The servants and a few of the younger nuns turned away almost immediately, but the elder sisters remained, the one wielding the candlestick planting her legs wide, brandishing her weapon between both hands. Eadgifu inclined her head in gratitude, but commanded, “You may go. Even you, Hilteburge.”
“It is not seemly to have a man in your chambers at this hour, lady. I will stay.”
Swegn came up behind the Abbess, his sword held loose in his hand, as threatening to these ladies of peace as it would have been had he held it ready for use.
“Like she said, I am a friend. Get you gone, old crone.”
Seeing a look of opposition setting on Hilteburge’s stubborn, wrinkled old face, Eadgifu hastily intervened with a tactful compromise. “I will leave the door open, and you shall wait below.”
The old nun glowered, but realised she had been outmanoeuvred. She descended the steps, frowning darkly as the door shut with a heavy thud behind her, as she had known it would. She grasped hold of one of the servants who had not been so quick about returning to his bed, ordered him to saddle a horse and ride hard for Leominster town.
“Fetch the Reeve, tell him we have a madman threatening our safety—no, tell him we have captured a Welshman, that will bring him all the quicker.”
Swegn re-barred the door and ran a finger across Eadgifu’s cheek. She tilted her head away from his touch. Impulse had brought him to the convent, and the need for aid and hospitality. Now that he was here, though, he remembered just how beautiful Eadgifu was and that he had once had the chance of having her for his own. “You are as beautiful now as you were five years ago. You were a fool to have agreed to this imprisonment. As my wife you could have worn the finest silk, and jewels.”
“As your wife, I would have been treated no differently than when I was your mistress, forgotten about as soon as your eye turned elsewhere. I am content here as Abbess. I have no wish to be anyone’s wife, least of all yours.”
“You were a fool to have allowed yourself to be talked into coming to this wretched place, Eadgifu. You are a woman of the world, you need a man, and children to run around your skirts.”
“I was a fool ever to have loved you,” Eadgifu retorted, but he heard the wistfulness that told him she remembered.
Swegn took hold of her wrist, drawing her nearer so that their bodies almost touched. Her breasts rose and fell beneath the thinness of her linen shift, her lips were moist, slightly parted.
“Do you remember,” he said, his voice low and husky, “when we made love in the woods beside the river? We were one, you and I, Eadgifu. One body, one love. We could be so again, were you only to consent to come with me.”
Oh, Eadgifu remembered! She remembered the fear as she realised, after he had taken her maidenhood and then left her without a word, that he would not be coming back for her. Remembered the shame and anger of her father and mother; the pain inflicted by that peasant woman who had rid her of the child she had conceived.
Imprisoned, Swegn had said. Incarcerated. He had used those words five years ago, when finally he had decided to return for her. It was too late by then, she was already Abbess, a respectable position for the soiled daughter of a lord. And by then she had realised the true nature of a man like Swegn. A man who changed his mind on a whim, who was selfish and had no feeling for the women he took, then discarded.
“You will regret refusing me,” he had shouted at her. “One day, when you are a lonely old woman, you will regret refusing all that you could have had from me!”
She had wept after he had gone that second time, galloping away with not a backward glance. Wept for what might have been, for what was—being shut away from the world in a nunnery. But the tranquillity of Leominster had seeped into her, easing her pain. Monastic life suited her quiet temperament; she found happiness. She would never have been happy with Swegn. Then, he had tried to change her mind by using charm and affection and, when that had failed, bribery and threats. Now, here he was these years later, trying once again to persuade her to go with him.
Swegn had no time for the niceties of subtle persuasion this time round; before long, Edward would learn that he had resisted arrest and send more men after him. Christ in His Heaven, he would not go to the King on bended knee, begging forgiveness! Was it not Edward’s fault that Wales was yet again laughing at England—would he take the blame, though, the responsibility? Like hell he would! At court, Swegn would be reprimanded and ridiculed, verbally flogged; probably threatened with enforced exile now that he had also killed two of the King’s men. Damn the King—and damn Wales. Damn the whole of bloody England!
Swegn tossed back the jug and gulped the wine down his throat. Much of it dribbled down his cheeks and moustache, dripped on to his cloak and tunic. He tossed the emptied jug aside, belched. “I will be plain with you,” he said. “I want a woman to come with me to Denmark, where they appreciate good soldiers; where Svein Estrithson pays handsome reward for men of my ability. I was on the road, decided you would suit me well.”
Eadgifu appeared quite calm, although her heartbeat was pulsing. Before, she had been infatuated by Swegn’s handsome face and rugged manliness. Fascinated, too, by his quick laughter, his boasting and drunken bravado, the wild plans plucked at random from the wind that were, as she later discovered, as quickly tossed aside. Yet she knew also of his temper. He loved her, he had once said. Loved her so much that he had left her to face the torture of aborting her child? Ah no, Swegn loved no one but himself.
He bent to kiss her, but she stepped aside, put several paces between them.
“God’s truth, you are as cold as ice!” Swegn snarled. “Do you now loathe me so much that my touch, the taste of my kiss, means nothing?”
“I do not hate you, Swegn Godwinesson, but nor do I love you. I will not come with you.”
The drink on top of an empty belly was beginning to take hold of Swegn’s senses. Wales had made the fool of him, so had the King…not this woman also. “So, that is your final word? You do not want me as husband.”
Eadgifu shook her head. “I want you to go, to leave me in peace.”
Swegn turned from her, stood head bowed, shoulders slumped. Finally he spread his hands in submission. “So be it.” He laughed, crossed to the door, opened it and bellowed down the stairwell for someone to fetch his horse up to the gateway. To Eadgifu said, with a shrug and a smile. “You understand, I had to try.”
Releasing her breath—she had not realised how tight she had held it—the Abbess gave him a single nod. She would not go with him, but aye, she understood.
“I have but one request before I go back out into the night,” he said. “Pull a gown on over that night shift and a pair of shoes on to your feet. Come with me to the gate, bid me farewell for the last time.”
Eadgifu hesitated, but what harm would come of it? She was in a nunnery, there were people all around…
His horse was a showy beast with an unpredictable temper, one to suit Swegn’s nature. He mounted, curbing the animal as he danced forward, bent to cup Eadgifu’s chin in his hand. She was shivering despite the thickness of her cloak wrapped tight around her body.
“It is a pity, madam, that you have decided against me, for I would have you as my own.” With one hand tight around the reins, Swegn leant down, grasped Eadgifu’s waist with the other and placed his mouth firm over hers. The kiss was lingering and intense, drawing gasps of horror and muttered rebuke from those several shocked nuns who watched, impatient for this brash intruder to leave. The protests turned to screams as Swegn lifted the Abbess off her feet and swung her in front of his saddle, across his stallion’s neck.
Godwinesson’s exultant guffaw of laughter drowned Eadgifu’s own high, unending scream as he drove his spurs into his horse’s flanks, sending the great stallion leaping forward into a gallop and out into the darkness beyond the gate.
18
Sandwich
Edith had walked for about two miles along the beach, deep in her own thoughts, when she heard the galloping of hooves coming from the direction of the village. She recognised the horse before the rider; her brother Tostig’s chestnut was a distinctive animal.
She compressed her lips, irritated by the unwanted intrusion. For the past three days the rain-sodden gales blowing in off the sea had kept her and her family entombed within the King’s residence here at Sandwich, the only apparent topic of conversation being Swegn’s latest deplorable offence. Now that the wind was dropping, the fleet could set sail at last and her father and brothers would be gone. She would not be rid of Edward, though, for he would not be sailing with them to blockade the Kent coast. Edward disliked the sea, it made his stomach queasy and his head dizzy. He preferred to keep his feet firmly on dry land, and send only his good wishes and his heart out with those men defending his country and his crown against invasion by Magnus of Norway.
One disillusionment had followed another these months since Edith’s wedding. She was a queen, with the finest jewels and gowns and servants, wealth and land of her own. Everyone in England, save for the King, deferred to her command or whim. Even Robert Champart was obliged to offer her the respect due to a king’s wife, the Lady of England. Except Robert Champart knew that Edward was incapable of being a husband to her.
Emma had bought his silence, but Edith knew the thoughts were always there, manifested in that supercilious sneer. What exactly the Dowager Queen had negotiated with her son, Edith was uncertain—all Emma had told her was that Edward agreed to honour her as wife but had chosen to serve God by abstaining from carnal intimacy, a private decision, to be kept for their own knowledge. If the earls and nobles wondered or passed discreet conjecture between themselves of the peculiar relationship there was little they could do about it publicly—her father among them. Not even he could enquire of the king’s personal capabilities.
Tostig was reining in his horse, sand and pebbles scattering as the beast skidded to a halt. He dismounted, his face grim with rage. She closed her eyes, sighed. What now? What new upset had occurred?
“That damned husband of yours, do you know what he has done? How he has further slighted me—us!”
“My husband,” Edith responded tartly, “is the King. He may do as he pleases. I must remind you that although I am your sister, I am also the Queen. I expect to be greeted as such.” She realised the words sounded haughty, but there were already too many disappointments in this sham of a marriage without losing her right to respect as well. She saw the flicker of annoyance in Tostig’s eye, but he bowed—briefly. It would suffice.
“Edward has outlawed Swegn, has rescinded his earldom.”
Edith swallowed the scream of annoyed frustration that lurched into her throat. Swegn! Swegn! Swegn! That was all she had heard from Edward, Tostig, her father—at court, in Council…Swegn. Damned, bloody Swegn! She rotated on her heel and stalked off. Another disappointment, another disillusion. She had always looked to Swegn as her hero and champion. The elder brother who throughout her childhood had comforted her tears; bandaged her grazed knees; taken her riding; told her stories. Swegn never chastised her, always found a way to smuggle her some hot pasty or sweet little apple if ever their mother had sent her to bed without supper. Swegn had always brought her the best presents, had taken interest in her poetry and music; had laughed and danced with her, coddled her. Tostig was also a favourite brother, but she had mothered him, whereas Swegn had cherished Edith.
“Heroes belong in the tale-teller’s world, they do not exist in reality. They are made of naught but sand and moon-dust.” She kicked her toe into the wet sand beneath her boot. Who had once said that to her? Ah, it had been Harold. She could not recall when, but the words remained with her because she had not believed him. She remembered shouting at him for saying it, screamed that he was mean-hearted to spoil her dreams.
All these years later, it came hard to realise that her dreams, along with the hero that she had thought her eldest brother to be, were nothing but shadow-flickered illusions.
“Well! Have you nothing to say, sister? Swegn has lost Hereford—and your husband is not going to give it to me in his stead.”
Edith sucked the inside of her cheeks, continued walking, her hands clasped together against the barrenness of her womb.
“So you are not angered that Swegn has lost his lands, but that Edward has decided against favouring you.”
“No, Swegn deserves every punishment the King can toss at him. He is being the biggest bloody idiot since the first fool was born into this world. I am the next brother, I deserve recognition. It is my right, it is my due. I asked Edward for the earldom—and he refused me. To my face, he refused me!”
Watching a seagull beating its way into the wind, its wings battling against the last rage of the gales that had blown in such fury these past few days, Edith was hardly aware of Tostig’s final indignant words. The fleet should have set to sea long before now, for word had reached England that Magnus was about to make sail. Perhaps the raging winds had been too much for his ships also, for he had not yet come. The forty-five ships of the fleet were to make way as soon as the tide turned—in another two hours, to stand off the coast against any foreign ship that dared attempt to make landfall.
Emma had said yesterday that she doubted Magnus would come, that he was too aware of Svein Estrithson of Denmark treading on his heels. “Both of them want to re-create Cnut’s empire. There is room for only one of them to succeed. To fight against England as well as each other would be a fool’s mistake.” She had spoken in confidence to Edith, as she often did, now that Edith was crowned and anointed. They had become allied friends, the older woman taking unexpected pleasure from the younger’s keen mind, her enthusiasm and ability. In return, Edith was eager to learn from Emma’s accumulated wisdom and experience.
“You will make a good queen,” Emma had also said. “You have spirit and determination. And your pride is such that you will never submit to humiliation.”
Emma, Edith had realised, welcomed the chance to take a step back from the incessant grumbling and whining of court. It was Emma’s right to enjoy a peaceful retirement. Rights! Where were her rights though?
She bent, snatched up a stone and hurled it at the seagull. It missed by many yards, fell with a splash into the breakers. She had known of Edward’s intention towards Swegn and the earldom—remarkably, he had told her last night as they shared supper in the privacy of the King’s chamber.
Why, she was uncertain. To hurt her? To rub salt into the open wound? That had been her assumption, but she had soon set him right on her present feelings towards her brother.
She was only a head shorter than Tostig, now that she had matured into adulthood. She swung round to stand face to face with him and drew herself into a stance of royal dignity. She would repeat to him the exact words that she had used to Edward.
“Our brother has committed the foulest of crimes by abducting a holy abbess from her nunnery. For this abhorrence there can be no forgiveness. He was given the opportunity to return her, unharmed, within the fortnight of her abduction, but he has not complied. Instead, he has disappeared. For this loathsome act he is justifiably outlawed. The King has men searching for him. When found he will be punished with the sentence of exile.”
Tostig stood impatient throughout the lecture. He interrupted as soon as he could. “I know all that. I agree. It is the earldom I want, not forgiveness for our brother.”
Perhaps it was because her monthly time of bleeding was due, or because the wind and rain had kept them all close-cloistered that her temper was so frayed. “My husband is heart-felt sick of my brothers—as am I,” she snapped. “You do nothing between you but bicker and squabble like unlearned children. Herefordshire will go to someone of calmer judgement and greater influence, who will, in addition, bring a useful alliance to the
Crown.”
Tostig frowned. “Then Edward has already decided?”
“He has. The earldom is to go to Beorn Estrithson, our mother’s nephew. In this way England shows support to Magnus of Norway’s declared enemy, Beorn’s elder brother, Svein of Denmark.”
“To Beorn?” Incredulous, Tostig bunched his fists, planted his feet wide. “Beorn? Who is all those years younger than I? Who is not of English birth? And you agree to this insult against me?” He swung away, stamped three or four paces, marched back to her. “By God, I wager Harold has had his oar in the water over this! Beorn always has been his close companion. It is a wonder they do not share that Nazeing whore, so dear is their friendship. Hah, perhaps they do, Beorn? God’s teeth, I cannot believe you would so deny me my right in this, Edith!”
“Your right?” she screamed back at him. “You talk to me of your right? It is all I have heard these past days, your rights, your claims. The disgrace inflicted on you by our brother’s crime. What of my rights? What of my disgrace—or do I count for naught?”
Stunned at the outburst, Tostig spread his hands wide, palms uppermost. “You? What have you to worry on? You are the Queen, You have everything.”
He had no idea why his sister gave him such a look of loathing, nor why she snatched the reins of his horse from him, mounted and kicked the animal into a gallop onward up the beach.
Annoyed, Tostig considered running after her, but the tide would be turning soon and he had been given command of three ships. He trudged back along the beach, thumbs thrust through the baldric slung slantwise across his chest, Beorn? By God he would have words with Harold over this blatant presumption of favouritism!
Although he did not understand his sister’s ill temper, he held no grudge against her. She always had been flighty and inconsistent. No doubt she had women’s worries on her mind—probably did not fully appreciate the insult Edward had offered by overstepping the next brother in line for an earldom in favour of a mere cousin. He shrugged. Women simply did not understand the intricate politics of government.
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