The Chosen Queen (30 page)

‘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.

Coventry, October 1065