Swan's Neck Ch. 04: Ealdgyth's Need

It was colder than charity outside our chamber on the morn of Christmas tide.

Ealdgyth refused to attend Mass, and when my Lord sent a messenger to order her to do so, she threw her shoe at him.

'Tell my faithless husband that he is in a state of mortal sin! He should not go to Mass. He's a bastard!'

With that she threw her shoe at him.

No other messenger came.

I held my Mistress. Great wracking sobs came from her. I had never seen her like this. She was strong, so capable, so organising and organised. Nothing escaped her notice, and she kept house for Harold and their children like it was an art form. To me, and for me, she had always been the mother I had never had, as my mother had died giving birth to me. To see her like this was a new experience, and one which brought out something I was not, until now, aware I had, which was a need to nurture and care for her. Perhaps that was because she had never needed it before? I was glad to know that it was there to respond to her needs.

It was the prelude to what even now, years later, remains in my memory as the second worst Christ Mass ever; but I shall come to the other occasion as I pen my memories here.

I kept busy making sure that the kitchens produced the feast that my Lord Harold expected to be there was there; but nothing would, or could, persuade my Lady to attend. The children, especially Gytha, who was just puzzled as to why her mother was not at the feast, but accepted happily enough when I said that Mummy was very tired, and that I was helping her. Godwin, the eldest, and Edmund and Magnus were less easily fooled. But the feast made them joyful. I was, later, glad that they had had that last joy at the Christ Mass.

I could see my Lady's viewpoint. The Church had not condemned Harold for marrying her in the old manner, and it preached the sanctity of family, but it would not recognise her children as legitimate if Harold became King. Yet it allowed that Bastard of Normandy to be the Duke. I was a clever little thing, as my Lord Harold acknowledged, but I could not understand this at all.

I brought Ealdgyth choice tit-bits from the feast to tempt her appetite, but it had flown, and she sought silence and sleep.

Godwin, the eldest son, sought me out.

'Look, Danegyth, I am no child.' (indeed he was not being in his early twenties) 'and I know my father intends to marry Edith of Mercia, but mother must realise he has to do this. You are usually the best one in the family in getting us all together, can you not do that now?'

He was so like his father. Tall, handsome, his face so open and lively, and his manner so warm and friendly. Everyone liked Godwin, and it was easy enough to see why. I promised him I would do the best I could, which comforted him.

He looked embarrassed as he began to ask a question and then stopped.

'No, Godwin, you must ask if it is bothering you.'

'It's just, well, is it true what I hear, about you?'

I smiled. Bless his heart, he was curious.

'If by that you have heard that I love women and your mother especially, then yes, and I am not ashamed of it.'

'But the Norman bishop and his monks say that is a mortal sin.'

He looked so serious.

'Yes, well the Norman bishop and his monks know precisely nothing about love, and they seem to proceed on the basis that someone somewhere may be enjoying herself and they want to put an end to it.'

He had the same great, bellowing laugh his father had and gave vent to it.

'You are priceless, Danegyth, and right. These dried up menlings know naught of life and love and lust!'

Then he did blush, realising what he had said.

'Alice is a wonderful girl, Godwin, and she is lucky to have a man like you.'

He smiled and hugged me.

'You won't tell mother, will you?'

'It was your mother told me, you idiot!'

He was open-mouthed.

'How did she know?'

'She has eyes and she loves you, she likes Alice too, but you will have to look elsewhere for a wife, you do know that?'

'I do, but she is good fun!'

That was the Godwins to the heart. They were great-hearted people who embraced life with lust and energy. The new ways which King Edward had allowed in through his patronage of the Norman monks, were not to the taste of the English, which was one reason that Harold would be welcomed as King. These shrivelled monks with their dirty minds seemed obsessed with what we did in the bedroom; perhaps if they did some of it openly too, they would be less obsessed.

I failed to understand these people. Take the dying King, for example. He had failed to do his duty with Harold's sister, and yet it was known, at least among us, that he had no such trouble performing with Harold's brother, Tostig. Yet the monks were saying he was a saint. Well, the amount of gold he gave them would certainly buy golden opinions, but to me the whole thing stank of hypocrisy.

I bade Godwin a merry Christ Mass and moved through to his father's chamber.

The Earl was talking with his advisors whom he dismissed on my arrival.

'So you could not persuade her?' He looked sad.

'God himself could not have done that. After all, you are getting married tomorrow.'

'It must happen; it makes no difference.'

'To her it does, my Lord, and obviously you won't be able to spend the nights with her.'

'God's teeth!' The Earl seemed more sad than angry.

'I would that there was another way, but those bastard Mercians won't hand me the crown on a platter, so I must do what I can to secure the support of the whole Witan. What is wrong with people that they cannot see this is not of my doing?'

'My Lord,' I said, softly, 'she loves you and she is hurting, that is why she cannot, and will not see. I do what I can, but please do not expect miracles.'

He calmed down and sighed heavily.

'I don't, and thank you for helping calm the girls. This is not what I thought being king would be like.'

'My Lord, how fares King Edward?'

'A bit awkwardly he sleeps still, it would be good if he could wake to name me heir.'

I left Harold to struggle with his conscience and his dilemmas.

Turning towards my Lady's quarters I saw a Norman monk. He came toward me, intent on speaking.

'You are the lady Danegyth, yes?'

I admitted to the offence, wondering what the man wanted.

'I have a message from your father, my Lord Abelbert. He says that when the Duke is King he will seek out his daughter and make things well for her.'

Before I could recover from the shock, he had passed me.

I was stunned. I had heard nothing from my father since my birth. I did not even know if he still lived. Now, of a sudden, not only did I know he lived, but he remembered me and wanted to make reparations. Tears formed. I was used to being the orphan child, and one reason I loved the Godwins was they had taken me in and loved me. Then it hit me.

'The Duke is King,' he had said. The Bastard of Normandy thought he was going to succeed King Edward. My father would come to me if my Lord was not King. That was too hard, too, too hard. For the first time the sharpness of the pain which would become my familiar, bit me.

I had so identified with my Saxon heritage through my mother and the Godwins that I had forgot that I was half Norman. I could only come to know my father if my beloved Godwins were not monarchs. But then, then, yes, then my Lord would not need to marry the Mercian woman, and we should be one again. For a brief moment my heart lifted, before being cast down even further.

They, the Godwins, would never give way to the Duke. The Duke would not give way to them. There would be war, red war, war such as there had not been in my lifetime. Edward had brought peace to his realm, which was one reason he was revered. But Harold and William the Bastard would fight, and England would be their prize.

I went back to my Lady, saying naught of what I had been thinking.

We made slow, passionate love that night. There is a time for fucking, when the blood and passions are high, but there is a time when all that one wants is to lie together, in each other's arms, holding and loving, and that Christmas night was such a time.

Her small, perfect breasts were in my hands or mouth for much of the time, and through my ministrations to her, I gave her much joy. My fingers and my tongue lavished attention on her cunt, and we played the night away in our games of love. She forgot her woes, and I my fears. This is the love of women, its end is in itself, it has no other object. I do not recall either of us climaxing, but then that is the object of lust, where love is its own object. We loved that night. I love her still, and as I look over to her, I wonder how it will be when she is no longer with me? Too soon I shall know the answer to a question I never wanted to ask.