Godiva (6 page)

“Do not make excuses for her,” Edward said in a voice simmering with disgust. “You are enough of an innocent not to realize her power over—”

“I was thanking him for his good words about a man we both respect,” Godiva interrupted.

“That is not how one publicly thanks a bishop for
anything,
” said Edward fiercely. He returned his attention to Aldred. “Whatever she was trying to convince you of, dismiss it. Go off into some corner and pray or meditate awhile, and when your senses are quite cleared of her lascivious shadow, ask yourself to reconsider what she was trying to convince you of, and see then, in the clear light of reason, if it is something you in fact believe.”

“Of course it will be,” said Godiva impatiently, and Aldred, looking hapless, crossed himself.

Edward grabbed her wimple-covered chin harshly between his gloved finger and thumb. “Stop talking, Countess,” he advised. He released her. She brought her hand to her face, in part to stop her own mouth from saying something else she would regret. All the muscles of her rib cage tightened, and she could not breathe.

Edward turned and walked away.

CHAPTER 6

T
hat evening, after the wan Lenten supper of unseasoned oysters and drab root vegetables, just before the evening exodus to tents and pavilions in the courtyard, Godiva again approached the Holy Corner. She and Aldred awkwardly ignored each other. But then, with the beaming excitement of a child, she gestured Edgiva to come toward the corner where Leofric's entourage would sleep.

“I have won over two thanes and an earl,” she whispered, with delighted pride. “And my stepson Alfgar, of course, will do whatever I ask of him.”

Edgiva gave her a quizzical, indulgent smile. “To what have you won them?” she asked in her placid alto.

“To you!” Godiva said. At Edgiva's surprise, she continued: “They did not understand how they could have missed the importance of supporting your exhortations, but by heaven—”

“With the prompting of your eyelash-batting—”

“They suddenly understood it very clearly, and they have sworn on their very testicles that they will put their mark to a petition.” She had resorted to flirtation for the thanes, but she'd done it cunningly, where Edward would not catch her.

Now she gestured, as if handing her friend a large invisible gift. She was glowing. Edgiva gazed at her, trying to tamp her emotions; finally, lips pursed, she shook her head, and allowed a maternal chuckle to escape her.

“You are quite the remarkable creature,” she said. “I was afraid you would go straight to Edward.”

“I did,” she confessed, sobering.

Edgiva's eyebrows almost imperceptibly lowered. “And?” she said.

Godiva shook her head. “It did not go well. He is not so easy to fell with my particular ax.”

“I could have told you that.”

“I should have known it. I pride myself on my ability to read anyone that way.”

“How bad was the damage? Have you marred my chances to convince him in a more straightforward manner?” Edgiva was not accusing, only strategizing.

“Well . . . ,” Godiva said, shamed, “he ordered Aldred to refute me.”

“Ahhh.” A dry smile. “So you wooed Brother Aldred too.”

“I did,” Godiva confessed. “Although with him I was not woo-ish.”

“Whatever you did was a waste of time. Aldred never takes a stand on anything.”

“I thought I might . . . well, anyhow, I didn't. I couldn't. Worse, Edward misconstrued what he saw and did not like it.” With a frown, she took Edgiva's strong hand and squeezed it, then brought it to her lips. “Edey, I shall never forgive myself if you lose support just because I have been acting like . . . well, like myself.”

Edgiva sighed. “My dearest friend.” To Godiva's tremendous relief, the abbess put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close in an embrace. Her habit, so coarse compared to Godiva's own silk weaves, smelled of myrrh and smoke. “You mean well. I love you for it. Only, sister, you must not always try so hard. You know you get yourself in trouble.”

Godiva raised her brows. “When trouble finds me, I outwit it,” she declared. “I attribute that to you, Edey, you taught me how to think and act with indirect resistance. Like the time Leofric's priest pressured me to seek divine intervention for fertility, so I sought help from the witches of Brom Legge?” She grinned. “The priest changed his tune and said he'd rather a barren Christian countess in his flock than a fecund heathen.”

Edgiva looked almost wistful. “I think Leofric would have loved a child with you, for all that,” she said.

Godiva uncomfortably waved this away. “He has no need of more offspring, they'd only fight among themselves, and anyhow, I do not trust myself to do it well. Besides, that's not the point—the point is being able to find the solution hiding in the problem, and I learned that from you.”

Edgiva shook her head. “I will take no responsibility,” she said, “for having formed you. You are
sui generis
. Although if you were to have a child and Leofric had any sense, he would send it to be raised at Leominster Abbey.”

“Very well,” said Godiva cheerfully. “I found you an excellent teacher; surely a child of my womb would flourish likewise. But do you really want more Godivas?”

Edgiva, with a soft grin, again put her arm around Godiva's shoulder and pulled her toward her. “Thank you,” she said in her deep maternal voice, “for never being dull as almost everybody else is.”

L
ater in the hall, Godiva was settling onto Leofric's cot, when she noticed Sweyn Godwinson. The glow from the fire pit illuminated one side of his face and body. Enjoying what a pleasant view it was, she thought of Edgiva's flustered state.

And then she thought of something else.

Edgiva and Sweyn were both headed directly north from here tomorrow. They would surely caravan. By custom, in fact, Edgiva would likely stop in Hereford overnight before continuing on the last leg of her journey to Leominster Abbey. Suddenly that trip seemed, to Godiva, fraught with . . . opportunity. She could not part ways with her friend if she did not first satisfy herself that Edgiva would be safe.

Or if not safe, at least in capable hands.

That Edgiva was smitten with Sweyn, Godiva knew. She was almost as sure of Sweyn's affections . . . but not quite. Nor was she confident about his nature. Yes, he was gallant to an abbess publicly at Council, but at home, away from oversight, he had gratuitously tested Leofric's borders. He was young, as yet unsettled in his character. If he were too wayward for Edgiva, Godiva must find a way to protect her from him. Perhaps invent a reason to send one of Leofric's housecarls along with Edgiva's retinue.

But she could not tell Leofric the reason; could not say, even in jest, even in confession: “What if Sweyn Godwinson should ravish Edgiva?” Eternally leery of all things Godwin, Leofric would not let that go.

All she wished for at this moment was to lie against her husband and put her hands under his loosened leather jerkin to feel the particular warmth of his skin and the familiar fuzz of his chest hair. But she had to assess Sweyn's character first, or she would not be able to rest easy.

“I am going out,” she said brusquely to Leofric. (To speak so indifferently to each other in public was their custom. It gave her greater purchase with other men, if they did not perceive how madly fond she was of her husband.)

Sweyn, as a member of his father's entourage, slept in the hall. But he was exiting now, a long leather cloak wrapped around him. Pulling on the green wool mantle she had laid over her side of the cot for warmth, she followed him into the dark courtyard toward the stables. The delicate crescent of moon had not yet risen, but the sky was grand with dazzling, subtle starlight. It would be a cold dawn later, for those in tents.

“My lord earl,” she said gently into the darkness as she was fastening the brooch. The handsome body stopped, stayed unmoving for a moment, and then he pivoted in his tracks to see her. “Ah,” he said. “Good evening, lady.”

“Where are you off to? An evening assignation?”

He chuckled briefly. “Do you never tire of being a provocatress?” he asked. “But no, I am going for a drink in the stables with your stepson and some other thanes. After a day of putting up with men of my own rank, I am in desperate need of something . . .”

“A bit less rank?” she offered.

He smiled. “You are deft of words.”

“I am deft of tongue,” she corrected, promisingly. “Shall I prove it?” And she grinned at him.

He laughed a boisterous baritone laugh. “One day, some man will tire of your playing with him, and you'll regret it,” he said.

“What exactly will I regret?” she asked, as if daring him. She walked closer to him until they were nearly touching. “What might ‘some man' do to me? Exactly?”

He sobered and took half a step away from her. “You are my neighbor's wife and also, I hope, a friend, and I would never abuse your forwardness. But I cannot speak for other men—”

“A moment there,” she interrupted, taking that same half step forward to remain nearly up against him. “Mean you to say that you never would mistreat me because we are friends, or because it is not in your nature to take advantage of any woman's frailty?” She leaned in toward him. She could feel the warmth of his breath in the cool night. She seldom allowed herself this kind of proximity; usually it was just a touch or a passing closeness. His scent was different from Leofric's. That distracted her.

“It is every man's nature to take advantage of a woman's frailty,” Sweyn said, as if she should have already known this—which she did. “But most of us are able to resist the impulse when required.”

“And you are able to?”

“I have not ravished you, have I?”

“Well, it would not be ravishment, of course,” she said with an artificially flustered laugh. “It would be seduction.”

He chuckled knowingly. “No, it would not. For all your teasing, you would never willingly let any man but Leofric lay hold of you. Which is admirable, of course—I do not say it as a criticism.” He mirrored her own teasing smile. “Only a lament.”

“Very gallant of you,” she said. “Although somewhat underinformed.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She wished there were more lights around them, that they might read each other better. So much was easily miscommunicated in grey half-light. “I assumed you knew the whole truth,” she said. “About myself and Leofric.”

He gave her what she took, in the darkness, to be an amused look. “I believe I do, lady,” he said. “You counterfeit in public to have no particular affinity for him, and then you twist other men around your finger by dangling unspoken, unspeakable offers before them. Offers you will never act on. Your cunning little secret is that you are entirely devoted to your husband.”

“There is more to it than that,” she said. “Perhaps I was expecting too much, to think you had grasped it all.”

He held up a hand to silence her. A pause. Then he very deliberately took one large step back, away from her. “Stay there,” he said. “Continue.”

She wished he had not done that. “I am devoted to Leofric, in that I act always with his interests at heart. But there is a considerable age difference between us; we have different appetites, he already has an heir, and he trusts me to keep my heart in check.”

A silence.

“Meaning?” Sweyn demanded.

“To further confound everyone around us—and to accommodate my surplus of appetite—I do, in fact, take the occasional lover.” How she wished she could see his face more clearly.

Another silence. “I do not believe you,” Sweyn said flatly into the chill darkness.

“Why not?” she asked, arch. “Is your ego so wounded that I have not chosen you already?”

“I am not wounded, and I do not believe you,” Sweyn said.

“I am barren,” she whispered. “Not that I was desperate for motherhood anyhow, in this world where someone else nurses the babe and someone else yet raises it. Where is the motherhood in that? No wonder the likes of Queen Emma became such a heartless and conniving monster. My very womb rebelled against it early. So you see, there is not the slightest danger of embarrassment to Leofric, and he knows I would never make a fool of myself.”

“Barren women have no appetites,” said Sweyn, crossing his arms.

“That is not true, as I would be delighted to demonstrate,” she retorted, almost fiercely.

He released a short, nervous bark of a laugh. “I do not know why you are doing this, Godiva, you have already played me for all I'm worth this Council—”

“That's true, I have,” she said. “So I need not play you now. Nor am I so desperate or besotted that I have come to throw myself at your feet and beg you to ride me.”

“My lady—” Sweyn said, and took an even larger step back away from Godiva, his arms clutching against his chest as if he would break his own ribs.

“I am simply inviting you to enjoy yourself with me, if you are so inclined.” She reached toward her brooch and began to unclasp the cold metal.

He twisted his upper body so that he scanned the courtyard from one side to the other without turning his head. “What,
now
?”

“I leave tomorrow morning between Prime and Terce for Coventry. It would be challenging to arrange a tryst from such a distance.” The brooch unclasped, she held the mantle closed at her right shoulder with her left hand.

Sweyn closed his eyes and shook his head briefly. “This is most unexpected.”

“If you are not interested, please give me the courtesy of declining swiftly, as this evening is my only opportunity for a dalliance, and if I must settle for somebody else, I would like to get on with it.”

He shook his head in slow, broad arcs. “I still do not believe you,” he said.

“I do not really care if you believe me or not,” she said. “All that matters is whether or not you are willing, and you do not seem to be, so Godspeed to you.” She turned to head back toward the hall door.