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Authors: Morgan Llywelyn

BOOK: The Wind From Hastings
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I was of two minds as to the answer to that last question. Of course I wanted my son to be brave and noble, a worthy successor of his father's heritage. But a legacy of blood and death, of ambition never satisfied—how could I wish that for my son?
No such considerations bothered Gytha. Her ambitions for her own sons knew no bounds. Her conversation was larded with references to “My son Tostig, Earl of Northumbria” and “My son Gyrth—he holds your father's former seat at East Anglia, you know!”
And every opportunity was made to speak of Harold Godwine's glorious future, which was to be exactly as the late Earl Godwine had planned it.
“No man in Christendom is so fit to be King of England as Harold!” Gytha would exclaim often in the hall, without fear of contradiction. “King Edward is old. His marriage to my daughter is chaste and without issue. Edgar the Atheling, nearest in blood to Edward, is a mere child, and his life has been spent in a foreign land. The Witan will never give him rule of this land when the threat of invasion is so constant!”
At one of these occasions, shortly before Christ Mass, Harold's brother Leofwine was present. Leofwine was the least blessed of the Godwine sons, holding only the earldoms of Essex and Kent, but he was as outspoken as the rest of that brood. “Tostig is the King's favorite, not Harold,” he reminded his mother. “Think you not the King's wish will carry some weight with the Witan?”
Gytha swept his opinion aside with a wave of her brown-speckled, beringed hand. “It will be Harold,” she said with certainty. “It will be as he desires.”
“Desire!” Leofwine shouted with laughter. “If desire were the guarantee of a crown, half the kingdom would wear one! Would you say, my lady mother, that Tostig's desire is lesser than Harold's?”
Gytha's thin lips pursed. “I would not. But Harold knows how to measure his desire and spend it out as he needs it, while Tostig is eaten alive with his. Harold will plan and do all things in the light of that plan, and I fear his brother will always act rashly.”
Gytha had a fierce loyalty to all her children, but I never heard her be other than objective in her assessment of them. She had the qualities of a good general, did Gytha; she was realistic about strengths and weaknesses.
Leofwine was smaller and darker than the rest of that brood, and his eyes were twinkly like my Rhodri's. If I could have found it in me to like one of the Godwines,
I would have liked Leofwine. He was always pleasant and courteous to me, and he flirted with the baby and made her laugh.
“What is Harold going to do with this Welsh prize, madam?” he called over his shoulder to Gytha as he bent over Nesta's cradle. “I am not yet wed, and in a dozen years this babe will be breaking hearts with every glance. For that matter”—and he cut his eyes toward me—“her mother is still most fair!”
“Lay back, brother!” cried a mighty voice, filling the hall and jerking Leofwine upright like a doll upon a twine. Harold Godwine strode into his hall, a mantle of bright silk flaring from his shoulders and the crisp outside air swirling in with him. “Keep your eyes and your hands to yourself, Leofwine. The Welsh booty is mine!”
A moment before Leofwine had been a charming and self-assured young cock; with my eyes I saw him shrink a little and the luster go from him. For his sake I felt an annoyance with Harold Godwine—he drained the life from others, even his brother.
Harold saluted his mother and came straight to me. “I see you're still here,” was his greeting.
“I was not aware I had a choice,” I rejoined coldly.
He raised one sandy eyebrow and gave me a look I could not fathom. “We always have a choice, Edyth.”
“My Lord Griffith did not think so! He did what he had to do and you slew him for it!”
“He had choices too—more than I.”
“I am tired to death of you men who always pretend to be so abused by the very power you seek!”
Harold ignored my thrust and turned toward his mother. “You have not cured our vixen of her temper yet, madam! I thought by now you would have made an obedient daughter of her.”
Both Gytha and I recoiled from that, but she recovered first. “I have daughters enough already, my lord! And daughters-in-law as well,” she added, giving some special emphasis to her words. “It was my understanding
that I was to be warder to this one, not mother!”
“Your distaste equals mine,” I commented.
“Silence, both of you!” Harold roared in a battlefield voice. “Thank God there are still meek women and I know where to find them!” It was apparent that all present knew the meaning of that, save only me. Embarrassed glances were exchanged around the room, and I saw patent disapproval on the face of Stigand, Harold's priest and elbow-confidant.
“Since you brought up the subject …” Stigand began.
“I brought up nothing!”
“ … of Edith of the Swan Neck, perhaps we may assume you plan nuptials at last?”
Harold's scowl was savage. Tension crackled in the hall. All seemed to have forgotten me as some old argument was renewed.
“Edith has been hand-fast to me for twenty years, Stigand. If I had intended to wed her I would have done so long before now!”
“Nevertheless, it is a scandal, my lord.”
“She is a fine girl,” Gytha put in, “and she has borne you healthy children.”
“Stop pressing upon me, all of you! Edith is a good woman and dear to me, as you all know, but she has always understood that I cannot make her my Lady. The arguments against it are as strong as ever.”
“Your ambition is greater than your love, my lord,” said Stigand sadly.
“My ambition is for the good of my country, Bishop. An advantageous marriage would strengthen my position at a time when the country requires me to be strong; marriage with a peasant would diminish me in the eyes of the Witan.”
“I thought as much!” snapped Leofwine. “That was your reason for bringing Griffith's widow here, was it not? To pay court to her and assure yourself of her brothers' support when King Edward dies?”
Harold was whitely angry. “Do not speak of the
King's death; it is a bad omen! Long may he live! Besides,” he added in less ringing tones, “with Tostig on the north and Gyrth on the east, we have Edwin Aelfgarson quite surrounded in Mercia. I think he would see the wisdom of throwing his lot with us if need be.”
Gytha had moved around the hall as this exchange was taking place; now she stood at my side, her voice hissing close to my ear. “You see how well he plans, my Harold,” she said with a certain smugness. “It is true I would make merry to see him wed to Edith Swan Neck. She has long been like a daughter to me and her children are my grandchildren. But I do not question my son's wisdom in this matter, Stigand, nor should you. If he can make use of this woman”—she gestured to me—“then I am certain he is right to do so.”
“I do not want to be ‘made use of'!” I exclaimed bitterly.
Harold took notice of me then for a moment. I met his eyes and shouted at him, “I am not your property! I am Aldith of Wales, and I want to take my children and go home!”
No one spoke while Harold's blue eyes locked with mine. A force came from him to me then, across the empty space between us, and I felt as if he were really seeing me for the first time.
When he spoke his voice was careful, full of thought. “If you are not happy with us you should go home, of course, my lady. Unfortunately I cannot spare the men to escort you back to that wilderness where we found you, but I can do the next best thing.”
I waited, a hare in a snare, waiting for the club to fall on my head.
“I can send you to your brother Edwin in Mercia; would that please you? After all, having killed your husband, I am responsible for you now. I must see
that you are in a safe place and as content as may be while I am out of the country.”
“Out of the country?” Gytha's voice rose in a question, but I cared naught about that.
“Yes, my lord, yes! Send me to my brother, oh, please do! I vow to cause you no trouble ever if you will just do that!”
Harold gave me a strange smile, involving only half his face. “Oh, you will cause me trouble, Edyth; make no mistake about that. I see it well enough. But if spending some months in your brother's household will make you happy, then it is easily done. I do hope the Earl of Mercia will be grateful to me for this gift!”
“He shall, my lord, I will see to it!” I was happy enough to make foolish promises.
“You said you would be out of the country, my son,” Gytha interrupted, loath to leave the point and much disinterested in my travel plans.
“Aye, a goodly commission has come to the Earl,” Stigand said. “King Edward is sending him on a mission to the Continent to attend to some matters for the Crown.”
“I sail for Ponthieu in the spring,” Harold added with a certain pride. “It was an honor I received even above my brother Tostig, who has of late stepped on some toes at court.” His eyes sought mine again. “Will you miss me, my lady?” he asked in a bantering tone.
With the promise of my freedom, I did not want to take a chance on rousing his anger. Remember, I cautioned myself, men like a soft-spoken woman! You have given Harold Godwine reason enough to think you a shrew; do not displease him now!
“I do not know you well enough to miss you … yet, my lord,” I replied, summoning up my old arts of coquetry and lowering my eyes.
“Ho!” exclaimed Leofwine. “A new conquest for the Earl of Wessex!”
Harold quirked one eyebrow upward again. I saw he was not much taken in by me. “Perhaps we can
remedy that situation when I return, Edyth. No doubt I will have some business to do with Mercia, and I can call on you there. And bring you news of your children, of course.”
Having dropped the club on my unsuspecting head, he turned away and strode from the hall.
I
RAGED, I cried. It did no good and gave me a headache. “If you insist on throwing a cat-fit,” Harold told me, “I will have to deny you the company of your children at Christ Mass. It would be wrong to let you upset them by such behavior during the holy season.”
So I spent the Yuletide, being meek, sitting with my hands in my lap and my eyes gazing at far places. All my crying was done inside, where no one could see. With my sons I plaited the garlands of greens for the hall, and Llywelyn was given the honor of lighting the fattest of the Yule candles, which was a great thrill for him. On Christ Mass night I sat like a guest at the Godwines' table and lifted my cup of polished horn in the wassail toast.
I would beg and plead no more. I could only hope that Harold would see the love I bore my children and relent.
But, alas for that hope, he was rarely at Arundel to witness my heartbroken devotion. Most nights the Earl's High Seat was empty beneath its crimson hangings
at the end of the hall. It seemed that everyone knew where Harold was, but no one spoke of it openly—save only Gytha.
Once she remarked in my hearing, “The children should be here at this season, and their mother too. Harold has developed a nice sense of propriety rather late in life!”
The Twelve Days of Christ Mass ended too soon. On Plow Monday I was sent, alone and heavily guarded, to my brother Edwin in Mercia. Even my little Nesta, my baby, was kept from me.
So I sent again across the land, north and west to the ancestral home of my father's father. And if I do not chronicle that journey it is because, in truth, I hardly noticed it, I was so sunk in misery and despair.
What good my freedom without my little ones? Besides, this did not have the feel of freedom about it. It seemed more like exchanging one prison and one warden for another.
Edwin had changed so much, physically, that I scarcely recognized him. He had become a handsome young man, elegant as a peacock and seeming very self-possessed. When he came running out of Leofric's Great Hall to meet us, one would have thought he brought the loving welcome of a devoted brother.
“Edyth, here you are! Arrived as safe as a royal treasure, I vow, and looking very fine! The years have been kind to you, sister!” He held me at arm's length and looked into my face, and I into his.
The eyes were the same. Watchful, guarded, full of their own secrets. Edwin was one person on the surface and another inside, always.
“Some of the years have been kind, brother, and some have not.”
“Yes. Well. We must see what we can do about making the future better for you, eh?” He patted my arm solicitously.
“My future will only be improved when my children are returned to me!”
Edwin's face revealed nothing, neither sympathy for me nor outrage at the kidnapping of his blood kin. “You must make the best of your situation, sister,” he advised me. “As I see it, Harold Godwine has already been most generous with you, all things considered. Women captured in the heat of battle are not always treated as honored guests.”
So that was how the wind blew! “I was not his guest, I was his prisoner! I could not go to the privy room without a housecarle at my elbow, watching lest I try to run away! And now I have been brought here under the same conditions, and I suspect I will continue to be held like a prize of war, even in my own brother's house!”
Edwin smiled blandly. “Of course not, dear Edyth. You malign me by such hysterical accusations! I have taken my beloved kinswoman into my home after the death of her husband, that is all.”
“And what about my children—your nephews, your niece?”
Edwin shrugged. “I certainly can't fight the Earl of Wessex for them, if that is what you are suggesting! He has chosen to hold his enemy's children, and I am in no position to oppose him, my dear. Surely you can see that!”
I could see, quite clearly. “You have not changed, my dear brother,” I said with heartfelt bitterness. “It is quite obvious that you have made some sort of arrangement with the Godwines—to your own advantage, of course.”
The fact that Edwin did not even try to deny my accusation told me how weak my position was. “Come into the hall, Edyth,” was all he said, “and let me show you how comfortable your new home will be.”
Well, I suppose it was comfortable. Like a cat, Edwin had always had the knack of finding the warmest bed and the sunniest spot. To the wealth of Leofric he had added an almost pagan profusion of furs and silks; even the stools had little velvet cushions on them. My
chamber was larger and more amply furnished than my room at Arundel had been, and I noticed that Edwin had already adopted the Godwines' passion for featherbeds.
“You see, my sister; everything has been done to make you happy here.” He said that with a completely sincere voice, as if he believed it and thought I would, too.
“And if I should desire to leave, Edwin? Would you make that easy for me, too?”
He pretended to be surprised that I could ask such a question. “But why should you leave, when you will have anything a woman could desire right here? Within reason, of course!” he amended hastily. “And where would you go, pray, if you did leave us? You have no Saxon kin living save only those of us in Mercia, and I can assure you, Edyth, our brother Morkere is like-minded to me in his desire that you stay with us! So where else could you go, a woman alone?”
“I have kin!” I flared at him. “Nearer and dearer to me than you and Morkere! I have kin who have not sold themselves to the Godwines! There are folk in Wales who love me and my children and would gladly give me shelter!”
Edwin's smile was not sincere, but it was amused. “Ah, yes, the defeated Welsh. But some of them betrayed your Griffith, did they not?”
“Some of them were envious of him, yes,” I admitted with reluctance, hating to give Edwin that point. “But there are still many who are loyal, I know, and now that there is peace I could make a good life for myself and the children …”
“Oh, Edyth, you keep coming back to the children!” Edwin put on an expression calculated to show deep concern; he must have forgotten how easily I could read him, for I was not fooled. “You must forget about the children for now, for your own good and theirs! It will only fret you and cause you pain, and I can assure you it is most unnecessary. I have Earl Harold's
word that they will be well treated, and you may be united with them in time.” He paused. “If you are willing to be reasonable.”
A price! Always a price on everything: myself, my body, my freedom, my children. Goods traded for value received. If we were simple rustics, ceorls living in a wattle and daub cottage with the chickens scratching on our floors, would we not be more free? I understood what Griffith had meant when he said he was the least free of his people.
To give Edwin some credit, I was treated most kindly, and at least I did not have Gytha's hostility to face. Edwin had recently taken himself a wife, a pleasant little body born to the lesser nobility among Leofric's thegns. Joan, she was named, and she did her best to treat me as a loved sister.
“What a lot you have seen, Edyth!” she would sigh enviously as we sat at our sewing together. “Imagine, having traveled to Ireland and Wales and been married to a King!”
“A Prince,” I commented.
“Edwin said your husband was King of Wales!” Her eyes flew wide. She was still in that new state of matrimony where her husband's word was always believed.
“It is a matter of words only,” I reassured her. “My Griffith was Ruler of All Wales, that is true.”
“Do you miss him dreadfully?” Joan was so young she still asked questions like that.
“I cannot talk about him.”
“Oh, you did love him, didn't you! Imagine that, a real love match!” She clasped her plump little hands beneath her chin and looked mightily pleased. “How wonderful for you! Even Earl Harold says he was a mighty warrior; he has always spoken of the Welsh Prince with respect.”
For some reason that surprised me. “You have spoken often with the Earl of Wessex?”
“Oh … not often. But he was our guest here before
Christ Mass; and my lord husband tells me the Earl often seeks his counsel.”
Harold Godwine seek the counsel of a youth whose beard was still soft! Edwin had not lost his love of exaggeration!
I simmered like a slow pot on the hearth. I did my needlework—not so well as Joan—and tried to pass my time with the normal work of women in a manor house, but my children were always just behind my eyes. And how slowly the days dragged by!
Leofric's seat on the Avon River was at a crossroads frequented by travelers to Northumbria and Wessex, therefore we were goodly supplied with company and news. Then too, I think, a number of people found cause to visit the new Earl of Mercia just to gawp at his sister, the widow of the Welsh savage. Edwin seemed to take much pride in showing me off in that way, and there was little I could do about it. If I took refuge in my chamber with my maid and my loom the hours were too unbearably long, so I allowed him to exhibit me betimes in the Great Hall.
Then, in the full spring of the year, Morkere came to us hotfoot from his latest effort at court to attain an earldom. Save only Edwin's holding, all of England was in the grip of the Godwines, but Morkere seemed to think that the situation would change soon.
“The Earl Tostig of Northumbria is mightily dissatisfied that Harold was sent on the King's mission!” he told us excitedly. “Tostig feels that Harold is supplanting him as the King's favorite in order to be named his successor, and he is doing much to stir up a grumble at court.”
Morkere still had that aggrieved whine in his voice. As I watched him, I found it hard to imagine him an earl of anything. But if Morkere were as rabbithearted as he had been in childhood, perhaps he was still a little in awe of his older sister and could be bullied or petted into aiding me in some way.
So I smiled brightly at him and listened with every
appearance of interest to his recounting of the latest gossip from the West Palace on Thorney Island, where Edward of custom held his court.
“Tostig proposes to levy a heavy tax against the shires of Northumbria, to enrich his own pockets for the struggle he foresees with Harold. And his sister, King Edward's wife, has taken his side and is whispering in her husband's ear. When Earl Harold returns and learns of their treachery against him, we shall see Tostig set down as Earl of the north country and a new man will take his place!”
“What makes you think you might be that main, brother?” asked Edwin in a lazy drawl.
“I have your support, do I not?”
“For what it's worth, yes. But I use most of my efforts in my own behalf, brother; an earl must look out for himself and his earldom above all else. I cannot vow to help you unless it would be to the best interests of Mercia to do so.”
I was surprised to hear so candid a statement from my brother. He had not dealt with me so frankly!
“Of course it would be to your interest to support me in my claim for land!” Morkere exclaimed, pounding his fist on his knee for emphasis and then softening the blow at the last instant.
“I am not convinced of it,” said Edwin. “This warfare between Harold and Tostig is dangerous. It would be better for us both, Morkere, if we kept ourselves well away from court until the thing is settled.”
“It will not be settled until the King is dead and the Witan has proclaimed his successor!”
“That cannot be too long; the old man is in shaky health. But even his death will not solve the thing. The Atheling is a mere child, too young to rule, and no man would trust another to act as his Regent. The Danish court has claims on the throne through the line of Hardecnut, and William of Normandy has shown himself interested in adding England to his holdings.”
“So perhaps it would be best, brother, to sit back and bide our time, making no enemies and treading on no one's toes.”
“It's well enough for you to say that!” Morkere was indignant. “You have the earldom of Mercia, a plump new wife and more riches than you can use! And what do I have?”
“A quarrelsome disposition,” sighed Edwin. “I believe I know how Earl Harold must feel with Tostig yapping at his heels. Be patient, brother, and follow my advice; that is the best help I can give you now.”
“Very well, then,” said Morkere sulkily. “I see I must win my own without your aid!”
That night I had Gwladys fetch me a candle, and I made my way to Morkere's apartment after the household had grown quiet. I was pleased to see my brother still awake, nursing his grievances.
“And what do you want?” he greeted me, with his usual surly manner. I chose to ignore it.
“To give you aid, brother. And ask for yours in return, of course.”
Morkere rolled his eyes at me. “Are you going to try to talk me out of petitioning the King for a grant of land?”

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