The Wind From Hastings (13 page)

Read The Wind From Hastings Online

Authors: Morgan Llywelyn

BOOK: The Wind From Hastings
13.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Harold stared at me, shocked that I would speak to him in that fashion in the presence of others. I was surprised at myself, yet proud of the courage that welled up in me with my anger. Edwin leaped from his seat with an oath and would have struck me, I think, had not Harold caught his hand by the wrist and held it tightly.
“I will not have her hurt for telling me the truth, Earl Edwin,” he said in a deadly cool voice. “If that is how the woman feels, I am well advised to know it; there has been enough treachery and hidden feeling.” He looked at me. “What about you, Edyth? If I insist we go through with this marriage will you betray me,
as my sister tried to betray King Edward and elevate Tostig over me?”
His gaze was so stern, so intense, that I could not break the lock his eyes had on mine. I lifted my trembling chin and spoke as proudly as I knew how. “In my lifetime I have seen enough of treachery to sicken me, too, my lord. If you do insist, I will marry you, and I will not plot against you for any reason. Not for your sake, but for my own. I will not be a dog to hide under the table and snatch bones.”
Harold continued to look at me for a long moment, holding Edwin's arm as if he had quite forgotten it. Edwin glanced from me to Harold and back again; I could imagine he saw himself losing the support of the throne and all that entailed. Then, gently, Harold released him.
“It is a strange vow for a woman to make to her bridegroom, but I daresay it is more valuable than many vows made with more tender feeling. I trust you, madam, and I believe you will do as you say.
“Earl Edwin, you will be so kind as to direct me to my chambers. I would be abed; we rise at cockcrow and ride on to York. You will bring your sister to me there as soon as you can have her ready.”
He met my eyes again and made a courteous bow. “I shall see you in York, my lady. I trust I will find you quite unchanged?” With that curious remark, he turned on his heel and left the hall.
As it fell out, it took much preparation to turn the Welsh Prince's widow into a suitable bride for the English King. At five and twenty, I was much removed from the trembling virgin to be dressed in simple silks; seamstresses labored night and day to make me a trousseau of satin and samite and fine linen. Joan was as thrilled as if the wedding were her own; she certainly enjoyed the preparations more than I. Even Gwladys was all a-twitter. More than once I had to remind her sharply that her delight in these things was a disloyalty to Prince Griffith.
“But he was a hearty man, my lady!” Gwladys defended herself. “He would not have wanted you to spend your life in a long face and purple mourning robes. Prince Griffith would have been pleased to see you safely wed again.”
“Mayhap,” I agreed, “but not to Harold Godwine.”
“He is the King, my lady!”
“He is King of the Saxons and the Angles and the Jutes. I am now Welsh, Gwladys, by marriage and by choice. Harold is nothing to me. I will endure this thing in order to have my children again, but I take no pleasure in it.”
There was one matter I took great interest in, and that was the subject of my marriage gown. Gytha had sent yards of saffron silk from Arundel, with instructions that it was to be sewn into my nuptial robes. She would! Knowing full well that in yellow I would appear like a jaundiced sheaf of wheat, Harold's mother had expressed her dislike for me in that meanly fashion!
I gave the yellow silk to an astonished footman and ordered a robe of green velvet, like the Welsh mountains in the spring. Blue was more becoming to me, but blue was Griffith's favorite and I would not wear it for Harold.
Harold had ridden on to York, with his dear friend the Bishop Wulfstan, to appear before the Witan of Northumbria and ask their support. The banishment of Tostig had not quieted the troubles in the North; Morkere would be Earl over a turbulent and touchy people, quick to imagine slights and slow to forgive. Harold sought to appease them through promises of support as well as the pageant of a royal wedding.
“He flirts with wasps,” Edwin commented. “The Northmen have always had little regard for the South; they think the southerners are weak and lack virtue. That was one reason they gave Tostig so much trouble, and I doubt they will find warmth in their hearts
for the Earl of Wessex, even with a crown upon his head.”
I thought to myself, You would desert his cause quickly enough as well, my brother, if the wind began to blow against him!
When all was—nearly—in readiness, Edwin sent word to York, and the date of my wedding and coronation as First Lady of England was announced to the people. No, I was not to be titled Queen; that is a fancy custom from the Continent, not in the Saxon tradition. Even the Irish use it, calling all their kings' wives queens, but the Saxons rightly understand that while there may be many queens, there can be but one First Lady. It is one Saxon custom with which I am in entire agreement still.
To my surprise, the King had left behind a wedding gift for me. I had thought I would be carried to York in a litter piled with wolf furs, guarded as usual by a troop of housecarles. But this time I journeyed, not under guard, but with escort, and though the difference may seem slight, it was very meaningful to me. I rode a palfrey, handsome and smooth-gaited, and I carried his reins in my own hands. My escort rode with their eyes on the countryside instead of on me, a great improvement. The cold north wind that cut into my cheeks was sweet with a freedom I had not felt for many months, and I felt a reluctant gratitude to Harold for restoring my dignity.
Until I reminded myself that it was he who had taken it from me in the first place.
Nevertheless, I almost enjoyed the trip. I had requested that Gwladys be given a pony that she might ride beside me betimes, and that request was speedily granted—as were all my requests of late. It was a comfort to be able to chat with her in the Welsh tongue when the mood was on me.
“Soon you will be chief maid to the First Lady, Gwladys, and no doubt we will spend much time in
the West Palace on Thorney Island. It is said to be very grand; will you like that?”
“I have seen many great houses by now, my lady. I daresay the King's house will be the finest, but for a servant one is very like another. If you are pleased with it, so shall I be.” She gave a little sigh not caused by the rough gait of her pony. “It matters little; none of them are Wales.”
“You miss it as much as I do, don't you?”
“I was born there, my lady!” she exclaimed, as if that gave her an especial love for the place that I could not feel! “My heart-home will always be in the mountains.”
I looked at the rolling fields on either side of us, their tender early greenness just breaking through the winter brown, and I knew that some folk thought them beautiful. “What was your home like, Gwladys?” I asked to pass the time.
“Oh, nothing so grand as yours, I vow! But it seemed good enough to me. I was born in a cottage at Llanberis, within sight of Snowdon itself.”
“Your father was a shepherd?”
“Not him! He was a bard when times were good and people in great houses made free with their favors, and a warrior when there was booty to be taken. His father before him had fished in Colwyn Bay, but my father had no liking for the sea. He always wanted to better himself, he did, and it was a grand thing for him when I was taken as a young girl to serve at Rhuddlan.”
Somehow I had never thought of Gwladys's life before I knew her. Yet servants have a life out of our sight, do they not, and hopes and dreams we may never know. Here was another world right at my elbow, and I had never explored it.
“How old were you when you went to Rhuddlan?”
“I don't know, my lady; we did not reckon our ages much in numbers. But it was long before I became a woman.”
“What could a small girl do in a great house?”
She smiled at my ignorance. “More than you think, my lady. I began by cleaning the garderobes and the privy house and caring for the ladies' napkins.”
What a horrible occupation for a little girl! I tried to imagine my daughter Nesta at six or seven, cleaning up foulness or toting stained menstrual napkins to the laundresses. “Surely that cannot be all you did!”
“Oh, no. As soon as I was big enough to. carry heavy things, I began to help in the scullery. One of the cooks taught me to speak in a proper way and behave myself in a lady's company, and then Prince Griffith gave me to you. Since then I have wanted for nothing, and I believe the Prince sent a fine gift to my family, too. If I were to go home tomorrow, they would make me right welcome in Llanberis!”
I rode through Saxon countryside and thought Celtic thoughts. We all began in sameness, naked babes covered with blood, and no one could tell a prince from a servant. Yet each turned out so differently. Humble Gwladys, grateful for what she perceived to be her high station as my maid; Griffith and Harold and Tostig and so many others, pawns in a chess game of ambition; the farmers we passed, the porters who struggled behind us with the carts piled with my dowry chests; the bishops, in their war to extract favors from God; and me, with my futile woman's rebellion—each one unique and different, center of a separate world. And who determines the outcome of each small life, the God of the Christians, the gods of the pagans, random chance, or … ourselves?
I rode for a long time in silence.
At Bedford we were joined by a large group of the thegns of Northumbria, come down to escort us into their territory and on to York. I was right glad to have their company in the gloom of the great forest of Nottingham; cottages were few and set far apart; and beneath
the ancient trees was perpetual twilight.
When we reached the Derwent, the timbered bridge that stood across the river was found to be quite rotted in the center, and Osbert, who was once again captaining my escort at the King's request, decided that nothing would do but we must ford the river.
So of course a goodly portion of my dowry chests got wet, and much of my wedding finery would reach York in a bedraggled state. I made a big noise about it that accomplished nothing and put a crimp in my otherwise pleasant relationship with Osbert. Men do not always understand what is really important to ladies.
The cold March wind abated somewhat as we neared the city of York. We slept our last night outside the city in the house of a cousin of the murdered Cospatric, and although we were treated courteously, it was easy to tell that hatred for the former Earl still ran hot. Harold had been crowned in the West Minster, but Tostig's brother was not yet wholeheartedly accepted as King in Northumbria.
“That bastard Tostig was bleeding us to death with his endless taxes!” I heard in the Hall that night. “When our cousin from Bernicia spoke out against him he was foully murdered; his blood is still damp upon the ground of Thorney Island! And Bernicia was not the only area to suffer; all Northumbria was aswarm with the Earl's spies, sniffing out hidden wealth and stealing it from us. We would have supported the Earl Tostig, had he been just, with our grain and our wood and our fighting men. But we will not accept the yoke of a tyrant! We are proud men here, not soft and fat like the thegns of Wessex, and if the new King abuses us we will break his plow-blade for him!”
Shouts of “Aye! Aye!” rang down the Hall. I wondered how Harold hoped to fuse all these separate men into one people. I owed Harold nothing, God knows, but I felt it would only be honorable for me
to speak up for him in this hostile assembly.
“I am not yet wed to the King”—I addressed myself to our host, Sihtric—“but I would have you know that the word he has given me he has always kept. As Earl of Wessex he has much wealth already; he does not need to increase his personal fortune at your expense. It was his vote which sent Tostig to Flanders and rid you of him, and it was Harold who gave you Morkere as Earl in his stead. Morkere is not a Godwine but mine own brother, raised in the land between North and South, and I trust you will uphold the Northmen's reputation for fairness and give him a chance to prove himself fit to govern.” I looked Sihtric square in the eye.
“Aye, my lady. Let no man say the Northumbrians cry before they are hurt.”
“Then you will withhold judgment on the King as well, until you see his mettle?”
Sihtric glanced round his Hall. I think he was not accustomed to having a woman speak publicly to him of these matters, but I had learned to be outspoken in the halls of Rhuddlan and was not likely to change my coat now. “Aye, my lady,” he said at last. “We will give King Harold a chance, you may assure him of that. You spoke out bravely for him, and that must mean he is worth something; we will wait to see.”
Over Sihtric's shoulder I saw Osbert, standing in formal salute by the door to the private chambers where I would sleep. My eyes met his, and I think he, ever so slightly, nodded his chin in a tiny salute.
At the hour of prime we departed for York. We entered the city through the southern gate, and Archbishop Eldred himself met us with an array of bishops and clerics in gold-threaded robes. The city was dressed with all the trappings of pageantry—feasting, music, day and night merrymaking on every street and Harold's personal standard of the Fighting Man hung outside the shops.

Other books

Shroud of Evil by Pauline Rowson
Wolfsbane by Andrea Cremer
Choice Theory by William Glasser, M.D.
Bring the Rain by Lizzy Charles
The Safest Place by Suzanne Bugler
A Twist in Time by Frank J. Derfler