The Chosen Queen (28 page)

‘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.’

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?

Nazeing, May 1064

S
vana 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.’

‘Old
er
. 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.’