Helen Hollick - I Am the Chosen King

WinchesterApril 1043

Emma, twice married, twice widowed, Dowager Queen of England, watched her only surviving son dance, tripping and prancing with dainty steps among the boisterous twirl of men and women. With the solemnity of the coronation ritual completed, and the pomp of the banquet ended, this evenings celebration and merry-making came most welcome to the guests here within the Kings Hall at Winchester. A pity that the crowned king had to be Edward.

Emma sipped at her wine to disguise the flare of contempt. Edward, her first-born son, crowned and anointed this day as King of England. She would have to learn to accept it. She took another sip, savouring the richness of the red grape as it warmed her throat, overcoming the taste of bile that rose from her stomach. Accept it, maybe, but she would never come to like it! Edward was as weak and shallow as his incompetent father, thelred, had been. How well had the clerics who wrote the history of these things mocked that name! thelred, Noble-Counsel and how soon into his dithering, floundering reign had that been altered to un-raed , ill-counselled?

A thunder of laughter from the far end of the crowded Hall drew her attention. Godwines two eldest sons, Swegn and Harold, stood among a group of fine-dressed young men sharing some, no doubt lewd, jest between them. For all their faultsand where the Earl and his brood were concerned, there were faults a-plentythey were sons to be proud of. Swegn might be wild, more interested in the pursuit of enjoyment rather than the demands of decision-making, but these faults were outweighed by better traits. All Earl Godwines sons were strong, courageous and manly, aye, even young Leofwine, who was but seven years of age. Where was the manliness in her son Edward?

Unable to keep her thoughts to herself, Emma spoke to the man sitting beside her, his hand tapping out the merry rhythm-beat of the dance on his knee. I have been wife, and queen, to two men who have ruled England. Her words oozed contempt. You would have thought one of them could have sired upon me a man worthy to be called son.

Harthacnut, your last-born Godwine began, but Emma irritably waved him silent.

My second husband, Cnut, gave me a child of each sex, both of whom had the constitution and life-span of a mayfly. Briefly, an expression of regret clouded Emmas face. To be queen for over two score years, to rule as regent, survive attempts of murder and the harsh bitterness of exile: such a woman needed to shield her weaknesses from those who would, at the drop of an autumn leaf, oppose her. But Godwine knew Emma well, better perhaps than either of her husbands. Harthacnut, her youngest son, she had genuinely adored. A boy like his father, wise and disciplined, with a sense of duty and purpose; strong of body and mind. How much had she endured for that lad! And for what? For him to die of a seizure when he was but three and twenty and crowned king for less than two short years.

The life of the wrong son was ended, she said softly. Godwine assumed she referred to Harthacnuts untimely death, winced as she murmured, It ought have been Edward killed, not Alfred.

Godwine made no comment to that. Emma had borne two sons to thelred: Edward and Alfred, and Alfred was a name that still conjured difficult memories that brought the blood stealing into Godwines cheeks. As young men, exiled from England, the brothers had tried and failed in a pathetic attempt to claim their right of succession after Cnuts death. Captured, the boy Alfred had been placed in Godwines care. It had not been good care for the lad had fallen into the murdering clutch of Cnuts illegitimate son, Harold Harefoot. Imprisoned and cruelly blinded, Alfred had not survived the torture. Ever since, Godwine had carried the blame for that wicked death.