Griffin brushed aside her hesitation.
‘Let me take you down onto the sand,’ he said. ‘The tide is low so we can gallop along the sea’s edge and I can show you my ships.’
She looked down at the longboats bobbing gently on the swell. There were five of them, of plain wood with little of the ornamentation the English fleet favoured, but, like all of Griffin’s goods, they looked solid and strong. Edyth had watched the men sailing them on fine days and she was curious to see them closer. She peered over the cliff. A precarious footpath wound down between the rocks but the horses would never manage it.
‘How do we gain the beach?’ she asked.
‘Follow me.’
Griffin spurred his horse back inland and led Edyth into a curving dip which twisted down the hillside and eventually opened out as if unveiling the shoreline for their personal pleasure. Môrgwynt faltered at the feel of the soft sand but Edyth urged her gently forward and she soon picked up pace again.
The sky was clear with just a few juvenile clouds chasing each other across the horizon. The sun, high now, flung its rays out across the water with seeming abandon and the water threw them back in a thousand nuggets of gold. Birds wheeled on the breeze, calling out their joy to each other and teasing the horses to greater speed. The bay was long and as the horses hit the harder sand at the water’s edge they moved into an easy gallop, sending water flying either side. It caught at Edyth’s skirts but she did not care. Griffin kept behind her and she gave Môrgwynt her head, scarcely noticing that her hair was blowing loose from her demure plait or that her cheeks were pinkening with the sun and the speed of the ride until, all too soon, she reached the craggy rocks at the far end and had to pull up.
She turned back to see Griffin pounding towards her, copper-streaked hair flowing out behind him, muscles flexing as one with his stallion. Her own body rippled in response as if the sun had dappled all its power across her as he came to a halt in a spray of sand.
‘Is it not glorious?’
‘Glorious,’ Edyth agreed. ‘I love it.’
‘I can see that and I am glad of it. There is not much for you to do in the palace, I fear.’
‘Only sewing.’
Edyth wrinkled up her nose and Griffin laughed.
‘You do not like sewing?’
‘No. I know I should but it is so slow.’
‘Unlike Môrgwynt.’
‘Yes.’ She stroked the mare’s long neck. ‘And I do so love being outside. It is so much less stiffing than the bower.’
‘I am sure you are right. One of the great benefits of being a man is avoiding the bower.’
Edyth giggled.
‘But you do have to go to war,’ she pointed out.
He sobered.
‘We do. I fear a sword pricks harder than a needle but in truth, Edyth, whilst I deplore the waste of life, I love a good battle.’
He looked out to his boats, riding the sea, and Edyth watched him.
‘You will do battle alongside my father – why?’
‘Why? Why not? The battle is there to be fought and alliances are useful. Land is useful, especially the fertile borderlands of the Marches. Besides, if I do not push at the edges of England, England will push at me and I cannot have that. I have all Wales to protect now.’
‘What is all Wales?’
‘What indeed.’ He smiled. ‘Wales is four territories, Edyth, split apart by mountains. Gwynedd, up here in the north-west, is my heartland, my birthright – though my bastard uncle stole it from me for too long.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Nothing he didn’t deserve. Anyway, it’s mine now and it’s beautiful.’
Edyth swallowed but pushed on.
‘And Powys? Your half-brother holds that for you?’
‘Bleddyn, yes. My mother lives there with her second husband and my younger brother, Rhys.’
‘And in the south?’
‘The south!’ Griffin spat, his eyes darkening. ‘God save us from the south.’
‘Where the Lady Gwyneth comes from?’
‘Indeed. She’s from Deheubarth and the whole place is as troublesome as she. Her nephew, Prince Huw, is ever grumbling against me, though he dares do no more. Prince Caradog in Glamorgan is just as bad and I have to watch them all the time – hence my soldiers, and my ships.’
He gestured proudly to the fleet. From here Edyth could see the sleek lines of the vessels, the long oars and the smartly furled sails. She could also see padlocked caskets of weapons and barrels of provisions already stacked on board.
‘You are ready to sail?’
‘Always. You can never be too careful. Attacks can come out of nowhere.’
‘And with these you can escape.’
‘With these, Edyth, I can regroup and mount a renewed assault.’
‘I see.’
Griffin laughed.
‘Do not look so uneasy, my little English lady. The southerners avoid me, and I them.’
‘Your court does not, then, move around?’
‘Move around? Oh, as King Edward does. God bless you, no. It would be like sleeping in an adder’s den. Now that I have conquered the south my men will collect my dues each month and I will hold court there twice a year.’
‘Do the people not want to see their king?’
‘Strung up maybe.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’m sorry, Edyth – Wales is not like England, nor ever will be. My people admire my strength and respect my will. They accept my rule but they do not like it. They would not line the streets to see me as they do the saintly King Edward.’
‘I’m sorry – you must think me very foolish.’
‘I think you wonderfully fresh and untainted by the world. Your innocence does me good.’
Edyth blushed.
‘You must be proud to have conquered all the territories.’
‘I am, Edyth. I truly am. It was my father’s dream.’
‘That you should be King of all Wales?’
‘That he should be. He used to tell me about it when I was a child, describe how it would be.’
His bright eyes had taken on a lost look and Edyth felt a breathless sense of intimacy.
‘And how would it be?’
‘Glorious, of course. All would bow before him and he would have a new crown fashioned with four great rubies for the four quarters of his country. He used to describe it so vividly that I can almost see it now.’
Edyth looked at the crown Griffin wore – a rich but simple diadem.
‘You have not had it made?’
He shook his head fiercely.
‘It does not feel right. The jewels were the dream. The reality is wars and spies and man turning against man. The Welsh are not, I’m afraid, a naturally united people. Our land is scythed into sections by the mountains that divide them and we cleave more readily to local lords than national ones. My father was murdered.’
‘Murdered?!’
‘Don’t look so shocked. It is the way for kings.’
‘Not in England.’
He snorted.
‘Nay, perhaps not in England – though you’ve had your share – but here it is to be expected. I expect it. Every day I expect it.’
‘And yet you live so . . .’
‘Recklessly?’
‘Fully.’
He smiled.
‘It’s amazing how alive you feel in proximity to your own death. I could be king for another twenty years, Edyth, or for just a few more hours. It is best, I find, to make the most of all this wonderful life offers.’
‘But are you not afraid?’
‘Of course, but you cannot let fear stop you.’ He slipped off his stallion’s back and Edyth hastened to join him. ‘What really scares me,’ he admitted, ‘is that I will lose it – the hunger. My father died when I was just ten. He was my god, Edyth, my world. I grew up with his dreams woven through me and all my life I have fought to achieve them for him. It hasn’t been
pretty. I have had to be ruthless – it is the only way – but I have done it. I am King of all Wales at last.’
‘So why be afraid?’
‘Because what do I do now?’
She shrugged.
‘You have to keep it.’
‘I have to keep it.’ He nodded slowly. ‘You are right, of course.’ Suddenly he caught her in his arms and whirled her round. ‘You are right, Edyth Alfgarsdottir; you are wise indeed.’
His arms were tight around her, his face close to her own, but his eyes were still on the sea and on the dreams he must see imprinted across the waves. He stilled.
‘Will you help me?’ He held her so that her feet dangled like a child’s, though her heart was beating a more adult tune. ‘Will you help me, Edyth?’
‘I will try,’ she whispered and now his eyes met hers.
‘You are a very special woman.’
He set her gently on her feet and pushed her hair back from her face, cupping her chin in his big hands. Then, very carefully, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers. Edyth ran her hands around his neck, meeting his kiss eagerly and Griffin moaned and pulled her against him. She felt the contained warmth of his body and the soft touch of his mouth melting her, but as she began to truly enjoy the caress he prised himself away.
‘Nay, Edyth – you will undo me.’
She blinked up at him, confused.
‘I am too young for you? Too inexperienced?’
‘No! But I would not dishonour you, nor your father, for anything. If you will consent, Edyth, I will ask your father for your hand.’
Edyth felt the world start to spin.
‘You want me as your wife?’
‘Wife and queen, yes. Yes I do.’
‘But they say you will never marry,’ she stuttered.
‘They do? Then they are wrong – with your consent.’
Edyth looked up at the great man and saw his wise eyes searching her own, as vulnerable as a child’s. She tried to think of England with its elegant, mannered courts and its peaceful countryside and Svana’s invitation to stay on her enchanted estate, but it all seemed terribly far away with the Welsh sea throwing itself at her feet, the Welsh birds circling her head and the Welsh king looking down at her with such tenderness.
‘I consent,’ she whispered and now he pulled her fiercely against him.
‘You will be a great queen, Edyth,’ he promised, his lips whispering the words against her own. ‘You deserve to be a great queen – greater, perhaps, than a rough king like myself can offer.’
‘No, Griffin, you—’
But he put up a finger to silence her.
‘No matter, cariad. It will be my honour to see you to your throne.’
And then his mouth covered hers and, for a sea-wisp of time, crowns and thrones and titles seemed as nothing.
They rode back towards the palace at a more sedate pace, newly shy with one another despite the intimacy of their promises. Griffin had kissed her only briefly, then handed her back onto her horse before his ‘baser self’ took hold. Even so, Edyth felt as if he had stripped her naked there on the sand, so acutely did she feel his want, and she was sure every man and woman of the court would see it too. She had no idea how she would face her mother without her reading all that had passed, but when she finally reached her, Meghan was too distracted to so much as look at her.
‘They will ride to battle, Edie.’
‘I know.’
‘On the morrow.’
‘The morrow?!’
Edyth thought of Griffin’s words that any day might easily be his last and felt fear grip her. He had said nothing of riding out so soon, only that she should not speak of their marriage until he had asked her father.
‘How do you know?’ she demanded.
‘Your father’s mercenaries have arrived and apparently they are too expensive to keep here so the king’s commander has ruled that they will ride immediately.’
Edyth ran to the window and looked out and sure enough the pasture behind the palace was teeming with men pitching rough soldiers’ tents and lighting campfires.
‘There must be a thousand of them,’ she exclaimed.
‘Two thousand,’ Meghan sniffed. ‘They cost a fortune but your father insists it must be done to prove . . . oh, I don’t know what to prove but he seems very certain.’
Edyth watched the ant-like mass of fighting men and felt her stomach curdle. She and Griffin had ridden in through the small gates on the seaward side where all was still waving grass and rippling water and romance but here, before her now, was the reality of Griffin’s life as king. Not dreams and crowns and queens, but conflict and battle.
‘They ride on the morrow?’ she repeated, chilled to her bones despite the heat of what had seemed such a beautiful day.
‘It is hard, I know, but if God is with us – as I’m sure he is – we will be able to go home.’
‘To England?’
‘To England, yes, Edyth. Where else?’
But to that, Edyth had no reply.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bosham, October 1055
Lady Svana,
I was so pleased to receive your kind reply, though I fear you worry too much about me. Rest assured I am safe, nay, honoured here and am living most comfortably. I must confess, though, that it is rather dull now the men are gone to war. It is not so much that I delight in their company, as that life is so much livelier when they are in court. Now there seems to be little more to do than sew and sing and stop my brothers getting into mischief and my mother weeping for home.
Already, it seems, the days are tipping over into autumn. I am sure you must be very busy on your farmlands but for myself I cannot believe I have passed a whole summer in Wales. Not that it is not a very beautiful country and not that I would not mind staying longer, just that so much has happened since the mid-Lent council when last I saw you in such unhappy circumstances.
My one consolation is my horse. The king gifted her to me and she is the most beautiful creature in the world. She is called Môrgwynt which means sea wind and some days it seems as if she is, indeed, at one with the air. I ride her whenever I can persuade a companion out with me which, with the men gone, is not nearly often enough.
I pray this wretched battle will soon be over and peace concluded and that I will, one day, see you to talk over all that has happened here in Wales.
With very best wishes and love,
Edyth
Svana looked over the letter twice until, to her horror, a tear plopped onto it, sending the ink scudding wildly across the vellum. What on earth was she crying for? It must be the new child stirring in her womb. She put her hand to her stomach and felt it pushing against her.
‘Hello in there, trouble,’ she whispered.
This babe felt different from the last three. Perhaps it was because she was older but it was making her so tired and so wretchedly sick. She had tried all the remedies she knew – mint, lavender, thyme and even an infusion of very expensive oriental ginger – but to no avail. She’d even agreed to join Harold, entertaining the court at his favourite manor of Bosham in his Wessex heartlands, in the hope that the sea air would aid her nausea. The sniping and gossiping in the ladies’ bower, however, counteracted any health benefits nature offered.
‘Just settle down, will you,’ she pleaded softly and felt a small but determined kick in response.
A girl – it had to be. She stiffed the thought swiftly, not daring to give it room to breathe in case it was not so. She longed for a daughter but until she was so blessed she couldn’t suppress a tender, almost maternal feeling for Edyth, and the careful lines of the girl’s letter worried her.
‘Why has the king gifted her a horse?’ she asked her bump but no answer was forthcoming, save the stirrings of Svana’s own common sense.
Why did men ever gift women anything? Even dear Harold, who brought her presents mainly to see the happiness on her face when she unwrapped them, definitely enjoyed t
he earthier expressions of gratitude once the lights were blown out. She grimaced at herself. Perhaps she was growing cynical with age? Perhaps the Welsh king just liked displaying his wealth? Perhaps he was courting Alfgar, not Edyth, with his gift? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps . . . Svana sighed.
‘Heavens, my love, not weeping again?’
She looked up to see Harold ducking into their plush chamber and brushed the tears hastily away.
‘It’s Edyth, poor girl.’ She waved the letter. ‘Heaven knows how long this has taken to find me down here; it’s dated over a month ago.’
‘How does she fare?’
‘Well, she says. Bored of ladies’ company but I don’t blame her for that.’
Harold laughed.
‘Well, my love, you will be glad to know that I can release you back to your lands.’
‘Oh no, Harold. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I am quite happy here with you.’
‘When you are with me, yes, but I know the rest is a trial and I love you for it. In truth, though, the court will be moving on in a day or two.’
‘It will? Why, Harry? What’s happened?’
‘It’s to do with your young correspondent or, rather, her father.’
‘Oh no. Don’t tell me you have to ride out to war?’ He looked to the ground, so like one of the boys caught doing mischief that for a moment Svana wanted to laugh, but this mischief was deadly serious. ‘Why you? I thought Earl Ralf was leading the defences in the west?’
‘He was.’
‘He’s dead?’
‘No, no. He’s well enough. A little red-faced perhaps.’ Harold sank onto a stool beside Svana and took her hands. ‘As you know, Alfgar and Griffin have been besieging Hereford. All Ralf needed to do was to hold out for a few more weeks and winter would have driven them to sue for peace but, oh no – the impatient fool decided to meet them in the field. Not only that but he took his men out as cavalry.’
‘Cavalry? Into battle?’
Harold shrugged.
‘What can I say? He’s a Norman by blood and I suppose, despite what we’ve taught him, he still believed it was the best way. Maybe he wanted to prove that to us – to me.’
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