“I present you to your King,” said Eldred formally to me.
He was standing, quite alone, before the high altar. He had dressed for his wedding in a richly embroidered tunic, fine hose and leather shoes stamped with gold. A magnificent cloak of ermine hung from his broad shoulders; a crown of gold and gems rode his fair hair. It was the first time I had seen him thus crowned.
His face wore its permanent burn from sun and wind that made his eyes seem such a brilliant blue.
There was no tenderness in that face, no womanly softness or flame of poetry. But I could not mistake the strength that lay there, nor the proud nobility. I felt sure my hatred of Harold Godwine had not diminished, but I felt a tiny twinge of satisfaction that he was so fair to see.
The ceremony itself passed quickly. The marriage settlement had all been agreed upon in advance between Harold and my brothers, the wedding gifts exchanged, and the scroll of ownership for my dower house handed over to my keeping. Nothing remained but the speeches by which my brothers announced their intention of giving me to Harold and Eldred’s blessing on behalf of the church.
The gift of myself was accepted by the regal figure in white ermine, who then held out his hand to me. When I took it, he forced a heavy golden ring upon my finger, then pulled me down to kneel with him before Eldred. Wulfstan took Harold’s crown in trembling fingers as the Archbishop of York anointed us both with holy oil; then we rose again and faced the crowd of people packed into the cathedral.
Wulfstan replaced the crown on the King’s head, and a velvet cushion, upon which another, smaller golden circlet lay, was handed Harold. He took this with great solemnity and lifted it high for all the people to see. Then he set it on my head, saying in a loud voice, “From this day forward thou art Aldith, First Lady of England!”
I was so shocked at hearing him call me by my Welsh name that my eyes flew open wide. That was a gift I had not expected, and it touched me more than any other could. My heart raced in my breast. I tried to turn my head a little and look at Harold, but the unexpected weight of the crown reminded me of my new dignity and I looked forward instead.
Then I received my second shock. In the first row of upturned faces was that of Gytha, Harold’s mother, and beside her stood Harold himself! No, not Harold, but a young man barely come to beard, so like him as to have been Harold himself at that age. He could only be Harold’s son, mayhap by Edith Swan Neck, come to witness his father’s marriage to another woman. My heart went out to him for whatever pain he might be feeling, but, like his father, he kept his secrets closed behind his face.
The Archbishop gave a lengthy benediction which brought us all a-yawn, then we left the cathedral to a flourish of trumpets. A group of horses was being held at the foot of the minster steps. Harold gripped my arm with fingers like stone and guided me through the crowd toward them. He swung into the saddle of a restive chestnut stallion with an astonishing grace for a man of forty years, then held down a brawny arm to me and effortlessly pulled me up to sit behind him. People cheered; his courtiers mounted, and our wedding processional wound through the streets to the Archbishop’s manor and our wedding feast.
The opulence of Eldred’s house spoke much for the man. Not for him the simple life of Christian poverty and humility; Eldred of York dined on gold plate much more finely wrought than that of the Earl of Wessex at Arundel, and his servants were so numerous I never saw a face more than once.
The oaken table set in the center of the Hall seated two score to a side, and it was so weighted down with food that no part of the wood showed. Our party drank the King’s health in wooden goblets chased with gold while Harold drank from his own goblet, a legacy of the great Alfred. The banquet was lavish in the extreme. We began with eels stewed in milk, then beautiful whole salmon from Chester and thin wheaten cakes. There were three roast boars, swans, herons dressed with green peppers, jellied lambs’ heads and joints of fatted beef. An endless stream of dishes from the Archbishop’s kitchens provided pastries, blood puddings, cheeses with loaves of white bread (I never saw such before!), compotes of fruit and honey. The cooks must have much practice, I thought, to be able to mount such a royal feast.
The butlers—there were two: Harold’s own, who traveled everywhere with him, and Eldred’s—kept our goblets filled with ale, perry, mead, and some sour red wine from the Continent that Harold seemed to favor. As he poured it down his throat, I hoped, fleetingly, that perhaps he would be too drunk to claim his bride this night. But it was a foolish hope. The man’s capacity was enormous. He drank more than any at table and did not show it by so much as a reddening of the face.
As each new food was presented he courteously selected the most choice morsel and offered it to me. I obediently ate from his fingers, seeing the approving nods of his courtiers from the corner of my eye. But my appetite was small, and my own hip-knife never attacked the fowls or the joint.
Harold lingered long at table, laughing at the coarse wedding jokes and responding in kind. If any of the ribald humor offended the Archbishop of York, he gave no sign; he laughed as loudly as my brothers when sly references were made to our activities a few hours hence.
When the torches began to smoke and servitors were carrying the remainders of the meal and trenchers of bread soaked with meat juices to the crowd outside, the King rose and took my hand. “We will take our leave of you now. Pray continue to enjoy yourselves with our excellent host, the good Archbishop”—he nodded to Eldred, who had fat glistening on his chin—“and we will bid you good morrow.”
As I rose, my eyes met those of Gytha, hostile as ever, though a smile wreathed her thin lips. “Good night, Your Grace, and may your evening prove fruitful.”
Bitch, I thought. The greatest pleasure I will have this night is the knowledge that a woman, you loathe shares your son’s bed!
Minstrels continued to play, men continued to drink and roister, laughter rang to the rafters as the King’s housecarles lighted us to our nuptial chamber. I was surprised to see that Harold had forbidden the usual press of laughing friends and relatives; he gave a certain dignity to an occasion which was usually far from dignified.
My tiring women—but not Gwladys—awaited me. They took me into a garderobe let off the chamber and there dressed me in the silk shift and golden corselet of a bridenight. My hair was loosed and combed to wave down my back; then I was returned to the King.
Our nuptial chamber was not just a sleeping apartment, but a timbered room as big as a cottage. A roaring fire had been fed sweet herbs, and the smoke that curled upward to the smoke openings was rich and fragrant. A giant bedstead held a stack of feather mattresses covered with new linen and hung round with velvets bearing the device of the Godwines. Chests and armor were piled roundabout; a brace of greyhounds dozed by the fire. At one glance you could tell it was a King’s chamber.
His body servants had dressed him in a robe of plain linen so finely woven that the outline of his body showed quite clear. I kept my eyes cast firmly down. I was alone with Griffith’s killer. Had I still my girdle and hip-knife I might have slain him then and avenged my love in the Welsh way, but his housecarles would have killed me without hesitation, and my children would not have outlived me by a day. Their futures and their safety depended on my going through with this.
“And now, Aldith, you are Lady of England. What say you?”
“I give you thanks for bestowing upon me the name. I prefer, my lord,” I said as humbly as I could, still looking down.
He did not move toward me. “You were surpassing beautiful today in the sunlight. I had almost forgot how fair you are!” Did he intend, then, to woo me as a loved one? Such pretense was beyond me. I would force myself to keep the letter of our marriage contract, but I would bring no womanly tenderness to the thing!
Harold reached out and touched me then, and I felt my unwilling flesh shrink away from him. His eyes darkened suddenly as I looked up, becoming narrow slits above his bared teeth. In the firelight he looked li
ke a savage golden wolf.
“It is that way, is it, madam?”
“I cannot pretend a feeling for you, Your Grace. You know this was no love match!”
His laugh was harsh. “Nay, Aldith, no love match. But I did fear your spirit was broken and you would be a dull thing to bed. I am glad to see I was wrong.”
Before I could move away, his hand shot out and grabbed my shift, jerking me to him. His other hand clutched my hair and pulled my head back. The eyes that glared down into mine were not tender, but they were not indifferent, either. They were hot as blue coals, and I remembered with a pang what joy the Vikings take in rape! Better for me if I had been humble and submissive!
The strength of the man was enormous. He ripped my shift from my body and hurled it away, holding me impaled on that hot blue gaze as he would impale me on his giant body. Truly I was terrified! He was hurting me wantonly, and he would hurt me more!
He was instantly and totally ready to take me; there was to be no preparation for me at all. He required no response, although I could feel my struggles excited him still more. I willed my body to be calm but it would not, my terror was too great.
He picked me up and threw me on his bed. I do not recall his removing his gown, though he must have done so. When he flung his body on mine, I thought I would never leave that bed alive.
At last he lay, spent, upon my aching body, and in a little while he was asleep. I eased out from under him, but he did not wake. Wrapping myself in the bed linen, I curled up in as small a ball as possible at the very edge of the bed. I realized then that I had not made my evening devotions, but the God I was accustomed to addressing had abandoned me, anyway.
Before I fell into an uneasy, exhausted slumber I had one last strange thought. Edith of the Swan Neck must not have satisfied His Grace of late.
LONDON
IT WAS THE King’s desire that we go on a royal progress, touring Northumbria that all of his northern subjects might see us and know their new sovereign. After the court was sufficiently recovered from the wedding festivities—the gaiety had been excessive for some—we were packed up and escorted to the city gates once more by Eldred and the officials of York. My first experience with a royal progress was a mixed pleasure. The children did not go with us; after all, they are the offspring of Wales, not England, and so I was to be deprived of their company once more. But at least I had the certainty of being united with them at the end of our tour, and I had faith that this would be so. It was my morning gift from Harold.
When I awoke well after cockcrow on the morning after our wedding I ached in every part. My greatest fear was that the King would want to repeat his performance of the night before. But no, he was already up and clothed, and when he saw my eyes open he actually smiled at me.
“Good morrow, Aldith! Was your sleep pleasant?”
“Mmmmmm.” It was the only answer I cared to make.
Undaunted, he continued in a cheerful tone, “I’ve been waiting for you to waken. Now that you have, tell me what you wish as your bride gift. A jewel, a manor, an endowment for your favorite abbey?” He smiled most benevolently. For once the advantage lay with me.
“I am not an extravagant woman, my lord; the jewels you have already given me are quite sufficient, and the dower house whose deed I hold is really all I desire of property. As for an abbey, I must confess that I have no favorite; most of my devotions are private, between myself and God only. But there is one thing I would ask of you that would give me more joy than any other.”
His face closed slightly. “What is it?”
I moved my body on the bed, tossing back my hair and lifting my face to the kind morning light before I answered. “Your word, my lord. Your solemn promise that I will never again be separated from my children against my will, nor have them used as leverage against me.”
Harold stood quite still and looked at me, his eyes hooded like a drowsy horse. Then they opened wide again and his nostrils flared. “Well done, Aldith! I am happy to see I have misjudged neither your mettle nor your wits! Very well, my dear, you shall have your morning gift.”
With that knowledge that is given to women in place of muscular strength, I knew that he was telling the truth and would not betray his promise. I nodded in acceptance of the gift; he reached forward and raised my chin that he might look into my eyes.
“We have each made a vow, Aldith; one to the other. You have sworn your loyalty, if not your love. I have given you sole possession of your children. On my word, Aldith, these vows do not depend upon each other, but only upon your honor and mine.” He removed his hand from my chin, but his eyes still locked mine. “That will be enough,” he said.
We left York on a day of tumbled gray clouds and a sniff of late snow. We were to make our progress in a great circle, passing through the more populated areas and towns as well as crossing the open countryside. Each night we would be guested at some thegn’s house, observing the temper of the people and, we hoped, winning their allegiance.
The temper of the people was surprisingly good; they were not all as aggrieved as the lords of Bernicia. Toward Harold there was an attitude of grudging respect and we-shall-see; I was feted and praised like the greatest beauty who ever walked the land. My grandmother’s reputation had traveled north from Mercia; more than one noble toasted me as “the heiress to magnificent Godiva!”
It was heady stuff.
The nights were different. Harold used me much; I marveled at his stamina even as I deplored his lack of subtlety. My nerves were tuned to different responses; I could not enjoy the embraces of Harold Godwine. But he was unlike my Griffith, he did not seem to need or expect me to participate; it was enough for him to celebrate his conquest of my body night after night.
Many mornings saw me seated most uncomfortably, even on my easy-gaited palfrey. Although I disliked being carried in a litter, there were times when I had to request it—and then bear the additional discomfort of dust in my face and a lack of pleasant conversation.
The Bishop Wulfstan rode with us, as Harold’s confidant and personal priest, and I found I enjoyed his company as much as the King did. A learned man who was interested in everything, he told me the names of the trees we passed and the history of Roman settlement in Britain. Harold made a joke of it: “My Bishop is educating my wife for me again,” he would laugh as the two of us rode side by side, Wulfstan talking and me listening.
The ubiquitous Osbert rode with us as well, and my brother Edwin and his party traveled with us for a while before they turned south to Mercia. Sometimes I was moved to wonder to myself, watching the faces about me, which was enemy which was friend? My sworn allegiance lay with the King, albeit reluctantly. But in my heart I felt very alone, a mote in the eye of a storm. If I were in dire peril, whose strong arm might reach out to save me? Harold? Osbert?
None?
Through a twist of fate I was First Lady of England, yet I felt homeless and dispossessed. Gwladys, given into bondage as a child, was more sure of her place in life than I.
Harold and the nobles talked of battles won and a kingdom to be held, speaking with the confidence of men who had never lost. But I knew how quickly all security can be wiped away; a word written on parchment, the slash of an ax, can do it. On those rare nights when Harold gave me peace in my bed I was tormented instead by nightmares, so that I awoke fearful and began the day under a cloud. Griffith would have noticed and commented on it; the King had larger issues on his mind.
By the end of the month, just as the countryside was greening and becoming worth the seeing, we finished our royal progress and returned to York. So happy was I to see my little ones again that even the sight of Gytha’s sour face did not spoil the day for me.
“Your children have been raised as savages,” was the greeting she gave me. “I understand that the King has most generously extended his royal protection to them, but does that not place a certain responsibility upon you, madam, to see that they are taught decent Saxon customs and
behave themselves accordingly?”
I bristled. “My children are Welsh! I would not have them forget their father’s heritage!”
Gytha sneered, an expression for which her thin lips were singularly well suited. “A heritage of blood, madam! The elder boy, that Thloo-ellen!”—she mispronounced his name to vex me!—“talks night and day of his bloodthirsty sire! He would have us believe that a great army is forming in those godforsaken mountains this very minute, intending to swoop down on us all and murder us in our beds!”
So Griffith’s boy had grown defiant in my absence! I was secretly pleased at his spirit, but alarmed at the danger such bravado might bring upon him.
I spoke to him of it in as much privacy as I could arrange during the day. “Llywelyn, you must restrain yourself from these brash speeches! Now you are a child; and people will tend to overlook what you say. But in a very few years there will be those who seize on your words and try to make something more of them. You could bring more warfare and bloodshed to your people, my son. Is that what you want?”
He stared up at me with his father’s eyes. “When you are not here, my lady, we are sometimes insulted by these Saxon dogs!” His young eyes flamed with righteous indignation.
“I will remind you, my son, that I am a Saxon by birth! My inmost sympathies are not with these people; they have brought too much heartache on me in my lifetime. But it is important that we survive, particularly you and Rhodri and your little sister. And to survive, you must avoid making enemies!”
He tossed his auburn forelock out of his eyes with a familiar gesture. “My father was not afraid to make enemies!”
I sighed. “Yes, and look what it got him. Even with all his strength he was betrayed and brought down—for nothing! Just to be a feather in Harold Godwine’s cap!
“If anything happens to you children, his blood is wasted and his line dies forever! That is a treasure I guard, Llywelyn, as Griffith would have wished me to, and I will not let anything endanger it. Not even you! Now hold your rash tongue or answer to me!” My voice shook with my emotion and I do not know what was in my face, but Llywelyn fell silent and took a half-step backward. After that I heard no more stories about imprudent talk by my children, but sometimes I saw Llywelyn looking at me out of the corners of his eyes in a way that hurt me. I knew he felt I had betrayed his father’s memory in some way, but of course I did not try to defend my actions to a child.
The Wind From Hastings Page 14