The Oath

August 21th, 1066, Ghent, Flanders

I sat at the back of the courtroom watching as the final act of William and Harold’s battle regarding the sovereignty of England began.

Whump! Whump! Whump! The contact resonated within the stately chambers, the court bailiff striking the floor with his staff after the final blow crying the traditional invocation, “Oyez, Oyez, Oyez. All persons having business before the Honorable, the Justices of the Court of Justice of the Association of International Communities are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the Court is now sitting. God save the Association of International Communities and this Honorable Court.”

The twelve judges solemnly filed into the cathedral-like courtroom. Habited in their black robes and white lace jabots, they created an aura of stateliness and morality as they took their places at the long, high bench crowned by the stained glass windows. Chief Justice Di Vinci—appointed by Domenico Contarini, Doge of Venice—gave permission for all to sit, and began the ritual of introducing each of the justices. Each justice had been appointed by the king or similar leader of the counties or territories from which they came. Each was a leading jurist of that member state of the AIC.

Chief Justice Di Vinci administered to them the oath to judge fairly in the matter now before them, of William, Duke of Normandy versus Harold Il, King of England,

While the judges were being introduced, I watched my uncle, the defendant King Harold II, sitting anxiously at Defendant’s table with his brother Leofwine as his counsel. I knew how hard he was trying to convey the same aura of stateliness and justice as this magnificent hall exhibited, although I was well aware that he was far from feeling either. So much was at stake here, the very future of England.

While the opening protocols droned on, I couldn’t help but recall the events leading up to this trial, which had been set in motion long before that January night eight months ago when King Edward died and my uncle became Harold II, King of England.

I was only a child when the Archbishop of Canterbury—Robert of Jumièges, more politician than prelate—spirited my uncle Wulfnoth, King Harold’s youngest brother and me to Duke William’s court. I learned later that it had been the Archbishop who orchestrated the earlier actions of King Edward, forcing the Godwine family into a position opposing the king which resulted in their exile. Robert of Jumièges had also persuaded the King to send Queen Edith to a nunnery. His aim was to have King Edward divorce her, get Edward married to a Norman or at least someone Robert could control and get an heir who would not be a Godwine. The Archbishop wanted no more Godwines in positions of power that could challenge his influence upon the King.

Wily as the Archbishop was, he had not been prepared for the outcry by the English at the appointment of a Norman as Archbishop of Canterbury. When my grandfather and uncles re-entered England in force the following year, they were widely supported. King Edward admitted defeat and restored all their lands. The Witan outlawed Archbishop Robert, and he and many other Normans fled to Normandy. Unfortunately for me and Wulfnoth, when he fled, he abducted us and took us with him. At six years old, I didn’t have any say in the matter, and Wulfnoth, even though older, had no opportunity to resist our sudden abduction either.

Uncle Harold’s decision to seek Wulfnoth and my release wasn’t wrong in itself, just the way it turned out, except for me, I got to return to England. It was as if the gods were lounging around one day bored, with nothing to do and one of them said, “I know. let’s go play with mortals!”

And another said, ”Okay but which ones?”

“Close your eyes, turn around three times and point and those will be the ones we play with,” came the reply.

So the god closed his eyes, turned three times and pointed to the English Channel.

“Oh, that’s no fun” said a god, “that’s just water.”

“But it’s a nice day there, some boats with mortals are sure to be on the water,” joined in another.

“How about we send a swift summer squall along the coast of northern France and see what happens?”

Which they proceeded to do. And Uncle Harold, who was one of those hapless mortals, instead of a pleasant sail to Flanders and visit with Count Baldwin to seek his help in approaching Duke William, Harold ended up shipwrecked on the coast of Ponthieu, France. Guy, Count of Ponthieu, quickly took Harold and his men into custody to hold for ransom.

In the usual course of events, the Godwines would have been apprised of the ransom demand, paid it and Harold and his men would have gone home. But the gods weren’t finished with their game of mortals, so they introduced another quirk of fate to the game: they made sure William Duke of Normandy heard of Harold’s capture.

William, urged by the gods, immediately rode to Ponthieu and demanded that his vassal Count Guy, turn Harold and his men over to him. Earl Harold and his men became the unwilling guests of Duke William until such time as William decided to allow them to return to England, and provided the means to do so. And I met my uncle again for the first time in twelve years!

I was there when my uncle’s naiveté led him to be maneuvered into taking an Oath of fealty to William. That oath could well be the critical issue that would tumble his reign and give William the throne of England! Now that was a thought enough to have even my stomach in a turmoil. Twelve years as William’s guest had taught me well that I didn’t want to be anywhere near William ever again.

I now knew my uncle well since I had been living in his household since my return from Normandy. I knew that while sitting at that table with such apparent calm, his thoughts were racing in circles questioning over and over, could such a reasonable endeavor –to seek the release of a brother and nephew from their enforced stay in Normandy as hostages for the good behavior of a man now dead, possibly have resulted in this moral and political fiasco?

Across the aisle at Plaintiff’s table William, Duke of Normandy—also known as William the Bastard—sat with his counsel, Richard Vos: Vicomte de Conches en Ouches.

After fourteen years as his hostage, I was very familiar with William the Bastard of Normandy. It had been two years since I had been released from his custody. My uncle Wulfnoth, Harold’s youngest brother, had not been so lucky. He was still retained as William’s guest. Duke William certainly looked confident, but then he was arrogant enough to believe that whatever he wanted, would come to pass. And he had decided he wanted England. Never mind that England didn’t want him or any other Norman foreigner as its king!

Now, here we all were, before this international court, William seeking a decision that he, not Harold, should be the King of England. What if this Court were to believe William’s tale of half-truths, innuendos, and outright lies? He could be so convincing! It just might happen!