Godiva

by Nerys Jones

  ‘Father Godric accompanied me to the west wall. Then, inside, I was alone. People do pray alone, you know.’

  ‘Then why are you so late?’

  ‘The king delayed me.’

  Lovric groaned. ‘That is why I told you to stay in the hostelry. And you agreed. I told you, you can go out with me whenever you want to.’

  ‘A church is different.’

  ‘Obviously it is not. There was Edward, waiting for you, just as I feared.’

  ‘No, he stumbled upon me . . .’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Godiva. The cathedral is his headquarters. Every priest and servant is a spy, or a guard with a weapon under his robes.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you say so? It was the last thing I would expect in a holy place.’

  Lovric felt again his frustration with Godiva, and then with himself. He wanted total compliance from her – and for very good reasons – and she was not capable of giving it. For better or worse, she was her own woman, and getting more so with every month she spent working on her plans in Coventry.

  ‘You’d better tell me what else you have to say about this meeting,’ he said testily.

  ‘I met Harry in the cathedral.’

  ‘Oh God, no.’

  ‘Yes. I met him in the cathedral, at Vespers. Lovric, he was wearing ashen wool, penitential robes.’

  Lovric slumped forward, put his head in his hands and signalled to her to tell him everything.

  ‘And so,’ she concluded several painful minutes later, ‘the reason for all this – for the penance, for Harry’s wish to take vows as a monk – is love between men. I don’t understand. I

  thought it was something that takes place between little boys, and sometimes carries on when a man is too ugly or timid to get a woman’s love. I thought it was a joke – not something that can ruin a strong young man’s life. Harry will be lost to us. He will take vows and live in a monastery somewhere and never have children.’

  Lovric finally sat up and looked her in the face. ‘Eva, it did not have to be like this for Harry. If Edward had not interfered, if he had not demanded that Harry be brought to Winchester and turned over to the bishop, then the boy could have remained as he was in Siward’s household. He could have had the life of a warrior, with honour, lands, respect, even a family one day, and he could have kept Edmund at his side . . .’

  ‘Edmund?’ she cut across him. ‘How did you know his lover’s name? I didn’t mention it. I know I didn’t.’

  Lovric paused, looked away and then went on reluctantly. ‘Siward told me three years ago that Harry seemed to fall in love with certain men. With my consent he arranged for him to meet a suitable companion. The two boys are now devoted. They have grown together as young soldiers. They conduct themselves decently and neither intrudes on other men’s lives. No one despises them. This could have gone on until the relationship came to a natural end.’

  ‘And I need never have known. Is that what you are saying, Lovric?’ Godiva almost spat at him.

  ‘I thought it better.’

  ‘I am his mother! You had no right to deceive me.’

  ‘But you might have taken it badly. Many parents do. There was no point in disturbing your peace of mind.’

  ‘You don’t trust me. You do not even know me any more,’ she shouted. ‘How could you even imagine that I would love him less? You say “many parents do”, but I am not just any parent. I

  am your wife, and you know me. Then obviously you judge me to be weak and unreliable.’

  ‘Mothers and sons . . .’ he began, and then he stopped. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said miserably. ‘You know me, Eva. You know I have grown used to keeping a great many things to myself. When I am in dangerous parts of the country I make decisions on my own. I have to. I am a commander. It is simply my habit now. But you are right that I should have talked with you about Harry. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?’

  Yes, she thought, but what about that woman, Estrith? She hadn’t been trusted with the whole truth about her, she was sure of that. And then there was the matter of this visit to see the king: Lovric had not told her, at least not until they were already on their way to Winchester, that Edward had demanded her presence. Now he was apologizing for past acts of subterfuge while no doubt continuing to deceive.

  ‘Will you forgive me?’ he repeated.

  ‘Will you stop keeping secrets from me?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ he said, but even he knew his promise sounded hollow.

  He got up and paced the floor. Godiva expected that when next he spoke he would sound decisive and look relieved. His mind would be racing ahead towards doing something, instead of dwelling on what lay between them – this sudden chasm of disillusionment in which small flowers of hatred were already seeding and waiting for a chance to bloom.

  Godiva’s mind was moving quickly too, but backwards, towards the memory of Adel, the little wife of Oxford, with her rich clothes, bruised cheek and ruined love. She shuddered, and then she pulled herself together. She would not harbour these resentments against Lovric. She would force herself, through sheer willpower, to hold on to her faith in him, the faith that had sustained her for years during his long, dreary absences.

  ‘Lovric,’ she said. ‘I will forgive you. It is being here in Winchester that causes friction between us. Let us go home now. The king has had me in his presence, as he wished, and made me witness both my sons’ humiliation. And I too have been humiliated in this horrible town. He must have had his fill of tormenting me by now.’

  He threw his arms around her and kissed her thankfully. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘this place is unlucky for us. I am forced to ignore Edward’s provocations, but it grows harder with each incident. Before anything else can happen you should go home at full speed.’

  ‘Me? I should go home? Alone? I meant that we would go back together. That is what I meant, and I thought you did too.’

  ‘There are a few more charters that we must debate.’

  ‘No, Lovric! Come home with me. It’s been a shock to learn about Harry. And I’m worried about what I’ll have to face in Coventry. I would like your help when I get home, and I’d like to be comforted for once. You’re never there with me when there’s trouble . . .’

  ‘But, Eva, be reasonable.’

  ‘When I asked you to be reasonable, were you? No. You insisted I come here with you, and no good has come of it.’

  ‘You wanted to come. You said you wanted to see Harry.’

  ‘Yes, but you’d have talked me out of coming here unless you wanted it, too. I know you, Lovric. That is what you’d have done.’

  ‘But I did want you here to comfort me.’

  ‘Even that isn’t quite true. You said it was for your comfort, but really it was to appease the king. But would Edward have made more mischief if I had refused to come to Winchester? I don’t think so. I’m irrelevant to this great game of chess he is playing with you, the earls.’

  ‘Alfgar was released, though . . .’

  ‘But not because of anything I did. I never made a plea for him. I need never have come here at all. But no! You had to insist and have it all your way. Well, I came with you to comfort you, as you asked. Now you can come home and comfort me. Fair’s fair, Lovric.’

  He sighed deeply again and started to put his arm round her, but backed off when he saw the fury on her face. She was right, he knew. But he knew other things too, things that he had never confided to Godiva. Things about war – civil war – and its great imminence. He looked at her again and saw that her anger was turning cold. Soon it would be hatred. It was worth the risk of telling her a bit of the truth, he thought, if it would drive that dreadful expression from her face.

  ‘Listen, Eva,’ he started. ‘My love,’ he tried again. ‘I acknowledge that you are right. But my situation is more complicated than it seems, and that is why I cannot come home with you tomorrow.’

  She crossed her arms and looked at him with utter scepticism.

  ‘A
lfgar,’ he said very quietly, ‘Alfgar did not go to Peterborough. I sent men to intercept him and tell him to go back west, to Bristol, and then bring his soldiers down from the Welsh border. I already opened secret negotiations myself with some of the Welsh princes and their Irish allies six months ago. That’s what I was doing while I was away from you. I sailed from Bristol to the Isle of Anglesey, off the north Wales coast, and we all met there. I don’t want to make war against the king, but if Edward goes too far with his Norman friends, we’ll attack him from the west, Siward will come down from the north and Godwin will destroy his navy and southern fortresses. We’ll divide England into three zones, abolish the monarchy and rule the country through a council of earls and thegns. But we must be careful not to jump too soon, before our plans are properly developed, or we’ll be destroyed. In the interim I must undermine Edward’s confidence, but without making him distrust me personally. I

  need to spend several more days close to his side, building his faith in me, but also making him fear for his crown. Later, when one or two unexpected, major attacks have taken place – on Chester and Ludlow probably – Edward will be terrified. Then he’ll eat out of our hands.’

  ‘And you’ll get Harry home first, before war begins?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Overwhelmed by the gravity of what she had just heard, Godiva could think of nothing more to say for the moment. She filled large glasses of red wine for each of them, and called in Agatha to play the lute and sing a soothing song while they ate the pasties and drank ever more wine, and when they finished that they turned to the beer. Agatha was not well trained, but she could hold a tune on the strings and she knew many ballads, including duets and three-part pieces. Soon all three were singing loudly. Then Father Godric asked permission to join in and the chamber quickly became a scene of rowdy good cheer such as would have seemed impossible a mere hour ago.

  And yet, as the candles died down and she closed her eyes, sleep would not come to Godiva. War – how could she even think of welcoming that? She had seen enough village skirmishes at the border to know about burning farmhouses, little girls raped and mangled corpses polluting wells and streams. War was only worth it when peace was failing and military success seemed certain. But what had sounded so convincing when put in Lovric’s commanding language seemed now, as she lay alone with her thoughts in the darkness, to be hopelessly difficult. Too many important men would have to put aside their competing interests and work together. Would Godwin do that? She almost laughed. He had said he wanted to cooperate with Siward and Lovric – but that was not the same as waging war with them against Edward. He hadn’t said a word about that; no, he said they should work together to keep the king on the throne. This new plan of the earls – was it a plan? Or just one possibility? And who was in on it? Was Alfgar? No – he had seen nothing wrong with being sent to Peterborough, other than a shortage of whorehouses. Lovric had been vague, mentioning nothing more specific than possible attacks on Ludlow and Chester. But those were details she could have invented herself. He had talked in grand, general terms, quite unlike the detailed description he had given her of conditions on the Welsh border at the time of Alfgar’s arrest. Yes, she concluded, he had been vague and possibly misleading. Perhaps, after all, he wanted to stay in Winchester for other reasons. Estrith, for instance.

  Godiva tossed restlessly as Lovric’s snores deepened, and when she finally fell asleep it was in a mood of cold, weary resignation, not the optimistic faith in their future that had flickered briefly when, just a short while ago, she had believed in what he was saying. She woke once in the night, sat up and remembered what she had just dreamed. It was her own voice, loudly telling her what she was determined to deny: I do not love him any more.

  At dawn a rider set out from Winchester, carrying a pennant on which the House of Lovric’s black eagle fluttered in the air. His mission was to tell all those who were to accommodate the Earl of Mercia’s wife when they should expect her arrival and what kind of hospitality they owed her. Simple – that was the message. Godiva was going home with all possible speed and wanted no late-night feasting – nothing but sustenance, a bed, a stable and departure every day at dawn, until she was thankfully back in her own domain.

  The riding party assembled at the north-west gate of the city as the cathedral bell tolled the eighth hour of the day. Lovric supervised the departure, making sure that the small group of men who would be Godiva’s bodyguard were properly equipped and that their horses were up to a long, fast ride. There were eight men in all, enough for a journey through country that was free of bandits, and someone had decided to put Bret on the biggest stallion, riding alongside Godiva near the front of the group.

  ‘You can handle this horse, can you, without stirrups?’ Lovric asked Bret. ‘He’s a big one, and fast.’

  ‘I trust so, sir,’ Bret replied. ‘The captain put me here alongside your lady.’

  ‘Well, he knows more about these horses than I do,’ Lovric observed. ‘Good. You’re doing well, man. Take care on this journey.’

  ‘Without fail,’ Bret replied.

  The group had drawn up near the arch of the gate when a breathless messenger arrived. ‘A gift for the lady,’ he said to one of the servants. Then he saw Godiva and ran to her. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is a parting gift from Queen Edith.’ He thrust the small object, wrapped in blue silk and tied with gold braid, into Godiva’s hand and then, without waiting for a reply, he left.

  The little package opened easily, revealing inside what appeared to be nothing more than a strip of carved bone, lying on its side. Holding it up, Godiva could see it was a comb, yellowed with age and so worn that it had lost two or three of its teeth. It was made of rare, finely carved elephant ivory, and yet its design seemed familiar. On one end small flowers clustered, and on the other end, where one would hold the comb to use it, a knob protruded that seemed to show the figure of a woman astride a horse, with one leg hanging down the end of the comb. The woman was naked and had long, loose hair. A bird, so minute and worn it was hardly visible, perched on her shoulder with its beak open to sing.

  ‘Agatha, what do you think of this?’ Godiva asked.

  ‘Old, mistress. Like them combs we saw in the market. The trader said Queen Edith bought some Roman ones.’ She paused and examined the comb. ‘But this ain’t Roman, I’ll warrant. This lady riding on a horse with a bird singing on her shoulder, that would be Rhiannon. Gwen told me all about her. The Welsh tell stories of her, but the priests don’t like her. The horse, you see, mistress; Rhiannon was a horse spirit, or goddess maybe. I don’t really know . . .’ Agatha stopped, embarrassed at revealing how much she knew of pagan lore. She passed the comb back to Godiva, who looked at it again, even more suspiciously now.

  ‘I’ll throw it away,’ she said, ‘in some remote spot.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Agatha gasped. ‘That would be pure unlucky, mistress. You’ll have to keep her now you’ve got her. Just like you can’t visit the White Horse only once.’

  ‘Oh, Holy Mary!’ Godiva whispered to herself as realization dawned on her. Edith knows, and the king must know too, that she had gone to the White Horse. Worse, they had performed the pagan ritual of walking the line of the Horse’s back. In the eyes of the king, she and Lovric must be sinners no less than their younger son.

  ‘Hide this thing,’ she said to Agatha. ‘We’ll do something with it when we get home. But now, let us get out of Winchester as quickly as we can.’

  As Lovric wished everyone a safe journey, Bret rode round the entire party, making sure they were all in properly matched pairs, and then he returned to Godiva’s side and put her horse’s reins in her hand. Even from some distance the warmth of the smile she gave him was obvious. To her husband, in contrast, she gave what even a priest could tell was a cool kiss of farewell.

  The monk who stood watching in the shadows, his hood concealing his face, saw Lovric step back and take stock of the situation: his beautiful wife on her way hom
e with an admirable young man at her side. The earl looked ill at ease and waved the riding party on abruptly. The monk smiled and disappeared into the crowd. Soon he was deep inside the royal palace, murmuring in the ear of the man who was expecting him.

  ‘Has she gone?’ Edward asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Father Francis answered. ‘All is well, your majesty.’

  ‘Yes,’ Edward smiled. ‘I believe all is very well.’

  He went back to the game of chess that he was playing with the queen.

  ‘You are playing a long game, child,’ he said quietly as he observed her face. Her pallid cheek rested in her hand, motionless and thoughtful, a replica of the two ivory queens on the board.

  ‘The better to amuse you, great lord,’ she replied, keeping her eyes fixed on his bishop. ‘And there will be more to amuse you soon, of that I am sure.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Edward. ‘How good it is that we begin to truly understand each other, my dear little girl.’

  ‘That is what daughters are for,’ said Edith. ‘To please their fathers. And you are the best daddy in the land, dear Edward.’

  She took her hand away from her cheek and briefly widened her pale-blue eyes in mock-innocence. Edward examined her for several moments, rubbed his hand across his mouth thoughtfully, and then leaned forward to move his ivory bishop on the beautifully carved chess board that he had just received from a young admirer in Normandy, a certain William – a bastard unfortunately, but talented and promising. A boy to be encouraged, thought Edward, as he watched Edith stoop forward and stare intently like a heron at a fish in shallow water, taking stock of her position and appraising the exact moment and precise angle from which to strike next.

  ‘Your move,’ he said.

  ‘Not yet. Let us dine now and continue later. There is no need to hurry this game, is there, Edward my dear? You are the king and I am your queen. It follows that we have all the time in the world to amuse ourselves.’

  Nine

  On the winding back roads where the horses often slowed to a trot there were many opportunities for Bret to converse with Godiva. Judging by appearances, though, it was she who led the talking, turning often towards him, gesturing and sometimes smiling. Agatha and Father Godric, deafened by the sound of the horses’ hooves, observed the backs of their heads and kept watch for any untoward gesture. But nothing significant took place, and what had at first appeared to be too intimate an association between their mistress and the huntsman quickly became uninteresting. Soon the maid and the priest found themselves gossiping about people in Coventry and the state of affairs that would meet them when they got home. The thought of the difficulties that might lie ahead dampened their conversation as both wondered silently why they had been in such a rush to go back home and pick up the threads of troubled village life.