And the Rest Is History(41)

William was followed by his coat of arms. A red banner with two golden lions. Or, if you had looked it up beforehand so as to be able to describe it accurately – gules, two lions passant or.

I looked around. Everything was crimson and gold. The hangings, the banners, the canopy over the chair. Everything was in William’s colours. And reinforcing his position as the top dog here, William was accompanied by his half-brother, Bishop Odo. There was a strong family resemblance, which I’m sure both brothers cultivated.

An acolyte preceded them, bearing yet another ruby cross.

I whispered, ‘Miss North, report.’

‘We’re in place. Everything’s fine.’

Sykes was some little way off. I could just see the top of her head with Evans standing next to her.

‘Miss Sykes, report.’

‘We’re good,’ she said in my ear. They both sounded preoccupied so I left them to get on with it.

Bishop Odo was dressed to impress. As burly as his brother, he wore a long, snowy white tunic with sleeves, and his stola hung around his neck. His overgarment, the dalmatic, was made of some stiff material and slit up the sides. His chasuble continued the crimson silk motif, beautifully embroidered in light-catching gold thread. Everything was in crimson and gold to match William. Just in case anyone had failed to get the point.

His crozier, held in his left hand was heavily ornamented and inlaid with ivory, and his pectoral cross was – again – of gold and rubies.

William himself walked alongside, but a polite half pace behind. I was convinced he’d made a conscious effort to associate himself with the Church. And modern politicians think they invented spin, bless them.

William bowed to the altar and strode to his chair, paused for a moment and then, in complete silence, he seated himself. I stole a glimpse at Harold, who stood quietly nearby, politely attentive, as if attending a pleasant diversion Duke William had set up for his amusement. You couldn’t fault his self-control.

The bishop was followed by a whole raft of chanting clerics who, in turn, were followed by two men carrying a box suspended between two long poles. I craned my neck. This was it.

With great care and reverence, the box was set up in front of the main altar. After a suitable pause to collect everyone’s attention, the heavily embroidered cloth was removed. A stir ran through the crowd and as one, people knelt. It was another altar. A portable altar – the kind a household would carry with them as they travelled from one home to another.

Duke William was making doubly sure. One oath – two altars. Harold’s wiggle room was getting smaller by the moment. Lying on top of the altar was a huge Bible, leather bound and already old even in this time. Under that was a blood red cloth, again embroidered with the lions of Normandy.

It would appear Harold had only to take a simple oath on the Bible. I looked for signs of relief in his face. To break a simple oath was not so serious. His face was expressionless, however. William was not the only one giving nothing away.

We rose to our feet, along with everyone else.

The bishop greeted the clerics who, in turn, bowed to William. No one spoke to Harold.

Even in this huge space, and even with all these hundreds of people around me, I could hear only silence. Complete silence. No one even coughed.

Stepping forwards, Bishop Odo respectfully guided Harold to the space between the two altars. I could hear his low murmur as he instructed Harold to place a hand on each altar. A minor cleric held a golden cross before him. Another spoke the oath which Harold was required to repeat.

He did so, loudly and clearly. In front of everyone present, he promised to support William, Duke of Normandy, in his claim to the throne of England, so help him God. His voice echoed around the huge stone vault of Bayeux Cathedral as he steadfastly held the bishop’s gaze. His manner was solemn and dignified, as befitted a man taking an oath before God. There was nothing to suggest he had treachery in mind. All around us, people’s heads were nodding in approval. Not more than ten feet away from Harold, William’s face was expressionless.

The best thing about being a sweeper is that I was free to look around. With both teams concentrating on their particular target, I was able to stare about me. At the rapt faces all around. Everyone was craning forwards, desperate not to miss a moment of what was going on. I turned back to William, looking for some clue in his face. I was wasting my time. Adept at displaying only what he wanted to, William was showing nothing more than polite interest and respect for the occasion, and was, apparently, quite relaxed about the whole thing. It’s no big deal, said his posture. We’ll get through this, nip off for a quick drink and you could be home by this time next week. Trust me. He sat on his throne, calm and unperturbed, but when I looked closely, he was gripping the arms of his chair so hard that his fingers had turned white.

The ceremony was quite short. Only a few minutes and it was done. Once the oath was taken, there was no need to linger. Both William and Harold were now irrevocably set on the road to Hastings.

Harold finished speaking, lowered his arms to his sides, genuflected three times and bowed to the golden cross, which was taken away. The Bible was carefully removed.

Obviously thinking the ceremony was finished, Harold turned to William who stood up and made a slight gesture. I saw tension in those standing around him. The moment had come.

With a gesture similar to that of a modern conjuror, a minor cleric whipped the crimson cloth off the second altar.