Harold : the Last of the Saxon Kings — Complete by Lytton (rm book recommendations .TXT) 📕

Tostig sate in the halls of Bruges, and with him sate Judith, his haughty wife. The Earl and his Countess were playing at chess, (or the game resembling it, which amused the idlesse of that age,) and the Countess had put her lord’s game into mortal disorder, when Tostig swept his hand over the board, and the pieces rolled on the floor.

“That is one way to prevent defeat,” said Judith, with a half smile and half frown.

“It is the way of the bold and the wise, wife mine,” answered Tostig, rising, “let all be destruction where thou thyself canst win not! Peace to these trifles! I cannot keep my mind to the mock fight; it flies to the real. Our last news sours the taste of the wine, and steals the sleep from my couch. It says that Edward cannot live through the winter, and that all men bruit abroad, there can be no king save Harold my brother.”

“And will thy brother as King give to thee again thy domain as Earl?”

“He must!” answered Tostig, “and, despite all our breaches, with soft message he will. For Harold has the heart of the Saxon, to which the sons of one father are dear; and Githa, my mother, when we first fled, controlled the voice of my revenge, and bade me wait patient and hope yet.”

Scarce had these words fallen from Tostig’s lips, when the chief of his Danish house-carles came in, and announced the arrival of a bode from England.

“His news? his news?” cried the Earl, “with his own lips let him speak his news.”

The house-carle withdrew but to usher in the messenger, an Anglo-Dane.

“The weight on thy brow shows the load on thy heart,” cried Tostig. “Speak, and be brief.”

“Edward is dead.”

“Ha? and who reigns?”

“Thy brother is chosen and crowned.”

The face of the Earl grew red and pale in a breath, and successive emotions of envy and old rivalship, humbled pride and fierce discontent, passed across his turbulent heart. But these died away as the predominant thought of self-interest, and somewhat of that admiration for success which often seems like magnanimity in grasping minds, and something too of haughty exultation, that he stood a King’s brother in the halls of his exile, came to chase away the more hostile and menacing feelings. Then Judith approached with joy on her brow, and said:

“We shall no more eat the bread of dependence even at the hand of a father; and since Harold hath no dame to proclaim to the Church, and to place on the dais, thy wife, O my Tostig, will have state in far England little less than her sister in Rouen.”

“Methinks so will it be,” said Tostig. “How now, nuncius? why lookest thou so grim, and why shakest thou thy head?”

“Small chance for thy dame to keep state in the halls of the King; small hope for thyself to win back thy broad earldom. But a few weeks ere thy brother won the crown, he won also a bride in the house of thy spoiler and foe. Aldyth, the sister of Edwin and Morcar, is Lady of England; and that union shuts thee out from Northumbria for ever.”

At these words, as if stricken by some deadly and inexpressible insult, the Earl recoiled, and stood a moment mute with rage and amaze. His singular beauty became distorted into the lineaments of a fiend. He stamped with his foot, as he thundered a terrible curse. Then haughtily waving his hand to the bode, in sign of dismissal, he strode to and fro the room in gloomy perturbation.

Judith, like her sister Matilda, a woman fierce and vindictive, continued, by that sharp venom that lies in the tongue of the sex, to incite still more the intense resentment of her lord. Perhaps some female jealousies of Aldyth might contribute to increase her own indignation. But without such frivolous addition to anger, there was cause eno’ in this marriage thoroughly to complete the alienation between the King and his brother. It was impossible that one so revengeful as Tostig should not cherish the