The Chosen Queen

by Joanna Courtney

  I send my love with this letter on the tail of that wind and hope that it, at least, is still warm when it finds you.

  With duty and affection,

  Edyth Alfgarsdottir

  Svana looked up from the letter and frowned. It was a sweet missive but something about it disturbed her. Tucking it into the pocket attached to her belt, she let herself out of her bower and into the central farmyard. Outside, she put up a hand as if to catch the love Edyth claimed to have sent on the breeze and clasped it to her breast. She liked the girl. She had fire and curiosity. She was open to the world and that, Svana hoped, would gain her great riches in her life. But it also made her very vulnerable.

  She strode forward, clucking absently to the chickens that massed around her, and out into the grasslands beyond. Her eyes scanned the flat pastures for Harold. He had escaped court duties for three precious weeks to be with her and the children and she sent up a prayer of thanks that he was here to consult on Edyth’s letter. Having inherited her lands many years ago, Svana had long been used to commanding her farm and her people, but this was different. Something about the young lady of Mercia had touched her heart. The girl’s bright, fierce approach to life reminded her keenly of her younger self, though at fourteen she had been safely sequestered on her family farm, not adrift in a foreign court. Svana was worried for Edyth, worried for them all. For this wasn’t just Edyth’s innocence at stake, but a potentially volatile political situation and for that she needed her husband.

  ‘Everything in order, milady?’

  She turned to see Joseph, the farm’s hugely capable steward and her maid Elaine’s husband of many years. They had both been invaluable to her as she’d learned to run this farm and now he stood, cap deferentially doffed but eyes bright with enquiry. She encouraged her servants to deal openly with her, despising the long chains of spurious respect with which so many lords seemed to tangle up their affairs, and she met his eye directly.

  ‘Everything is well. I was just looking for Harold.’

  ‘The earl rode out with his falcon some time back, milady, and I believe he took young Godwin with him. Said it was time he started his training.’

  Svana smiled. Harold had mentioned something of the sort to their eldest last night and she was pleased to see he’d stuck to his word. Godwin would be beside himself with delight; she just hoped he managed to stay calm. Harold was a patient man, but a man all the same, and if his son did not show due deference to the birds that were his passion, there would be trouble.

  ‘I might ride out and join them,’ she said. ‘Which way did they travel?’

  ‘Over to Old Hooky.’ Joseph pointed to the little copse just visible on the horizon. ‘Apparently the birds like it there.’

  Svana stiffed a smile at his tone. Her steward loved all God’s creatures but there was no doubt that he preferred them with their feet – preferably four of them – firmly on the ground.

  ‘Thank you, Joseph.’

  ‘I’ll fetch Spirit for you.’

  He rushed off to the stables for her horse and Svana watched him go with a fond smile. She could never live at court where all was jostling for petty power and privileges. Harold would like her with him in the king’s entourage more often, but it crushed her soul to travel endlessly, living forever in pavilions, and eating every night in a great hall with suspicious lords and ladies. Harold did not like it much more than she, but he had been brought up to it by the great politician Earl Godwin, their own son’s namesake, so he was more at ease at court. And he could always come here to recover.

  In her turn, she would like Harold here more often but they had learned to compromise. Most people thought their marriage strange, nay, thought her strange for not following her highborn husband everywhere he went. The women in particular resented her for inheriting her father’s lands, a privilege only granted in the freethinking Eastern Danelaw. Elsewhere women could hold dower lands, gifted to them within their lifetime, but they were rarely on single estates. Svana sometimes thought the court ladies saw her farmlands as a personal slight and did not seem to understand how keenly she felt the precious duties of an estate that had been in her family for nigh on a century. They often griped about her lack of commitment to Harold and some had even tried to lure him away from her; she knew because he laughed about it with her.

  ‘I am yours,’ he would whisper, when the lights were blown out and their bodies were entwined beneath the sheets. ‘I am yours forever, not because a priest tells me so but because my heart does.’

  ‘Dear Harold,’ she thought. She knew he, too, found her ‘eastern ways’ strange at times. The Danelaw had been separated out from his Wessex heartlands by a noble treaty between the great King Alfred and the invading Vikings nearly two hundred years ago and had kept its own laws ever since. Svana treasured the independence they gave her as a woman and also as a free spirit beneath God’s skies. She was as good a Christian as any in England but Roman bonds choked her and she preferred a more natural worship. Harold, a staunch traditionalist, did not truly understand her opposition to priests and she was, therefore, even more touched that he had been happy to marry her beneath the skies.

  Now she sent up a murmured prayer towards the soft clouds above as Joseph brought up her dappled grey, Spirit, and handed her into the saddle. Smiling her thanks, she kicked the horse into a canter and headed up the hill towards the copse, giving Spirit her head and enjoying the feel of the wind through her hair. At the top her heart leaped as she caught a glimpse of Harold’s new orange tunic amongst the foliage.

  ‘Harold!’ she called but he did not hear her and suddenly she was glad of it, for it offered her the chance to watch him unseen.

  He was bending solicitously over seven-year-old Godwin who stood, solemnly rigid, his arms outstretched and every fibre of his being tuned into his father. Harold brought his prized falcon, Artemis, down towards him and Svana found herself holding her breath as his broad arm met his son’s. For a moment everything seemed to still and then, with studied nonchalance, the bird hopped across from man to boy. Instantly Harold moved his other hand to steady Godwin but the child did not falter and even from a distance Svana saw Harold’s shoulders roll back and sensed his smile.

  She clicked Spirit forward and Godwin, his hearing sharper than his father’s, turned and saw her. His hand flickered as if to wave, but he resisted and Svana felt tears well ridiculously in her eyes at the sight of her baby so grown up.

  ‘See, my lady,’ Harold called, ‘how fine a falconer our son is.’

  ‘I see,’ Svana agreed, slipping off Spirit and throwing the reins over a branch. ‘I had not realised he was such a man already.’

  Godwin held his arm even stiffer, though his face was turning pink with the effort. Harold bent again to take Artemis back and, released, the young boy ran to Svana.

  ‘I did it, Mama. I did it all by myself.’

  ‘You did, Winnie, you did.’

  He pulled back.

  ‘Nay, Mama, you should not call me that now. It is a baby name.’

  ‘But you are my baby.’

  ‘No.’ Godwin shook his head firmly then considered. ‘Well, maybe sometimes.’

  ‘Bedtimes?’ Svana suggested.

  ‘Bedtimes,’ he agreed, kissing her before remembering himself again and struggling to be put down. ‘But it isn’t bedtime yet and I am busy with Papa.’

  Svana let him go.

  ‘I’m afraid I need to speak to Papa, Godwin, just for a moment.’

  Harold stepped swiftly forward.

  ‘Maybe you could fetch Artemis’ hood and jesses, son? That would be very helpful.’

  ‘Yes, Papa.’

  Godwin raced over to Avery to fetch the falconer’s kit and Harold caught Svana around the waist and kissed her.

  ‘All well?’

  She looked up into his eyes, a soft, dark blue, ringed with a delicious amber you could see only if you were close – very close.

  ‘Very well,’ she s
aid, kissing him. ‘It’s so lovely having you here, but Harold, I’ve had a letter.’

  ‘Not from the king?’

  ‘No. No, you are safe yet. From Edyth.’

  ‘Edyth Alfgarsdottir? That’s good. How is she? Where is she?’

  ‘At Rhuddlan with King Griffin.’

  ‘Ye gods!’ Harold rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t suppose we should be surprised. Alfgar’s had his eye on the Red Devil for years. I suppose this means we must shore up defences in the west.’

  Svana batted at his arm.

  ‘Stop your politicking for one moment, will you, and think of Edyth.’

  ‘Why? Is she in trouble?’

  ‘I’m not sure. She writes that the king dances with her.’

  ‘I’ll wager he does. Word is that man . . . Oh. Oh, I see.’

  ‘She’s fourteen, Harold.’

  ‘Plenty old enough to be wed, my love.’

  ‘In the eyes of the law, maybe, but in truth she is yet a child.’

  ‘And a curious one at that, but her mother is there, Svana.’

  ‘I suppose that should count for something.’

  ‘You doubt the Lady Meghan’s influence over her daughter?’

  ‘No.’

  Harold laughed.

  ‘We’re not at court now, sweeting. This is me, remember?’

  Svana reached up and kissed him.

  ‘It is you,’ she agreed softly, ‘and I am glad of it, but I would say nothing bad of Lady Meghan. She is just, perhaps, a little weak.’

  ‘A fair assessment,’ Harold agreed, ‘but a protective mother all the same and Lord Alfgar will not want his daughter de-flowered. If nothing else it would greatly lessen her value at court.’

  ‘Harold!’

  ‘Well, it would. Come now, my love, what would you have me do?’

  Svana shook herself.

  ‘I know not. Just, well . . . the sooner Alfgar is pardoned and back in East Anglia the better for his daughter.’

  ‘If not for England.’

  ‘Alfgar does well enough as an earl.’

  ‘Praise indeed.’

  ‘Please, Harold – for the girl.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll talk to the king and I’ll send forces to Hereford. Griffin will look to attack, I’m sure, and once he does we can meet them and peace can be arranged.’

  ‘Could we not just arrange peace now?’

  Harold laughed.

  ‘It does not work that way, Svana.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not? I don’t know. There needs to be a show of force, I suppose, so both sides can be judged.’

  ‘My fighting man,’ Svana breathed softly, an allusion to the emblem he bore so proudly on his cloak and shield.

  Her own was a laden vine and she much preferred its delicacy to Harold’s tough, dark figure but she believed everyone had the right to be their own person and she had to remember that now.

  ‘Your fighting man,’ Harold agreed, just as softly, pulling her close, but at that moment the clink of jesses heralded Godwin’s eager return. Svana bowed graciously away.

  ‘I shall leave you to it and ride back to help Elaine create a fine feast for my falconers.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ Godwin said. ‘I’m starving. Can it be just us? Not Edmund and Magnus?’

  ‘Are your brothers not allowed to eat?’

  ‘They can, but in the nursery.’

  ‘How then will you tell them of your success with Artemis?’

  Svana watched Godwin struggle with this conundrum and smiled at Harold over his little head. She was glad to see her husband had relaxed again and reminded herself not to touch further on matters of war. Harold was here too rarely to spoil their time with quarrels.

  ‘I suppose they can come,’ Godwin conceded now, ‘but I get served first.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Svana said lightly and kissed him and Harold before heading back to Spirit.

  She would order luncheon and afterwards she would reply to Edyth and urge her to caution until such time as she could be safely brought back to England.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Rhuddlan, July 1055

  My dearest Lady Edyth,

  I am touched and honoured that you have written to me and would happily give my time to however many words you would be kind enough to send. I am glad you are well and being made welcome at Rhuddlan. I hope you enjoy your time in King Griffin’s court but hope too that you will soon be returned to us in England.

  I am certain any overtures your father might make to King Edward would be welcome. If you could persuade him to prostrate himself you could soon be back in East Anglia and could, perhaps, come and stay on my estate? Harold is often away on the king’s business and I would greatly value your company if your mother could spare you. We live simply here but you would be well cared for.

  I trust you are safe in Wales. I am sure there is much to learn and to experience but do not rush, I beg of you. Be wary of the price of gifts, for I would see you home not too much changed from the Edyth who rode forth. King Griffin is a brave king but, perhaps, a dangerous man. Do take care, my sweet.

  With very fond wishes,

  Svana

  ‘God’s truth,’ Edyth muttered to herself, ‘what do they all think I’m going to do – besiege his bed?’

  She tossed her head indignantly, trying to ignore the sneaking awareness that the idea was far from unpleasant to her. She had been in Wales for three months now and Griffin had remained flatteringly attentive. She had come to enjoy the aching tug of his touch in a dance and sometimes, when she lay in bed with her younger brothers sleeping soundly on pallets either side, she pulled a pillow down the length of her body and imagined how it would be if it was Griffin against her. Once or twice she had even kissed it, but so? It was to practise, that’s all; it didn’t mean she was going to actually do anything, not with him. He was just so very easy to dream about with his strong arms and his piercing eyes and his lilting, knowing voice.

  ‘Safe,’ Svana had said in her letter, the same word her father had used, as if they were colluding in some dull set of rules. That didn’t surprise her from her father but she’d thought Svana was more liberal. ‘Love needs to be free,’ she’d told her, had she not?

  ‘This isn’t love,’ a voice said in her head and she grimaced at the truth of it. Everyone in the rough Rhuddlan court said the king would never marry and besides, he was talking of riding out to battle soon so that would be an end to any flirtation. Edyth’s body flickered in disappointment but she ignored it. Svana had said she could go and stay with her once they were returned to England, so that was something to look forward to. She would reply as soon as she could but for now she had to dress for dinner.

  Placing the letter carefully into a leather pouch she tucked it under the bed and summoned her maid. Alfgar had been unable to bring a full staff into exile so Griffin had assigned a girl to Edyth. Becca spoke only Welsh but Edyth was learning and she needed to practise, for tonight she planned to test her new language skills on Griffin.

  ‘Ma’ fe’n anrhydedd i ddawnsio gyda chi,’ she said over and over as Becca arranged her hair into honeyed braids – I am honoured to dance with you.

  He would like that she was sure and as soon as she was ready she made for the great hall, keen to find out. Barely had she entered, however, than someone tucked a hand under her elbow and she found Lady Gwyneth at her side.

  ‘Lady Edyth, yes?’ she asked in slightly broken English.

  Edyth pushed her shoulders back and swallowed.

  ‘Fi’n Edyth,’ she responded carefully – I am Edyth.

  The woman raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You speak Welsh?’

  ‘I am learning.’

  ‘And why is that?’

  ‘It seemed polite to be able to address my kind host in his own tongue.’

  Gwyneth snorted.

  ‘It is not the only tongue he speaks,’ she said, curving her bony hips suggestively.

 
‘Indeed,’ Edyth agreed smoothly, ignoring the older woman’s insinuations, ‘his English is impeccable.’ Gwyneth clearly didn’t understand the last word and Edyth felt suddenly mean. ‘You are very kind to let us stay here, my lady.’

  ‘Oh, it is none of my doing. I am little more than a guest myself.’

  ‘But you are the king’s . . .’

  ‘Putain? Whore?’

  ‘Consort.’

  ‘I prefer my own term, in either language.’ Gwyneth laughed bitterly. ‘Do not be fooled by the glaze of civilisation, my lady. This is not England. We do not pander to Roman niceties here. If a man wants a woman and is strong enough to take her then he will.’

  Edyth looked nervously around the packed hall. Most of Griffin’s court were here, making free with the local honeyed ale, but the king had not yet arrived. It was a warm night at last and the great doors stood open at either end to show the magnificent views. To the back, the far-off mountains looked, for once, more blue than black and at the front the iron sea had allowed the sinking sun to coat its softly rippled surface with pinks and apricots. The court had picked up the softer mood and was whispering and giggling easily together. Edyth drew a deep breath and leaned in towards Gwyneth.

  ‘You are not married to King Griffin?’

  ‘No. Clearly. I am not queen, am I?’ Gwyneth’s lip curled. ‘I was married to Lord Huw of Deheubarth, the territory I grew up in and where my family live still. Griffin wanted Deheubarth for himself and, after several attempts, he killed my husband and took it – and me with it.’

  She spoke with an almost unearthly calm that unnerved Edyth.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Did you love Huw?’

  ‘Love?!’

  ‘It is not such a stupid idea. My parents love each other, I believe. My grandparents certainly do.’

  ‘Then your grandparents are lucky, child, or lying. I did not have the luxury of loving Huw but he was my husband and I had a respected place in his court. I was more than just a spoil of war as I am here.’