The Chosen Queen (14 page)

Gloucester, Yuletide 1055

H
arold 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 soothing 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 roll 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.

Rhuddlan, December 1055

R
huddlan 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.