The Chosen Queen

by Joanna Courtney

  He slid from his horse and his feet buckled. Edyth jumped forward to steady him and nearly collapsed under his weight. ‘Griffin, you are hurt?’

  ‘No, just weary.’

  She looked more closely and saw bruising beneath the skin of his cheek and a jagged scar below his ear. She saw dirt ingrained in his glorious burnished hair and exhaustion clouding across his blue eyes.

  ‘You must rest.’

  ‘Rest?!’ He laughed bitterly. ‘There is only one way, now, that I will rest, cariad, and that is in the soil.’

  ‘Griffin, do not speak so. What has happened today? Were you defeated?’

  ‘No, not defeated but not victorious either. They withdrew when the light turned. Earl Torr, it would seem, did not want to chance his men in the darkness and he had no need. We are decimated, Edyth.’

  He pushed shaking fingers through his matted hair and glanced back to his men who were limping towards the hall, supported by their women, whilst those who had found only cold air comforted each other behind. Edyth looked frantically round for Becca and saw her nestled up against a limping Lewys.

  ‘Praise God,’ she murmured.

  At her side Griffin laughed bitterly.

  ‘I see nothing of God in this, Edyth. Any news of Earl Harold?’

  ‘A messenger rode in earlier,’ she admitted nervously. ‘Harold has been sighted at Caernarfon.’

  ‘He is upon us then. Has he many men?’

  ‘The messenger said two thousand.’

  ‘A thousand more than was reported at Cardiff. It seems he has new recruits.’

  Edyth looked at the floor. She knew what that meant. This far from English shores there was only one way Harold’s ranks had swelled – the southern Welshmen had turned traitor.

  ‘What can we do?’

  ‘We cannot fight, not yet.’

  Griffin turned his eyes south. The sun was all but gone now and the only thing Edyth could make out was the ripped-up edge of the Eryri.

  ‘So . . . ?’ she whispered.

  ‘So we do what we must – we go to the mountains.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The men could go no further that night. Griffin let them eat and rest in the great hall whilst the women flew around tending wounds and packing food and tents into saddlebags. John and his lads strapped the provisions to stout ponies and the moment the sun showed its face, those of the rough and weary party who were able moved out of Rhuddlan and headed south-west towards the great Eryri.

  Edyth walked at the front with Griffin, leading a stocky mountain pony with their two little princes on its humble back. Their crowns were packed away beneath oatcakes and dried meat and other such vital supplies and they trod as equals with the fifty or so men, women and children seeking refuge on the mountainside. There would be a hard day’s walk before they even reached the forest that swarmed all over the peaks and although they loomed, dark and foreboding, Edyth longed to reach them for they were very exposed on the open road.

  ‘I don’t like it, Mama,’ Morgan whispered.

  Now five years old, he had his father’s physique and wild copper hair and usually bruised his way through life, but today he was cowering back.

  ‘There is nothing to be afraid of, Morgan,’ Edyth assured him. ‘The mountains are our friends. No one will dare follow us in there.’

  ‘Why? Why will they not dare, Mama?’

  ‘Why? Because, because they do not know it as we do, Morgan. What is safety for us is danger for them.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I know not!’ Edyth regretted her sharpness instantly. ‘I know not, Morgan,’ she repeated more calmly. ‘I have never been there but your father says so and I trust him, as should you.’

  ‘I do,’ Morgan agreed stoutly, though his lip wobbled.

  ‘We will grow strong again in the mountains,’ Ewan told him. ‘And then we will go back and attack.’

  ‘Are the mountains magic?’ Morgan asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Ewan agreed firmly and, grateful for her sturdy six-year-old’s confidence, she did not have the heart to contradict him.

  They reached the safety of the forest at nightfall and pressed on in the dark for some time before Griffin would let them rest. The next day they began to climb, tracing a way up one of the numerous streams that tumbled carelessly downwards. The water was so very clear and sweet that Edyth began to feel better – surely such purity could not come from an evil source?

  The sun was bright and birds sang from the trees and she felt the whole party start to relax. Rabbits and squirrels scuttled across the path before them and, if Edyth squinted into the light, the scratched armour of the men nearly shone and the saddlebags might be bulging with feastings and the children could be jumping with excitement, not fright. She could not, however, squint for long and she soon sank into a dull, grinding silence with the others.

  The light clung on longer than their spirits and slowly they came to stop in a clearing and found the sky still blue above. The hillsides curved gently up and away and before them was a vast lake, not so very wide but stretching out between two peaks as far as the eye could see.

  ‘Lake Colwyd,’ Griffin announced proudly, ‘named after a great Welsh warrior who fought with the legendary chieftain Arthur. We will make camp here but no fires. We are not yet far enough away.’

  ‘We will never be far enough away.’

  ‘Who said that?’ Griffin demanded.

  A soldier came forward, a rugged man, long one of Griffin’s prized warrior-band, though now he looked at the ground like a boy caught in mischief. As his wife tugged fearfully on his arm, he dared to lift his head and speak out.

  ‘I am your loyal subject, Sire, but I see no purpose in this flight. Are we to live like wild animals the rest of our days?’

  ‘At least we will have days.’

  ‘We could surrender.’

  A shudder passed through the bedraggled group.

  ‘We cannot surrender.’

  ‘Not to the English.’

  ‘They will kill us all.’

  Griffin waved around.

  ‘My loyal subjects speak true – the English will hound us to our deaths. You are right to voice your fears, soldier, but those fears are misplaced. Now – our camp.’

  The soldier looked to the ground again then backed off, taking his wife with him, and everyone went to work. Although there was space aplenty on the softly sloping banks of the great lake, Griffin insisted they camp in the shelter of the pines so the tents ended up spread out for some distance. A light rain had started to fall and though it barely penetrated the trees it was mumbled as an excuse to retire to bed. There would be no shared meal tonight, no singing around the fire, just a string of dark shapes joined by little more than hatred for the English. For Edyth, squished in with Griffin, Becca, Lewys, the boys and her own swollen belly, it was an uncomfortable feeling.

  ‘I must kill him,’ Griffin had said and Edyth could see that was his only chance now – a surprise attack, an ambush. She should support him in it but, God knew, in her heart she did not want Harold dead and as the night crept on she felt that hideous knowledge like a pain all through the centre of her being.

  A long, frightening week ground past, alleviated only by almost absurdly warm weather. The refugees traced their way through the Gyderau mountains, moving from lake to lake, heading for the furthest range, the Moelwynion. At first Griffin pointed out peaks and lakes to Edyth, sharing a little of the stories that seemed to surround them all, but as the days wore on he stopped, as if even he recognised now that this flight was not part of a great warrior tradition but something far more basic.

  Soon, though, the journeying would be over. Tomorrow they would reach the slopes of Moel yr Ogof where Griffin said there was a deep cave that could shelter them in safety. The promise of rest had heartened the weary travellers and they’d picked up pace this morning but now they were skirting around the edge of the tiny valley hamlet of Beddgelert, unwilling to be seen
by even a handful of peasants, and the way was tight and overgrown.

  Edyth had been persuaded onto the pony with Morgan, and little Ewan was walking stoutly ahead, like a midday shadow of his big father. Edyth was just watching his brave progress with pride when she felt a sharp spasm. She put a hand to her belly and closed her eyes – surely not? Barely a moment later, however, another pain tore through her and she had to clench her teeth against it.

  ‘No,’ she whispered down to the babe. ‘Not now, please – one more day.’

  ‘Mama?’ Morgan asked, looking back at her. ‘Are you well?’

  ‘Quite well,’ she sang but already a new pain was jabbing at her, and the pony, sensing it, skittered sideways.

  ‘There now,’ Edyth soothed, ‘steady now, keep going.’

  She was talking as much to herself as to the beast. She curled her hands into its wiry mane and tried to focus on the rocky path immediately ahead.

  ‘Just a little longer,’ she willed her baby, ‘then we will be at camp and you can come in safety.’

  The word ‘safety’ echoed hollow inside her and then, as if from afar, came a voice, low and certain: ‘You are safe now.’ Harold! What was he doing in her head? Another pain shot through her, so sharp this time that she jumped and Morgan was nearly knocked from the saddle. His squeals alerted everyone.

  ‘Morgan,’ Griffin snapped. ‘This is no time for fooling around.’

  ‘It was not his fault,’ Edyth managed before her body jerked again and Becca, quicker than the king, spotted her face and ran over.

  ‘The babe?’

  Edyth could only nod.

  ‘Christ preserve us,’ someone said, ‘not now.’

  They all looked nervously around. The smoke from the hamlet fires could be seen rising out of the trees and ahead of them was an open plain. If any scouts made it this far they would be rewarded with an easy arrow-sight.

  ‘I can go on,’ Edyth insisted as the pain passed. ‘It will not come for hours. Ride – please.’

  ‘But my lady . . .’

  ‘What choice do we have?’

  Griffin strode over.

  ‘Ride with me, cariad. I will look after you.’

  He took Morgan down from the pony and Lewys lifted the little prince onto his broad shoulders instead. Morgan was delighted with the swap, the poor pony perhaps less so, but it bore its load bravely and the party moved on once more.

  ‘Can you do it, Edyth, truly?’ Griffin whispered in her ear.

  She leaned back against his chest, hoping to suck strength from it.

  ‘The pain is no worse on horseback than off it. I may squirm a little though.’

  He laughed softly.

  ‘It is your squirming that has brought us to this, cariad.’

  ‘You squirm too,’ she protested and then pushed against him as another pain came.

  It was a hazy day for Edyth. They climbed sharply out of the valley and up into the Moelwynion. The mountain peaks seemed to lean in around her and the sun to stroke her brow. The crazy world of tumbling streams and jagged rocks swam in and out of her vision as she fought the mounting spasms, rocking against Griffin whose arms held her tightly on the poor pony as they plodded ever upwards, the forest growing denser as they climbed.

  ‘Not far now,’ Griffin promised. ‘We will be there by nightfall. It will be sheltered, dry, warm. We will be able to make you a bed and . . .’

  Edyth, however, could no longer stop herself crying out. She all but climbed up her husband and Becca pulled alongside.

  ‘We must stop, Sire. The babe is surely coming.’

  ‘It’s not safe yet,’ one of the soldiers said but Becca turned on them, hands on hips, eyes sparking.

  ‘Then you go on and find your “safety” if you will. I shall stay here with your queen.’

  The men looked down, shamefaced, and Griffin stroked Edyth’s hair from her face.

  ‘Can you go any further, cariad?’

  ‘Of course I . . . aaah!’

  This pain was the worst. It shuddered through her, stabbing downwards as if breaking the baby free. Waters gushed down her leg and the pony reared in fright. It was only Griffin’s quick reactions that kept them both from tumbling to the ground but as soon as he had settled the beast, he leaped off, bringing her tenderly down with him.

  ‘We stay here tonight. We have heard and seen nothing all day and the royal child has spoken out. John, we need a tent and fast. Can someone find water and blankets? Any women with midwifery skills, we need you. This prince or princess will learn to be a fighter from its very first moments and I trust you all to help bring it into this world we are striving to hold in our hearts.’

  It was a noble speech and Edyth longed to respond but her body had other ideas. She clutched at a tree trunk as Becca, mercifully, rushed to her aid and it was left to Lewys to say:

  ‘I think, Sire, it may be too late for that.’

  Edyth clenched the bark, forcing her nails deep into its rough softness as she bore down with all her strength. This was no royal bedchamber with soft sheets and warm water and clucking midwives, but it mattered not – for this moment was all contained within her pulsing body and she obeyed its instincts.

  ‘That’s it,’ she heard Becca cry. ‘That’s it, my lady – one more push.’

  Edyth gritted her teeth and bent her knees as Becca lifted her skirts. The tense hush of the little band of woodland courtiers sealed her in as Griffin gained her side. It was not dignified but what use was dignity anyway? All she wanted was her babe safely in her arms and she pushed with the wrenching pains, down into the mossy earth of the Eryri’s wild slopes until she felt the blissful release of birth.

  ‘I have it!’ Becca cried.

  Edyth collapsed against Griffin as a plaintive cry rippled between the pines and her maid, like some sort of sorceress, lifted a tiny, pink baby from under her sodden skirts.

  ‘’Tis a girl,’ she cried, ‘a baby Princess of Wales!’

  Edyth felt a light, giddy happiness rise within her weary body. Slowly she turned and reached for the child and Griffin’s arms tightened around them both as the courtiers stepped respectfully back. Sucking in deep, clear breaths, she looked down in wonder into the sky-blue eyes of her daughter, gazing at her as if it was perfectly normal to be born beneath the trees on the very top of the world.

  Edyth was in bed at last. The tent was rough and the bedding damp but Griffin was warm at her side and the babe was suckling contentedly and for now it felt as rich as any palace in the land.

  ‘It is a good sign, cariad,’ Griffin whispered, stroking her hair back from her face. ‘God has granted us the blessing of this beautiful daughter and he will watch over us all for her sake.’

  ‘I hope so, Griffin.’

  He drew her closer.

  ‘I have not been the best of husbands, Edyth, but I do cherish you, and the boys, and now this little princess. I wish—’

  ‘Wish not, Griffin. We will find a way forward; we always do.’

  She was struggling to keep her eyes open and he kissed her softly.

  ‘You need to sleep, cariad. Here, let me take the babe.’

  Gratefully Edyth passed the now sleeping child to her husband and watched as he cuddled her tenderly onto his broad chest. She was safe with him and Edyth felt herself drift blissfully towards sleep, but just then a sharp call from outside jerked her rudely awake.

  ‘Who goes there?’

  There was a rustle of undergrowth being parted and a squeak as someone was hauled forth.

  ‘Beg pardon, my lord,’ came a shaky voice. ‘I mean no harm. I come from Beddgelert. I was hunting. I heard noises. Are you . . . the king?’

  Edyth glanced at Griffin, who had raised himself slightly, the baby still beneath his chin.

  ‘Of course not, lad,’ Lewys said roughly outside. ‘What would the king be doing in the mountains?’

  ‘We heard tell he had fled from Earl Harold.’

  ‘Not with us he h
asn’t. We’re villagers, feeing the English bastards.’

  Edyth could hear the whole camp holding their breath. It was dark and they were dirtied and torn from their travels but a single look at the quality of Lewys’s travelling cloak would tell anyone with half a mind that they were no mere villagers. The boy, however, simply said:

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ Lewys echoed.

  ‘Yes, why? They say Earl Harold is treating the Welsh graciously. He has no truck with common folk. He just wants the king – the queen too, or so they say.’

  Edyth felt Griffin’s arms clench around her and had to bite at her lip to stop herself crying out.

  ‘What is that man to you?’ he hissed.

  ‘Nothing, Griffin.’

  ‘So why, then, does he hunt me down? Is this whole war over you, wife?’

  ‘No! Griffin, I have ever been true to you. I swear it. Please – I have just borne your child.’

  At this the babe awoke and wailed. Edyth snatched her back from Griffin and clasped her to the breast but she could sense the tension rising beyond the tent flaps.

  ‘Griffin,’ she urged in a whisper, ‘this is not the time to argue. Please.’

  He nodded tersely and rose.

  ‘The boy has to go.’

  ‘Go?’

  Griffin, however, was up and ducking out of the tent and, weary as she was, Edyth scrambled to her feet to follow. She stepped out just in time to see her husband stride across to the fire and, like a lightning flash, drive his sword up and through the boy before he could even lift an arm to defend himself. His thin body thudded to the ground amongst the branches and moss and Edyth stared at it. The camp seemed to visibly shiver as men poured out of tents, circling the corpse.

  ‘You should not have done that,’ Lewys said quietly.

  ‘You question me – your king?’

  ‘Out here there are no kings.’

  Edyth saw the men shift in the big guard’s direction then Becca flashed past her and ran to his side.

  ‘He’s right,’ another man said. ‘We are all exiles, running like cowards.’

  Griffin bristled and planted his big feet more firmly in the ground. Edyth stroked her hand fiercely up and down the baby’s back. She wanted to intervene, had to intervene, but she was so tired.