The Lisk History Society

The Lisk History Society The Cup Of Friendship by Hanna Plant 4C
The harp was the only sound that welcomed Harold into the hall. The hall was big, even by his standards. It was a given fact of course, that English halls were far superior to those of the French. On this occasion however, Harold was willing to admit, that the room he had just entered was of fair proportions.
The melody of the harp was sweet; contrasting with the pungent smell of oriental spices carried to him through the air. Harold knew of the French flair for show, they would certainly not fail to impress. He felt safe in the knowledge that he would remain unmoved and remember that he was in the company of his rival.
He made his way down the hall, defiantly meeting the gaze of all those seated at the table. Harold walked slowly, with what he felt to be an appropriate sense of purpose.
He paused casually half way down the room to stand before the man playing the harp. He watched the musician carefully, who remained unmoved by his presence. I grant he has some skill Harold thought, watching his fingers nimbly weave to and from the strings.
Harold continued towards the head of the table where he could see the tall figure of William watching him. He must be at least six ft Harold judged, straightening himself up accordingly.
William rose in welcome as Harold neared him.
“You are very welcome Sir” William proclaimed.
“As my guest of honour I would be delighted if you would join me in a small feast.”
William motioned for Harold to sit in the chair next to the Duchess Matilda. Harold could not keep a smile from his face as he looked from his host to the Duchess. She must come up to no higher than his knee in height he mused.
Harold sat down and immediately people around the table began to talk again. He could still hear the soft tone of the harp and could now also make out the voice of a man singing in time with the music. Harold felt glad he was no complete stranger; at least he could understand the French tongue.
William glanced over at Harold and smiled.
“Would you care for some wine?” he asked courteously.
Harold nodded eagerly; he knew French wine to be among the best in the world. William clicked his fingers sharply, commanding the attention of a nearby steward. This steward stood beside Harold and obediently filled his goblet with wine. Harold glanced into his cup and nodded in satisfaction, sensing William’s eyes upon him.
He knew the French were accustomed to sipping their wine slowly so Harold supped delicately on his drink, despite feeling rather ridiculous. At home in England he would have obviously gulped the cup down in seconds. Evidently the French did not possess the stomachs of real men.
William snapped his fingers again and within moments large dishes were placed before Harold on the table. Harold eyed the food suspiciously. It appeared to be served in a thin, white sauce, which could not have contrasted more to the tough mutton joints that graced an English feast. He was hungry however and so helped himself to a large serving. It was not altogether disagreeable, though far too spicy for his taste.
The host kept a close eye on his guest and made sure his goblet was never less than half full. Harold was very grateful to him; the wine was indeed very fine and as Harold was becoming more relaxed throughout the evening, he began to abandon his attempt at the restrained French drinking custom.
Further dishes of fruits in custard were presented which Harold helped himself to. They were very heavily flavoured with sugar and were far too sweet to follow the previous spicy dishes, which had left a burning aftertaste in his mouth.
After all the food had been consumed the musician on the harp suddenly began to change the tone of the music, making it slower and heavier until it became almost hypnotic. This was obviously a signal and the table went silent as two Moorish slave girls appeared in the middle of the hall. The room seemed to darken and a huge billow of sweet-smelling smoke filled the hall.
Harold turned to William who smiled.
“I thought you would like some entertainment,” he said.
Harold nodded and turned to face the two girls. They wore foreign silks and exotic scarves upon their faces. Everyone in the hall watched them and when they were sure of everyone’s attention, the two began to dance.
Through this dancing they each mirrored the other’s movements and moved in time to the heavy playing of the harp. Neither girl was particularly beautiful or interested Harold, but their slow, sensual movements pleased him. As he watched their young, curvaceous bodies, he felt the familiar desire rise within him. It seemed so long since he had had a woman.
In frustration Harold clicked his fingers, mimicking his host. William watched as Harold summoned the steward to fill his goblet and grinned as he saw him drain his cup instantly.
The wine seemed much sweeter now to Harold, who began to continuously snap his fingers, commanding more. The music he felt had grown louder and soon all he could hear was the heavy plucking of the harp. Harold became oblivious to all those around him and transfixed on the spiralling sequences of the dancers. He rubbed his eyes wearily as the two girls began to merge into one.
Suddenly the music stopped and a huge puff of smoke appeared, engulfing the dancers. Harold’s eyes widened as the smoke cleared and the slave girls had vanished. William observed Harold’s look of disbelief in amusement. Harold looked round at those sitting near him to check that his eyes were not the cause of such trickery. Everyone looked as shocked as he did.
An eerie silence swept over the hall. Harold drained his goblet yet again, seeking comfort from the strong mead. Within a few moments everyone was speechless. It appeared as though two young men were standing in the place of the dancers. These men had their hands bound and necks held in nooses. Harold in his horror lost control of his goblet, sending it crashing to the floor, breaking the silence. The two men were still there, their heads hung low, as if in shame. Some began to clap in appreciation of the dazzling spectacle. Harold was paralysed with fear.
William watched smugly as his enemy slowly rose from his seat and staggered towards the two noosed men. Harold gripped the table in attempt to steady his wandering feet beneath him. His arms flailed despairingly through the air, sending plates and goblets crashing and scattering to the floor.
“Wulfnoth! Hakon!” he cried deliriously. The gathered company watched in amusement as the strange Englishman took centre stage in the middle of the room.
Oblivious of all else Harold gasped at the two noosed figures near him. Unable to trust his own eyes he held doubts. Were these men not surely his own cousin and nephew?
Harold swaggered closer. Instantly upon him taking this step the noosed men vanished before his eyes.
“No!” Harold shrieked, trembling violently with frustration. His head felt heavy and his mouth suddenly dry. Harold clenched his fists angrily, clawing at his palms. He spun around to face William. His eyes could not detect his enemy amongst the shifting blurs.
“Where are my nephew and cousin?” Harold demanded, shouting in the direction he guessed William to be.
The indrawn breath from the company caused Harold to turn around. At first he could not comprehend their surprise but then upon following their fixed gazes upwards, he saw them. Wulfnoth and Hakon appeared suspended from the beams of the ceiling, imprisoned by their nooses.
Unable to understand Harold sobbed, openly and bitterly. He knew not what to do but stand and watch in horror.
A movement by his side caused Harold to stir. He turned to recognise the harpist standing next to him. The musician brandished a small white cloth with a flourish of his hand. Harold watched him, like a bitter child in incomprehension. The man laid the cloth elegantly into the middle of the air between himself and Harold, as if dressing a banqueting table. Harold wretched and wept in disbelief as the cloth remained suspended in the open space. His gaze went from the bewitched cloth to the images on the ceiling. His knees buckled from beneath him and he crashed to the floor with a thud.
The musician looked at what remained of the Englishman and grinned slyly.
“Swear that you are the Duke William’s man. Swear that you are his and will support his claim to the English throne!” he boomed, grabbing Harold’s hand and thrusting it onto the cloth. Harold gasped, it was as if his hand rested on a solid table. He looked up at the Frenchman in a silent plea.
“Swear it!” the harpist shouted down at Harold. With tears streaming down his face, unaware of what he was saying, Harold uttered the two ultimate words-“I swear.”
William rose from his seat, unable to contain his excitement. Laughing raucously in triumph, the musician pulled back the white cloth, revealing what appeared to be two ancient relics. Harold closed his eyes, swaying in terror and collapsed in a piteous mess on the floor.
“Everyone here has bared witness!” Bishop Odo of Bayeux, William’s half brother, yelled urgently across the hall.
“Harold Godwin has sworn his allegiance to our Lord William. He did this over the toe of St Louis and the ear of St Denis. This oath cannot be broken.”
With these words said, William collapsed triumphantly into his seat and snapped his fingers coolly, commanding more wine to be poured.