‘Redistribution of land,’ he said crisply and reeled off a list of estates from a paper before him.
A lively debate ensued. Edyth knew she should pay attention but she was mesmerised by the sight of Harold in action. This was a man she had seen joking with his wife, fetching wine, chatting with courtiers. Even at council he had always seemed calm and jovial, yet here he was, deeply serious, commanding his men with an iron certainty and a cold, driving will.
This was Harold the soldier, fighting for his country’s rights, and suddenly Edyth wished she hadn’t come, hadn’t had to see this. It was as if some of the magic of Svana’s glorious husband was being sucked away and yet, at the same time, she could not help but be awed by his ruthless determination. They scythed through the many points at speed, each side now apparently keen to conclude, until finally Harold drew in a deep breath.
‘And finally – Billingsley.’ He looked around as if to take in the town itself. At the far end of the hall, on the public benches, the local lords shifted uneasily. ‘You wish this town as your own, King Griffin?’
‘I do.’
‘Yet the town itself would choose to remain English.’
‘What has it to do with the town?’
A murmuring began at the back of the hall and Harold cleared his throat.
‘In England we respect the opinions of our people,’ he said.
‘In Wales our people respect the opinions of their king.’
Harold frowned and Edyth drove her fingers into the folds of her gown, willing this to be over.
‘We have conceded to your other demands, Sire,’ Harold growled, ‘but granting you Billingsley would extend the border further into the Marches than ever before.’
‘As seems only proper given our superior performance on the battlefield.’
‘There was no battlefield.’
‘Only because your Hereford cavalry turned tail.’
‘And you retreated into the hills.’
‘A man should always fight from a vantage point.’
‘But not usually from a cave.’
Harold’s voice was low and venomous and his men were looking at him with an ill-disguised horror that suggested this was not his usual style of negotiation. His eyes met Edyth’s and he held them for a long moment, then suddenly he rose.
‘May I propose a solution?’ he asked.
Griffin inclined his head.
‘I shall make a gift of this good town to your betrothed. May the Lady Edyth take it as a wedding token and hold it as part of her dower lands to the honour of us both.’
‘What?’
The word burst from Edyth’s mouth before she could stop it and she coloured furiously at her own lack of grace. Griffin smiled indulgently as he rose and faced Harold. A stumble behind, Alfgar shot to his feet too.
‘On behalf of my wife-to-be, I accept.’
Someone on the back benches cheered and, after a moment, his fellows joined in. Griffin stepped out to the fireside and Harold joined him. The two men clasped hands as Alfgar hovered next to them.
‘Look after her,’ Edyth heard Harold say, soldier-fierce, before he clapped Griffin on the back. After announcing the peace was concluded, he was suddenly all courtier’s smiles once more.
In an instant the tables were pushed back, the fire stoked and a great joint of pre-cooked boar hoisted over it to crisp. Barrels were rolled forth from the kitchen and the mood relaxed. The party had begun and somehow, in the midst of it all, Edyth had become owner of a town – this town. She just had time to hear her mother say, ‘Well done, my sweet’ before Griffin tugged her forward.
‘Come, let us dance!’
He whirled her into his arms, kicking up his feet in the sort of Welsh jig she had thrilled to dance back in Rhuddlan. Here, though, with the English thegns watching in bemused benevolence and Harold stalking the dance floor as if he might whip out his hunter’s arrows at any moment, it was hard to recapture the mood. She was glad when, at long last, she could retire, but even in the pavilion there was little rest.
‘Edwin says you are not coming home with us,’ Morcar whispered into the darkness.
Edyth swallowed.
‘Edwin is right.’
‘Why, Edie?’
She felt her covers lift and Morcar’s slender little body crawl in next to her. She clasped him tight.
‘Because I must return to Wales with King Griffin.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s going to be his wife, silly. Like Mama and Papa.’
The covers lifted on the other side and Edwin crept in too.
‘Oh.’ Morcar thought about this. ‘Will I see you again, Edie?’
Edyth stared into the darkness, pressing her eyelids as wide apart as they would go, willing the tears not to creep out and betray her.
‘Of course you will, Marc. You can visit me, I expect, and I will come to Gloucester at Yuletide.’
‘If the peace lasts.’
Shocked, Edyth turned her head in Edwin’s direction. It was too dark to see his face even this close up but Edyth could imagine his serious expression perfectly.
‘Why do you say that, Edwin?’
‘The Red Devil likes to fight.’
‘He does.’
‘And Earl Harold doesn’t like him very much.’
‘Well no, maybe not.’
‘So . . .’
‘So,’ Edyth said firmly, ‘it’s up to me to keep them friends.’
‘Like you keep me and Edwin friends?’ Morcar suggested.
Edyth thought of her brothers’ endless squabbling and sparring.
‘Yes,’ she said wearily, ‘just like that. Now, sleep.’
CHAPTER TEN
Gloucester, Yuletide 1055
Harold approached Gloucester cold to his very bones and more tired than he could ever remember being before. He must be getting old. Either that or something about these negotiations had taken more out of him than usual. His hand went to his tunic and patted at the sealed roll safe beneath it.
‘Could you give this to Lady Svana?’ Edyth had asked him as they had parted.
She’d been pale and tearful and he’d had to remind himself sternly that any girl might look that way when parting from her family for the first time. This wasn’t any girl though – this was Edyth. What on earth would Svana say when he told her?
‘Bring Edyth safely home,’ she had exhorted him when he’d left on this godforsaken mission and that was the one thing he had not done. In all other respects the encounter had been a success but his wife would not see it that way. She’d taken Edyth Alfgarsdottir to her heart and was looking forward to having her nearby in East Anglia and, in truth, Harold wished it could be so himself. He knew Svana grew lonely without him. He knew she hated him being away so often and could not see the tricky lines he had to tread with the king to secure even the time he did with her and the children. And now with the new babe on the way it would be harder than ever.
He looked to the skies. They were grey and heavy with snow and seemed lower on his head than usual, as if God himself was pressing down upon him. Should he have married Svana? He had defied his father to do so. Earl Godwin had brought Harold and all his siblings up indulgently. He had bought them the best clothes, the best education and the greatest honours but with those had come expectations and Harold knew that, in marrying Svana, he had disappointed the great Earl. In his darker moments he sometimes even wondered if it had hastened his death. Not only that but he had stood against the court and even against the church and that pained him, though far less than it would have pained him to live without her.
‘A man like you, Harold,’ his mother had railed at him, ‘does not marry for love.’
She’d spat the word out as if it was a poisonous bug and Harold had known she was right but he was not just a man like him – he was him and he loved her. It had seemed enough at the time. It still did. He was just weary, not seeing straight. A hot drink would go a long way to sooth
ing this ridiculous self-pity.
He pushed his horse up to the city gates, forcing himself to smile graciously at the scraping guards who let him through. He was glad to be here at last. Gloucester was his favourite of the three royal compounds. It was not as stuffy as Winchester and it was considerably more spacious than run-down Westminster. They were a week short of Christ’s mass but already a number of pavilions huddled together in the grey cold. Harold looked eagerly around, but could see no ‘fighting man’ standard to proclaim his family’s safe arrival. He shuddered and slipped from his horse, passing his treasured beast to young Avery without a second glance. A cluster of young men, bundled up in furs and drinking mugs of spiced wine, were bunched around a brazier and he moved instinctively towards the warmth. The lads parted hastily, bowing low.
‘Nay, huddle in,’ he urged. ‘It is too cold for ceremony.’
With a grateful sigh they closed in again. One of them produced a rough goblet and poured the earl wine from a large flagon tucked beneath the brazier. Another lifted a poker from the flames and plunged it into the liquid. It hissed and a cloud of scented steam rose into Harold’s face, tingling blissfully across his frozen skin.
‘Thank you.’
He took a careful sip and felt the wine ease down his throat, trailing warmth behind it. He took another and another and only as he started to thaw did he notice all the lads staring at him.
‘How did you fare in Wales, my lord?’ one of them dared to ask and Harold suddenly realised how eager they must be for news.
‘Well,’ he assured them. ‘Very well. Peace is made and Earl Alfgar will return to East Anglia.’
‘Brodie with him?’
Harold sought out the questioner, clearly a friend of Alfgar’s eldest son.
‘Brodie with him. He fought well.’
‘He fought?’
There was envy in the voice and it caught at Harold’s heart; Svana hated fighting.
‘You will have your time,’ he snapped, ‘and believe me, when you are face down in the mire with horses’ hooves a finger space from your head and dead men’s blood splattered over you, you will not think it such a fine fate.’
‘My lord?’
Their eyes were wide in the gloom and Harold shook himself.
‘Don’t mind me, lads. I’m travel weary, that’s all. I need rest.’
‘And the comfort of your wife’s arms, my lord?’
‘If only!’
‘But the Lady Svana is here.’
‘She is?’
‘She arrived two days ago, my lord, with all your brave sons. Your eldest was riding his own pony like a proper little man.’
Harold glanced wildly around the compound but still he could not see his standard. The light grew ever dimmer and now a few flakes of snow were starting to form.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded.
‘The king has housed them in the guesthouse, my lord, with your wife’s condition and all.’
‘She is unwell?’
‘No more so, I believe, than is usual in pregnancy.’
‘Of course. Of course, thank you. Thank you so much.’
To the lad’s great surprise, Harold clasped his hand, pumping it enthusiastically before he strode off towards the guesthouse. The guard huddled in the doorway scuttled to attention and Harold, heart pounding like a minstrel’s drum on parade, stepped inside. The lower floor of the guesthouse was empty but Harold could hear voices from above and recognised the excited squeals of his sons.
‘Hello!’ he called, leaping for the carved wooden staircase. ‘Hello? Are there any handsome young men up there?’
‘Papa!’
He reached the top just in time to be knocked sideways by a tumble of children. He gathered Godwin, Edmund and Magnus into his big arms and pushed forward, seeking his wife. She was sitting on the bed, wearing a thick woollen dress of a beautiful blue, pulled tight across her now straining belly. Her hazel hair was caught up in a fur-trimmed hood and she looked unbelievably beautiful.
‘’Tis the Virgin Mary herself,’ he breathed, moving towards her, his boys still attached.
‘Hardly,’ Svana smiled, rising. ‘I think you took care of my virginity a long time back.’
Harold stood before her, drinking her in.
‘Are you sure?’ he said softly.
‘Perhaps not. Best if you make certain tonight. Oh Harold, I’ve missed you so.’
Harold plunged forward and clasped her to him.
‘And I you. How did you manage the journey with these horrors and this one?’
He put his hand to her belly but Svana just smiled.
‘This one, as you call her—’
‘Her?’
‘Maybe. Anyway, this one is being good as gold. I feel better than ever and she gives me no trouble. Not that I can say the same for the boys!’ She reached up to tickle them and they squirmed delightedly. ‘Though in truth they have been good too.’
‘It’s too cold not to be,’ Godwin muttered.
‘Really?’ Harold said, swinging his eldest boy round to face him. ‘Because I heard tell that you rode your own pony into Gloucester like a man.’
Godwin beamed.
‘I did. I did, Papa, and all the way from Nazeing too. Well, nearly. I only went in the carriage one day when it was raining and that only because Mama made me.’
‘Mama was quite right. You must be well for Yuletide.’
At this the boys started jabbering excitedly. Harold rolled his eyes at his wife though already the rough tumble of his family was warming him far more than any spiced wine could ever do. But then Svana asked: ‘How were the negotiations?’ and he froze.
‘Mixed,’ he said cautiously. Her eyes narrowed and his gut twisted. ‘Peace was negotiated successfully and Alfgar returns to East Anglia. He and his family will be here on the morrow.’ He looked to the rafters. ‘That is, most of his family will be here.’
‘Harold?’
Harold set the boys down and, perhaps sensing their father’s change of mood, they ran off to play.
‘It is Edyth, my love. She is to be wed.’
‘To King Griffin?’
‘Yes.’
‘I knew it! Did you not stop this madness, Harold?’
‘How, Svana? I would have if I could but it was all arranged between the king and Edyth’s father. It was not my place to object.’
‘Surely you could have raised some political obstacles?’
‘Whilst concluding a treaty between our two countries? Hardly. The match, I’m afraid, was most fitting.’
‘Most fitting?!’
‘Not for me, Svana, but for the general mood.’
She huffed and he didn’t blame her; it sounded useless even to him.
‘And Edyth herself?’ she demanded. ‘How fares she?’
Harold considered.
‘She seemed a little tearful when we left but not unhappy. Truly, Svana, I think she likes him and I think he is a good man – mainly. Certainly he seems to dote on her. That is good, is it not?’
Svana tossed her head.
‘It will only last until he’s bedded her.’
‘Not necessarily. I still dote on you.’
Svana closed her eyes and Harold stood waiting fearfully but when she finally opened them he saw resignation in their grey depths.
‘I feared this from her letters but perhaps, as you say, it is not all bad. She’s just so young.’
‘Not any more, my love. She has grown up fast this year.’
‘And will grow up faster yet before it is out.’
Harold nodded. He kissed his wife.
‘I am told,’ he said softly, ‘by too many to doubt it, that the Red Devil is very proficient.’
‘Harold!’ she protested but a giggle escaped her lips and Harold knew the worst had passed.
‘I will keep an eye on her, Svana, I promise. Oh, and she gave me a letter for you. Here.’
He reached into his tunic and produced the r
oll of vellum he had kept with care. Svana glanced at the boys, still playing happily, then sunk onto the bed. Harold sat beside her and placed an arm tight around her precious shoulders and, together, they read Edyth’s words.
My Dear Svana,
Harold will have told you my news by now. Do not blame him. It was my fault. I wanted the king to like me and he does and, Svana, I like him too. I know he is big and fierce and a bit wild at times but he is tender-hearted underneath. I have seen it. He wants me to help him hold Wales. I don’t know if I can do that but I want to try. I shall miss my family and I shall miss you but I have given him my promise and must keep to it.
I am so very sorry I cannot come and visit you and I will understand if you do not wish your beautiful babe – for I am very sure it will be beautiful – to have a godmother stuck the other side of Offa’s Dyke so I release you from that request, though I will always cherish your asking.
I hope this is not the end of our friendship for it is dear to me. Griffin must return to Rhuddlan to celebrate this Christ’s mass after so long away on campaign, but perhaps next year I can join the court at Gloucester. We will be wed in the spring though I confess, my lady, that I may be wife sooner than that.
I cannot believe I am to be a queen and I fear that beneath the crown I will remain the foolish girl you knew. I hope you may write again when you are free and please believe that, whether you can or no, I will think of you often and with love.
Yours until we may meet again,
Edyth Alfgarsdottir
PART TWO
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rhuddlan, December 1055
Rhuddlan was white. The whole of the royal compound was hunkered down beneath the snow as if in hibernation. The only sign of life was a dark wisp of smoke rising up through the thatch of the great hall but even that was thin and unwelcoming. Edyth stared forlornly at it and wondered if she would ever again be warm. The distant sea was grey and flat, even its spirit subdued by the endless snowfall, and though she tried to picture the glorious day when she and Griffin had chased along its shore, it felt too far away to grasp. She shivered and huddled into Môrgwynt’s great neck, seeking relief from the battering western winter. Right now she couldn’t see much joy in being Queen of Wales.
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