The Forever Queen (52 page)

“So what are you two brats going to do when your mother is wed to Cnut?”

Edward had said nothing, but then he never did defend Mama. It had been left to Alfred to shout, “It is not true! Why are you always so horrid to us? Edward will be King of England one day; then you will be sorry!”

“Êtes-vous un imbécíl? Edouard ne sera jamais Roi; he will not be King, not now that Cnut is crowned and is soon to take your mother as his Queen. There will be no place for you in England, especially once she is breeding for him, and I shall not want homeless brats at my court when I inherit from Papa.”

“You lie! Mama is coming to join us here in Normandy. She is to persuade Uncle Richard to equip a fleet, and we will attack England and return in triumph! She said so!”

Richard had started to walk away, laughing in that high-pitched donkey whine of his. “What a woman says and what a woman does, boy, are two different things entirely, n’est ce pas? There will be no fleet, no army. Your mother will never come to Normandy, and neither you nor your brother will ever be King. My papa, your uncle, has agreed to the marriage. Cnut gets to be honoured as King, and Normandy gets a new, trade agreement, et voilà!”

“What do we get?” Edward had asked, at last opening his mouth. Alfred secretly wishing he had thought to ask the question.

“Vous? Ne vaut rien. You are worthless, you have been abandoned.”

To stop the tears, Alfred had bitten hard into his lip. Edward, damn his eyes, after Richard had walked away, had smiled—actually smiled—and had capered, a few ecstatic, jigged steps. “God be praised,” he had exclaimed, elated. “I can go into my monastery!”

Alfred had hit him, his fist ramming into Edward’s face. Blood had burst everywhere, and Edward had started to scream. Alfred had run off before Wymarc came to investigate the noise.

Richard was wrong! They would return to England—Alfred would, even if Edward did not want to. That crown was his, and he was going to have it!

Only, a boy who was in his twelfth year had no way of getting it without adult help, so all he could do was find a dark place beneath the trees down by the river and weep for the desolation of having nothing. Not even a mother who could tell him herself that she no longer wanted him.

Easter 1017—Winchester

From the start of his reign, Cnut set out to win the respect and the hearts of the English people, aware his past mistakes were going to make the task harder. He made it known that he intended to honour God and the Christian religion; to bring peace, renew the old laws, and make some new. He vowed to rule with compassion but, equally, would demand respect and intended to rule with absolute authority. To spread his word and the glory of his coronation, a new coin bearing his image was minted. There were only a few unpleasantries to be first got out the way. He had men to pay and the cost of a finished war to finance. There were protests at his demand for seventy-two thousand pounds of silver, but dissenters who thought he might be as weak and fallible as Æthelred soon discovered how wrong they were.

“We cannot afford what you ask!” Leofric, the eldest son of one of Æthelred’s lesser Ealdormen, had objected. There is nothing left in England except mould and mud at the bottom of the well.”

“Then you will collect the mould and the mud,” Cnut had answered.

Those who had helped him were rewarded. To Erik, his friend, he had already given Northumbria; Thorkell, to Emma’s disgust, received East Anglia; Cnut kept Wessex for himself—and Eadric Streona, for his betraying Edmund at Ashingdon, received the rest.

Emma found herself wondering about Eadric Streona on the morning of her wedding day. Why had Cnut allowed that man to retain his status? It was a riddle she had asked him more than once these past weeks, but Cnut had always answered the same; there was no justified reason to be rid of him. No justified reason! Emma could name several without thinking. Then there was the other matter Cnut had not satisfactorily explained. Ælfgifu of Northampton. Emma had been displeased at her appearance at his coronation; if it had not been for the woman’s departure immediately after, this day’s wedding might never have been about to happen, although Emma was aware a physical departure was not the same as a mental one. Did Cnut still want Ælfgifu? Emma had no idea; tactfully she had opted to not ask about the woman. There were other ways to discover what was needed to be known. She knew Ælfgifu had been in Cnut’s bed the day before his crowning and had ensured it did not happen again the night after. A pity the potion that had sent Ælfgifu puking from the feasting, and then repeatedly running for the cesspits, had not been more than an inconveniencing discomfort, but more would have been too obvious, and murder, as Æthelred had discovered, was not a good thing to bring to a coronation.

Ælfgifu of Northampton had to be legally, totally, and completely set aside, her sons declared unable to lay claim to the title Ætheling. For Emma’s own children? Aye, well, they were safe in Normandy. In her brother’s household, they would be wanting for nothing. She was under no disillusion that Cnut would have the boys killed if ever he found opportunity, but at least Goda was safe and would still have the promise of a high-status marriage. And for herself? She was saddened but relieved to let the past go. How many women had a chance to start again from the same exalted position? To have had a crown and on widowhood keep it? For Edward and Alfred, how many sons of dead, deposed Kings were permitted to remain alive?

Emma smiled to herself as she placed her crown over the saffron linen wimple. She wore a gown of mustard yellow, with her mantle a darker shade to match the wrist-tight cuffs. Was Ælfgifu aware of the spies who kept a discreet watch on her? Oh, Emma had learnt a lot about ruling a kingdom these last years! Spies were the most valuable asset a Queen could have. Through them she had known, even before Edmund had died, that Cnut had tentatively approached her brother with a proposed option of marriage and that Richard had curtly refused. Information she would be keeping a close-guarded secret, for she would not be having Cnut know the first part of her gamble had been played with weighted dice. She also knew Cnut’s brother, Harald of Denmark, had no tolerance for his younger sibling and that jealousies between the two rumbled across the horizon like summer thunder. And she would know if ever Cnut renewed interest in his whore.

Her escort was waiting in the outer courtyard of the nunnery, for she had chosen to stay with the sisters for privacy and suitability. The secular buildings of Nunnaminster were on Colebrook Street, for the Benedictine Order preferred its peace and seclusion from the world but enjoyed the financial gain from guests who paid well for comfortable lodgings. The solitude had also suited Emma, for she had welcomed the opportunity to sit and think, and pray. This was her wedding day, and a guard of honour, her own and Cnut’s housecarls, was awaiting her; yet instead of going out to them, she made her way to the nuns’ chapel, indicating to her handmaids that except for the ever-faithful Leofgifu she wished to be alone. She could hear the restless crowd lining the streets of Winchester beyond the high walls, anxious to see her, to witness the union of these two unique people, but they would have to wait.

Situated on the south side of the cloister range, the chapel, at this hour of the early afternoon, was empty and quiet. She liked the building, for it was pleasant and welcoming, its greens and ashlar blocks cut straight and smooth, while its flint and red-detailed patterns lent an air of joviality and gaiety as opposed to the solemn structure of the New Minster church, which shortly she would be entering as wife to Cnut. The inside of the chapel smelt of fresh-strewn herbs and spring flowers, of beeswax candles and exotic spices. It was light and airy with its white-plastered walls, decorated with thin red lines to represent the outer stonework. She sat at a bench halfway along the nave, her friend Leofgifu sitting beside her.

“It is good to be here in Winchester,” Emma said after a few minutes of quiet contemplation.

“Aye, Lady, it is that.”

“Have you visited your brother-in-law in his tavern? Is he well?”

Again Leofgifu answered, aye, she had. Topics of conversation already discussed. Emma was nervous, was searching for neutral, uncomplicated talk.

“I am thinking I shall ask Cnut for permission to rebuild the hovel on the land Æthelred gave me. He promised me a house there. Well, you know how often his promises were kept. I would like my own house, something fitting for a Queen’s personal residence.”

“Will you build in stone, do you think? As they build in Normandy?”

“Definitely. It will be two-storeyed, with the public hall below and my chambers above.” Emma’s mouth twitched into a smile of personal triumph. “Æthelred always said it would be too costly and a waste of my money.”

They had not come here to discuss building plans, but Leofgifu was a patient woman; she could wait.

“Cnut will think differently?” Leofgifu was sceptical, but then she always was with men. None of them could be trusted; they covered you in kisses and promises, then vanished, leaving nothing but a torn heart, and ofttimes a swelling belly.

“He is anxious to prove he is a man of vision and wisdom, will give anything I ask.” Emma snorted, as sceptical as Leofgifu had been, then giggled. “The poor man is desperate to prove to me—to England—that he is not the murderer we have taken him for, but a civilised Christian. I well expect churches and abbeys to spring up like autumn mushrooms!”

They laughed together, companions, friends.

Several sparrows were busy about their nest-making under the eaves of the tiled roof, their chirruping echoing among the rafters. Falling silent, Emma watched them for a while, enthralled at their acrobatics.

“How uncomplicated life is for God’s feathered creatures.” She sighed as a pair fluttered from beam to beam. “They meet, mate, build a nest, lay their eggs, and hatch their youngsters. For a few busy weeks they devote all their waking hours to feeding and nurturing their fledglings, and then, one morning, the nest is empty, the babies are grown and gone, with no more need of their parents.”

“Would you be wishing for it to be that simple for us, then?” Leofgifu queried. “Would you not be wanting the lasting love and pleasure that childer bring?”

Emma answered aggressively, “What love and pleasure has Edward brought me? I detest the boy. There, I have admitted it openly. He repels me because whenever I see him, I think of Æthelred. Whenever I touch him, I am reminded of the way I was forced when conceiving him.” The birds had gone, squeezing out through whatever hole they had found their way in. For a moment the church was totally silent.

Emma turned to look at Leofgifu, clasped her hands in her own. “You have been my good friend and companion; you above all others know me for what I am. You have been more of a mother to me than ever my own was—tell me, am I doing right in marrying Cnut? I hardly know him; what little I have seen I have thought of as an arrogant stripling of a boy, who wants to hold more in his hand than he has room for.” She dropped Leofgifu’s hands, stood, began to pace up and down the nave. “Am I fooling myself, Leofgifu? Am I doing this because it is the only way I know of repaying Æthelred’s soul for the hurt he caused me?”

“Maybe you are,” Leofgifu answered, remaining seated, “but are there not other reasons that run close alongside?”

Emma paused before the altar steps, gazed at the wooden crucifix that stood centrally between two tall candles. Should she answer with honesty? But if she spoke anything less than the truth, what was the point of this delay? “I wanted to be in control of my life,” she said slowly, examining her thoughts before she spoke. “I have enjoyed these last months of freedom, being my own keeper. I did not want to return to Normandy to be sold to the highest bidder by my brother, even if that bidder should turn out to be Cnut. I have found the wit and intelligence to make my own judgements and decisions, but how do I know if I have made the right choices?”

She reached out, lightly touched the crucifix, whispered, “I was frightened of going back to Normandy, frightened of what my brother might plan, frightened of the sea voyage—oh, especially that! God grant me mercy that I need never take ship again!” She knelt, crossed herself, murmured an “Amen.”

She turned to Leofgifu. “But now I am also frightened at what I am about to do. I have abandoned my children and my widowhood—what if Cnut is as bad as Æthelred? Worse? Tonight I have to bed with him. Leofgifu, suddenly I do not think I can go through with it all!”

The older woman was up, encircling Emma with her arms, allowing her to bury her head in her bosom and weep for loss and sorrow. For the empty, wasted days and the longing for what might have been.

“There, child, you distress yourself for no reason. You have hatched your eggs, fed your fledglings, and seen them fly from the nest. The boys are in no danger in Normandy, and little Goda would soon have been leaving you for her own marriage. As for Cnut, well, he is young and handsome, and I have seen the way he watches you. He listens, respecting your words, your advice, and suggestions. A man who is willing to listen to what a woman has to say is not likely to be a man to treat her harshly in the privacy of his bed is he?”

Leofgifu lifted Emma’s face, dried the tears with the hem of her gown, admitted honestly, and with a twitching smile, “If you wish to hear the thought in my heart, then I would give all I own to be in your place this night!”

Emma smiled at her, jested weakly, “Then if he does not please me, I will let you have him.”

“If you do not mind my impertinence, I will hold you to that pledge!”

Emma laughed, felt better.

The church door opened with a slow creak of its hinges. One of Emma’s maids, a slight young girl with eyes as large as milk pails and a timidity that would have made a mouse appear brave, peeped into the church. She bobbed a curtsy. “If you please, ma’am, the King has sent word that he is awaiting you, and he grows impatient.”

Emma exchanged a conspiratorial look with Leofgifu, then smoothed her gown, gathered her breath. “I am coming, child, I was but making my peace with God.” Unfair of them to send the girl; had it been anyone else seeking to hurry her, Emma would have snapped their head off with one bite.