Swan's Neck Ch. 05: The Wedding

There were two hard frosts that St Stephen's Day: the first, literal on the ground in the dawning, and the second, metaphorical at Westminster Abbey.

Ealdgyth made it plain from the moment she awoke that she would in no wise countenance attendance at the wedding. It seemed otiose to comment that we had not been invited, and might, indeed, have been counter-productive. She threw herself into her household tasks with a fervour born of the desire to blot out what has happening to her husband. But she did need to know, however much she denied it, and so eventually she cracked.

'You will go, Danegyth,' she told me bluntly.

I put on my best kirtle, which was red and yellow with a yoked neckline. Gytha, the youngest daughter of Harold and Ealdgyth, put my hair in plaits in the Danish fashion, and Mistress loaned me a beautiful gold torque. I seldom liked the way I looked when I saw myself in a glass darkly, but had to admit that Gytha was right when she said I looked 'cute as a kitten.'

The church was crowded. At the front were Edwin, Earl of Mercia, and his younger brother, Morcar, Earl of Northumbria, the brothers of Edith. With them on his side, Harold would, if you added his family lands to theirs, actually own most of England. Young Edward the Aethling, grandson of Edmund Ironside was also there, who, if every man had his right would have been king; but he was fourteen and the kingdom needed a man to rule it. All eyes were on that man, Harold Godwinson.

Tall, handsome, his moustache and beard trimmed, his long russet hair combed and cleaned, he looked the very image of virility, and should any man doubt it, his children were there to watch their father wed another woman. Gytha and Gunnhild looked as beautiful as their parents, the latter now taller than me, and the younger, at the age of twelve, already bidding to be the Beauty of the Age. Gunnhild was quieter and more pious, and looked sadder; but then at fourteen, she knew more about what was happening to her family.

Godwin, Edmund and Magnus sat together, looking for all the world like younger versions of their father. I had a sense of the two families coming together in a common cause. I suddenly understood, viscerally, that the cause was no less than the survival of Anglo-Saxon England. We knew ourselves to be part of the Northern world. The Bastard and his followers may have thrown their lot in with the Latin Church in an attempt to seem "Roman," but we were proud of where we came from and who we were. It was family ties which bound us, and that was why Harold was doing what he was on that cold day.

Edith was the means to a greater end. It did no harm to her cause that she was in her early twenties and beautiful. It made it easier for Harold, but harder for my mistress. She had been married to some Welsh prince with a name no one could pronounce, and she was fertile, so heirs would come. Anglo-Saxon England would be secured by this day's events -- if my Lord could defeat attempts to unseat him.

I watched carefully. Edith even bore a resemblance to Ealdgyth, and indeed in our tongue, her name, "Edith", is the same as that of my Mistress, but this narrative would be even more incomprehensible were I to call them both Ealdgyth. I hear that the Norman chroniclers already call my Lady "Edith," well to the Devil, their father, with them. We are Scandinavians, and I will use the name in our tongue, leaving their 'Edith,' for the beautiful interloper. Oh, but she was beautiful. She reminded me of Ealdgyth when I had first known her fifteen years before. I could see why Harold was marrying her, and it was not simply for reasons of state.

The ceremony was performed with the full rites of the Church. This was, I reflected, the second time Edith had been through this, but the first time for Harold. Women, even in our kingdom, where they had more freedom than most, were still pawns in the games of men of power. It had suited the Mercians to marry her off to the old Welsh prince to establish good relations with the Welsh, and now with him dead, again she would be the prize for a greater alliance; the greatest of all. It was no wonder that the Mercians and the Godwinsons were in high good humour.

The wedding feast was what such things are with my people. Lewd references to the wedding night were on many lips, and all agreed that my Lord Harold and Edith made a fine couple and would make fine babies when her anvil was stuck by his iron. Such things are, I am told, humorous, though I cannot say I ever laughed at them.

Gytha kept me company, or was it me who kept her company? She was such a pretty young thing, and I felt for her, for one day she, too, would be a pawn in the great game.

'Have you never thought of marrying, Danegyth? I should like to be married, and to a man as handsome a brave as my father.'

'Why, my child,' I joked, 'then you will be a spinster these many years, for there are few like him.'

She smiled.

She hero-worshipped her father, and in truth, he was an easy man to admire. Unlike so many men, he seemed attuned to the feelings of his female relatives, and indeed of women in general. It made him popular with my sex, but he had, on the whole, been faithful to Ealdgyth; but now this. But Gytha did not, perhaps could not, understand, and told me how pretty her new mother was, and how she was lucky to have two mothers, or, counting me, two and a half. We both laughed.

As she grew past me, it had become a standing jest between us that in a year or so, she would be taken for my nurse, and I her charge. She would, she promised, be good to me if I were an obedient charge for her. Well, it made the two of us laugh, and thinking of it now brings a smile to my lips, as it became, in a manner of speaking, as I will tell, the truth in time.

As the mead flowed and the songs rang out, I let her go to bed, and settled back to collect my thoughts, for I would have to report to Ealdgyth. I would not, I thought, report the amorous kissing and handling of the bridegroom and the bride, nor his taking her in his arms and kissing her deeply to the cheers of her brothers and the Godwinson boys. It was all very mannish, and I began to feel uncomfortable, It was time for me to go, I thought.

'Now, young maid, what, out so late and without your mother, why, a man might think you loitered here for a purpose?'

That was all I needed, a man drunk on mead, slobbering in my direction. Then I saw who it was. Earl Morcar, the brother of Edwin of Mercia and of Edith. He had a bad reputation, and he clearly saw me as a target for his lusts.

'Yes, I am here to report back to my Lady Ealdgyth at the request of my Lord Harold. Were I you I would not want me to be reporting what you have just said,'

'My, you are a spirited young thing, give me a kiss and a feel of your cunt.'

It wasn't the best offer I'd had from a man.

'Why, my Lord, I see you are in need.'

So saying I grabbed his cock and balls and squeezed them hard, digging my nails in. I felt him roughly for a few moments before he came in his breeches. And that was an end of him. I doubt he knew whether to be pleased or displeased. At any rate, he had had what a man wants from a woman, and at no cost to me.

My lady laughed when I told her the story. It was one of the few moments of joy for her in my tale, but she took it better than I had imagined. It was as though something in her had shifted,

'I have you, my lover,' she said, pulling me into her so she could kiss me.

At the feel of her soft lips, I melted into her, letting her tongue enter my mouth and do its work. Oh, how I loved that intimacy. There was something in it so erotic, so private and loving, that it never failed to make me moist between the thighs. And yes, my lady made me wet there often, for I had, and have, for her a love surpassing all things on this earth. She was like a mother to me, and I have been to her both lover and friend. It took but little time for us to find ourselves naked and writhing on the couch.

She pushed me back, sliding her leg between my thighs and moving up so that our wet cunts touched. At the feel of her bud against mine, we both gave a groan. It felt like some fire passing through me, and the more she pressed, the hotter became the fire. I began to suck on her nipples, drawing them out with my lips, grazing them slightly with my teeth, making them ache as mine ached. Drawing them to their full length, I bit softly, but firmly, on them, and she moaned loudly, pressing her cunt against mine until it felt like her bud was entering me. I ached, there and in my breasts.

She began to finger my aching nipples, which stood to attention for her.

'Ealdgyth, I love you, I want you, I am yours always.'

'Yes, you are mine, my cherished one, my little gift, my lover, always faithful.'

I sighed. That was all I wished to be, and I am proud that I have been it to the end.

As she pushed against me, I could feel her begin to stiffen, and that began my process. I felt my tummy rippling, my thighs tighten. I bit on her nipple, harder this time, and that pushed her over the edge. Her climax was marked by a great wetness, which was soon joined in flood by my own, as we climaxed together. We held on as the storm overwhelmed us, falling back on the couch, embracing, lost in the moment, which went on endlessly. Love bound us, healed us, comforted and excited us. I could only hope that Harold was as happy as I was.

That cold day ended in the heat of our satiated love, and we slept as lovers can after passion is spent. Even now, I marvel that I have known such a love.