Sir Godefroy sees his third king

Sir Godefroy de Richebourg had traveled to many places in his thirty-​​one years, from tiny country manors to the splendid cities of Ghent, Roskilde, and Paris, but he had never seen any place like this long, fertile valley with its many lakes and the dark hills surrounding.

It was not the landscape that surprised him. Rather, it was inconceivable to him that they could ride for hours between the castle of Britmar’s uncle and the castle of the King and not see a single farm. It was strange that the farms they did see at either end of the journey had all been neat and nearly new. The oldest barns and crofts were no more than fourteen years old, he was told, and King Sigefrith often lamented that he had more land than lords to govern it and men to work it. In every other place he knew, the opposite was always true.

Sir Godefroy had visited many manors, halls, and even palaces, but he had never seen anything like the bright, modern castles that were here. These too were no older than fourteen years, though they had been built upon more ancient foundations, and they were clearly built to be defended. And yet there were only a handful of knights all told, and not even enough peasants to take up swords and spears to defend a valley of such a size.

Sir Godefroy had often attended the court of his niece’s cousin, the Count of Flanders, and he had once entered into the presence of the King of France and twice the King of Danes. It was true he had never seen the private chambers of a king, but still this easy informality was not what he would have expected.

The sons of King Harold of England had told him that Lord Hwala would have become a very powerful man if their father had lived, so it seemed to Sir Godefroy that there was something almost pitiful about this exiled, self-​​proclaimed king, his empty valley, his defenseless castles, his skeleton court…

And then the exiled, self-​​proclaimed king came in.

He was a tall man, though no taller than his niece’s husband, Godefroy thought… yet he seemed a monument. His head and jaw, his shoulders, and his hands were square and solid, as if he had been built of the same neat stones as his castles. He held his head as if it truly were above everything he saw, and he walked as if he truly possessed the earth beneath his feet.

Sir Godefroy remembered then that the sons of King Harold had told him that Lord Hwala had more royal blood than their own father, that their father had made himself king by force of will, and that they two had nothing but respect for this man who had made himself king of his own small kingdom in the same way. He could still become a very powerful man, they had said.

In the first instant that this man’s searching eyes were upon him, Sir Godefroy felt his mind stripped naked, as if his every thought were being read, and he was suddenly very sorry he had ever thought to pity this exiled, self-​​proclaimed king.

Sir Godefroy de Richebourg, created knight by the very hand of the Count of Flanders, who had once been in the presence of the King of France and twice the King of Danes, fell to his knees.

“Who is this charming gentleman at my feet?” the King asked. His searching eyes were only merry now. “You may rise, sir.”

“This is Judith’s uncle on her mother’s side, Sir Godefroy de Richebourg,” Sir Britmar told him. “He traveled with us in case a second sword was needed.”

“An excellent idea. Well, runt? I suppose your uncle has already welcomed you back.”

“His aunt took care of the welcoming,” Lord Hingwar chuckled. “Though the fatted calf got a reprieve, it being Michaelmas.”

“A hard day for the fatted goose,” the King sighed, “but he had it coming to him. Now, I trust you have already also told your uncle where we might find your brother?”

“I am very sorry,” Sir Britmar said humbly. “I had no idea Baldwin would even dream of such a thing…”

“I told him he would have had if he had ever seen the girl,” Lord Hingwar laughed. “If I were a little younger I might have run off with her myself.”

“You see your uncle finds this affair very amusing,” the King said, “but it has cost me some grief with the Baron. And if you had ever seen the height and width and breadth of the Baron, and more particularly of his lungs, you would understand my suffering.”

“I’m sorry…” Britmar repeated.

“So, have you heard from him? Where is he?”

“I haven’t heard anything. I thought he was here.”

“It’s only been two weeks, Sigefrith,” Lord Hingwar reminded him. “Even if he had tried to send word from wherever he may be, it might not yet have reached us, or Brit, or anyone else.”

“Where do you suppose he might have gone?” the King asked Britmar.

“I have no idea.”

“Do you suppose he married her?”

“Of course! Of course!” Britmar gasped. “He would never do anything so dishonorable!”

“Stealing a young woman from her uncle is not what I call honorable.”

“I…”

“I know. Even my own all-​​seeing squire failed to detect the capacity for elopement in him,” the King sighed. “But I was twenty-​​five once, and rash, and loved a beautiful woman. In the event the young man comes creeping back looking for forgiveness, you may tell him he has mine, provided he brings her with him as his wife. But I hope for his sake he doesn’t try to come creeping back through Thorhold.”