The Chosen Queen (44 page)

‘We beat him,’ Edyth said, though she was shaking with the emotion of the confrontation.

‘We beat him,’ Svana agreed softly, adding, ‘you know I did not mean that you had no right to Harold, Edie? I had to make them believe it was him, that was all.’

‘You succeeded,’ Edyth said, forcing a smile. ‘And I know you did not mean it, but I know also that it is true.’

‘It is true indeed, for no one has the “right” to anyone. Harold loved me, Edyth, and Harold also loved you. Now he is gone let us please, at least, love each other.’

Edyth smiled.

‘You have been such a friend to me, Svana.’

‘And you to me but this friendship has only just begun. We will need it, I fear, in the years to come.’

She looked to the wiry body of Duke William, pointing arrogantly after the guard who had what he believed to be Harold’s body slung carelessly over his shoulder.

‘That was Avery,’ Edyth whispered.

‘He would be glad to do this final service for his lord.’

‘He would.’

Quietly Svana waved over a cartman waiting keenly for a deathly fare. The two women loaded Harold in, laying Garth beside him and covering the two noble brothers with the tangled remains of
their housecarls.

‘We will take them to Waltham Abbey,’ Svana said. ‘Harold will be at peace there.’

Edyth nodded.

‘And then? I will not go to his coronation, you know, Svana. I will not see him crowned in Harold’s place; I could not bear it.’

‘Nor I. Come to Nazeing, Edyth.’

‘To Nazeing?’ Pictures of the soft, faerie meadowlands flashed across Edyth’s bruised mind like a flicker of hope. ‘Could I?’

‘Of course – your children too. We will be safe there, for a little time at least.’

She looked so earnest, but Edyth felt her innocent words like a new knife wound.

‘My children?’ Her voice rasped and her hand crept to her belly. ‘You will not want me with my children, Svana.’

Svana, however, simply reached out and placed her own hand over Edyth’s.

‘You are carrying his babe?’ Edyth nodded miserably. ‘But that is wonderful, Edie.’ It was so much an echo of Harold’s response that Edyth dared to look up. Svana
smiled. ‘It is a blessing – a babe to replace the one I lost; a babe for us to raise together.’

‘You want me, truly?’

‘Truly. You were his wife for me, Edyth.’

Edyth thought of a hillside wedding years ago. She had only been a child but already she’d had the wisdom to know, however much Svana denied it, that she had witnessed magic between two
people.

‘No, Svana,’ she said. ‘
You
were his wife. I was just a girl who chased the sparks of your union.’

Svana sighed softly then reached out.

‘He loved you too, Edie, truly – but neither of us need chase now. Come.’

Edyth took the proffered hand and together the two women followed the grunting cartman through the carnage of England’s desperate last stand and up the barren road north.

What fascinates me about history is the gaps between the dates – what the people, including the kings and queens, did on the non-headline days. In researching the rich and
exciting Anglo-Saxon period I have often found far more gaps than dates and whilst for the earnest historian in me that is a frustration, for the cheeky novelist it is a joy to fill those gaps with
my own imaginings.

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, our core primary source for this period, can happily cover a whole year of events in a single paragraph. In between the monks’ carefully and sometimes rather
randomly selected events, however, were hundreds of men, women and children, getting up every single day – feeling warm or cold, eating, drinking, going to the loo, arguing with each other,
falling in love, and getting every bit as shy, embarrassed, excited and nervous as we do today. In the evolution of mankind a thousand years is a tiny length of time and although social customs and
day-to-day experiences were certainly different back in 1055, I refuse to believe that core feelings have changed much and it is that connection to the people of the past – to their
minute-by-minute existences – that I wish to capture in my novels.

In every instance I have tried my best to stay within the boundaries of the known facts but it is not my intention here to create a history as much as an interpretation. I am certainly not
saying that this version of Edyth’s life
did
happen, but I hope I have researched deeply and carefully enough to able to assert that it
could have
happened. There are
several points in my story, however, that people might wonder about, so here are a few more details on some of the key historical customs, moments, people and places.

C
ustoms and
T
erminology

Handfast marriages

Handfasting was the pagan way of cementing a marriage and involved a simple ceremony in which the bride’s and groom’s hands were literally bound with ribbons to
symbolise their union. It remained popular in the Danelaw (Eastern England) into the eleventh century because, as the name suggests, this area was governed by Danish law. The Danes remained pagan
into the 950s and even once they had converted to Christianity, they perpetuated old ways and customs for longer than central and southern England.

Handfasting was legally binding, accepted as such (if reluctantly) by ecclesiastic law, and remained so for a long time after the Roman church ceremony was introduced to England. Indeed,
Shakespeare’s signature stands as witness to a hand-fasting in 1604 and it wasn’t actually until the 1753 Marriage Act that the need for an officiating priest or magistrate was made
compulsory for a legally valid marriage.

The Normans stamped on the practice of bigamy but before 1066 having two wives was politically useful to prominent figures needing heirs and a number of northern European leaders in the
Anglo-Saxon/Viking era, including King Cnut, Harold of Wessex and Harald Hardrada had both a handfast and a ‘Roman’ wife.

The formalising of this practice – literally a gathering at which the monarch wore his crown to be seen by all – is sometimes attributed to William the Conqueror
but actually seems to have originated with King Edward to establish a core routine for his itinerant royal court. The Crownwearings marked the key points in the church’s calendar and served
to gather all the important people of England together three times a year. Except in unusual circumstances – Edward’s own failing health at the turn of 1066 being one – these
Crownwearings were always held at Gloucester for Christ’s mass, Winchester for Easter and Westminster for Whitsun.

Royal and noble compounds were built to house a permanent household that was relatively small – approximately one hundred people. So whenever the full court gathered at
Crownwearings or for big occasions such as weddings, families brought their own waxed-linen pavilions to house themselves. They did this all year round, including for Christ’s mass when
England must often have been deep in snow, so furs and blankets must have been vital to keep warm.

Eagle-eyed readers may have noted reference to the English bringing trees into their halls to celebrate Christmas and wondered at the anachronism, given that Queen
Victoria’s German husband Albert is widely credited with introducing the practice to our country. In truth, however, this was an ancient Scandinavian/Germanic practice which was lost to
England across time and not so much introduced as re-introduced by Prince Albert.

It is unlikely that Edyth and her fellows would have called Hardrada and his troops ‘Vikings’ as the appellation was not in use until later. They would more likely
have called them ‘Northmen’ but for our purposes ‘Vikings’ more accurately conveys the sense of piratical fear that they would have inspired.

Hostages were a normal and accepted way of securing an agreement and more often than not the people who served as such were treated as noble guests – unless, of course,
the agreement was broken. We know that hostages, along with much treasure, were due to be delivered to Hardrada at Stamford Bridge but have no way of knowing who they were and certainly not if they
included Edyth’s two Welsh princes. Given that this was a vital agreement, however, the hostages would certainly have been important people so it seems quite possible that if they were with
her in York (again, unknown) Ewan (Idwal) and Morgan (Maredudd) would have been part of the terrible delegation.

William decreed that the numbering of monarchs would start with him so King Harold and all his predecessors have no numbers but rather appellations – e.g. Edmund Ironside
and Alfred the Great. Many such names were given posthumously, notably Edward the Confessor, whose moniker was introduced only around two hundred years after his death as part of a PR move by the
monks of Westminster to attract pilgrims to his tomb.

K
ey
H
istorical
M
oments

William’s visit to Edward’s court at Christmas 1051

There is only one report of this visit but it is the largely reliable Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and the timing is believable. In 1051 the Godwin family had been forced into exile,
largely due to the machinations of Edward’s Norman adviser Robert of Jumièges, who was clearly working to pave the way for William’s acquisition of the English throne. It is
quite possible that William visited his cousin’s court for Christ’s mass and that he becoming Edward’s heir was discussed, as it may have been discussed with others (in much the
same way that Elizabeth I was later to dangle promises of marriage). There is, however, no record of a formal agreement.

King Griffin can honestly claim to be the only man in history ever to have been King of all Wales. Although there were some leaders who’d controlled vast areas before him
– notably Rhodri the Great, who ruled all of Wales bar Deheubarth from 844–878, and Hywel ap Cadell, who ruled all bar Glamorgan from 910–950 – none of them, until Griffin,
controlled all four key principalities (Deheubarth, Powys, Glamorgan and Gwynedd). After Griffin’s death, English overlordship was asserted, so although there were sovereign princes –
notably Rhys ap Gruffydd, 1155–1197, and Llywelyn Fawr (Great)
circa
1200–1240 – there was never again a full king. In 1282 King Edward I of England conquered the country
fully and from that point on the title of ‘Prince of Wales’ became an honorary one for the heir apparent, as it still is today. This means that Edyth was the only woman ever to be Queen
of Wales and, indeed, ever to be Queen of both Wales and England – a fact for which she surely deserves recognition.