The Forever Queen (71 page)

Outside the storeroom he offered his arm, pointed to the meadows. “I thought we could walk home by way of the fields. I have taken the liberty of saying our farewell to Godwine.”

“He knows to send if Gytha needs me?”

Cnut nodded. Emma threaded her arm through his.

“The swallows are gathering,” he said as he noticed the birds perched along the ridge of Godwine’s manor house. “They will soon be flying away. I wonder where they go and how they know to get there?”

“I expect it is like you when you sail your ship; they follow the wind, know the currents, watch the stars and the path of the sun.”

“I hate seeing them go,” Cnut confessed. “The swallows fly away, the leaves turn gold, the cattle are readied for slaughter. Autumn can be a beautiful season, but I do so dread the onset of winter. It is so dark and cold for so long. When Yule approaches I wonder whether we shall ever see the sun again.”

Offering his hand, Cnut helped Emma climb over the stile, flicked his hand at several cows approaching too close, and called the dogs to heel. His favourite, Liim, was getting old, slower with his running, his age showing in a pronounced limp and deafness in his ears. The pups leaving him far behind when they ran, all save for the smallest one of the latest litter, a white-pawed runt that clung adoringly to Cnut’s side.

“You are to tell me you cannot send for Harthacnut to come home,” Emma said after a long pause, during which they crossed half the meadow.

Cnut stopped, twined his fingers through hers, lifted his shoulders, let them fall, slowly, again. “You do not like him being in Denmark, I know, but he is happy there. I have the right men looking after his and Denmark’s needs. As a King he must know the land, the people; how can I recall him to England and risk losing all I have?” He kissed her fingers, one by one, then leant forward to brush his lips against hers.

Easing her fingers from his grip, Emma continued walking. “What you are trying to tell me is that not only can I not expect to see my son, but that you, too, are to disappear again.”

“If I leave Norway open and vulnerable…”

Emma stopped abruptly, whirled to face him. “Yet you leave England so! You leave me! How much have I seen of you these last years? A day here, a month there. Last year I even doubted whether I would recognise you, were you to ride through the gateway!”

“Elskede, dear heart, I…”

“My son is gone, Cnut, and I see nothing of you. You say you dread the coming of winter. How do you think I feel when the nights grow longer than the days and I am alone? While you are off chasing rainbows, all I have is a hearth-fire and a gaggle of servants.”

“That is what it is to be a King, or Queen. I am sorry.”

The tide was creeping in, half the creek flooded with water, the other half, the mudbanks, waiting to be covered. A small boat, her sail flapping, was out on the water; Godwine’s eldest two sons, Swegn and Harold, their voices floating on the clear breeze.

Was this what she had wanted, those years ago, when she had decided on keeping the crown? She was the Queen, the most powerful woman in all England; she could do, have, whatever she commanded…except she could not have her son and her husband.

“I have, all these years, resented you taking Harthacnut to Denmark, making him a boy King of a foreign country. I want him here, as King of England, but equally I am proud that he is becoming a good boy, is learning well, and will follow in your steps.” She walked back to where Cnut had remained standing, set her palm flat on his chest. “Go to Norway, as I know you will, but return as soon as you may. Do not leave me alone too long, not again. I have such fears for you, and for England, while you are not here.”

Cnut wrapped his arms around her; he was so fortunate to have this woman as his wife. She hated most of what he had to do, but accepted it. She missed Harthacnut but realised that to be King he could not grow up under her skirts. How unlike Ælfgifu she was! Opposites, chalk to cheese, day to night, sour to sweet.

There was not a month went by that some messenger or letter did not arrive from Northampton demanding Cnut recognise his sons and offer them some position of worth to suit their rank. From that point, it had been a mistake to give Denmark’s crown to Harthacnut, for Ælfgifu wanted the same for her own boys. Dare he do it? Dare he give Ælfgifu what she wanted and risk losing everything he had of Emma? Yet to crown Swegen and Harold now could be as useful as Harthacnut being joint King of Denmark, and were he to do it, then might there be a slender possibility that when he was gone there would be no fighting and brawling over who was to have what?

“There is a log here; let us sit.” Gallantly, Cnut removed his cloak, spread it. “There is no reason for me to sail for Norway until next spring. Olaf can scarce gather men together over the winter to try for what he lost, but come spring it will be a different catch of fish. I will sail.” He pondered a moment, studying the sky, the run of the tide, as if the signs could tell him how the intervening winter would fare. “Probably I will sail in April, after the Easter council.”

“You wish me to be your regent? Are you satisfied with how I have governed your kingdom in your past absences?”

Cnut laid his hand against her face. She was forty years old, a streak of silver was in her hair now, the lines at her eyes deeper, more marked, but her eyes were as bright, her figure as slim. Her wit as sharp. “Do you need to ask? England is yours as much as mine, while I live.”

“England will be mine even after!” she shot back at him. “Through Harthacnut I will remain Queen!”

“Yes, yes, of course, I did not mean…”

“What did you mean, then?” Angry, Emma pulled away from him, stood, took two steps. “Spit it out, Cnut; there is something you are finding difficult to say. You may be gone from me for seasons at a time, yet I know you all too well after these years together as husband and wife. What is it you are afraid to tell me?”

Must this wretched woman always be so astute?

“When I sail to Norway, I am taking Ælfgifu and Swegen with me. She is to have Norway until he comes of age.” To Cnut’s mind it seemed a suitable compromise. Ælfgifu got what she wanted, Norway was kept under Cnut’s thumb, and Emma, ja, well, he was not certain about Emma.

“And Harold? What of him?”

“I have not yet decided.”

“He will not have England, Cnut. By my life he will not!”

Cnut raised his eyes to the sky, confounded. “Damn it, Emma, I thought you would be pleased. I am removing Ælfgifu and one of her sons from England. I am sending her away so she can no longer annoy you!” That was the other advantage of the idea; as loath as Cnut was to admit it, even to himself, Ælfgifu and her demands were like mud sticking to his boots. By sending her to Norway he could be rid of her without raising a hurricane of temper.

“If you had set her aside, as our negotiation of marriage had agreed, she would not annoy me anyway! If you had disinherited her brats, seen nothing of any of them, had her arrested for treason on the numerous occasions she has stirred trouble, she would not annoy me. And despite all that you reward her with a kingdom and think I will not be angry? I suggest you think again, Cnut!”

“Oh, Emma, Emma! Please! Can I never satisfy you? Do you not think I have puzzled on this for months now? I have thought so hard it has felt as if my head would burst from the effort of it. Ælfgifu has only ever wanted a crown. Let me give her the next best thing, and she will be content.”

“Content with a regency? Ælfgifu? I doubt it!” Emma turned on her heel, walked three steps, then swung round, her finger wagging as if she were admonishing a child. “I warn you, Cnut, if either she or those sons try for more than this, they will regret the day they were born. My sons are the Æthelings, Harthacnut is your heir, and after him come my other sons, Edward and Alfred. You, and she, may have forgotten their existence. I have not.”

November 1032—Shaftesbury

Three years of peace and three years of Cnut, more or less, being as a husband should be, at home with his wife. That had its downside, of course, for Emma was not a person who minded the solitude of her own company, and Cnut was not a man who pursued conversation for the sake of talk alone. On inclement days he had fussed and huffed in his boredom, on hot days yearned for the freedom of the sea, but England enjoyed his presence, and, on the whole, so did Emma. The few days that he was gone, for a kingdom needed to see its King, she did not mind, but admitted to missing him and his minor irritations.

Engrossed in sketching a new pattern for an embroidery, Emma did not hear Cnut come into the chamber, only a swirl of wind rustling through the rushes on the floor and a flutter of the wall hangings alerting her to someone entering. She assumed it was Leofgifu, who had gone to visit the privy.

“Did you fetch that drawing charcoal for me?” Emma asked without looking up. “I need more if I am to design flowers for this corner.”

Cnut stood behind her, peering over her shoulder at the spread of low-quality parchment. “It looks well enough to me without an embellishment of flowers.”

Emma squealed, taken by surprise, and spun around, her face lighting into a smile. “You are back, oh, I am glad! I did not expect you until the morrow!” She was on her feet, charcoal, sketches, and embroideries quite forgotten, her arms going about his neck, their lips meeting. “Did it go well?” she asked, giving him another squeeze before releasing him, and sending her maids off to fetch refreshment and to heat water for a bath. “You stink of travel grime and sweat.” She laughed, wrinkling in disdain at his indelicate aroma.

“And it is cold out there; hot water would warm me. Ja, the law courts of the Dorset Hundreds went well, although I do not feel comfortable making judgements upon men and women.”

“If they have committed a crime, they deserve punishment,” Emma observed, pushing him into a chair and bending to remove his boots.

“But that is the problem, is it not? If they committed a crime.” He sighed, allowed her to rub warmth into his hands. The wind was bitter outside, and this room, although heated with several braziers and hung with heavy furs and embroideries on the walls, was scurrying with malicious draughts. “I wish there could be a way of discovering whether the truth was being told. To take one man’s word against another is not always satisfactory.”

“Under oath a witness, or the accused, is compelled to answer the truth to King and God.”

Affectionately, Cnut kissed her. “Ah, but not all of them fear me or their God. Some prefer the prospect of greed. If I could find a way to ensure my law courts were not corrupt and there was proven evidence for murder or rape beyond one person’s word against another, I would not feel this prick of conscience that I might have sent an innocent to hang or allowed a wrongdoer to walk free.”

Emma smiled, hugged him. “Someone I know once went to great depth to prove he was not God,” she said. “All men face a final judgement. If innocent, they shall find peace in Heaven; if guilty, in the fires of Hell. You can but do your best as a mortal man and leave the rest to God.”

The maid returned with food and wine; others began preparing a wooden tub of hot water, the bustle and business of a Lord returning home, even if this was only temporary accommodation here at Shaftesbury. The nunnery was a favourite place of both Cnut and Emma; the lodgings, despite the draughts, were comfortable, the company pleasant, the table appetising. And Shaftesbury was so convenient for travel, being set as it was on the crossroads for London and Exeter, Bath and Bristol. Built on the rise of a seven-hundred-foot-high plateau, the abbey gave a breathtaking aspect across the Vale of Blackmoor. It was one of those places where, on a clear day, it seemed as if the whole of England could be viewed. Alfred, the great King, had founded Shaftesbury for his daughter, Æthelfigu, and she, with those coming after her, had made a pleasing job of creating a place of peace and prosperity. More than three hundred and fifty people resided here, nuns, novices, and lay servants; Cnut and Emma always being made welcome as resident guests, their patronage appreciated. Æthelred had had his own King’s buildings further down the hill, but Cnut refused to use the ramshackle place.

Not until late evening did he find an opportunity to speak in private with his wife; supper had been served, and the nuns, after Compline, had gone abed until their next requirement to call to chapel, Matins, at the second hour of the morning.

“I do not want you to gloat.”

Emma glanced up from concentrating on transferring her sketched outline onto a yard-long stretch of linen. She was not sure yet whether this embroidery would be used as a table cover or backed onto heavy sacking to become another wall hanging. It would depend, she supposed, on how satisfied she was with the finished article. The scene was of the Blackmoor Vale, the abbey itself to one side, and the view, complete with meadows, woods, and river, running across the spread of linen. She had decided against the flowers in the corner. “I do not gloat. Gloating is for mean-minded people who want more than they can have.”

“No, well, I do not want you to be smug, then—and before you say it, you are perfectly capable of being smug.”

Leaning back to see if she had the proportion of abbey roof and outer wall correct, Emma did not contradict him. She did not consider herself smug; self-opinionated maybe, self-satisfied when she was proved right? She would agree to those. Smug? Was she?

“In only three years Ælfgifu is failing in Norway,” Cnut said with a bold tilt of his head, his arms folded, legs apart. Defensive. Expecting—challenging—her to make some disparaging remark.

Emma thought carefully, keeping the smile from twitching at her face. Perhaps gloat and smug were correct after all? She did not, however, trust herself to say anything, for the crow would be there, too easily heard in her voice.

Closely watching her expression, Cnut elaborated. “When I established her as regent of Norway, the region of Trondheim welcomed her and Swegen with open arms. They had, after all, in my name defeated Olaf’s attempt at reinstating himself by annihilating him and his army near Stiklestad.”