The Chosen Queen

by Joanna Courtney

  Edyth pictured Nazeing as she had seen it last on the long-ago day of Svana and Harold’s wedding, all meadow grasses and fire sparks and magic. She longed to return and yet . . . The royal couple were taking their places at table and as Queen Aldyth settled herself, her eyes found Edyth and she seemed to almost pat the arms of the beautiful carved throne as if inviting her to take inheritance of it. Edyth recoiled.

  ‘Will Harold be there?’

  Svana shook her head and something about the way her elegant shoulders drooped pulled Edyth’s eyes from the queen’s piercing stare.

  ‘Svana? What is wrong?’

  Svana looked to the thatch as if gathering herself then finally she said: ‘King Edward has asked Harold to sail for Normandy in the spring.’

  ‘Normandy? Why?’

  ‘To try and form a new treaty with Duke William.’ Queen Aldyth’s words sprang instantly to Edyth’s mind. If she was to be believed, William poisoned dukes on their own land so surely it was madness to ride into the heart of his court? And yet she had learned to her own cost that Harold was not a man to sit and wait for his enemies to come to him. The thought tore at her heart and she grabbed Svana’s hands. ‘No, Svana. You must stop him. He must refuse.’

  ‘Refuse the king? He would not know how.’

  Svana sounded bitter and for once Edyth understood why. Her poor friend just wanted her husband at home but women, Edyth was learning, had little power to secure even such seemingly small demands. They could, however, look after each other and maybe, whatever others plotted, God had sent her back to England to assist Svana in these turbulent times?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Nazeing, May 1064

  Svana watched her girls helping little Nesta to feed a rejected lamb and sought for the usual rush of joy in her heart but it did not come. She felt furious with herself and then furious all over again for being furious. She was turning into the witch people had once claimed she was, only less a magical enchantress than an old crone.

  ‘Isn’t it lovely?’ Edyth said. ‘A miracle really.’ She looked knowingly up at Svana.

  ‘Is that something I said?’

  ‘Yes – well, wrote. It was a letter back when I was first in Wales. You’d helped birth three winter lambs and you said that no matter how many times you saw new life come into the world it felt like a miracle.’

  The memory seemed to spin in front of Svana’s eyes, unsettling her, and she fumbled for the stall rail to steady herself. Edyth leaped up.

  ‘Svana, you look strange. Are you unwell?’

  ‘It’s this pregnancy, that’s all.’

  Svana waved away her friend’s concern and moved to the barn door, pressing a hand to her belly. She’d been delighted when she’d first realised she was carrying Harold’s sixth child – a piece of him inside her whilst he was over the narrow sea – but it didn’t feel so good now. It was not just the nausea this time but cramps too. She’d even bled, though not enough to worry anyone else with.

  ‘It seems to be harder every time,’ she admitted.

  ‘It will.’ Edyth left the girls and joined her. ‘You are older now.’

  ‘Old.’

  ‘Older. If you were old you would not be able to conceive at all.’

  Svana smiled ruefully.

  ‘I sometimes think that would be a blessing.’ She saw the shock in Edyth’s pretty face and felt awful. ‘I don’t mean that, truly. Carrying Harold’s child will always be a blessing. I just wish him home, that’s all.’

  She closed her eyes against the sorrow that seemed to sting at her wherever she went. Harold had sailed for Normandy as soon as the worst of the winter winds had died away but the first news she’d heard had been that his ship had foundered on a wrecking tide at Ponthieu. He had written, thank the Lord, from safety at Rheims but that safety had come at a sore price. It was the Duke of Normandy himself who had ridden to release him from the avaricious Duke of Ponthieu, leaving Harold in dangerous debt. The next she’d heard, he’d been commissioned to help invade Brittany and she had known then that he would be a long time away from home.

  Spring was normally her favourite time of year but for once it had dragged terribly. She might not have survived the fearful waiting for his return without Edyth at her side but finally, last week, messengers had arrived to say Harold would be setting sail for his manor of Bosham at the start of June. Svana had greeted the news with joy – had feasted all her people in the meadowlands to celebrate – but somehow this last week had felt longer than all those that had gone before. Now she looked out across the rich colours of the sweet Maytime sunset and wished she could enjoy it as it deserved instead of counting it fearfully away.

  ‘I remember your wedding so vividly,’ Edyth was saying, looking out across the soft meadowlands where the boys were playing a noisy game of tag. ‘Here, on the most beautiful day, with everyone dancing and singing. It was all so magical, so perfect.’

  Svana drew in a breath and considered the waving grasses as if some shadow of that wonderful night might still be imprinted across them.

  ‘It was,’ she agreed softly. ‘Back then it truly was,’ but the magic, if such it had been, was gone now and she could no longer keep Harold in the faerie-circle of her Nazeing estate.

  ‘He will be king,’ the ladies of the court would whisper in her ear. ‘Who else? Who else can it be? And then . . .’ They’d look at her, eyes sly, and even nod to Queen Aldyth as if they could remove her crown and her jewels and her furs and personally drape them onto Svana.

  ‘And then Duke William will attack,’ Svana would say and they’d recoil, not at the idea of invasion but at her refusal to play the dream. It drove her insane. Couldn’t they see that queenship wasn’t something you put on like your mother’s gowns? Couldn’t they see that a royal crown had thorns inside? Why would she choose that? Yet how could she not?

  ‘It’s very peaceful here, isn’t it?’ she said, gesturing fiercely to the rolling horizon.

  ‘Beautiful.’

  ‘Beautiful – yes. I am lucky.’

  ‘Svana? What’s wrong?’ Edyth asked. ‘Tell me, please. Do you not like it here any more?’

  ‘Oh yes. I love it. I would gladly remain here always, coward that I am.’

  ‘Coward?’

  ‘That’s what Godwin called me last winter. He was angry because I would not let him sail for Normandy with his father. He believes he is full grown and mayhap he is right, Edyth – he will soon turn sixteen after all – but the world is such a bitter place, even for a man.’

  ‘Is he angry still?’

  ‘Not so much. He is a good son and he loves it here as much as I, but he still suspects me of cowardice and does not wish to be tainted with the same.’

  ‘What’s cowardly about loving your own homeland, Svana?’

  ‘I suppose that depends how wide you should consider your homeland to be and what is expected of you.’ She swallowed. ‘I do not wish to be queen, Edie.’

  She looked at the younger woman and saw her flush in vivid lines of scarlet, almost like wounds across her cheeks.

  ‘It was never what you intended,’ Edyth said carefully.

  ‘Nor Harold either but he is not so selfish as I.’

  ‘It is not selfish to want your husband at your side.’

  ‘Nor for him to want his wife at his, wherever he may have to ride.’

  ‘No.’ Edyth picked awkwardly at a meadow grass, scattering the seeds to the wind, then her eyes lit up. ‘You should ride to Bosham, Svana. You could be there to meet Harold when he returns over the narrow sea. He must be very lonely; think how he might need you.’

  For a fleeting moment Svana felt like crying out that she did not want to be needed, that it was too much to bear, but she knew how pathetic that was, how weak, and she did not want to be weak. She looked from the boys, throwing an old pig’s bladder between them, to the girls, busily tying a hair ribbon around a lamb’s neck, and then back to her friend. She could not hide her
e forever and she could not leave Harold to face the world alone.

  ‘I will go,’ she said fiercely but already her very body seemed to jerk against the idea.

  That night Svana lay awake, trying to dream of standing on Harold’s beach to welcome him home. She tried to picture the pleasure on his face and the feel of his arms around her, but her back ached and her head was pounding. She needed sleep if she were to make the journey south but her damned body felt so insistently awake. It was not the babe for she had not felt it turn all day, but more the womb itself, as if it was giving out heat. And pain.

  She heard the cry as if it came from somewhere else – a ewe in the barn perhaps – but there was no doubting the next vicious stab. This was her own pain and she could not silence it.

  ‘Mama?’

  Through a red haze she saw Hannah and Crysta at the foot of her bed but when she tried to rise to go to them it felt as if someone was sticking a sword into her. She put out a hand but they hung back, frightened, and then, thank the Lord, Edyth swept in.

  ‘Fret not, girls,’ she heard her say. ‘You run and fetch Elaine and I’ll watch Mama. Quick now!’

  Crysta ran for the door, dragging her little sister after her, and Svana only had time to give thanks that they were safely away before the pain doubled her in on herself. She looked wildly up at Edyth.

  ‘Am I losing it?’

  Edyth clasped her hands.

  ‘I know not yet. May I look?’

  Svana nodded and forced herself to sit up as Edyth pulled back the sheets. Blood stained the mattress, spreading out from beneath her in a scarlet flood that seemed to pull her whole world inwards.

  ‘I am losing it!’

  ‘It seems so.’ Edyth’s voice was calm. ‘I’m sorry, Svana, but we must care for you now. There’s no way we are losing you too.’

  Svana stared deep into the scarlet stain. Was that her life-blood soaking away? Was God taking her for obstructing Harold’s duty to his country? Suddenly it all seemed horribly clear.

  ‘My death would solve a lot of problems,’ she said bitterly but Edyth grabbed her shoulders, holding her tight and forcing her to look into her face.

  ‘It would solve nothing. Nothing! You are not to speak like that. Crysta and Hannah need you. The boys need you. Harold needs you. Lord have mercy, Svana, I need you. Fight for me at least – promise?’

  Svana wanted to promise but a new pain shot through her and she could only cry out against it.

  ‘There now,’ said a voice – Elaine. ‘This won’t do. Come, Svana, my love, rise. It has to come out. All of it, the afterbirth too. If any lingers in your womb it will turn to poison. Can you rise? Good. Very good. Now, sit here.’

  Svana looked down. At her feet was a pail, its edges padded with soft linen but its gaping hole dark as the mouth of hell itself. She shuddered but her knees were giving way as a new pain came and she had no choice but to allow herself to be sat upon it.

  ‘You will need to push, my love,’ Elaine said. ‘You know how to do that, don’t you?’

  Svana set her teeth. She did not want to be here. She did not want to do this, to expel Harold’s dear child into a filthy pail. This was no miracle of life. This was pain and loss and fear and blood – this was a woman’s battlefield.

  ‘Fight, Svana,’ Edyth urged at her side. ‘Please fight.’

  Svana’s whole body tensed, as if squeezing itself downwards. She longed to resist but the force was too great and with a roar of anguish she pushed with it. She heard a sickening rush of fluid and rocked against the horror of it all. Only Edyth’s hand on her back steadied her, rubbing so fast she felt the heat of it burn her skin.

  ‘And again, my love,’ came Elaine’s voice, soft and soothing.

  Edyth’s hand ceased its motion but Svana felt it against her still, strong and tight, and pushed back against it as, with another sickening gulp and flop, her poor womb emptied itself into the pail.

  ‘There,’ Elaine said. ‘There, ’tis done. ’Tis over.’

  ‘Over,’ Svana repeated, more a wail than a word, and then she collapsed.

  She wanted Harold. She wanted his strong arms around her and his soft voice in her ear and the blissful security of his body against her own. She thought of him splashing back onto England’s shores without anyone there to draw him safely onto land and more pains shuddered through her. She reached out and grabbed for Edyth’s arm.

  ‘You must go, Edie.’

  ‘Go?’

  ‘To Bosham.’

  ‘What? No. No, Svana, I will stay here. I will stay here with you.’

  ‘No.’ This sorry night Svana seemed to have lost control of so much, but there was one thing she knew for sure. ‘You must go to meet Harold. I do not want him landing alone. I do not want him hearing of this alone. He is not good alone.’ She forced herself up, desperate now. ‘Please Edyth, go to Harold for me, as I fought here for you.’

  It seemed to take forever for the reply to come but when it did she felt it lift a great weight off her shoulders.

  ‘I will go, Svana. For you I will go.’

  And on that blissful promise Svana surrendered herself to leaden sleep at last.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Bosham, June 1064

  The winds teased at Harold’s ship like a cat with a helpless prey, sending it lurching crookedly across the water. Edyth stood on the beachhead and held her breath, the tension winding inside her like wool round a spindle. The sea, churned up by a summer storm, seemed reluctant to finally hand the earl back to English shores and she crossed her fingers behind her back, willing him onwards.

  Steadily the ship grew until she could make out the pulsing figures of the oarsmen battling to direct the craft to the safety of the beach. She watched, fascinated, as the sails were dropped and the wooden hull scythed through the sand, oars high in the air like insect legs. Once the prow had cleared the greedy edges of the waves, men leaped out to heave the boat to safety above the waterline and the spray from the sodden ropes splashed against her in a shock of cold. She flinched back but then a dark figure jumped down before her.

  ‘Harold!’

  She ran forward and clasped him. His arms went around her and she felt his fingers dig into her back as if tethering himself to her.

  ‘Edyth, thank God. It’s so good to see a friendly face.’ He pulled back and scrutinised her. ‘Are you well? Is . . . Svana well?’

  ‘Quite well, Harold.’ He did not believe her; she owed him the truth. ‘She lost a babe.’

  ‘A babe? I had no idea she . . .’

  ‘She only found out a little time before, though it was big enough to give her some trouble coming out.’

  Edyth squeezed her eyes shut against the blood and the fear and terrible hopeless plop of a life dropped away into a pail.

  ‘And Svana . . . ?’

  ‘Is well, truly, Harold. A little sad but cared for by Elaine. She took no fever and she is hale, the rest of your family too. They are eager to see you.’

  ‘And I them. It has been a dark time, Edyth.’

  A shadow sat itself on his face.

  ‘Come,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘We have fires lit and wine warming. There is hot stew and fresh bread for all.’

  ‘You are a good steward, my lady.’

  ‘Nay – you must thank Joseph for that. I am merely here to carry Svana’s love.’

  ‘And a little of your own?’

  ‘Of course.’ She looked aside. ‘You are like a brother to me, Harold. Now, come!’

  Later, as the men thawed around the fire, food settling in their stomachs and wine coursing through their veins, Edyth saw them visibly unfold. Their shoulders relaxed, their backs unbent, their legs stretched out and even, slowly, smiles broke out on their lips as colour seeped back into them. As the evening rolled on only one man remained tight and hunched and Edyth hated to see it.

  ‘It has been hard?’ she hazarded.

  ‘Hard?’ Harold rolled the word ar
ound his mouth, testing it, then frowned, finding it wanting. ‘Nay, Edyth, it has been hell itself.’

  ‘The duke was not, then, welcoming?’

  ‘Oh no – no the duke was very welcoming. He is like melted butter, impossible to grasp and leaving you slicked with his residue. I feel I will never be clean again.’

  ‘I could order you a bath . . . ?’

  ‘No, Edyth, thank you. This dirt is inside me.’

  ‘He treated you cruelly?’

  ‘Nay, he treated me like a king. He fed me royally and accommodated me royally and his wife, the Duchess Matilda, offered me every courtesy. They rode me out at their side and showed me their dukedom all the way to the borders and, indeed, beyond. Matilda’s father is regent of France, you know, along with the boy-king’s mother, Anne of Kiev – sister to Hardrada’s queen. Forces are gathering all around us, Edyth, wicked forces, and William is the wickedest of them all.’

  ‘You did not like him?’

  Harold sighed.

  ‘I wish it were that simple,’ he admitted. ‘He is a fascinating man, Edyth – driven and focused and so very astute on the battlefield. We had much in common; mayhap that is why I was fooled into believing all was well between us. I rode with him into Brittany as a fellow commander and he praised my battle skills as I praised his. I thought we worked well together but it seems he was just playing me against his enemies and then, right at the end, he tricked me.’

  His voice rasped into his cup and he sucked down wine, as if trying to drown the sound.

  ‘Tricked you?’

  ‘On the very last night, as if he’d been saving it up for me the whole time, as I’m sure he was. He is a patient man, Edyth – a cold, determined, dangerously patient man. He knows how to stalk a prey and he knows how to finish it off when the time comes.’

  Harold drank again and Avery moved forward to refill his cup. The young squire had filled out into a strong soldier over the last year and something about him reminded Edyth of Lewys. She felt a pang of sorrow. She had sought news of her dear friends, of the birth of their child, but the borders to Wales had locked down and she had been unable to find out anything. It was almost as if they had never existed. She looked again at Harold’s steward and saw dark rings of tiredness around his young eyes.