The Chosen Queen

by Joanna Courtney

  ‘You are ready to ride for England then?’ he asked.

  Edyth set her chin up.

  ‘Yes, my lord, I am ready to ride for England.’

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Westminster, October 1063

  Edyth could hardly believe how Westminster had been transformed in the eight years since she had last been there. Thorney Island had been flattened and mounds of earth brought in to rid it of the marshy softness that had long caught at unwary shoes. The old abbey church had been torn down and King Edward’s grand new one was rising from the ground in layer upon layer of glowing Reigate stone. Already the pillars that would support the nave were heading for the sky as if urging the rest of the walls upwards towards God.

  Edward had called the court together at first light to bless the footings and they were all stood in the crisp autumn air, shivering in their finest clothes and trying not to yawn as Archbishop Stigand of Canterbury sprinkled holy water and chanted a benediction. Edyth knew her eyes should be cast down in devotion but she could not tear them away from the masons and craftsmen all around. For it wasn’t just the abbey; all of London was expanding.

  Beyond the rivers surrounding Westminster, houses were springing up everywhere so that, from where Edyth stood, she could barely glimpse grass at all. Much woodland had been cut down and the village of Chelsea to her west seemed to be creeping up to the very edges of the Tyburn. Even on the far side of the great Thames people were building homes, pushing out across the Southwark meadowlands like eager pilgrims. There were also more and more merchants operating along the beaten-down streets, selling foodstuffs and textiles and fancy goods brought in on the ships that lined the banks of the Thames. It was like a permanent market and Edyth marvelled at it.

  She had known herself to be stepping back in time in Wales but had not realised how far England had been leaping forward. Years of peace had given the country time to grow and prosper and she found herself wondering what Griffin would have made of all this. She thought of him every day. She missed his bulk at her side, his incautious enthusiasm, even his temper. She missed his pride in the children and his fiery dancing and his attentions in bed. She hated that little Nesta, thriving obliviously, would never know her father and cherished the fact that his last hours on earth, however confused, had been given to bringing her into it.

  His death haunted her. She went over and over it in her mind and longed to have Becca to talk to, though her maid’s part in the tragedy had been, perhaps, too raw to allow that. Such a silly argument, such a simple flare of Griffin’s ever-ready temper, and he’d gone. Yet, had it not been that, it would have been something else. Looking back now, his death seemed a hideous inevitability. From the moment Harold had brought fire to Rhuddlan they’d been running and they’d been bound to trip at some point. Or he had. She, it seemed, had been caught in Earl Harold’s competent arms again and was safely back in Westminster, almost as if her life in Wales had never been.

  ‘We are both widows now, my dear.’

  Edyth turned to see her grandmother at her side. Lady Godiva looked as composed and elegant as ever but her voice was quieter and her eyes not so sharp. Edyth nodded.

  ‘I was just thinking of him – Griffin.’

  ‘You will do that for a long time to come but you are young. You will marry again.’

  ‘I might not.’

  Godiva inclined her head.

  ‘You might not. It is your choice.’

  ‘You think so, Grandmother, truly?’

  ‘That depends on you. In law you are beholden to no one.’

  ‘But I have my children to protect and everyone says I can do that best with a husband.’

  Instinctively her hands went out for Ewan and Morgan but the boys were with their baby sister in the royal nursery and she met only thin air.

  ‘They are thriving?’ Godiva asked.

  ‘They are. My Princes of Wales are turning themselves into little English lords so fast it makes me giddy.’

  She had been worried for them with their sparse English and Welsh manners, but both boys were tall for their age and possessed the natural confidence of their royal upbringing and they seemed to have been treated less as foreigners than mystical heroes. They had slotted straight in with the other children and already they were shedding the lilt from their tongues like an adder its skin.

  ‘Children recover fast.’

  It was true, and if Ewan still cried out for Papa in the night and Morgan still wandered the fields looking for the sea it would pass. By the time they were men they would probably remember Wales only as a fleeting trace in their minds, like a dream of the country they’d been born to rule. Edyth shook herself.

  ‘We cannot, I suppose, dwell on the past.’

  ‘No, my dear, we cannot, but we can treasure it still.’

  Edyth smiled her thanks. Godiva, as so often, understood what others did not – that her time in Wales had not been some interlude best put behind her, but a part of her life. Even so, she had to go forward, as Westminster went forward.

  The blessing was over and the court was milling round in the autumn sun. Edyth saw Archbishop Eldred talking earnestly to a gang of young lords, borrowing a sword from one of them to point to some key architectural feature. She saw Lord Garth – now Earl Garth of East Anglia – bowing low before a blushing young lady and Earl Torr watching him darkly with his wife Judith, for once, on his arm. She saw her own mother, sadly shrunken without Alfgar at her side, and young Morcar scooping her protectively up to talk to a nearby group of lords and ladies. Edyth smiled and moved to join them but at that moment the king himself stepped up at her side.

  ‘Welcome home to England, my lady. I trust you have been made comfortable.’

  ‘Very, thank you, Sire.’

  Edyth swept into a curtsey but the king raised her immediately and offered her his arm. Godiva nudged her subtly forward and she took it, glancing in amusement at the furious courtiers forced to make way for her either side.

  ‘What do you make of my abbey?’ Edward asked.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Sire, truly. I have never seen anything so magnificent; it honours God greatly.’

  ‘I am glad you think so. It’s based on the abbey at Jumièges – a magnificent church, though I flatter myself I’ve added a few improvements.’

  ‘We must progress, Sire.’

  ‘We must, my lady!’ Edward beamed at her. Now fifty-eight years old, his tall frame was stooped and his thin figure gaunt but he held her arm strongly and his pale eyes still burned with life. ‘Stone is the future, you know.’

  ‘I believe you are right.’

  Edyth thought of Harold’s stone defences at Hereford and of Griffin’s refusal to have the same at Rhuddlan. If he’d built in stone, Harold would not have been able to burn the palace and they would not have had to flee to the boats and . . .

  ‘What do you think?’

  The King of England was looking intently at her and Edyth realised, mortified, that she had let her attention wander.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Sire, I did not hear you right.’

  ‘Bless you, my lady, you have been through much.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Edyth stuttered again. ‘And I’m sorry my husband made war on you.’

  ‘It was not your fault, Lady Edyth. Queens have a lot to put up with – ask my wife.’

  He gestured to Queen Aldyth who had come up at his side.

  ‘It is good to have you home, my lady.’

  Edyth felt her eyes welling up with tears and had to glance to the skies to force them back. One drop of kindness from the elegant king and queen and she was melting away!

  ‘You are very gracious,’ she muttered but now, thankfully, they had reached a great slate showing the mason’s plans for the abbey church and she was able to focus her attention on the intricacies of stone carving and architrave design.

  ‘Magnificent,’ she said again.

  ‘Yes,’ the king agreed,
‘and it should last many years, centuries even. It is my legacy to England.’

  ‘But who will carry that legacy?’

  Queen Aldyth’s words were soft, like a whisper on the breeze. Edyth turned to her, puzzled, and a courtier seized the chance to step up to the king. Queen Aldyth smiled sadly at her.

  ‘You have children.’

  ‘Yes. Three.’

  ‘You are blessed.’

  ‘I am.’ Edyth saw her pain and longed to ease it. ‘You are very slight, my lady,’ she offered. ‘Perhaps God did not wish to risk losing you in childbirth?’

  The queen looked startled but then she smiled.

  ‘What a lovely thought, Lady Edyth, thank you – though I find it hard to believe I am so precious. Queens are meant to have children, you know. It is our duty.’

  ‘One of our duties – I mean your duties.’

  ‘You are a queen too, Edyth, and I’ll warrant a good one.’ Aldyth drew her aside from the crowd. ‘I am glad you are back, truly. Your father was a great loss to the country, as I’m sure he was to you.’ Edyth inclined her head, desperately hoping she wasn’t going to cry again. ‘He was a . . . lively man but an experienced earl. Your brother is doing very well but he is young, God bless him, and was not raised to rule. I am sure you will be a great support to him in keeping Mercia strong for the king.’

  ‘I will do all I can to help, my lady.’

  ‘And you will marry again.’

  Unlike Godiva, the queen made it a statement not a question.

  ‘Maybe, in time.’

  ‘You have land?’

  ‘A little.’ Much of Edyth’s dowry lands had been in Wales so they were now lost to her. She had some in the Marches but it did not amount to a great living. ‘I have Billingsley,’ she remembered aloud. ‘It was gifted to me by Earl Harold in 1055.’

  ‘Of course. My brother takes a keen interest in you, Lady Edyth.’

  ‘He has been very good to me. His wife too.’

  ‘Lady Svana, yes.’ The queen stroked her hand across Edyth’s arm. ‘She is not, though, you know, truly his wife.’

  Edyth jerked back, then remembered herself and had no idea how to retract the slight. Confused, she curtseyed, her cheeks flaming scarlet, but the queen simply took her arm again and walked her still further from the crowd. Edyth looked frantically around. Svana was here. She had spent a wonderful evening with her just yesterday but she was always awkward around churches, even half-built ones, and had avoided this morning’s blessing. Edyth cursed her friend lightly under her breath. She should be at Harold’s side stopping such talk, for if it was coming from the Queen of England herself it was surely dangerous.

  ‘I have never seen a couple more closely joined,’ Edyth said stiffly.

  ‘’Tis true,’ Aldyth agreed easily. ‘My brother loves Svana dearly, as do I, but she is still not his wife in the eyes of the church.’

  ‘But in the eyes of God she is.’

  The queen smiled tightly.

  ‘Your loyalty does you credit, my lady, but ask yourself this – can Lady Svana be queen?’ Edyth looked around, horrified, and Aldyth sighed. ‘You do not approve of my loose tongue.’

  ‘No, my lady, of course not, I . . .’

  ‘Peace, Edyth. You are right, but I cannot help but worry. I have not provided an heir for England. It means we have no foundations.’ She gestured to the deep-set stones all around them. ‘And without foundations this beautiful country my husband has worked so hard to build could crumble away. We had a letter last week from Duke William of Normandy.’ Edyth blinked; the conversation was shifting too fast for her post-birth mind. ‘He wrote to tell us personally of his conquest of Maine, a province he believed he was promised the inheritance of.’

  ‘As he believes he was promised England?’

  The queen nodded urgently.

  ‘You see, you understand exactly. Not only that but he wrote that the Duke of Maine had been taken ill – something he ate at the victory feast, or so William claims. He is dead, Lady Edyth. He will not challenge William’s right to his land again. Do you understand that?’

  ‘Too well, my lady.’

  ‘The duke will stop at nothing to secure what he believes he is owed, bastard-born though he is. His connection is tenuous, you know, and in the maternal line too – Queen Emma, our dear Edward’s mother, was his great-aunt – but he swears that Edward promised him the throne in 1051.’

  ‘And did he?’

  ‘I was not there but I’m told it was spoken of, yes. Nothing was sworn, though. Edward owes a debt of gratitude to the Normans for sheltering him when his father was in exile from the invading Vikings and it is a debt he still intends to repay, but not with the throne. William, however, is not a man to settle for second best.

  ‘He writes that he has had his son – his first, Edyth, of three – invested as his heir. He writes that Robert is proving an able leader of men and with his formidable mother, the Lady Matilda, would make an excellent deputy should William ever need to go to war again. He writes that he hopes, though, that all his other dues – meaning England – will come to him without the need for violence.’ Edyth stared at the queen, the rest of the buzzing, fawning court fading into ineffectual insects in the face of her words. ‘He is very clear, is he not?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘So the king and I need to be very clear too and we are. In our minds there is only one future king for England and it seems to me, Lady Edyth, that there is only one queen too.’ She fixed Edyth in her ice-clear eyes for a moment then spun away. ‘Ah, is that your dear brother? He looks quite lost in Edward’s architectural discourse. Shall we rescue him? Earl Edwin, good day. How pleased you must be to have your sister with you once more.’

  Edwin bowed low and agreed that of course he was delighted and Edyth was drawn back into the smooth conversations of English court life, but underneath her head was spinning. The queen could not mean her to marry Harold? To betray her best friend and he his wife? Her understanding of court subtleties was rusty, that was all – she must have misunderstood. She must have. Her blood pulsed ridiculously, setting her head throbbing. As soon as she politely could she excused herself and, desperate for distraction, sought out her fun-loving younger brother. Morcar was juggling stones for a crowd of simpering young ladies but abandoned his sport as she drew close.

  ‘You look troubled, sister.’

  ‘Just disorientated, Marc. I’m not used to court life any more. I will be glad to return to Mercia for some peace.’

  ‘You will?’ He grimaced. ‘It’s a bit too peaceful up there for my liking.’

  ‘You are bored?’

  He glanced guiltily around but the gong had sounded and the people of the court were heading eagerly across to the great hall to break their fast so no one was paying them any attention.

  ‘In truth, Edyth, I am. I help Edwin where I can but he is reluctant to let others in. It’s fair – he must take command of his earldom – but it leaves me loose.’

  ‘Too loose by the looks of it.’

  Edyth indicated the young ladies, following close by, and her handsome brother grinned.

  ‘Can I help it if women want me? Anyway, you weren’t so slow off the mark yourself. As I recall, Griffin stood no chance.’

  Edyth blushed.

  ‘Was I really that bad?’

  ‘Not bad, sister – determined.’

  Edyth scuffed at the edge of a flagstone with her foot. It was true. Even at fourteen she had been hot with curiosity and keen to make a conquest and she’d succeeded.

  ‘Imagine,’ she said to Morcar, ‘if Father had been granted Northumbria instead of Earl Torr.’

  Morcar grunted. ‘The Northumbrians would have been glad of it. Word is they hate him. His taxes are higher than any and he spends most of them building hunting lodges in Wiltshire and the Marches. Needless to say, the Northumbrians resent that.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Morcar shrugged.


  ‘I’ve been hunting with a few of the local lords – there’s good game up there, you know, whatever Earl Torr thinks. I speak with them.’

  Edyth glanced anxiously around.

  ‘Be careful, Marc.’

  ‘I am but they need me and it’s good to be needed. Besides, I told you, I have loads of time on my hands. What else am I meant to do?’

  ‘I don’t know, just don’t go getting into trouble.’

  ‘I’m not Father, Edyth.’

  His whole body had gone rigid and she felt instant remorse.

  ‘I know, Marc, I know. I’m sorry. I’m tired.’

  She thought longingly of Coventry. There she would be safe from the calculating court. There she would be free of royal expectations and could nurse her still-raw wounds and calm her hot blood.

  ‘Edyth!’ Svana materialised between the crowds as if she had been there all along. ‘How was the blessing?’

  Edyth smiled at Svana’s approach. Her friend looked as fresh as ever in a pale yellow gown, embroidered – no doubt by the talented Elaine – with delicate flowers in a deeper shade.

  ‘Formal,’ she told her simply. ‘You’d have hated it.’

  ‘You know me too well.’

  ‘And understand you better all the time. I was just telling Morcar how good it will be to escape the court and go home.’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘Coventry. I am in my brother’s keeping now, it seems, if I am not still prisoner.’

  ‘Edyth! Of course you are not. Harold would never imprison you and you must go where you see fit – though Coventry is not the only peaceful place in England.’

  Edyth peered at her, then releasing Morcar to the ladies with a smile, drew her closer.

  ‘You sound, my dear friend, as if you have another idea.’

  ‘Not at all, though I was thinking that you could, perhaps, visit me at Nazeing after Yule, as was once planned so very long ago. Crysta is nearly eight now and should see more of her godmother and it would be so lovely to have you to stay.’