Gurth and Harold were seated in close commune in the Earl’s chamber, at an hour long after the complin (or second vespers), when Alred entered unexpectedly. The old man’s face was unusually grave, and Harold’s penetrating eye saw that he was gloomy with some matters of great moment.
“Harold,” said the prelate, seating himself, “the hour has come to test thy truth, when thou saidst that thou wert ready to make all sacrifice to thy land, and further, that thou wouldst abide by the counsel of those free from thy passions, and looking on thee only as the instrument of England’s weal.”
“Speak on, father,” said Harold, turning somewhat pale at the solemnity of the address; “I am ready, if the council so desire, to remain a subject, and aid in the choice of a worthier king.”
“Thou divinest me ill,” answered Alred; “I do not call on thee to lay aside the crown, but to crucify the heart. The decree of the Witan assigns Mercia and Northumbria to the sons of Algar. The old demarcations of the heptarchy, as thou knowest, are scarce worn out; it is even now less one monarchy, than various states retaining their own laws, and inhabitated by different races, who under the sub-kings, called earls, acknowledge a supreme head in the Basileus of Britain. Mercia hath its March law and its prince; Northumbria its Dane law and its leader. To elect a king without civil war, these realms, for so they are, must unite with and sanction the Witans elsewhere held. Only thus can the kingdom be firm against foes without and anarchy within; and the more so, from the alliance between the new earls of those great provinces and the House of Gryffyth, which still lives in Caradoc his son. What if at Edward’s death Mercia and Northumbria refuse to sanction thy accession? What if, when all our force were needed against the Norman, the Welch broke loose from their hills, and the Scots from their moors! Malcolm of Cumbria, now King of Scotland, is Tostig’s dearest friend, while his people side with Morcar. Verily these are dangers enow for a new king, even if William’s sword slept in its sheath.”
“Thou speakest the words of wisdom,” said Harold, “but I knew beforehand that he who wears a crown must abjure repose.”
“Not so; there is one way, and but one, to reconcile all England to thy dominion—to win to thee not the cold neutrality but the eager zeal of Mercia and Northumbria; to make the first guard thee from the Welch, the last be thy rampart against the Scot. In a word, thou must ally thyself with the blood of these young earls; thou must wed with Aldyth their sister.”
The Earl sprang to his feet aghast.
“No—no!” he exclaimed; “not that!—any sacrifice but that!—rather forfeit the throne than resign the heart that leans on mine! Thou knowest my pledge to Edith, my cousin; pledge hallowed by the faith of long years. No—no, have mercy—human mercy; I can wed no other!—any sacrifice but that!”
The good prelate, though not unprepared for this burst, was much moved by its genuine anguish; but, steadfast to his purpose, he resumed:
“Alas, my son, so say we all in the hour of trial—any sacrifice but that which duty and Heaven ordain. Resign the throne thou canst not, or thou leavest the land without a ruler, distracted by rival claims and ambitions, an easy prey to the Norman. Resign thy human affections thou canst and must; and the more, O Harold, that even if duty compelled not this new alliance, the old tie is one of sin, which, as king, and as high example in high place to all men, thy conscience within, and the Church without, summon thee to break. How purify the erring lives of the churchman, if thyself a rebel to the Church? and if thou hast thought that thy power as king might prevail on the Roman Pontiff to grant dispensation for wedlock within the degrees, and that so thou mightest legally confirm thy now illegal troth; bethink thee well, thou hast a more dread and urgent boon now to ask—in absolution from thine oath to William. Both prayers, surely, our Roman father will not grant. Wilt thou choose that which absolves from sin, or that which consults but thy carnal affections?”
Harold covered his face with his hands, and groaned aloud in his strong agony.
“Aid me, Gurth,” cried Alred, “thou, sinless and spotless; thou, in whose voice a brother’s love can blend with a Christian’s zeal; aid me, Gurth, to melt the stubborn, but to comfort the human, heart.”
Then Gurth, with a strong effort over himself, knelt by Harold’s side, and in strong simple language, backed the representations of the priest. In truth, all argument drawn from reason, whether in the state of the land, or the new duties to which Harold was committed, were on the one side, and unanswerable; on the other, was but that mighty resistance which love opposes ever to reason. And Harold continued to murmur, while his hands concealed his face.
“Impossible!—she who trusted, who trusts—who so loves—she whose whole youth hath been consumed in patient faith in me!—Resign her! and for another! I cannot—I cannot. Take from me the throne!—Oh vain heart of man, that so long desired its own curse!—Crown the Atheling; my manhood shall defend his youth.—But not this offering! No, no—I will not!”
It were tedious to relate the rest of that prolonged and agitatated conference. All that night, till the last stars waned, and the bells of prime were heard from church and convent, did the priest and the brother alternately plead and remonstrate, chide and soothe; and still Harold’s heart clung to Edith’s, with its bleeding roots. At length they, perhaps not unwisely, left him to himself; and as, whispering low their hopes and their fears of the result of the self-conflict, they went forth from the convent, Haco joined them in the courtyard, and while his cold mournful eye scanned the faces of priest and brother, he asked them “how they had sped?”
Alred shook his head and answered:
“Man’s heart is more strong in the flesh than true to the spirit.”
“Pardon me, father,” said Haco, “if I suggest that your most eloquent and persuasive ally in this, were Edith herself. Start not so incredulously; it is because she loves the Earl more than her own life, that—once show her that the Earl’s safety, greatness, honour, duty, lie in release from his troth to her—that nought save his erring love resists your counsels and his country’s claims—and Edith’s voice will have more power than yours.”
The virtuous prelate, more acquainted with man’s selfishness than woman’s devotion, only replied by an impatient gesture. But Gurth, lately wedded to a woman worthy of him, said gravely:
“Haco speaks well, my father; and methinks it is due to both that Edith should not, unconsulted, be abandoned by him for whom she has abjured all others; to whom she has been as devoted in heart as if sworn wife already. Leave we awhile my brother, never the slave of passion, and with whom England must at last prevail over all selfish thought; and ride we at once to tell to Edith what we have told to him; or rather—woman can best in such a case speak to woman—let us tell all to our Lady—Edward’s wife, Harold’s sister, and Edith’s holy godmother—and abide by her counsel. On the third day we shall return.”
“Go we so charged, noble Gurth,” said Haco, observing the prelate’s reluctant countenance, “and leave we our reverend father to watch over the Earl’s sharp struggle.”
“Thou speakest well, my son,” said the prelate, “and thy mission suits the young and the layman, better than the old and the priest.”
“Let us go, Haco,” said Gurth, briefly. “Deep, sore, and lasting, is the wound I inflict on the brother of my love; and my own heart bleeds in his; but he himself hath taught me to hold England as a Roman held Rome.”
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