Authors: Joanna Courtney
The Chosen Queen (33 page)
‘No!’
‘Yes. You must marry me, Edyth.’
‘No, Harold.’ Edyth fought to hold back her tears. ‘I have brought you the north,’ she repeated, a plea.
‘And in so doing have all but written our nuptial ceremony yourself. God help us, Edyth, but you saw what it’s like out there. The country is not as stable as it was. It needs firm
rule. Everyone is looking to me for that but I cannot do it without you.’
‘I will keep the north to your cause, Harold, I swear it.’
He shook his head furiously.
‘I know that. You do not understand, Edyth. I meant that I cannot do it without
you
.’
It was too sweet to bear. She tried to pull away.
‘You are wed already.’
‘You know that’s not true.’
‘Why not?’ Fury flared in her, instantly hot as the deepest embers. ‘Why did you not marry her properly, Harold? Why did you not spare us this?’
He shrugged helplessly.
‘She would not let me. She does not believe in public conventions. She does not believe in rules and structures and titles.’
‘Like queen?’ Edyth whispered.
‘Like queen.’
Edyth knew that much was true but she also knew that even if Harold was asking this of her to spare Svana, her own motivations were far baser. She pushed back against the tree but the bark of
the old oak dug into her skin as if pushing her away.
‘She will hate me,’ she whispered.
‘Nay, Edyth, she does not hate.’
‘She should.’
‘Your children . . .’
‘Are still my children. I will explain the price of greatness to them.’
‘I am a
price
?’
‘No! Edyth, you are a jewel.’
‘I am sick of jewels. I have four great rubies, Harold, do you know that? Four great rubies on the crown Griffin had made for me. They are beautiful, Harold, but they are of no
use
at all.’
‘That’s not true. They shine, as you shine, and the world needs that or it is too dull to bear.’
‘You have an answer for everything.’
‘I do not have an answer to my question – will you marry me, Edyth?’
My dearest Svana,
I write to you for mercy. You have never cleaved to the Roman church, I know, but I beg you to somehow find it in your heart to embrace their laws, at least outwardly, or we are both
in peril. They want me to marry. You will know this. You have ever been wiser than I and ever purer of heart, though God knows that is not difficult now. I do not have the words for this and
I know I stumble and make little sense. Forgive me. My pen is as confused as my heart.
I will say it. They want me to marry Harold, Svana. Your Harold. The court wills it so, the king wills it so, England wills it so. I will it not, but I have not your strength to resist
the pulls of duty and expectation. Harold does not love me. Nay, he proceeds with this madness for love of but one woman – you. He seeks to protect you from the world he knows you
despise and I, it seems, am to be the shield.
Preparations are afoot, Svana, and only one person can stop them. If you were to come now, if you were to stand before the altar in my place, the world would have to recognise you as
Harold’s true wife. You would be queen, Svana, and I would be your ever-loyal servant, not the viper at your breast.
I have delayed all I can, my dear friend, but the date is now set for two weeks hence. The king ails again and the court is in a panic that, it seems, only a wedding can calm. You told
me the world was spinning and now it has spun me off my unwary feet. I know I can be queen, if so it must be, but I would far rather be your friend.
I hate to ask this of you for I know you see no reason in pandering to the foolish notions of those less trusting than your dear self. I fear you will despise me for this missive and
blame you not, for I despise myself, but for our friendship at least, please come.
With unending love and sorrow,
Edyth
My dearest Edyth,
Save your spite for me, my dearest child, for I am the one at fault here. I am strong only in the awareness of my own weakness. Know this, Edie, I cannot and I will not come to
Westminster to lie on the altar of Rome’s insidious rules and the court’s leeching fears. It would break my soul and even for you, my love, I cannot do that.
When I handfasted to Harold I knew I was taking on two men – the simple lover who pledged his troth to me barefoot in the grass at Nazeing and the earl who would always, sooner
or later, have to put his boots back on and ride forth from my estate. I have treasured the former, and treasure him still, but his path has twisted too far from mine and I am not the right
woman to carry him forward in these troubled times.
I am deeply sorry that it must be you who does so and yet I am also gladder than you will ever believe. For if there was one woman in this bitter world who I can trust to take care of
the man who is dearer to me than my own self, it is you. We both know that Harold is not good alone and whilst I will ever be with him in my heart, he needs a woman to ride with him, to talk
with him, to mount the throne with him. I have not the birth for it, nor the connections nor, indeed, the desire. It is too high a climb for me but you, Edyth, you have the spirit and the
courage and the fire to climb higher than either of us. You always have.
I ask more of you, my dearest friend, than any woman should but you are more than any woman. Go safely, Edyth, and know that when your wedding bells ring out my heart rings with
them.
Your Svana
Coventry, December 1065
C
oventry was ablaze with light. Edyth, staring out from her hastily refurbished ‘bridal’ chamber, felt as dazzled as if the
devil himself were shoving his fiery torches into her face. The sun was not yet up and the city was still in the grip of one of the coldest nights of the year but already revellers were dancing
around the braziers lit in every available space and gathering in clusters of vibrant shadows in the myriad pavilions all over the compound. The court, it seemed, was keen to begin its wedding
celebrations early.
‘I thought we agreed it would be a quiet service,’ she protested to her mother, who was rustling through a mound of gowns behind her.
‘You meant that?’ Lady Meghan replied.
‘You did not?’
‘Clearly,’ Godiva said drily, taking Edyth’s arm to pull her away from the window opening. ‘Come, my dear, we must prepare calmly for the day ahead.’
Edyth flushed.
‘Calmly?!’ she snapped. ‘How can I be calm with this racket? I swear all of England is here.’
‘And very good it is for the city too. I hear the market traders have taken more in a week than they usually do in a year. Is that not wonderful?’
‘It is, Grandmother, truly. I’m just not comfortable with all this . . . pomp.’
Godiva wrinkled up her elegant nose.
‘It is not there to make you comfortable, my girl, but to proclaim the honour and power of your family – as well you know if you stop to think about it. Besides, all this
“pomp” as you call it is something you are going to have to become used to.’
‘You are indeed.’ Meghan leaped up. ‘You will be the Lady of Wessex, second in rank only to Queen Aldyth herself. Your father would be so proud.’
Her eyes misted and, with a soft sigh, Edyth leaned forward to kiss her.
‘Father used to tell me to steer clear of Godwinsons,’ she said gently.
‘Circumstances change. Alfgar would have embraced that. He was always very . . . adaptable.’
Edyth thought of their exile ten years ago. Alfgar had crept from Westminster like a squashed beetle but by the time they’d reached Rhuddlan anyone would have thought that a trip west had
been his greatest wish. She smiled fondly.
‘I wish he could be here with us now.’
‘As do I, my dear. He would revel in all this – and you must revel in it for his sake.’ She cast a look back across the room, worry creasing her plump brow. ‘Have you
enough gowns, do you think?’
‘Enough gowns?! Mother, I have enough gowns to clothe half of England.’
‘Nonsense. You must look the part, not just today but in the months and years to come, especially if you are to be—’
‘Mother, hush. Do not say it.’
‘Everyone else does.’
‘Then they are foolish.’
‘Or honest. Perhaps, Edyth, my love, you are the one deceiving yourself? The rest of the court sees the situation very clearly indeed – why do you think they are all here?’
As Meghan clucked back across the room to check the damned gowns again Edyth sighed. She thought back to her first wedding in an isolated hall on the stark Welsh coast – warm and raucous
and easy. She had loved Griffin, had she not? Sometimes now, when her sharp, violent, guilty feelings for her new groom threatened to topple her, she wondered if her whole eight-year first marriage
had been a sham.
‘It was not,’ she said fiercely.
‘Beg pardon, my dear?’ Godiva asked.
Edyth grabbed at her grandmother’s arm.
‘You said I would have a choice of who I married.’
‘And you did.’
‘Hardly. No one has ceased sermonising about how good this would be – for England, for the family, for the future, for everyone but me.’
Godiva looked at her, something of the old sharpness back in her all-seeing eyes.
‘I think, my dear, that you do not despise this marriage as much as you feel you should.’
Edyth looked down. Godiva was right. She had tried to be noble about this, tried to approach her nuptials as the sacrifice she had pleaded it to be to her brothers, to Harold, to Svana, but the
truth was far less worthy. The thought of sharing Harold’s bed seemed to lurk like a flame between her legs and there were no words for her betrayal of Svana, not when every damned piece of
her flesh willed her on in it. There was no sword point at her back, no hostage on the altar, no coercion save what was ‘good for England’. Was that enough? Maybe, but tonight, in her
marriage bed, would England be there then? Edyth doubted it and her skin prickled with shameful desire.
‘Do not blame yourself,’ Godiva said softly. ‘In the end, my dear, you only have your own path to forge and yours is a good one. Truly. Now, shall we dress you? If the whole of
England is indeed here, we had better not keep them waiting.’
Meghan needed no second urging and within moments Edyth was encased in her wedding outfit, a beautiful fine wool overgown in deepest green, artistically cut up the long sleeves and at the sides
of the remarkably full skirt to show off an expensive cream silk undershift. The hem and cuffs were studded with so many jewels that Edyth marvelled at the seamstresses her mother must have pressed
into service to have it ready in time and it was tied at the waist with a similarly studded girdle embroidered with the entwined emblems of Mercia and Wessex.
‘Beautiful,’ Meghan proclaimed. ‘Now – shoes.’
She sniffed as she fetched them and Edyth hid a smile. With such an elegant dress she should be in light calfskin slippers but on that she had truly put her foot down. She was to process through
the city on one of the coldest days of the year and she would wear boots. Meghan had grumbled but capitulated, rushing out to find Coventry’s most superior tanner to create something worthy
of her elevated daughter and as Edyth stepped out of her bower on Edwin’s arm she was glad of the firm feel of the beautiful footwear. Even so, her legs shook as the gates were flung open and
the first roar of the huge crowds rolled over her, and she had to lean heavily on her brother for support.
‘Smile, sister,’ he urged, squeezing her hand. ‘Many have slept out all night to gain a position by the road to see you.’
Looking around her Edyth could see that was true. The men, women and children closest to her procession were bundled up in so many blankets that they looked more like bales of wool than people
but they waved and cheered and reached out supplicating hands towards her and she felt warmed by their simple joy. Lifting her head, she let herself be led down through Coventry’s winding
streets to the door of the cathedral, smiling and waving and touching the hands of all she could as she passed. Ewan and Morgan walked proudly behind their mother holding her train and little Nesta
followed, dressed in a cream gown that Edyth doubted would last the day, holding Morcar’s hand and waving like a perfect miniature bride.
The crowds loved them all and by the time Edyth turned into the market square and approached the cathedral she had almost forgotten why she was here. The sight of Harold, however, stood tall and
handsome in a rich scarlet tunic at the top of the steps, brought her right back to the union at the heart of all this celebration and she staggered.
‘Steady, sister. I have you fast.’
Edwin’s arm tightened, holding her firm, and she glanced up at him. He had grown into a strong young man, still as quiet and serious as he had been as a boy but with a calm authority that
she knew must have been hard won.