I Am the Chosen King by Helen Hollick Read Free Book Online Page A

or the thrill of the hunt could still divert his attention a little too easily. For over an hour the deciding who ought to be bishop had rumbled on and although the inclement weather outside was hardly enticing, Harold had much to do. If he did not leave for Essex soon, he would need delay the journey until the morrow. Another night in this dreary royal stronghold? His groan of dismay at the thought was almost audible. “Sire,” he coaxed with a warm smile, “the coastal lands of East Anglia are under severe threat from Magnus of Norway. It is highly probable that the present irregular sea raids may escalate next spring into full-scale invasion. Magnus regards his claim to your throne as just and valid. I need strong men of influence at my back if I am to maintain authority and calm among the populace of that part of your kingdom.” Harold put as much emphasis on his point as he could. Come the passing of winter, England could well be at war with Norway, and East Anglia or the coast of Kent would be Magnus’s battleground.
    Stigand was a shrewd and politically capable man. Despite his personal dislike of him, Harold knew he would be an effective bishop. A man who could keep a firm hand on the greed of certain prelates within the church hierarchy, would be equally capable of instilling trust into the land-folk and the men who would be called upon to make up the army of the fyrd. What more could he add to the argument already put forward? “I support the recommendation of Stigand; he would be welcome in my earldom.” Harold, glancing ruefully at his father, sat.
    Wind battered against the window shutters—which, closed, did little to keep out the draught, but effectively barred light—rapping as if demanding entrance. Dusk would be falling within three hours. Earl Siward of Northumbria glanced at his ally, Leofric of Mercia, who shrugged. Neither wanted to stay longer than necessary at this council. In Siward’s opinion, Stigand was naught but a backside licker, a secretive and ambitious cleric who served Emma. There was a rumour that the Queen wanted to place Magnus of Norway on the throne of England and Stigand was of Viking descent. Undoubtedly, Stigand supported Emma’s scheming and whoever supported the Queen most assuredly also supported the Godwines. More arse washers! Between them, the Godwines held over-much power. And the lady presumed, too often, on the authority that she had once held in the past. Stigand, in Siward’s mistrusting mind, was not the right man for a bishopric but perhaps it was wise to give the man enough rope to form himself a noose, one that could eventually loop around Emma’s interfering neck also. Siward did not stand, he merely lifted his right hand, spread his fingers in a gesture of submission. “Godwine and Harold talk sense. Northumbria does not object.”
    Edward’s pout intensified. If Siward and Leofric had put up more of a fight…oh, curse it, let the damn woman have her way! His head was pounding, he needed wine and the privacy of his chamber. The King flapped his hand at the cleric seated at a table below the dais. “Record the decision. Stigand is to be appointed Bishop of East Anglia.” He brushed the cloak from his shoulders, made to stand, all others in the Hall instantly coming to their feet, save for Emma.
    “Edward,” she said, in the unconsciously supercilious tone that so irritated her son. “We are not yet concluded.” She indicated that he ought to sit; he ignored her, remained pointedly standing, forcing her to rise also. None sat in the presence of a king who was standing, not even a queen, his mother.
    She was a tall woman, Emma, thin of figure and face, her manner and voice austere, with little hint of laughter or gentleness about her features or character. Those qualities normally associated with the women’s side of the hearth had been sapped from her, years past, by the succession of scandals and sorrows she had endured. Standing, erect and