The Constant Queen (37 page)

Elizaveta’s attention snapped back to her husband. She looked around for Maria to pull her up but her daughter was already there at her side, standing tall and proud as all eyes turned
their way. Elizaveta was pleased to see she had not brought her sword and stood like a lady, but her heart shook to see her so grown. Her daughter was not yet quite ten; so young to be
betrothed.

‘
You were young too
,’ a voice whispered in her ear as if a troll had crept up and settled behind her. ‘
You were young when you first saw Harald and offered to become
his treasure-keeper and already hoped for more. Yet you thought yourself more than ready for the world.
’

Maria was taller than she had been and her body was already curving towards womanhood. Elizaveta glanced at her daughter’s hips, praying they would expand as her own had never done, for
she would not wish her childbed experiences on her. Not that it need come to that yet. This betrothal was a formality, no more, and at the moment the only man Maria was devoted to was her
father.

‘I welcome Jarl Otto as my son,’ Harald cried across the gathering. ‘He is all I can ask for in a man – a strong warrior, a loyal servant and a true Norwegian.’

‘A true Norwegian?’ Elizaveta muttered sardonically and, like an unexpected scratch, she heard Kalv’s sly voice – ‘I don’t believe anyone can ever truly be at
home away from their birth country.’ She had vehemently denied it at the time but was it true? She recalled her mother, every part of her the Grand Princess of Kiev, telling stories of trolls
at bedtime, her eyes aglow in the candlelight. These northern lands had been a part of Elizaveta’s mother in a way Elizaveta had never truly understood, as Maria and Ingrid would never
understand the Rus in her, especially not if they married within their own shoreline, however beautiful.

‘You do not approve?’ Tora whispered over the raptures of the crowd as Otto, with great flamboyance, led his bride up to the law-rock to receive Harald’s public blessing.
‘I thought you were pleased?’

Elizaveta struggled to recall. She had been pleased when this had been proposed, had she not? Otto, Tora’s brother, was a fine man, older than Maria by some years but honourable and
handsome and true.

‘A true Norwegian,’ Elizaveta echoed.

‘That is not, you know, a bad thing,’ Tora said, her voice as near to angry as it ever could be, and Elizaveta put out a hand to her.

‘I know and I’m sorry. I was just remembering my own father and how determined he was to marry us into new lands – to extend his borders and, beyond that, his influence. He was
a very outward-looking man.’

‘And Harald is not?’

‘I thought he was; now I’m not so sure.’

Tora shifted her feet beneath her skirts.

‘Otto is a worthy groom.’

‘I know that, truly, Tora.’

‘And when they wed we will be family.’

‘Are we not already?’

Tora smiled awkwardly and turned to join in the clapping as Harald presented the couple to the crowd. Elizaveta clapped too, smiled, waved a little – she was good at this now.

‘I’m truly sorry, Tora,’ she said, nudging her. ‘It
is
good. It is all good. I used to admire my parents’ solid partnership when I was younger, you know. I
used to believe the Rus could be strong just because they were, but it seems maybe three is an even more solid alliance. I just . . . Oh, you know me – I am restless. Sometimes I long for it
to be as it was when Harald and I first sailed for Norway.’

‘Tense and bitter and torn into factions and plots?’

Elizaveta smiled.

‘You see everything so clearly, Tora, and so widely. You think more of Norway than of yourself.’

‘Is that not what a queen should do?’

Elizaveta nodded and looked to the skies as Harald handed the newly betrotheds down from the law-rock and settled himself to the serious business of law-giving.

‘You are a better queen than I,’ she remarked but Tora shook her head.

‘Harald,’ she said quietly, ‘would never agree,’ but that did not settle the spiky feeling in Elizaveta’s stomach.

‘I think I shall ask him,’ she persisted.

Tora simply sighed.

‘G
ood business, was it?’ Elizaveta demanded.

Harald, watching his wife of fourteen years pacing their bedchamber, answered her warily.

‘Did you not think so?’

‘Everyone seemed very satisfied.’

Her voice had an all-too-familiar edge to it and he tried not to let himself get too distracted by the way the light from the brazier was cutting through her shift, illuminating her still-lithe
body.

‘Save you?’ he suggested.

‘No.’

It was all she offered and, uncertain what to do with the curt word, he rose and went to her, waving away her new maid as he clasped his wife close.

‘Come to bed, Lily.’

She was rigid in his arms.

‘I have to say my prayers.’

Harald raised an eyebrow at that. They carried an elaborate prayer stool with them wherever they went but neither of them was often to be found upon it.

‘You are unhappy, my sweet?’

‘Not unhappy, Hari. Just . . .’ She moved to the pavilion door and lifted the flap to look out. Young men were gathering on the law-rock. She could see their naked forms silhouetted
against the bruised sky as they gathered to jump and she pulled instinctively towards them, but at her side a guard stood instantly to attention and with a sigh she dropped the fabric back into
place.

‘Just . . . ?’ Harald prompted.

Elizaveta waved him away.

‘Do you think those men will find land?’

Harald blinked, confused.

‘Which men, my sweet?’

‘Which men?! The Icelanders – the ones who have sailed west.’

‘Oh. I see. How would I know?’

‘How indeed.’

Another cryptic remark. Harald sank onto the edge of the bed.

‘Would you like, perhaps, to send for word of their journey?’

She whirled round.

‘I would like, Harald, to go on it.’

‘Oh.’ God, she looked beautiful blazing towards him, eyes flashing. ‘But Lily, it will be very dangerous.’

‘Good.’

Harald swallowed. Lily, herself, was dangerous in this mood. ‘You are bored, my sweet?’

‘Are you not?’

‘I’m very busy. The new law code is causing much debate and . . .’

‘New law code?’ The words burst out of her mouth as if fired from a catapult. He did his best not to flinch.

‘You object to the laws?’

‘No. I’m sure they’re lovely laws, with lovely lawyers to sort them out. I object, Harald, to them being the only thing you think about.’

So that was it!

‘They are not all I think about, truly. Only just now I was thinking how much I would love to have that shift off you and . . .’

Her scream of fury made him jump. The flap shuddered and a guard called out: ‘All well, my lord?’

‘Quite well,’ he called hastily back, grabbing his wife and whisking her onto the bed.

Elizaveta fought beneath him but he held her until she stilled and said petulantly, ‘I hate that you’re stronger than me.’

‘Only in arm,’ Harald said ruefully. ‘Look, Lily, what would you like me to think about? Your father, you know, was famed for his law code.’

She huffed.

‘My father is dead, Hari.’

‘And his laws live on.’

‘You used to want to be remembered for your deeds, not your laws.’

That stung. Letting go of her, Harald sat back.

‘That is true. But Lily, I am doing much, truly I am. Norway is thriving.’

‘So you said.’ She pushed herself up the bed. ‘Do you think I’m a good queen, Harald?’

‘Of course, Lily, you’re . . .’

‘Only Tora seems to care much more about Norway than I.’

‘Tora cares about her sons.’

‘As she should. They are your sons too.’

Harald swallowed. Friendly as his wives seemed, thankfully, to be these days, there were still tricky moments, from Elizaveta at least. He felt carefully for an answer but before he could form
one she was talking again:

‘Agatha might be in England by now.’

Another change of direction; he fought to keep up.

‘She might well be. I am sure Harold Godwinson will see them there safe. He is a great warrior, they say.’

‘Like you?’

‘Like me, Elizaveta, yes.’

‘But not, I’ll warrant, grown fat.’

She poked at his stomach and he looked down.

‘I’m not fat,’ he said indignantly.

It was true that there was a little more give in his skin than there had once been but was it any wonder? He was forty-two now and entitled to a little flesh. He seized Elizaveta’s face in
his hands to draw her eyes up from his midriff.

‘I thought Agatha said King Edward promised the inheritance of England to Duke William of Normandy when he paid court to him back in 1051?’

She shifted.

‘She did mention it, but why would he?’

‘King Edward was harboured for many years by William’s father and, indeed, by William himself in the early years of his rule.’

‘He was a lost prince too?’

‘There are a lot of them around, Lily, and not enough crowns to suit.’

She frowned.

‘So Duke William and King Edward are friends?’

Harald laughed bitterly.

‘From what
I
hear, Lily, no one is “friends” with Duke William. The Normans are a ruthless race. I saw them operating in Italy and Sicily and their passion for blood and
for gain made my own men look like girls fighting over a posy. The English won’t want a Norman duke as king.’

‘Nor a Flanders princess – Matilda? – as their queen. But that won’t happen, Hari, will it, once Agatha’s Edward is there? He is of the ancient royal line and he
will be a good king – and Agatha a wonderful queen.’

Harald smiled, remembering his wife’s madcap sister. It was hard to believe she was a woman now; they were all grown so old. He sat back, toying idly with the hem of Elizaveta’s
shift.

‘I have a claim too, you know. Harthacnut named Magnus as his heir but Magnus was so busy fighting Svein for Denmark that he had no time to demand England. I inherited from Magnus, so I
hold his claim still.’

Elizaveta shifted awkwardly. ‘Do you wish to press it?’

‘Do
you
wish me to?’ he shot back, enjoying her unusual discomfiture. ‘It would stop me growing stale – fat!’

‘Yes, but Edward . . .’

He grinned.

‘I will not press it if Edward inherits, my sweet, though Svein might invade. He is Cnut’s nephew after all and was born and bred in England.’

She waved this away.

‘You will have killed him by then, surely?’

‘I will,’ he agreed vowing, again, to somehow defeat the upstart Dane. ‘He will not get England, Lily.’

‘Good. And if Edward becomes her king we could visit, could we not?’

‘I thought you hated sailing?’

A memory tipped over her, like a giant wave.

‘Sailing cost us your son.’

Her pain spiked his flesh and he pulled her gently in against his chest.

‘We have done much, you and I.’

He felt her gather herself, his brave Elizaveta. Her head came up again and she looked him straight in the eye.

‘And can do more. I refuse to be afraid of the sea, Hari. And what about you – I thought Vikings’ eyes were ever on the horizon?’

‘Well, yes,’ he conceded. ‘But there is much to do at home.’

‘Home will still be here when we come back. The boundaries of the world are changing. There are many countries out there and I would love to see more of them.’

‘You would?’

‘Is that so strange?’

‘You’re a woman, my sweet.’

Harald caressed her breast and felt her nipple harden but she was not ready to give in to him yet.

‘I am a woman who rode the rapids, remember?’

‘Not all the way.’

‘Not yet.’

‘Oh Lily.’ He kissed her neck, dipped lower, felt her arch in response. ‘If it is thrills you seek, we need go no further than here.’

He pushed her gently back and lifted her shift from her, running his hands across her skin and slowly down between her thighs. She moaned softly but then pushed him away.

‘I will let you . . . thrill me, Hari.’

‘Too kind.’

She smiled.

‘But I want more too.’

‘Always more,’ he groaned but then she was pulling him down and wrapping her legs around him and he knew only the eternal rapids of his restless, difficult, delicious wife.