The Chosen Queen

by Joanna Courtney

  ‘It does not look all that safe to me, Father,’ she finally admitted.

  ‘Pah!’ He tossed his head and she felt the stab of his disappointment. ‘This is Rhuddlan, girl, palace of the Red Devil himself, King Griffin of Wales. Believe me it is very safe – as long as you are on his side!’

  He laughed heartily at his own jest and Edyth glanced across to Brodie. Her gangly older brother was grinding his teeth as he always did when he was afraid and that made her bolder.

  ‘And are we on his side, Father?’

  ‘Of course, of course. What d’you think I am, a simpleton? I have tracked King Griffin’s rise to power these last ten years. I first took notice when we were residing in Mercia but even from East Anglia’ – his chin went up at the thought of his lost earldom – ‘I have had friends stay close to him.’

  ‘Spies, Father?’

  ‘Friends, Edie. A man needs alliances if he is to stay afloat at court. I have worked to make them and now that work is coming to fruition. Griffin is but newly returned from a great victory in south Wales and will be looking for ways to further his political stability. I am one of those ways.’

  ‘You are a loving and careful husband and father, Alfgar, my dear,’ Meghan said.

  Edyth looked to Brodie once more and this time he caught her eye and she saw her own raw disbelief reflected in his. There had been nothing careful about Alfgar’s outburst at the council, not that either of them would dare say so.

  ‘I try.’ Alfgar smiled. ‘King Griffin is ruler of all Wales – the first man ever to achieve domination over all four territories and at barely past his fortieth year. He has done it, Edie, by political intelligence, battlefield daring and, I am told, unending energy and charisma.’

  ‘By which,’ Brodie said in a low voice to Edyth, ‘we can understand that the Red Devil is cunning, ruthless and merciless.’

  ‘And our host,’ Edyth added nervously.

  ‘If he so chooses,’ Brodie threw back.

  Edyth shivered and looked out across the rugged landscape once more. Down below them, at the heart of the valley, stood what she took to be the Welsh king’s palace. It was much like a classic English compound, enclosed by a sharp-tipped palisade fence and boasting the normal run of thatched wooden buildings – a great hall, dormitories, animal sheds, kitchens and latrines – but unlike most English palaces it stood alone in the bleak landscape. There was no town below it, no smaller village compounds nearby, and no sense of any human life beyond the king’s fence.

  ‘Are we entering, Father?’

  ‘Of course, Edyth, of course.’

  Alfgar beamed at her just a little too widely and Edyth realised with a sickening jolt that he was nervous too.

  ‘Is the king expecting us?’

  ‘Oh yes. I sent letters ahead. Obviously there’s been no chance to secure a reply, with us being on the move and with him newly back from battle, but I am confident we will be welcome.’

  Still, though, he hesitated. Down below, Edyth’s sharp eyes noted the great gates of Rhuddlan opening. Two men on horseback emerged, fully armoured and with swords aloft.

  ‘Er, Father . . .’

  ‘Not so impatient, child. I’ll just check in the baggage train for a suitable gift to present to Griffin when we arrive.’

  ‘Father, look!’

  Brodie, too, had seen the men and tugged on his father’s arm. Alfgar paled. He glanced around at his family and for a moment Edyth thought he was going to order them to flee towards the dark, jagged mountains on the eastern horizon, but then he squared his shoulders.

  ‘You stay here. I will go and greet these men.’

  He dug his spurs into his horse but clearly with insufficient conviction to persuade the beast to move. Cursing, he dug again and now the animal jolted forward and he had to clutch at the reins to stay seated. Meghan sank down over her own horse’s neck.

  ‘He’s going to be killed,’ she moaned, ‘and before us all.’

  At this, Morcar started to cry and Edyth swiftly checked her horse round to her littlest brother’s side.

  ‘Nonsense, Mama,’ she said brusquely. ‘He will not kill visitors who come in peace. He is a king.’

  ‘A Welsh king,’ Meghan said darkly and Morcar whimpered again.

  ‘Mama,’ Edyth admonished. ‘We must be strong, as my revered grandmother said.’

  ‘Yes, well, your revered grandmother is not stuck in the wilds of Wales, hoping for hospitality from some devil of a king.’

  ‘Mama!’ Morcar was crying louder now and Edwin was as white as the sheep surrounding them. Edyth reached out hands to both of her younger brothers. ‘All will be well, boys. Truly.’

  Morcar nodded obediently but Edwin just glared at her as, down the valley, Alfgar reached the armed men. The exchange was brief but swords were lowered and then heads bowed and suddenly Alfgar was turning to hulloo heartily up the valley and wave them forward.

  ‘See,’ Edyth said to Edwin, ‘I told you all would be well.’

  Still Edwin stayed silent, his pale eyes stormy beneath his wind-teased hair, and there was nothing left but to spur their horses down to the apparent safety of the Palace of Rhuddlan.

  ‘Is that the king?’ Morcar whispered, tugging on Edyth’s skirt.

  She reached surreptitiously down to try and stop him. She’d changed out of her muddy travelling gown into the rich green one she had worn to the council and she did not want Elaine’s so far unnoticed stitching to be pulled loose.

  ‘Of course it is, stupid,’ Edwin answered for her, his voice released by warmth and food. ‘He’s wearing a crown.’

  ‘But he’s so . . . so . . .’

  Morcar struggled for an apt word and as Edyth looked across the packed hall, she could see why. King Griffin was stood at the huge central hearth with her parents, some ten paces from where she and the boys waited nervously to be introduced. Although level with his subjects he seemed to stand high above them, his lean bulk at once magnificent and terrifying. Almost as tall and broad as the legendary Earl Ward, his size was made all the more striking by a mane of dark hair run through with a rich copper and topped by a plain gold diadem that marked out both his majesty and his warrior status.

  Despite the chill, he wore a short-sleeved tunic in a heavy red fabric and great coils of gold snaked up both his arms, twining in the thick and equally coppery hair that dusted them like rust. His legs were also bare save for a pair of beautifully worked leather boots which came all the way up to his knees. The leather was cut with intricate Celtic knots, picked out in blue. To his belt was strapped a matching scabbard holding a sword whose solid, un-jewelled hilt sat like an obedient hound within quick reach of his big hand.

  He looked, indeed, like the red devil he was known as, and yet his face was handsome and his eyes – the pale blue of aquamarines – shone with understanding, even intelligence. As Alfgar beckoned Edyth forward and the crowds split curiously to let them through, those eyes turned her way and she felt as if he was absorbing every single thing about her, as if she were naked before him. Unbidden, a thrill chased through her body like an arrow flying to the very heart of her physical being. The king smiled as if he had seen it – indeed, as if he had sent it – and as she drew close she found herself smiling back.

  Her father was trying to speak but Griffin stepped forward, cutting him off.

  ‘This must be the Lady Edyth.’

  Alfgar swiftly gathered himself.

  ‘This is my daughter, Sire, yes.’

  Edyth dropped into a deep curtsey and heard Griffin laugh, a rich, musical sound.

  ‘She has been brought up well. Such pretty English manners.’

  He put out a big hand and Edyth gratefully reached for it to be raised from her supplication but he was too quick for her and instead clasped her chin. His fingers were warm and surprisingly delicate, though his touch, as he lifted her face, was insistent. Edyth’s lips felt suddenly dry and she put out her tongue to lick them. Griffin’s eyes f
lickered.

  ‘I am honoured to be here in your beautiful palace, Sire,’ she managed, painfully aware of the Welsh courtiers – a rough-edged gang of soldiers and their pretty, dark-haired wives – crowding round.

  ‘You are,’ he agreed with a slow smile, ‘and I shall be very pleased to have you.’

  He placed strange emphasis on the word ‘have’ and Edyth, still caught in a curtsey before him, felt it judder in her blood. Behind her, her mother shifted and prodded at her but what could she do? The king was looking straight at her, his fingers still beneath her chin and his eyes drilling into her own.

  ‘I hope we will not trouble you, Sire,’ she stuttered out.

  ‘Trouble me?’ Finally, thank goodness, he raised her to her feet. ‘I think maybe, Edyth Alfgarsdottir, you will trouble me greatly.’

  Now her father was laughing too, a rough, awkward sound, more like a donkey than a man. Edyth was horrified.

  ‘Sire, I do not mean to . . .’

  ‘Hush, Lady Edyth. Do not fret. I like trouble, do I not, men?’

  He let go of her at last and turned to his courtiers who laughed too and called back. They spoke in their own language, though even with the lyrical infection there was little doubting the bawdy tone. Edyth forced herself to look modestly down but inside her blood was throbbing. The boys were introduced, even Morcar bowing low and earning himself a hearty pat on his little back, and then Griffin suddenly turned.

  ‘Lady Edyth, Lady Meghan, meet the Lady Gwyneth.’

  The king reached back and, as if playing some sorcerer’s trick, produced a woman from the crowd behind him. She jerked forward, staggering a little, and glared at the king as she righted herself and faced the newcomers. Looking at the lines around her eyes and across the hand she lifted reluctantly towards them, Edyth hazarded she must be about her own mother’s age, but life had clearly not been as kind to her. Where Meghan’s prettiness was fleshed out with good eating and fine lotions, Lady Gwyneth was slender to the point of skinniness and her face, although striking, was gaunt and strained. Edyth could not help herself looking back at the king glowing with health and vitality and wondering why he kept this woman so poorly.

  ‘You think I do not feed her,’ Griffin said.

  Edyth jumped. Had she spoken aloud?

  ‘Of course not, Sire.’

  ‘I am forever telling her to eat but she defies me!’

  Lady Gwyneth rounded on him, hands flying to her thin hips.

  ‘I am not yours to command.’

  ‘So you persist in believing.’ The king grinned at Edyth. ‘Lady Gwyneth cherishes her anger.’

  ‘Lady Gwyneth,’ the lady spat out, ‘has much to be angry about.’

  Edyth looked from one to the other, amazed at such a raucous exchange. There were arguments aplenty at the English court but always behind walls. Thin walls perhaps – certainly not thick enough to keep determined gossips away – but walls all the same. She looked around at Griffin’s court openly enjoying the lively exchange and felt dangerous laughter begin to build inside her as the royal couple squared up to each other.

  ‘Perhaps, my lady, you would rather I had married you?’

  Edyth saw her mother’s eyes widen and had to fight to smother her own surprise. Gwyneth, however, thrust out her bony hips and glared at the king from near-black eyes.

  ‘Perhaps, my lord, I would not have married you in a million years.’

  ‘Strange – you came eagerly enough to my bed.’

  Several of the men cheered and Meghan put her hand to her head as if she might faint. Edyth saw Alfgar slip an arm around his wife’s waist, but his own eyes were alight with amusement and she found time to wonder if here, in a country clearly unbound by tedious conventions, her father had found a place where he could thrive.

  ‘I had little choice!’ Gwyneth shrieked.

  At this, though, Griffin held up a large hand.

  ‘That is not true, my lady. I have never forced a woman into my bed.’

  ‘Never needed to,’ someone called from the crowd and Griffin smirked and waved, as if acknowledging a great compliment.

  ‘Perhaps because I am King of all Wales!’

  At this, cheers rang out all around the great hall, the men roaring approval of their leader’s newly acquired status. Edyth looked around in wonder. Brodie had escaped their exposed central group and sidled over towards a gang of lads and Edyth saw him beam as one of them clapped him hard but apparently welcomingly on the back. Meghan, meanwhile, had also taken the chance to detach herself from her husband and usher the two wide-eyed younger boys towards the big doors where their nursery maid was cowering fearfully. The maid grabbed the boys and hustled them gratefully away and Edyth saw her mother take a few steps to follow before forcing herself back inside.

  She returned her eyes to Griffin. He stood tall and proud, absorbing the adulation of his people as his right and Edyth had to admit that, gracious as King Edward always appeared, this was a man who truly looked like a monarch. As she watched, he caught her eye and smiled.

  ‘You will think us very wild, Lady Edyth.’

  ‘Nay, Sire, you have won a great victory and should celebrate.’

  ‘You are right. How should we do that?’

  The room was quietening now and Edyth was horribly aware of many eyes turning her way again.

  ‘With feasting?’ she suggested awkwardly. ‘And, and dancing?’

  ‘Dancing – yes!’ Griffin bowed low. ‘And you, Edyth Alfgarsdottir, our most welcome guest, will do me the honour.’

  Edyth glanced to her father who nodded her forward.

  ‘The honour would be all mine, Sire.’

  Edyth took Griffin’s proffered hand and more cheers rang out as the king waved his courtiers back to clear a dance space around the hearth. Joy sang through her. The king, the sparkling, rough-cut ruby of a king, liked her. Perhaps exile would not be such a bad thing after all?

  A turn of the hour-glass later, as Edyth was slammed into the wall of the ladies’ latrine, she wasn’t so certain of herself.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing, young lady?’

  Meghan had one hand on her curvaceous hip and one pinning Edyth to the cold wooden wall and was clearly boiling with rage.

  ‘Mama, what’s wrong?’

  ‘You know exactly what’s wrong. You’re not old enough for these sorts of games.’

  ‘What sorts of games?’

  ‘Making eyes at King Griffin. He’s forty-two – more than twice your age – and one hundred times more experienced.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  Edyth widened her eyes but Meghan was not as easily fooled as her husband by her daughter’s innocence.

  ‘You know what I mean. I’ve been making enquiries and they say the king will never marry. He has no need to; he ruts any girl that catches his eye.’

  ‘Mama!’

  ‘Don’t you “Mama” me, Edyth. You need to know. Can you imagine King Edward behaving this way? Or what he would say if he saw us caught up in such wantonness? Now, you listen to me, you’ve had your flux for a year now and the last thing this family needs if it’s going to claw its way back into decent English society is a Welsh bastard in your belly.’

  ‘Sssh, Mama!’

  Edyth looked around, horrified. They were the only ones in the latrine but the walls were thin and anyone walking beyond would be able to hear.

  ‘Don’t you sssh me.’ Meghan was even more riled now, though she did drop her voice to a strained hiss. ‘Do you think I chose to come here? Do you think I like living at the mercy of some strange king who believes he’s God just because he’s conquered a handful of rebellious Celts?’

  Edyth bit her lip. There was a manic look in Meghan’s shadowed eyes and her normally immaculate hair was creeping out of her headdress in wild wisps. Edyth hadn’t realised how tightly her mother must have been holding herself together on the long ride west, nor how close she was to losing control now.

&nbs
p; ‘All will be well,’ she soothed. ‘Don’t fret, Mama. I was just trying to be nice to the king so he does not send us away. You don’t want to be sent away, do you? Not now. Not with us all so tired.’

  She put out a tentative hand to touch Meghan’s arm and felt her mother stagger, then Meghan’s arms flew round her.

  ‘You are right, Edyth. Of course you are right. You’re a clever girl, far cleverer than me, I know that. Your father knows it too.’

  ‘Nonsense, Mama.’

  ‘Nay, Edie, if we are to speak the truth let’s do it properly. You are a clever girl and you will be a clever woman but not if you let yourself be bedded now, even by a king.’

  ‘I will be careful,’ Edyth promised. ‘I will be very careful, Mama.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nazeing, June 1055

  Lady Svana,

  You very graciously granted that I might write to you from my exile so I am taking the liberty of doing so. I know you must be very busy tending your farmlands and minding your children and being wife to Earl Harold, so I will not trespass long on your time.

  I am well. We have been welcomed by King Griffin of Wales who is a kind host and a fascinating man. He is the first ever King of all Wales and from what I have seen of his warlike guard that must have been a hard title to win.

  He has a consort here, a Lady Gwyneth, but she is not his wife. She is a crabby thing so I cannot think why he bothers but he pays her little attention, preferring to dance, would you believe it, with me. Their dances are very wild and very fast – even Lord Garth would struggle to keep up – but the king knows them all and is big and strong enough to guide even a stupid novice around the floor. I am learning fast.

  It is very beautiful here. I ride out to the sea most days and you can travel the coast for miles. King Griffin says there are many hidden coves he will show me when the weather is warmer. I look forward to that time for it is still chill here, though Easter is long past. It is as if the wind is iced by the grey sea and not fully warmed until it reaches all the way to you in the east.