chronicle would have more permanence. Or a poem. You could be Turpin to William’s Roland. Your strip of linen sounds perilous to me. It could rot in the sun, be eaten by mice, anything. Looked at back to front.”
“Perhaps, but so can a book, and whoever reads books, other than a handful of monks and scholars? A hanging could be displayed anywhere…”
“Big enough.”
“Big enough, I grant you. My idea is that it should have a permanent home in Bayeux, in the new cathedral, but it could travel. And be seen and understood by anyone, lettered or unlettered, Saxon or Norman. And it has the merit of simultaneity, like real life, the good and the bad balancing one another. It seems to me that’s impossible to achieve in books, where you see only one page at a time. Books tell, pictures suggest.”
“Couldn’t that be dangerous? If you want to be sure people understand events from your point of view?”
“Only if we had something to hide.” He pauses, as though expecting some response, then goes on, “So, I shall take you to see this Byrhtnoth hanging, and then you’ll understand what I want.”
A sense of dread creeps over Agatha like a chill. The fire has settled to a dull glow and the room, outside its penumbra, is almost in darkness. She stirs the embers and piles on fresh wood. Perhaps she has misunderstood.
“Why must I understand it, Odo?”
“Didn’t I say? You are to design it for me. That is the service I wish from you. I’ve considered it all ways round, and you’re the obvious choice. You have the gift of representation. You can join my household so that I can recall and describe events for you whenever we can snatch a few minutes. Longer periods are difficult, as you can imagine. Then, when the design is ready, who better to seek out embroiderers with the skills I need? The king’s sister, and a religious, you can gain access anywhere. I will make sure you have all the authority and money you need.”
“Wait, Odo, wait! I can’t do it. I can’t leave here. I haven’t been outside this place for fifteen years. I no longer know how the world works. And just because I used to enjoy drawing as a child doesn’t mean I can succeed in a task such as you envisage. You must find someone else. English needleworkers are supposed to be some of the best in the world. Surely you can find someone better than me in England to design and execute your hanging.”
“You haven’t understood me properly, Agatha. Of course there are people skilled enough in England. There’s a strong tradition in Canterbury, I’ve discovered, which will no doubt be very useful to us…”
“Ah yes, your new seat of power. Tell me, how does a Norman bishop feel recast as a Saxon earl?”
“I have hopes of more.”
“More, Odo? Are you not lord of half our brother’s new kingdom already? Must you have all his toys?”
“Not land, Agatha, the Archbishopric. Can’t you see me as Archbishop of Canterbury?”
She shakes her head in exasperation. Is nothing ever enough for Odo? It is clear William plays on this hunger of his, keeping him close with promises like a falconer training a young bird with titbits, but she thinks it must be an uncomfortable alliance, however much they love one another. “He would be mad to concentrate such power in one pair of hands.” Especially yours, she adds to herself. “What about Lanfranc? Surely he stands to gain also?”
Odo gives a dismissive wave, pulling in a sharp breath between his teeth as the shards of bone grind together in his wrist. “What did Lanfranc do besides go and talk to the Pope? I preached the campaign and gave a hundred ships full of armed men and horses. Besides, Lanfranc will never leave Caen. He’s already turned down Rouen. Why should he want Canterbury? It’s even further from his beloved Alps. Now, this hanging. The reason I need you is this. You’re the one person I can tell everything to. We’re so close in age it sometimes feels to me as
“Perhaps, but so can a book, and whoever reads books, other than a handful of monks and scholars? A hanging could be displayed anywhere…”
“Big enough.”
“Big enough, I grant you. My idea is that it should have a permanent home in Bayeux, in the new cathedral, but it could travel. And be seen and understood by anyone, lettered or unlettered, Saxon or Norman. And it has the merit of simultaneity, like real life, the good and the bad balancing one another. It seems to me that’s impossible to achieve in books, where you see only one page at a time. Books tell, pictures suggest.”
“Couldn’t that be dangerous? If you want to be sure people understand events from your point of view?”
“Only if we had something to hide.” He pauses, as though expecting some response, then goes on, “So, I shall take you to see this Byrhtnoth hanging, and then you’ll understand what I want.”
A sense of dread creeps over Agatha like a chill. The fire has settled to a dull glow and the room, outside its penumbra, is almost in darkness. She stirs the embers and piles on fresh wood. Perhaps she has misunderstood.
“Why must I understand it, Odo?”
“Didn’t I say? You are to design it for me. That is the service I wish from you. I’ve considered it all ways round, and you’re the obvious choice. You have the gift of representation. You can join my household so that I can recall and describe events for you whenever we can snatch a few minutes. Longer periods are difficult, as you can imagine. Then, when the design is ready, who better to seek out embroiderers with the skills I need? The king’s sister, and a religious, you can gain access anywhere. I will make sure you have all the authority and money you need.”
“Wait, Odo, wait! I can’t do it. I can’t leave here. I haven’t been outside this place for fifteen years. I no longer know how the world works. And just because I used to enjoy drawing as a child doesn’t mean I can succeed in a task such as you envisage. You must find someone else. English needleworkers are supposed to be some of the best in the world. Surely you can find someone better than me in England to design and execute your hanging.”
“You haven’t understood me properly, Agatha. Of course there are people skilled enough in England. There’s a strong tradition in Canterbury, I’ve discovered, which will no doubt be very useful to us…”
“Ah yes, your new seat of power. Tell me, how does a Norman bishop feel recast as a Saxon earl?”
“I have hopes of more.”
“More, Odo? Are you not lord of half our brother’s new kingdom already? Must you have all his toys?”
“Not land, Agatha, the Archbishopric. Can’t you see me as Archbishop of Canterbury?”
She shakes her head in exasperation. Is nothing ever enough for Odo? It is clear William plays on this hunger of his, keeping him close with promises like a falconer training a young bird with titbits, but she thinks it must be an uncomfortable alliance, however much they love one another. “He would be mad to concentrate such power in one pair of hands.” Especially yours, she adds to herself. “What about Lanfranc? Surely he stands to gain also?”
Odo gives a dismissive wave, pulling in a sharp breath between his teeth as the shards of bone grind together in his wrist. “What did Lanfranc do besides go and talk to the Pope? I preached the campaign and gave a hundred ships full of armed men and horses. Besides, Lanfranc will never leave Caen. He’s already turned down Rouen. Why should he want Canterbury? It’s even further from his beloved Alps. Now, this hanging. The reason I need you is this. You’re the one person I can tell everything to. We’re so close in age it sometimes feels to me as
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