be careful of your spite, lest it cause your death. 
           "And you, Harold," he turned, though his eyes looked over Harold's head, "for you I
   see great turmoil. I see the land in the clutch of the invader, lest you make your peace with
   Tostig. Do not let your covetousness overcome your brother's rights, or he will turn against
   you – to your own ruin, ruin, ruin." His voice shrilled, rising higher and higher. 
            Editha had run to Edward's side; she had seen him in the midst of his visions before,
   and she begged Godwine to hurry, help her. At his last words, Edward fell to the side, as if all
   his limbs failed him; Godwine was just in time to catch him before he hit the ground. 
            "Look what you have done," the Earl growled to his sons. "Go, leave this place before
   you cause any more trouble." 
            Editha showed her father where to carry the King, and they sat by his side until he
   awoke. The others crowded together, looking on; most had never seen Edward like this, and
   they crossed themselves, awed.
            Edward woke with a start, looking around. For a moment he was disoriented, until
   Editha leaned over him, taking his hand. "It's all right, my Lord," she said. "You were taken
   with a vision." 
            Edward sighed. "What was it this time?"
            "You spoke of terrible things, rising from Harold and Tostig's wrath."
            "Did I?" He looked at Godwine. "Then keep a heavy hand on your sons," he said.
 

                                                                XXVI

            Within months, it looked like Godwine had correctly summed up the Danish situation.
   King Magnus defeated Svein in a huge naval battle, driving him into exile. England prepared as
   best as it could for the new threat.
            But then fate stepped in. Magnus died almost as soon as he took the throne, and Svein
   was invited back to Denmark. The crown of Norway was passed on to Magnus's uncle,
   Harald Hardraada. 
            "So you see, Godwine," King Edward said to him in council. "We made the right decision."              Godwine looked around the room, noticing that he was the only Saxon present. "Your
   Grace," he ventured, "no one knows when a King is going to die. God saved us, not the Witan."              Edward scowled, beckoning for his cousin Ralph to bend an ear. They exchanged whispers.              Godwine frowned, watching. Things had not turned out like he expected; never had he felt
   so isolated. Rather than serve close to the King – as son-in-law and foremost Earl – he often
   found himself on the outside, like now. 
            As the years passed, Edward had invited more and more Normans to his side, until the
   court began to resemble a foreign rather than an English one. French was spoken exclusively;
   courtiers dressed in the newest styles from the continent. All vacancies – both religious and
   secular – were filled by Normans. 
            Worse than that, the King usually followed their advice. 
            "I have here," Edward said, waving a rolled parchment, "another request from King
   Svein. He asks for fifty ships, so he can wage war against Harald Hardraada." 
            Despite himself, Godwine took a step forward. "Then we still have a chance to protect
   our interests." 
            "Oh, Godwine. Have you learned nothing? No one will support you in this. I have decided
   to tell him no." 
            The Earl bit back his words of defiance. Instead, he said, "There is nothing left of the old
   navy. I suggest that we at least begin to rebuild your fleet, to protect our shores." 
            Again, he had to wait while Edward whispered to his friends. "I will consider it," the
   King said finally.              

             
            Godwine rode back to Winchester in a righteous rage. He was even more unhappy that
   no one came to greet him on his return. The house was in an uproar. 
            "Where is Gytha?" he asked one of the servants. 
            The girl stopped, clutching an armful of linens. "Above, sir. Eadgifu is giving birth." 
            Godwine grimaced, letting her go. That cursed girl, again. Though she had tried to make
   herself useful, he hated the sight of her. 
            No one looked up as he opened the chamber door. Eadgifu was squeezing Gytha's hands,
   while his wife instructed her to take deep breaths and push. Despite himself, Godwine smiled.
   Gytha should know; she had borne nine children.
            In between labor pains, Eadgifu opened her eyes; she gasped, seeing Godwine. Gytha
   turned.
            "You know you aren't supposed to be here, my dear," she said kindly.
            Frowning, Godwine turned to leave, but Eadgifu gasped, "Wait. Please, sir, I want to tell
   you something."
            Sighing, Gytha nodded for him to come in.
            Nearing the girl, Godwine felt a reluctant surge of pity for her. Like all of his sex, he
   viewed childbirth with a certain awe. Her hair was drenched with sweat, and those sunken
   eyes looked haunted in such a pale face. 
            "I wanted to tell you," she whispered, then gasped, arching her back. For a moment she
   could only groan, while Gytha tried to comfort her. "Swegn... He did not abduct me. I went
   with him willingly." 
            Godwine turned away, reluctant to expose his pain. He had treated his son like a criminal,
   and had hated himself ever since. "Why did he say he did it, then?" he asked, his back to them.              "He wanted to protect my reputation. We didn't know it would turn out like this." 
            It was all he could stand to hear. Godwine dashed out of the room, slamming the door
   behind him.              

             
            Gytha found him later, clutching a bottle, his head sunk on an arm. She studied him
   thoughtfully. "Why do you torture yourself like this?" 
            He took so long to answer that she thought he was asleep. "I sent him away like an
   outcast, for something he didn't do." Godwine raised his head, glaring at her. "He loved her,
   Gytha." 
            She shrugged, exasperated. "Abduction or not, he violated an Abbess. Either way, it is
   a mortal sin." 
            "Doesn't it make any difference to you?" His voice was getting louder. "They belonged
   together, from the first. We are the guilty ones; we tore them apart, and brought this about
   ourselves." 
            Gytha sat by his side, pulling the bottle away. "I refuse to take the responsibility. He
   knew what he was doing." 
            "Wife, for once in your life, have pity on the boy! He has always been miserable, and
   it is our fault. No matter what I do for him, I can't make up for it." 
            Angry, she stood. "For God's sake, why don't you think about your other sons for a
   change? You have neglected them all – given all your attention to Swegn – and for what?
   Has he ever shown any appreciation?" 
            He was about to defend himself, but she refused to let him. 
            "And even though you neglected them, they turned out all right. Can't you see? You
   can't blame yourself for everything. He is bad to the core, and it's about time you quit
   protecting him." She strode to the door, then turned back to him. "Perhaps you can do better
   with his son." 
            The door slammed shut, leaving Godwine with his thoughts. A boy. The baby was a boy.
            The next day, he made his apologies to Gytha, though neither of  them believed the
   argument was finished. He went to see the baby.
            "A nice healthy boy," he said to Eadgifu with a forced smile. "I have a fancy to call
   him Hakon."             

            As soon as she was able, the mother was sent back to Leominster, leaving her baby
   behind. But this wasn't the end of her troubles. When she went back, she found that the
   Abbey had been dissolved. 
            Godwine finally took pity on her. He made sure that she was allowed to live on the
   site, along with the nuns that chose to stay. The property had not been much, after all. A
   large donation to the church made them forget about its loss.