King Edward the Confessor: Deity or Dotard?
- catherinehughesaut
- Jun 7, 2024
- 4 min read
Catherine Hughes
30 May, 2022
King Edward the Confessor: Deity or Dotard?
After the mysterious death of their father in 1057, Edgar the Aetheling and his two sisters (pious Margaret and Cristina) found themselves in a precarious position at the court of King Edward the Confessor of England. With daggers in men’s smiles, they were at the mercy of the King who had kindly taken pity on them. For Margaret, King Edward was the paragon of wisdom and virtue, but for Edgar, he was nothing more than a weak and tiresome old man.
All Edgar could think about was how the king was a stretched out version of the albino bull-calf they had raised back at the estate in Baranya. When it was born, Edgar remembered how the creature seemed to glow with its peculiarity. Sporting light pink skin and a coat and eyelashes of bright white, the calf seemed to look as if it had just come out of the boiling pot and was scalded by the heat. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t get the image of that animal out of his head whenever he looked at his sovereign king. Despite Edward’s height and slender body frame, the king seemed to be as frail and otherworldly as that calf. White wisps of hair fell in individual strands about his head, lifting and shifting with the slightest movement of air. His splotchy skin seemed overcooked in some spots and downright raw in others. Clearly, it was a skin victimized by the outdoors–burnt to a crisp on sun-filled days and tinged with streaks of blue veins on wintry ones. It amazed Edgar that Margaret could sit so spellbound in the man’s company when all he himself could do was imagine his majesty chewing the cud, pieces of grass mixed with spit, splashing and mashing around his yellow teeth.
The king sniffled and addressed them in a stuffy, nasal voice. “And that is why I have commissioned the building of the new church upon this sacred ground. Saint Peter was always quite special to me, especially in my youth. Have I mentioned to you all that it was he who saved me when my mount stumbled from a dangerous cliff?” He picked at his fingernails as he spoke. “It was my spontaneous petition to him that saved us both that day.” Satisfied now with his spiritual testimony, he folded his hands over his flat stomach and waited for his awe-inspired tale to impress his three listeners, but the room remained uncomfortably quiet. When it seemed that, thankfully, at least one member of his audience had actually cared about what he had just said, he swiftly resumed the thread of his story. “And this new structure shall rival the beauty of the monastery in Jumieges, will it not, Regenbald?” Turning toward his counselor for confirmation, Edward’s white hairs floated upward with the wind that resulted from his sudden swivel.
While Edgar continued to gaze in the distance and Cristina studied the lines in her palm, Margaret sat riveted, listening to the words of the king. She then rotated about with interest in order to hear the Norman clerk’s response. At the mention of his name, the man who was sitting at the nearby desk quickly looked up from his paperwork and, in his earnestness to please the king, hurriedly put aside his business. His hair was cut short, shorn well above his ears and forehead. His dark complexion and dark eyes stood in contrast to Edward’s ghostly aura, and his unusual accent confirmed Margaret’s suspicion that the man was no native of this country. “But, of course, my liege, it shall be the greatest abbey in all Christendom. A true testament to the magnitude of your faith and a visual display of your devotion to Saint Peter and all of the saints.” Regenbald bowed his head in deference to the king, his eyes closed in solemnity. “A thousand pilgrimages to Rome could never match the impact that this structure shall have on the faithful of this land. Our Holy Father, Pope Stephen IX–God rest his soul–knew this to be true. His divine approval of this endeavor confirms how you, milord, shall be remembered and honored for all posterity.”
Regenbald maintained this submissive position awaiting the king’s word, but Margaret could barely be contained. She tingled with excitement at being privy to such discourse, especially since the subject of their conversation dealt with the soul’s journey toward the heavenly kingdom. She felt no interest or pull toward temporal matters; she had already committed herself to God, fully aware that meaningful sustenance came only from the contemplation of His word and the study of the lives of Christ and the saints. She could envision the rounded arches of the future church, sturdy and strong in the way that they would encapsulate and house the kind of faith that could move mountains. How incredible to be part of such majesty, to be allowed to be in the presence of the man who was the primary source behind its conception and creation! Edgar just yawned.
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