The sea fig, ch. III, Godwin.
(third chapter, slightly shorter for now ;))
Fog crept in the towers as the city awakened. Godwin watched it slowly come to life below him, as he had done for many years since becoming AEthelred’s chief counsellor. Being there as the people roused and went about their day, almost like puppets in a play, reminded him of how different things can seem if viewed from a different perspective. Down there he’d be like them, indistinguishable in the crowds.
The centre of the town was the main object of his sight, though on the horizon he could easily distinguish the walls that protected Londinium. From up there he could see the exact place where Priest Cynleaf’s body was found, a brownish-coloured area of cobblestone where the blood couldn’t be properly washed as the only tell-tale sign of what had happened.
The first to find him had been a guard, followed by the victim’s wife. Her cries of despair had attracted the attention of the Alehouse clients, who had encircled the body. When Godwin showed up and was told of the victim’s identity, he rushed to the homestead, knowing that not a moment could be wasted.
He still remembered Queen Emma’s arrival at the scene, how her shoulders went rigid at the sight. He had been behind her, but could imagine her eyes widening as she looked at the butchered body. The Priest would have been unrecognisable had it not been for the necklace around his neck.
On the surface, the city didn’t appear particularly affected by the gruesome event, but the tension between Christians and Pagans, Danes and English alike, was tangible. It was starting slowly, with a suspicious look and voices in the streets of how the Christians were betraying the Pagans, or that the Pagans killed each other without remorse. Both branches were asking the same question- Why trust them? - and he watched the play, curious about what the next act would bring.
Sounds of footsteps he didn’t recognise pulled him away from the scenery, and turning around he saw Lady Adela. Unlike the night before, when he had seen her in the company of Princess Gytha, the woman in front of him was the perfect picture of the proper lady. Not a hair out of place, not a braid falling off, her posture as impeccable as it had been when she first crossed the halls of the Queen’s throne.
She curtsied with a nod, walking silently to stand beside him.
“M’Lady, good morning”, he acknowledged her greeting.
“Not so good of a morning for your people, Lord. My Aunt and Agnarr await you”.
He didn’t respond. It wouldn’t have been wise, and he still wasn’t used to her scrutiny. He remembered when he had first been introduced to King Aethelred, after his father’s death. How hard he had found having to withstand the Queen’s piercing stare. At the time he was but a boy, but growing up had not helped his unease with people’s eyes. How dirty they made him feel. He kept looking at the city.
The woman sighed, her breath condensing into a little cloud because of the cold temperatures.
“Why are all eyes on you?”.
Her voice was edged with curiosity, and he smiled. Though he couldn’t see her, he was resolved to avoid her stare as much as he could, he imagined her hanging from whatever he would say next.
“What are you asking, exactly?”
“You are my aunt’s right hand. Why would she suspect you, of all people?”
“Why not? Am I not but a man still? Anything could sway any man to betray their vows, as long as it’s shinier than his King’s crown.”
“I don’t think anyone to be so easily swayed from riches, my Lord. Loyalty is what has kept and keeps Normandy alive. And in this case, the betrayal wasn’t only against a King. It was against a welcomed people.”
“A people welcomed by whom, exactly?”
He heard her chuckle, almost amused by his answer.
“Oh, that’s why. You are one of them”.
Godwin knew what she meant; the Saxon Lords would have done anything to keep the Danes away from their lands. And she wasn’t wrong, though Wessex was the least of his concerns. As the sky cleared up, leaving a small ray of sun and some blue pry through the clouds, he decided he couldn’t let the Queen and Agnarr wait any longer.
A morbid curiosity spread through him, turning to see what expression the woman’s features were morphing into. She seemed to be enjoying Londinium’s clearing sky, almost as if he wasn’t there. Being able to go unseen had saved his life more than once in the past, he was used to being invisible, yet at that moment he felt a pang of disappointment hitting him.
He excused himself bowing to the lady as he headed the way to the castle, when he heard her voice.
“I’m watching you, Lord Godwin”.
She had turned to him, her threatening words spelt with a neutral tone. And he knew they should have worried him, that he shouldn’t have taken them lightly. Because Queen Emma’s eyes on him were already enough to make up for the whole city. The whole Kingdom. Yet for once he didn’t let his past shrink him away from someone’s stare, leaving him feeling like a rat. Let her watch, he thought. And with a sick satisfaction, for what he did not know, he left the towers.
While he walked towards the homestead, through the archways and the guards keeping their watch, he could still sense Lady Adela’s gaze on his skin. He was mainly engaged in predicting what the Queen would ask of him, and how he should respond. But another part of him, a small one but present nonetheless, felt like for once in his life he wasn’t the only spectator of the play that animated everything around him.
Like he was joined by someone to watch the story develop before them, and all they had to do was keep silent and watch.
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