She began to bring up images on the screen.
‘There are two main players. Harold Godwinson, Earl of Wessex, and Duke William of Normandy – William the Conqueror…’
‘William the Bastard,’ murmured Sykes.
North swept on unheeding. ‘Edward the Confessor, King of England, has no son. William and his fellow Normans firmly believe that Edward, notoriously pro-Norman after his time there in exile, has promised William the throne after his death. Whether he has or not is immaterial because the succession is not his to control. Primogeniture does not yet exist and under Saxon law, the next king is selected by the Witan – the council of leading nobles.
‘Anyway, in 1064, Harold, for reasons which have never been entirely clear, embarks on a sea voyage. Norman chroniclers – from their position as victors, of course – claim that Harold was sent by Edward to do fealty to William, thus confirming William would be king after his death. This is generally considered to be unlikely. Some say the purpose of his journey was to secure the release of members of his family held hostage after Earl Godwin’s revolt in 1051. The Saxons will maintain he was simply on a fishing expedition and the boat was blown off course.
‘Whatever the reason, we do know he left from Bosham and was shipwrecked off Ponthieu. According to the law at the time, any victims of shipwreck were the property of the Count of Ponthieu, Guy I. It might be that initially, Guy was unaware of the status of his prisoner but, somehow, word gets to William – his overlord. Guy is subject to William’s commands and William, probably unable to believe his good luck, makes his commands known immediately. Harold is carted off to Guy’s castle at Beaurain; William arrives to claim him. And that’s where we come in. Back to you, Max.’
She sat down.
‘Thank you, Miss North. We’ll take two pods – Numbers Eight and Five. There will be three members of Security to accompany us, one of whom will be Mr Markham. You have a week or so to get yourselves off to Mrs Enderby to be kitted out. Tunics, hose and cloaks for the men. Longer tunics and cloaks for the women. Hair in long braids please, ladies, and covered with a veil. Doctor Dowson will provide background briefing and language tapes. A few words of Old French will be useful.’
‘What’s the weather?’ enquired Bashford.
‘No idea. At the moment we only know that the shipwreck took place in spring or early summer. Mr Atherton and Miss Prentiss have volunteered to act as Pathfinders. They’ll hop about until they find the date and report back to us. Remember that whatever the season, Norman halls are dark, draughty and smoky and dress accordingly.
‘Once we have the coordinates, We’ll land at Beaurain and mingle with the crowds. This is an important day for Guy – he has something William wants. And it’s a more than important day for William – his enemy has been delivered into his hands. Justice is a public affair – the actual details of the deal will be thrashed out in private, but handing over Harold to William will be done in public. Very politely and with a great deal of ceremony, and there won’t be even a hint that he’s a prisoner and a hostage to his own fortune. Everyone will smile. Hands will be clasped and wine will be drunk, but make no mistake, this is the day that Harold – and ultimately England – are stitched up for all time. With luck, right in front of our eyes.
‘Are there any questions?’
People shook their heads. Our briefings weren’t normally this subdued.
‘I propose,’ I said, ‘that since we have two main protagonists, namely William of Normandy and Harold Godwinson, we divide ourselves into two teams for these assignments. One team will focus on Harold’s part in these events and the other on William’s. In-depth observations, please – appearance, clothes, mannerisms, actions, motives, policies, everything you can think of. It will, I think, be interesting to observe the same events from two opposing points of view. Does anyone have any particular favourite?’
North immediately volunteered for William – not least, I suspected, because she was always telling us one of her ancestors had been at Hastings. On the winning side, obviously. Sykes signed up for Harold. Bashford went with Sykes – no surprise there. Clerk wanted William as well, and Prentiss and Atherton were the Pathfinders.
‘Excellent,’ I said, and it was. I always hesitate to use the expression well-balanced to describe anything related to the History Department, but they were two good teams and with a senior historian on each. I was, of course, ignoring Peterson’s absence. He could join us if he wished. I wondered if he would wish to. What would I do if he left? And what would I do if he never forgave me?
I pushed that thought out of my head and returned to the well-trodden path of procedure.
‘Right, Team William will wait outside, get shots of his arrival – numbers, horses, the grand entrance, and then follow him into the hall. I’m optimistic about it being open to the public. Count Guy is doing his overlord a favour and he’ll want everyone to know that.
Team Harold will be inside. I’ll want shots of the Hall layout and those present – Count Guy, his clothes, his entourage, others present. You all know what to do. If, for some reason, Team William can’t get in, Team Harold will split. Bashford and Sykes will stay on Harold and I’ll take William myself. I particularly want details of William and Harold’s first meeting. How they react to each other. Will they leave at once or is there a feast? Does William treat Harold as an equal? When they leave, how is he mounted? Is he a guest or a prisoner? Remember people, we’re witnessing the opening stages of events that still impact on us today. Any questions? OK, that’s it. Thank you, everyone.’
I dismissed them all, sent Rosie Lee home early, worked quietly for a couple of hours, and then went back to my silent room. I closed the door behind me, crossed to Matthew’s bedroom, and opened the door. The very emptiness of the room leaped out at me. There was his cot. Empty. His giraffe quilt was neatly folded at the bottom. There was the small chest of drawers with his clothes. His brush and comb sat on top. I picked up the brush. I could see dark hairs twisted among the bristles. I replaced it carefully. His ball lay on the rug. I picked it up. It was made of some soft, furry material, warm and brightly coloured. And slightly sucked. He loved his ball. I put it next to his brush. The room smelled of baby powder. It was very quiet in here. I switched out the light and closed the door.
I took a shower, pulled on one of Leon’s T-shirts and went to bed, where I lay and watched the moon travel past the window, and refused to give way.
And that was the end of the second day.
I was up at dawn the next morning, because Leon hadn’t said what time on Friday and, as far as I was concerned, Friday was any time after midnight on Thursday.
The first thing that happened was that Dieter banned me not only from Hawking, from outside, as well. I’d bounded down there, bacon sandwich in one hand, mug of tea in the other, and stood around waiting. I was prepared to wait all day and night if necessary. I was determined that whenever Leon turned up, I would be here. I would be the first thing he and Matthew would see when they exited the pod.
I turned around to find Dieter standing behind me, his early morning coffee clutched in one hand.
‘Max, go back to the main building.’
‘But I…’
‘There’s no need for you to be here. We’ve no idea when Leon will be back. You can’t stay here all day. It’s freezing.’
‘But…’
‘No. You can’t be here. Go back to your department. Find something to do. The time will go so much more quickly. You do yourself no good at all by waiting here. I promise you – as soon as the pod materialises, you’ll get the word. I’ll call you myself. They’ll take a minute or two to shut things down and decontaminate and then, when they open the door, you’ll be waiting for them.’