The Handfasted Wife

  THE HANDFASTED WIFE

  The story of Edith Swanneck, beloved

  of Harold Godwin

  Carol McGrath

  Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2013

  ISBN 9781909520462

  Copyright © Carol McGrath 2013

  The right of Carol McGrath to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, The Old School, Upper High St, Bedlinog, Mid-Glamorgan CF 46 6RY

  For Patrick .

  Acknowledgements

  My sincere thanks to Jennifer Neville and Douglas Cowie of Royal Holloway, University of London, for their time and valuable advice, and to Jay, my editor - you are simply indispensable!

  Contents

  Part One

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  Part Two

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  Part Three

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Bibliography

  Les Heures Bénédictines

  Matins Between 2.30 and 3.00 in the morning

  Lauds Between 5.00 and 6.00 in the morning

  Prime Around 7.30 or shortly before daybreak

  Terce 9.00 in the morning

  Sext Noon

  Nones 2.00 and 3.00 in the afternoon

  Vespers Late afternoon

  Compline Before 7.00 as soon after that the monks retire

  Angelus Bells Midnight

  PART ONE

  The Burning House

  My dress is silent when I tread the ground

  Or stay at home or stir upon the waters

  Sometimes my trappings and the lofty air

  Rouse me above the dwelling place of men

  And then the power of clouds carries me far

  Above the people; and my ornaments

  Loudly resound, send forth a melody

  And clearly sing, when I am not in touch

  With earth or water, but a flying spirit.

  An Anglo-Saxon riddle, A Swan, translated by Richard Hamer

  Prologue

  Tell us a story, you say. Then let us sit by our frames and listen to a tale while we work. Here is a story for you, sisters. Its characters: a king, his mother, his lady, a queen and a stolen child. We have adventures to embroider, a broken promise, a great treasure and riddles to resolve. Charcoal glows in the brazier. The afternoon draws in, so listen carefully as my tale unfolds.

  Do you recall the Godwin estate at Reredfelle? No? Let me tell you about this place. Reredfelle was a sprawling territory of ash, beech and oak only a day’s ride from Canterbury. On its southernmost edge, where the forest opened up into parkland, fields and hamlets, Earl Godwin of Wessex built his new, two-storey hall, a magnificent thatched building. The long side walls were painted with great hunting birds and in the centre of the front short wall an oak door led into an aisled room with a raised central hearth. Upstairs, Earl Godwin had his private rooms, an antechamber and, through a doorway hung with a curtain of crimson and blue tapestry, his own bedchamber. Here, he had two windows of glass, like those in the old minsters, set into deep oak frames; so you see, his wealth was great and he was not shy of showing it.

  A wide track meandered past the women’s bower, a kitchen, stores and barns to a three-barred gate set into a palisade which protected the hall, its outer buildings, herb gardens, dovecote, an orchard and the Chapel to our Lady. The same track curved from the gate, through parkland loved by huntsmen, and disappeared into the encroaching forest beyond. There was, however, a secret way in and out of Reredfelle. A small latched door was set into the orchard wall, concealed by fruit trees, which were shaped to arch over and conceal it. On the other side of the wall, a shaded path curled down through undergrowth to a riverbed.

  Reredfelle was loved by the canny old Earl, who came there to hunt and scheme; its desolation began after his death. The countryside was gripped by a festering plague. The population in the villages shrank and the estate was deserted except for the reeve who watched over the fields, and an odd collection of servants. The painted birds on the outside walls of the hall faded. The herb garden grew wild. Barns lay empty. The bower was silent. Tapestries gathered dust and the glass windows dulled. Years slipped by until King Edward himself passed away and Earl Harold, Godwin’s son, was elected as England’s new king.

  Now, sisters, this is not King Harold’s story. That one you already know. My tale follows the fortunes of the woman whom Harold loved, and who passionately loved him back; his handfasted wife, Edith, she of the elegant swan’s neck. But let us call her Elditha, for in this story there is a second Edith, and names can confuse. After he became king he betrayed Elditha and sent her away. But that is not the end of her story. It is but a beginning.

  1

  Westminster

  December 1065

  Through snowflakes that floated out of heaven’s pale circle she heard voices crying. Closer to the palace they became the greetings of women, the shouts of noblemen, their children’s shrieks, the snorts and stamping of horses. She could hear the earls and bishops and their families, their grooms and servants who were arriving at the Palace of Westminster for King Edward’s winter crowning.

  Elditha had ridden in from the east on her mare, Eglantine. She raised her hand to stop the guards that trotted beside her and the wagons that followed. The new stone minster rose up behind St Peter’s monastery, its white walls merging with the snow-clad ground, its tall towers silent in the pale afternoon light. She nudged the mare’s flanks and, urging the creature forward, she walked it into the palace yard, her retinue of wagons and her guard trailing behind.

  Grooms rushed to help her dismount. Breathing clouds of icy breath, her younger children, Ulf and Gunnhild, jumped from the first wagon and raced to her side while Thea slowly climbed down after them. Elditha told her guards to go find stable space for the horses, if any was to be had.

  ‘Elditha!’ The shout came from the great hall behind them. She spun round. Harold’s brother, Earl Leofwine, was striding towards them, clapping his hands and calling, ‘Elditha, welcome, welcome. Come into the Hall. The servants are throwing cloths on the tables. You are in time for dinner.’

  Sensing that his joviality was only half-felt she hesitated. All was not well here. She frowned, shook the snow off her mantle and glanced up again, smiling and composed. ‘Leofwine, it’s good to see you.’ Then, lowering her voice so that others could not hear them, she added, ‘But, cousin, is it true that the King is unwell?’

  ‘No, no. The old man may yet recover. Edith and my mother are with him. Physicians are hopeful.’ He seized Elditha’s gloved hands and, holding them tight, stood back from her. ‘Look at you. Holy Madeline, Elditha, my brother
is a fortunate man. You are as unchanging as the Queen of Heaven; you are indeed a true winter queen in that ermine-trimmed mantle.’ He dropped her hands and studied her face. ‘Eyes, what are they today, emeralds or jade, or have they changed to wild wood hazel! So, lady sorceress, how was your journey?’

  ‘Come, come, and don’t let the Queen hear you spin such fairy tales, Leofwine. As for the journey, well, let us just say it was a long one,’ she said, trying to look serious. ‘Enormous snow drifts; wolves howling from the woods, terrifying; monsters were ready to devour us … but,’ she waved her hand towards the Hall door, ‘here we are at last and we shall put it behind us.’

  ‘You look none the worse for the ordeal,’ Leofwine remarked, smiling now.

  ‘We were sheltered and cared for. Still, this year it took us two whole days to get through those woods.’

  ‘Then, cousin, let us get you settled. You have your usual chamber. The boys are sharing hall space with my lads. Your girls, Ulf and the nurse will have a room to themselves behind the bower hall, your ladies in the bower.’ He spoke quietly. ‘Elditha, it is the biggest gathering in years. The greatest earls and bishops are here for this Christmas feast. They fear for the King’s health.’ He held her eyes with a warning look and she slowly inclined her head. It was best to watch everyone and say nothing.

  Her servants were already unloading their luggage. She directed them to carry her belongings to a chamber in the East Hall, to unpack the clothing chests and hang her wall tapestries. ‘We will all need to change into fresh garments,’ she warned Ursula, her chief lady. ‘See that our clothing is aired.’ As the women scurried off to do her bidding she said, ‘Leofwine, can you take the children into the hall? I wish to give thanks for our safe delivery, and to pray for the King’s recovery.’

  Leofwine took Ulf’s tiny hand in his great bear’s paw and made a sweeping gesture with the other towards the tall towers and arches beyond the gates. ‘Isn’t it the most beautiful building in the world?’

  ‘It must be. I have never seen a building like it.’ And so, here she was, once again in the heart of the King and Queen’s world. She bit her lip. A woman of 32 summers and as excited as the children; still, it was Christmas, the most magnificent season of all. If King Edward recovered all would be well, but if King Edward sank into a deep, dreamless sleep, what then? The sour taste of fear rose in her mouth. Who would be crowned in his stead?

  ‘May I come too, Mama?’ Gunnhild was tugging at her cloak.

  ‘Yes, of course, if you wish.’ She turned to her older daughter. ‘Thea, would you like to see inside the new minster?’

  ‘No, I will wait for grandmother in the hall, if I may.’ Thea was watching a young thane who was saddling a beautiful Arab horse with a jewel-encrusted saddle, kicking up a flurry of snow as he circled the beast. ‘Is that him, Mama – is that Earl Waltheof?’

  ‘Yes, but stop staring, Thea,’ Elditha said.

  ‘Come with me,’ Leofwine said quickly. ‘Your grandmother may have left the King’s chamber already.’ He looked down at Ulf. ‘And you, Ulf, too, you must meet our little prince from Hungary. His name is Edgar. Your Aunt Edith and the King have adopted him.’ He hesitated. ‘And his mother and his two sisters.’

  So this was the boy who might inherit England, this young son of Prince Edward who had fled into exile after Danish Canute killed his father, King Edmund Ironside, all those years ago. She touched Thea’s arm and fixed her eldest daughter with a stern look. ‘Do not move from the hall until I return.’

  ‘Of course not, Mother.’ Thea tossed her copper curls and stomped off through the snow behind Earl Leofwine and her brother. Elditha called after them, pulling her mantle more tightly around her shoulders, ‘And have your maid braid your hair. That will not do here, Thea.’ She turned to Gunnhild. ‘Come, follow me and careful where you step. We don’t want your new boots ruined.’

  With Gunnhild following closely after her, Elditha made her way along the swept path into the abbey’s grounds. Sweepers paused and waited for her to pass. Snow was piled in fat heaps under the skeletal ash trees. Thankfully, the track ways were clear. She grasped Gunnhild’s hand. ‘Be careful now, the ground is slippery.’ The murmur of prayer filtered out of the opened door into the afternoon. A knot of young men bowed to her as they brushed past and hurried out. Still grasping Gunnhild’s hand Elditha entered the new doorway and walked along the apse, through an abbey that was full of faces – many familiar ones, who acknowledged her as she passed – until she had almost reached the front. There, a group of noble ladies turned to stare at her. She recognised them. They were from the north – Earl Morcar’s family. Could they be staring at her so boldly because she was a handfasted wife?

  She smiled at them, wishing no one ill-will, but the looks they gave her back were distinctly chilly. Elditha felt her eyes widen as she recognised one who continued to stare coldly at her. Surely that was Aldgyth of Wales? Harold had only a few years before been responsible for her husband Gyffud’s death and something about that look was unsettling.

  She held her head proudly and moved away from them and closer to the great altar. ‘Kneel, Gunnhild,’ she whispered and pulled her child down beside her, her back rigid. These days everyone talked of how important a church wedding was, the priest listening to vows exchanged in the church porch and then blessing the marriage. Harold, her lord, was the greatest noble in England and ruled the land for King Edward. So what if they had been handfasted in the old way? Their wedding ceremony had been held in her father’s meade-hall up in the flatlands of Norfolk and they had sworn their oaths there, clasping each other’s hands on the great silver-and-gold whetstone that was placed at the hall’s entrance. But though she was Harold’s handfasted wife and the mother of his six children, she never could forget that she was also his cousin thrice removed. It was that which impeded any renewal of their vows in a church wedding.

  As she knelt on the cold stone floor, she stared ahead at the flickering candles, trying to concentrate on prayer. The scent of new wood emanated from the elaborate pillar carvings mingling with the scent of beeswax candles, a smell that drifted towards them as soothing as summer. No sooner had she begun to feel peace again than there was a rustling of robes close by. The chanting of prayer in the nave hushed. She raised her head. A choir of monks was gathering in their stalls.

  ‘Tu autem Domine miserere nobis,’ the precentor intoned loudly, his voice echoing through the nave.

  ‘Gunnhild, we shall find a quiet chapel,’ she said softly and, hurriedly rising, taking her daughter’s hand again, she guided Gunnhild back through the nave into a small side-chapel halfway along it. ‘The most magnificent church in Christendom,’ she whispered as they sank to their knees again in the seclusion of the alcove. Elditha touched Gunnhild’s golden head. The child seemed lost in the murmur of prayer. Elditha folded her hands and gave thanks to St Christopher for their safe deliverance from the icy roads and snowdrifts that had threatened their journey. She prayed for the ailing King, for the Queen, her sister-in-law, and for Gytha the Countess, who was Edith and Harold’s mother. She prayed that Harold would have a safe journey to ThorneyIsland from the distant Midlands.

  When she rose again, Nones had finished. The northern women were filing past them out of the church. Aldgyth, she now observed, was really quite plain despite her thin, silver-edged linen veil and gold fillet. Then, the answer to why the widowed woman was at Edward’s Christmas court occurred to her. She was here because her ambitious younger brothers were hopeful of finding their sister another noble husband.

  Two days later, Earl Harold sailed down the Thames to ThorneyIsland, the magnificent Wessex Dragon flying in the prow of his ship. London merchants walked through white fields and across frozen streams to cheer him on to the wharf. When he strode into the courtyard, it was his sister, Queen Edith, and her retinue of noblemen, who hurried out through the palace door to greet him. For an instant Elditha’s forehead creased as she waited with the o
ther women inside the hall, as Edith had rushed past them. Today, the cold-eyed Queen’s attention was all for Harold. Elditha swallowed her pride and smiled and told Thea to smile too; that was until she saw that the girl was boldly watching the young nobles who waited to greet her father. Irritated, she found herself frowning again and snapping, ‘We are on show, Thea. Stop staring.’

  At that moment, with a trumpet announcing his arrival, Harold entered the hall. He spoke to the noblemen who had gathered by the door. Elditha stepped forward, but before he could greet her, Edith took her brother’s arm, swept past them and led Harold straight up the stairs towards King Edward’s chamber. Elditha noticed her boys among Harold’s retinue and raised her hand to acknowledge them. They, unlike their father, pushed out of the throng towards her. Magnus, the youngest at 13, grasped her hands and kissed her.

  Edmund, two years older, said, ‘Lady Mother, we are here now too, and you look lovelier than all of the other ladies at King Edward’s court.’ Then he turned to elbow his younger brother out of the way to embrace Thea.

  Glowing with his praise Elditha smiled and turned to Godwin, who was the eldest of her sons. He knelt before her and said simply, ‘It is good to see you, Mother.’ She raised him up and said quietly, ‘Godwin, I fear all is not well here.’

  ‘The King, I know. Father says …’ She never heard what Harold had said about King Edward because Leofwine emerged from the great press of people, made a fuss of the boys and rushed them away, saying, ‘You will all be housed with your cousins, and they will be excited to see you, all three of you.’ He turned to Elditha. ‘May I?’

  ‘Of course, Leofwine, I am sure they are just as pleased to see their cousins too.’

  Thea said after Leofwine disappeared with her brothers through the press of courtiers, ‘That was quick. They hardly noticed me. As for father, he never even spoke to us.’

  The gathering nobles and their ladies began to disperse, conversing in lowered tones and as the crowd thinned Elditha saw that they were almost alone in the middle of the vast great hall.