Godiva (4 page)

Edgiva huffed with an anxious exasperation. “Because I've no wish to. This is mad. Even for you, this is mad. You haven't ever fathomed my devotion, which is very deep and very real, even if I chafe sometimes at the constrictions of its outer forms. Just because I am tempted to sin does not mean I have lost my calling. Indeed, I become more aware of my vocation because of it.”

“Well of course you do, since your vocation is the only thing that makes your desire a sin,” Godiva said reasonably.

“That is mere rhetoric, and faulty rhetoric at that,” Edgiva said. She began to walk off, as if toward the stables. “It was foolish of me to confess anything to you. You are not the proper partner for this conversation.”

“I agree,” Godiva said, rushing to walk beside her still. “Shall I fetch Sweyn instead?”

The abbess's face reddened all the more. “I must keep a distance from him until I am able to return to Leominster,” she said. “Will you help me with that?”

“Would you not rather I spend my energies convincing the lords to condemn the heregeld?” Godiva said.

Edgiva, failing to find levity in any of this, fretted thoughtfully. “The heregeld is most important,” she declared in her mellifluous, omnipotent voice, composed again.

“Well,” said Godiva. “Since you say so, I'll get right to it.”

CHAPTER 4

G
odiva had arrived here with three goals, all of which she had accomplished to Leofric's satisfaction.

First, she had elicited Sweyn's promise to contain his “poachers.”

Next, she had convinced the thane of Hedingelei to send his son to Abingdon for fosterage, so that the boy's travel would all be through Mercia, although Hedingelei was under Siward and Abingdon under Godwin. Both households would want passage to be safe, and so they would be friendly toward Leofric and encourage their overlords to be so too.

Finally, there was upset between an abbot and a noblewoman, both Mercian; each intended to use the occasion of the Council to appeal their case to Leofric behind the other's back. Godiva had subtly mediated their argument without either of them realizing it, and as soon as they were feeling generous toward each other, she sent Leofric's son Alfgar to adjudicate their argument. They resolved their differences; Alfgar was honored to have had a chance to play his father's deputy; and Leofric was relieved to be excused from dealing with the problem himself.

S
o she was free now, on this final night before the lords and ladies of the land disassembled, to pursue Edgiva's project: the petition to abolish the heregeld. There were dozens of lords she could charm, but that was inefficient. So after parting from Edgiva in the courtyard, she did not go out to the green in search of Leofric, but rather returned to the manor hall.

It was emptier in here than she had seen it since their arrival. Some household servants were taking advantage of the quiet to mend benches broken by the collective weight of all those noble buttocks; other servants were bringing in wood. Countess Godiva regarded the room for a moment, then walked straight toward a familiar figure in the king's livery.

“How does one obtain a private audience with His Majesty?” she asked Alden, royal chamberlain.

She had known Alden for years. They were fond of each other. Not given to women himself, he knew her behavior for what it was and occasionally placed wagers with select friends as to her success in certain enterprises.

Alden asked her to wait and efficiently scurried to the far end of the hall, disappearing through a curtain covering a bolted door. A moment later, he appeared and gestured for her to join him.

He led her through the door into the royal bedchamber where Edward and his bride, Edith, were resting before supper. Edith was dressed in layers of pink silk that Godiva found unfortunate for her complexion. Standing around the periphery of the room, bored but obsequious, were several of His Majesty's favorite housecarls; the thane who guarded the royal wardrobe; His Majesty's treasurer, Odo of Winchester; a bishop she did not know; and two hooded ladies in blue waiting upon Her Majesty.

Gloucester being an infrequent stop on Edward's circuit, the room lacked the ravishing adornments Godiva expected; indeed, it was plainer than Leofric's chambers in Brom Legge. A crucifix mounted on one wall and painted eggs along the one windowsill were the only decoration in an otherwise drab space. The room was candlelit and crowded. This would not work to her advantage, especially with Edith glaring at her.

E
dith was a mystery Godiva could not decipher. A decade earlier, while Edward was still peacefully cloistered on the Continent, his brother Alfred had left Normandy to claim the English throne. Earl Godwin had shown up to meet Alfred when he landed on the shores of Sussex. He had welcomed Alfred and his bodyguards, accompanied them inland, swearing all of England eagerly awaited to put Alfred (son of a former king) on the throne . . . and then, even as he spoke these words, Godwin's men killed Alfred's guards as Godwin took Alfred hostage, blinded him, and piously sent him off to die in a monastery in the Fens.

This had made an impression on Alfred's brother Edward.

Now, eleven years and several dead sovereigns later, Edward was on the throne, and Godwin's own daughter Edith was his wife. How pleased could either Edith or Edward be about this marriage? Godiva was still trying, and failing, to determine that.

N
ow she bowed low, rose, and said, “Your Majesty.”

“Yes?” Edward said curtly, from the bed.

She was not sure how she would have proceeded, had not she been abetted by Fate in the form of Sweyn Godwinson, with his jaunty flung-back cloak, who appeared at the door that very moment and said, “Sister!” to the queen, and entered, without waiting for permission.

Edith turned her hawk stare from Godiva to her brother. “Sweyn,” she said carefully.

“Sister, you asked to see the new Bible from Leominster, and Mother Edgiva has just delivered it to me. I am about to send it home to Hereford, where you seldom come, so this may be your last chance to see the excellent penmanship of the nuns. It is rare to have a manuscript illuminated by sisters, sister.” He grinned at her, and said with the coaxing tease of a brother, “I think you would appreciate it.”

Edith got to her feet and went somewhat icily with her brother. Sweyn dared to wink one soft brown eye at Godiva before he left, which made her heart leap a little, pleasantly: he was removing the queen because he had, somehow, intuited Godiva would appeal privately to the king about the heregeld, and he wanted to assist her. No, not really—he wanted to assist Edgiva. Godiva would mention that to her.

Edith's two women went as well, which seemed to dismay Edward, as the lady of Mercia was now the only woman in a private room with him and his men.

“Your Majesty,” she said with another bow. “I thank you much for meeting me during your period of leisure.”

“What would you?” he asked brusquely. “Between your friend and your husband I am quite worn down.”

“I was remiss in my behavior today, at Council,” she said, eyes downcast, fingers playing with the ruby on her heaviest gold chain, not unlike how Edgiva fidgeted with her rosary. “I should have spoken plainly at a certain moment, but was too cowardly to do so.”

“You wish me to abolish the heregeld,” he interrupted tiredly.

“More than that,” she offered. “I wish to suggest how you may immediately render it unnecessary.”

“I already know how to do that,” Edward said stiffly to his bed's wool canopy. “I need only admit that your husband and the others hold all the power. I need only yield the slightest interest in actually ruling.”

“That is not what I was going to say at all,” Godiva assured him.

“They placed me on the throne as their puppet, and I am dangerously close to being, in fact, nothing but their puppet. I have almost nothing of my own; I should take something from the earls just to demonstrate my power. To give up the heregeld is to give up my own forces, which is to give up even the
appearance
of power.”

She took an urgent step closer, so that she was nearly towering over the mattress. He glowered, and the housecarls shifted their weight forward. Instantly she sank to her knees, her pale gold-green eyes blinking up at him, framed by the gold-and-scarlet veil. The room smelled, for some reason, like drying hay. “You were never their puppet, sire,” she said firmly. “I think you do not realize how much power you truly have. You were—and are—the only choice for the throne. You have no heirs yet, sire, nor is there anyone fool enough to supplant you. Godwin is the only man with the means to try, but if he did that, my husband and Siward would join to defeat him. Your kingship is the only means to keep the balance.”

He gave her a puzzled blue-eyed frown. “Exactly. That is why I require the heregeld. How can you say these things and then suggest I abolish the only way I have of securing my position, woman?”

“You miss my meaning, sire. Abolishing the heregeld now would be an act of brilliant statesmanship, for you would be telling all the earls that you know they will keep you on your throne,
even without
a private army to protect you.” She leaned in slightly closer to him and rested her hand upon the woolen bedcover. Alden cleared his throat warningly and the frowning housecarls took a step toward her; she withdrew her hand and pressed it to her chest, again fingering her necklaces. “Disband your mercenary bodyguard. Rely on the
fyrd
—your lords, and their men under them—to perform defense, as it was in our fathers' fathers' time, stretching back to the days of Rome. Behave as if you've nothing to fear from your earls—what could demonstrate more strength than that?”

Edward glanced over her head into the dusky corner of the small room. He was considering it. Edgiva would be so pleased with her!

“Not to mention the adoration you would receive,” she added, “from all corners of England. Tell the masses their lords are such loyal and devoted subjects to your rule that it is now possible to do away with the heregeld. Then, the lords are pleased because you have extolled them to their people. The people are pleased because you have guaranteed them calm and safety. The lords
and
the people are pleased because the heregeld goes away. Everyone is satisfied.”

Edward huffed, sardonically, and returned his watery gaze to her face. “There is no event in history in which
everyone
is satisfied,” he informed her.

“The few who are not, they are malcontents who never will be satisfied anyhow,” she argued. “And who, if they wanted to sow discord, would do so even if you had the largest mercenary bodyguard in all of Christendom.” She caught herself, realized she had been earnest and hearty where usually she would be deliberate and coy. She had actually used a tone with him she only ever used with Leofric, a voice nearly male, in that it was not deliberately feminine. It was not her coaxing voice.

She took a moment, to regain her coaxing voice.

She slowed her speaking, and fixed her gaze on his lips. “Those who matter will be very . . . satisfied with you,” she said coaxingly. “Speaking as one of them, I swear it.” Here she carefully lowered her chin but kept her eyes lifted up, and met his. She began to reach out toward the coverlet again, but thought better of it. Instead she leaned her upright body toward the bed.

He looked at her a long moment without speaking. The room was very still. “It would
satisfy
you?” he asked.

She smiled. “Yes, sire,” she said, lowering her voice to near a whisper. “It would satisfy me greatly.” She immediately blushed—being able to blush at will was a tremendous advantage for her, and the shade of red in this particular veil always made the blush look deeper. She sat back a little and shifted her shoulders. “And I am sure many others as well, sire,” she added. Here she glanced over her left shoulder and smiled winsomely at Odo of Winchester.

Edward considered her. “I hear something untoward in your tone,” he warned.

She blushed again, this time without meaning to. “I am sure I do not know what Your Majesty mea—” she stammered.

“Stop that,” Edward interrupted harshly. He sat up, right suddenly, glaring at her. “You know precisely what I mean.”

The bishop and a thane or two coughed, shifted their weight, frowned ponderously.

She opened her mouth in protest, reconsidered, and pressed her lips shut. She was blushing so intensely the skin around her nose ached. She clutched her hands together, almost prayerlike, at her breast, and bowed her head. “I am sure Your Majesty will be generous enough to disregard any . . . untoward comments I appeared to have been making.”

“I would do that willingly, with a generous heart, if I thought your shame at this moment were sincere,” Edward said harshly. He swung his long legs around so that his feet were on the floor by her; she jerked away from him, as if he might strike her. “But I have seen you, Godiva; I have watched how you speak to men when you want something from them. I can count the different shades of red you turn, depending on your purpose—which is usually Leofric's purpose. The argument you've brought to me is not unsound—you may tell your beloved Edgiva as much, for I am sure she is the author of it. It does not give me the power to actually hobble the great earls, and I need that more than anything, but as I said: it is not unsound. Sadly, the very fact you are delivering it in this
manner
that you do requires me to shun it.”

“What manner?” she demanded, looking up at him, hands still clasped before her chest worrying the rubies on her necklace.

Edward said stonily, “If you had trusted your argument enough to simply tell it to me, I would heartily have heard it. But now, to accept your argument is to accept the manner of its presentation, and I'll not do that. I will not have you say that you seduced me into listening to you.”

“Your Majesty!” she protested. Quickly she collected her three layers of silk tunic-skirts and rose to standing.

“None of that, Godiva,” he said in a disgusted, nasal tenor voice.

“I would never say that—”