The Chosen Queen

by Joanna Courtney

  ‘Go to bed, Avery,’ Harold said.

  ‘But my lord . . .’

  ‘Truly, lad. You have served me well these last months and you deserve your rest. I will retire shortly.’

  Avery looked from Harold to Edyth and then bowed low and backed away. Many of the men were setting their pallets now, worn out from their rough trip, and it was as if the whole world was going to sleep around them. Edyth longed to know what had happened but feared hurting Harold further by dragging the facts from him. She waited, watching quietly, and eventually he looked up again.

  ‘He made me swear, Edyth.’

  ‘Swear what?’

  ‘Swear loyalty – swear to support his claim to the throne, swear him in as King of England.’ His voice cracked and he pounded his fist into the table. ‘Does God hold a man to such a vow, Edyth? A vow made under duress and against the deepest reaches of his heart?’

  Edyth took a deep breath; never had words felt more crucial.

  ‘I do not believe so, Harold. Men see actions, God sees intentions.’

  He looked at her and his eyes cleared, but within moments the shadows crept back.

  ‘Yet I am sworn, Edyth.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘How?! I hardly dare recount it.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You do not have to. I am too curious – it has ever been thus.’

  A smile ghosted across his lips.

  ‘It has, Edyth, and that is good. There is much to learn of this world, more than I, fool that I am, ever truly realised. I will tell you. Nay, I must tell you for the fact of it is scratching away inside me like a trapped beast.’

  He drew a breath and Edyth leaned in. She blocked out the clattering of the platters as the servants cleared the last of the food and the slam of wood on wood as they took down the trestle tables to make way for the pallet beds. She blocked out Joseph dismissing the men to bed and the snores of the sleepers and even the occasional whimper that told of haunted dreams brought home like stowaways from Normandy. She blocked it all and filled her ears with Harold’s words as he tore them from himself and laid them before her.

  ‘It was meant to be a feast. Nothing more. It was Duchess Matilda’s idea, or so she presented it. She was so friendly to me, Edyth, so solicitous but she, it seems, was playing me as much as her precious husband. We’d agreed terms, you see. Way back when William first welcomed me to Rheims we’d agreed terms. I’d told him, as King Edward had instructed me, that he now wished to nominate an English heir but that he recognised William as his maternal cousin and would like to honour that link with an alliance. I’d offered him the lordship of all Cornwall in honour of such a treaty and he’d accepted. We’d shaken hands, Edyth.’

  ‘You’d sworn an oath?’

  ‘No. No, we had not, for news had come in the very next day of unrest in Brittany and we’d ridden forth together, but we’d shaken hands. I’d even offered my dear sister Emma as wife for one of his Norman lords. We’d agreed, Edyth. Pah! It seems Duke William cares little of honour. He is a bastard indeed.’

  ‘What happened at the feast?’

  ‘Oh, the usual, lots of fine food and wine – the Normans are very precious about their “cuisine” – and then William announced we were to declare friendship before all. I was expecting that, we were due to swear an oath, but he changed it. He stood before them all, out in the open for public witness, and he laid the words of the oath on a beautiful box and when I looked at them, when I . . .’ Harold sucked in his breath. ‘They said I swore to uphold William’s claim to the throne of England on the death of his cousin King Edward and when I looked up to protest there were Norman swords at my throat. I had no choice, Edyth, not if I wanted to live.’

  ‘Oh, Harold.’ Edyth placed her hands over his. ‘Such an oath is not binding.’

  ‘Ah, but Edyth, I haven’t told you the worst of it yet. I thought that too. I spoke the words with my own men looking on in horror and the duke circling me like a beast of prey and I meant not one word and he knew that. But then, when I had finished, he opened the box and inside, Edyth, inside were all of Normandy’s finest relics: the bones of St Rémy, St Philibert, St Barbara, St Eternus, even St Maximus. I swore on all their sanctified remains, Edyth – how can that be gainsaid?’

  ‘You did not know.’

  ‘No, but I know now and it sits like a lodestone on my heart.’

  ‘It was a trick, Harold, nothing more. You cannot let it bind you. Only a coward would make you proceed so.’

  ‘A coward?’ Harold almost laughed. ‘He would not like that, Edyth, but I think you are right. Duke William is a coward, but a ruthless one and he wants England for himself.’ Edyth felt his fingers counting through her own as if they were tally sticks offering magical numbers. ‘One thing and one thing only has this ill-fated trip told me – that Normans cannot be allowed to rule England.’

  ‘Then, Harold, it must be you.’

  ‘The Hungarian, Prince Edgar . . .’

  ‘Perhaps, if the king lives many years yet.’ There was a pause. ‘But if he does not, then it must be you.’

  ‘The people won’t want it.’

  ‘They will. They love you. Wessex loves you as its own. We will bring Mercia and Torr Northumbria.’

  ‘Ah. Torr. The Northumbrians do not much like him, you know.’

  ‘I know. Morcar told me.’

  ‘So why should they not extend that dislike to his brother? They hate Torr for exploiting their land for his own gain and is that not what I, too, would be doing if I took the throne?’

  ‘Do you see it as gain, Harold?’

  ‘No, but they will. Royalty glitters from afar; it is only when you are close that you see the shine is not gold but steel. If the people of the north do not want a southern king they will find themselves a new one. They have done it before – how do you think King Cnut conquered England?’

  Edyth stared at him.

  ‘Hardrada,’ she breathed.

  ‘Hardrada, yes. Many Northumbrians still feel they have more in common with Norway than England. York might welcome him in and then we would be doomed.’

  Edyth remembered the stormy eyes of the great warrior boring into her at Rhuddlan and knew Harold was right.

  ‘Torr must be made to rule more fairly then. You must talk to him, Harold, make him see how important this is to England.’

  Harold snorted.

  ‘My brother is more interested in what is important to himself.’

  ‘Perhaps I could talk to him?’

  ‘No!’ Harold grabbed her hands once more. ‘No, Edyth, you must not go near him. He would—’

  ‘Spear me?’ Harold shuddered at these words and Edyth only just stopped herself from laughing. ‘I am not a girl any more, Harold. You do not need to protect me, my innocence is all gone.’

  ‘Not all, Edyth. We are more innocent than we think. I was innocent enough to believe William was dealing honourably with me. There is more darkness in the world than we can know, than we should know, especially some of us.’

  ‘Svana,’ Edyth breathed.

  ‘Svana sees all the good in God’s creation,’ Harold agreed, his eyes softening. ‘She has created her own world at Nazeing and, Edyth, it is a beautiful place. It has its problems, what farm does not, but it has no divisions, no politics, no damned fighting. In that sense, it is perfect but it is also unreal. Svana wants the rest of the world to be the same and she is right to do so but . . .’

  ‘But it cannot be, not until the rest of the world is as pure of heart as she.’

  ‘You see that, Edyth.’

  ‘How can I not when I grew up in my father’s household? He lived and breathed politics.’

  ‘As did mine, Edyth, as did mine. We are the same sort of creatures, you and I, driven by our duty to a wider family than our own. Sometimes I wish I was not made so and I could retire to Nazeing and live the life of a country squire but to do that I would have to surrender my earldom and my whole being rebels against such an
act. My father won Wessex, Edyth, and I am proud to hold it for him, as I am proud to be part of the great council of England.’

  He sounded so bitter, so confused. Edyth put out a hand.

  ‘There is nothing wrong with pride, Harold. Or with duty.’

  ‘But duty to whom, Edyth? I feel every bit as protective of my country as I do of my children, perhaps more so, and I worry that is wrong of me. Svana certainly believes so and I love her for it, but I cannot escape my own conscience. I do not want to be King of England, Edyth, but if in the end England wants me I will be unable to say no. All I ask is that I do not have to bear the burden alone.’

  ‘You will have Svana.’

  ‘As I have her here now?’

  ‘That’s not fair. She has been unwell. Travelling would have endangered her.’

  ‘Travelling always endangers her. She cannot truly breathe court air, not for long, not as you can, Edyth.’

  ‘Harold, don’t.’

  ‘You have been a queen once; you could do it again.’

  ‘Not like this . . .’

  ‘Marry me.’

  ‘No! No, Harold, do not speak of this. Not you.’

  ‘Others have spoken of it?’

  ‘Too many but they do not know. They think only of politics, not of love.’

  ‘And this would be a political match.’

  ‘Not a love one?’

  ‘I care for you deeply, Edyth, you know that.’

  ‘As a friend.’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘You mean we would . . . pretend? A platonic alliance only?’

  Something deep inside her kicked furiously as he considered this, but then he shook his head.

  ‘No. No, not that, Edyth. My sister had such a marriage at first and it nigh on killed her. A wife must be a wife.’

  Edyth looked up at him. His face was close to hers, his breath warm on her cheek, his eyes swirling with undefinable emotion.

  ‘But Svana . . .’ she whimpered.

  He stoppered the word with his lips. They covered hers fiercely, demandingly. All the air seemed to suck out of the room. Edyth’s head spun and her body flared and pulled towards him like a boat on the tide. A glorious madness seemed to rush in and she clutched at him to hold on but as her fingers caught behind his neck they snagged on sanity and she yanked back.

  ‘No,’ she said, then louder, ‘no!’ Then she turned and ran, out into the night and across the compound, to burrow into her own bed, already knowing that she would never be able to sink deep enough into the soft feathers to escape whatever had just happened.

  Edyth kept to her room the next morning, praying that Harold would leave to report to the king at Westminster without her having to see him again. She was horrified at his kiss and still more so at how eagerly she had leaped to meet it. What had he said of innocence last night? How was it possible to be so very innocent even of your own desires? Not that she desired him. No. It had just been the lateness of the hour and the richness of the wine and the emotion of seeing him so battered by the bastard duke. Even so, she had no wish to expose herself to the whims of her widowed body again and she crept around her chamber waiting for the sound of troops mustering to ride out.

  It never came. Instead, as the sun reached its apex sending the confined room into shadow, there was a knock at the door. Edyth stared at it in horror.

  ‘Edyth?’ His voice was gentle, nervous. She looked to the ceiling. ‘Edyth, it is I – Harold. Can I enter? Please?’

  ‘Better not.’

  ‘Nay, Edyth, we cannot leave it like this. It was but a kiss.’

  But a kiss? Nay, it had been a touchpaper to needs and wants she had buried when Griffin had been cut down before her in the Welsh Eryri. If that’s how he saw it, though, maybe she could do so too.

  ‘You were tired,’ she suggested.

  ‘Tired and lonely and confused. Nay, not confused, but . . . foolish. Edyth, please can I come in?’

  Slowly she lifted the latch and the great Earl of Wessex sidled inside.

  ‘Svana,’ she said and this time he did not stop her but hung his head. ‘You love her?’

  ‘Of course I do, more than life itself. Why do you think I don’t want to make her queen?’

  Edyth frowned and he grabbed her arms, pinning them to her sides. Her body sang at his touch and she fought it, disgusted with herself.

  ‘Being queen would destroy Svana, Edyth. She needs to be free, not shackled by the demands of a petulant country. She cannot stand even being at court, you know that – how much more, then, would she hate ruling it?’

  Edyth looked down at his big hands wrapped around her arms and tried to focus on what he was saying. It was true, so very, very true.

  ‘Then you will have to reign without a queen.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I am not strong enough to do that, Edyth. Maybe I am not strong enough to reign at all.’

  ‘Nay, Harold – you are.’ She looked urgently up at him and suddenly their faces were close again and madness was closing in fast. ‘Let me go.’

  He stepped back as if stung and Edyth saw his chest heaving as she knew her own was doing. ‘This has to stop, Harold. Go to Edward, give your report, muster forces if you wish, but there is no cause for panic, no cause to rush into anything . . . foolish.’

  ‘Edyth . . . Please. Edward is hale yet. So much could change. We cannot know what the future will bring; we can only proceed with our best intentions.’

  ‘God sees intentions.’

  Edyth heard her own words like a terrible accusation. God would, indeed, know exactly where she would have intended last night’s crazy kiss to go. Harold spoke true. Being queen would destroy Svana and if Edyth could take her place just to save her friend, or even just to aid Harold, then it might be possible but this dark night had awakened dangerous feelings inside her, feelings that would mean she would not be saving her dearest friend but betraying her. The truth was that she could only have married Harold if she cared less for him, much, much less.

  ‘Good day, Harold,’ she said stiffly. ‘God speed you to Westminster.’

  ‘You will not ride with us?’

  ‘I must return to Coventry. My family will need me – as yours need you.’

  Harold sighed.

  ‘I meant you no dishonour, Edyth.’

  ‘Which is why we must now part and say no more of marriage. You will say no more of it, Harold?’

  Harold, however, simply bowed low and backed from the room. At the door he paused and Edyth had to reach for the bedpost to stop herself running to him.

  ‘God bless you, Edyth Alfgarsdottir,’ he murmured and then, at last, he was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Coventry, October 1065

  My dearest Edyth,

  I hope this letter finds you well and safe at Coventry, though I begin to fear that the very safety you know I have long cherished is becoming an illusion. Harold has been in attendance on the king for longer than ever before. Edward has been very sick, Edyth. For a time the court feared for his life but, God be praised, he has recovered and Harold has taken him to Torr’s beautiful new hunting lodge in Wiltshire to restore his vitality. I only pray it works for I dream in shadows of crowns and fear the demands of the king’s death more and more with every day that passes.

  They are calling Harold the sub-regulus, Edyth, and in truth, with Edward ever at his precious abbey, he controls all the daily business of government. There is no one else to do so. The young Hungarian prince. Edgar, remains as mewling a creature as he was the day his father died, though he has my pity. He is as much a victim of this country’s hunger for an heir as Harold but he, at least, has his youth to protect him and he clings to it. Harold says he makes little effort with his military training and eats like a girl. There is no chance of him leading an army any time soon and one will be needed if King Edward is called back to God.

  There is one Englishman who would take the throne willingl
y, indeed with joy, but Harold fears his rule more, perhaps, than that of Duke William or even the Viking, Hardrada. Earl Torr is ever hungry for advancement and despises his own earldom. He is there so rarely that the younger northern lords barely recognise him when they come to court and when he does return it is only to tax and to punish. He does not deserve the title he so looks down on. Please warn your brother to be wary of his neighbour in the north, for trouble in Northumbria might visit itself on Mercia too.

  I long to see you, Edyth. I missed you so much at the Whitsun Crownwearing and Christ’s mass seems such a long time away. I know I have ever been too fearful and I know you laugh at me for it, but the world is spinning and it will throw us away from each other if we do not guard against it. I pray yet for our woman’s year but fear 1066 will not be it. Do come and visit. There are things we should talk about but a scratchy piece of vellum is no way to do so.

  Take care, my dear friend, and look to your borders.

  All my love,

  Svana

  Edyth folded the letter carefully and laid it on her lap. It was a beautiful autumn day and the leaves were dancing around the elegant compound at Coventry but Svana’s words chilled her like the sharpest winter wind.

  ‘Come now, boys, harder. Parry and thrust and, ow! Excellent, Ewan, excellent!’

  She looked up. Morcar was clutching his thigh dramatically where his eldest nephew, now a cornstalk of a nine-year-old, had just inflicted a killer blow with his wooden training sword. Morgan, not to be outdone, was charging wildly at his Uncle Edwin.

  ‘Go on, Morgan,’ Ewan encouraged, ‘pretend he’s a Norman – slaughter him!’

  Edyth shivered and ran her fingers over Svana’s letter. It was true that her friend had ever been cautious of risk but more and more Edyth felt she was the one in the right. Watching her precious boys training in the safety of the compound at Coventry was all very well but if the Normans truly were to invade they would all need their shields.