Scraps And Scribblings: Once A Queen by Richard TearleThe October 2020 story

November 1016

They could have been a family, the couple who stood on the wooden dock at Compton with a young baby in the woman's arms.

He was tall, flaxen haired and bearded. Dressed in a way that suggested opulence. Importance. She was shorter by a head, huddled into a severe brown hooded cloak. When unbound, her blonde hair would tumble down straight and uncrinkled to the small of her back. The cloak was fastened at the neck and where the two halves parted the possibility that she might again be with child would confirm any such suspicions.

'Where is the boat?' Her voice was childlike, displaying both nervousness and fear. The hint of an accent that was not compatible with this area of the southern coast.

'Patience, Ealdgyth,' the man replied. 'The weather is bad here, but understand that it will be worse in the middle of the Narrow Sea. A delay is inevitable.'

'Godwine,' she said, 'I am frightened.'

Godwine laid his hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him. She saw kindness and care in his cool blue eyes. She trusted him just as her late husband had done.'

'No one will harm you,' he assured the woman. 'You have my word.'

She believed him. Godwine had been one of Edmund's oldest friends: he was as a brother to her. A brother she had never had.

The wind turned a fraction and drove the drizzle into her face. For a moment Godwine was unable to determine between rain and tears on her pale cheeks. Ealdgyth turned back to face the sea. Grey and nondescript, the dull colour contrasted only by the white crests of the breakers forming from afar, rolling with increasing speed before crashing, exhausted, upon the sands.

'Will it take long to reach Sweden?' She asked, shivering.

Godwine shrugged his shoulders. 'In good weather, four to five days. But the rowers will be tired and will need rest and refreshment. I have the latter prepared for them but it is up to the captain – and the tide – as to when they set sail again.'

She nodded.

'Don't be fearful, Ealdgyth. The captain is well known to me. He takes my silver regularly and extra has been made available to him in order to provide you with with shelter and – er – privacy for your journey. When you arrive at Stockholm he will personally escort you to the king's court. There you will be safe.'

'Thank you,' she acknowledged. 'You have been a good friend, Godwine. But – but what will happen to you?'

'Me?' Godwine frowned. 'I will have to submit to Cnut, I fear. There is no point in rebellion. Without Edmund we are lost. I am told the Dane respects loyalty; I can only trust that tale is true.'

Godwine saw the look of betrayal on Ealdgyth's face: a spark of fire in her green eyes. But it soon died.

Godwine sighed. 'I understand you, Ealdgyth. You think me traitor to Edmund's memory? To all he fought for? All he achieved? Well, mayhap. But let me say this: the agreement between Edmund and Cnut was that whoever survived would rule the entire kingdom. I cannot go against Cnut in that. Besides, the greatest fighters in England perished at Assundon. There is no one left to rally.'

Ealdgyth had no choice but to accept Godwine's reasoning. He was right, of course.

For just a moment, the wind lifted the hood from her head and she scrabbled to return it, holding it in place with her free hand.

The baby began to cry. She whispered, 'Hush, Edward. Be still. The ship will be here soon and we will be warm and dry. Be strong in the memory of your father.'

Baby Edward ceased his gasps and tears and returned to his dreamless sleep.

'There!' Godwine cried. Pointing to the far horizon. 'A sail! Do you see it, Ealdgyth?'

She started. Adjusted her gaze and focus. Yes, indeed she did see it. Her spirits leapt at the same time as her heart sank: whilst she would soon be carried away to safety, it would probably mean that she would never see England again.

How did I come to this in such a short time?

April 1015

At least they had given her a cart to ride in.

Uncomfortable and with no covering. The wheels jerked with every rut that they struck. The accompanying escort took no notice of her unabated tears, though their captain gave her glances that indicated sympathy.

That first night they stopped at an inn. The captain cited 'the king's orders' and a room was made available for the woman though she was locked in until daybreak. There were no such orders: the king, Aethelraed, couldn't care less about the welfare of the captive.

When darkness fell on the second day of their journey, the captain decided to find another inn. Their destination was perhaps only an hour away and he could see that the woman was tired. An extra night would make no difference to their mission.

He brought her a tray of food from the kitchens, set it down before her. Took a seat opposite and placed his own bowl of stew before him.

'I'm not hungry,' Ealdgyth said.

Hardly surprising, he thought. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffed. Her lips thin and as white as her bony cheeks.

'You must eat, Lady.'

'Eat?' Ealdgyth countered. 'For what purpose? That you may deliver your charge in good health and return to your bloody king with a clear conscience?'

The man took a deep breath. 'You misjudge me, Lady. I am not your enemy. I have no satisfaction with this treatment of you, nor of the events which led to this. They disgust me. I swear to you that I took no part in the murder of your husband, Sigeferth. Nor his brother, Morcar. That was all Earl Eadric's doing.'

'Streona! That worm! That snake!' Ealdgyth spat out. 'If he were here now, believe me, I would tear his bastard heart out with my bare hands!'

The man, whose name was Torr, noted the passion in her voice. Good! She has fight in her still! 'Lady,' he said in a low voice, 'I will confide in you: I have sent word to Prince Edmund of your plight. I am convinced he will not be idle in coming to your rescue.'

Her heart leapt. Hope sprang from within her. 'He knows where you are taking me?'

Torr inclined his head. 'Perhaps not at this moment, but he will do. It may take some days to find him.'

'You can trust your messenger?' Ealdgyth toyed with the spoon in her hand, stirring the still warm but cooling food.

'Implicitly,' Torr confirmed. 'These are my men. I trust them all but none more than Renfred.'

Tentatively Ealdgyth tasted a mouthful. It was good and she took another. She had not realised how hungry she was. 'Torr,' she said carefully. 'You were right: I think I may have misjudged you. You have my thanks for what you have done.'

'Lady, I did what I thought was right. I am only sorry that I could do no more for you and that your journey has been … uncomfortable.'

She smiled. There was little warmth in it but it was a smile.

'We will arrive at Malmesbury late in the morning,' Torr continued. 'I will do my best to ensure that your treatment there will be fair and that your comfort will be paramount.' He grinned. 'I will let them assume that my orders to them have come directly from the King.'

'But what will happen when you leave?'

Torr took a deep breath. 'Lady, I may not go back. I have not fully decided, but I think I may wait until Edmund arrives and see which way the wind blows.'

Image © Phil Berry

Edmund Atheling.

She knew him well, of course. They had first met a year ago at Sigeferth's new manor of Hocgganclife, a gift from Edmund's elder brother, Athelstan, who had died. She remembered the morning she had risen early only to find that the Atheling was already awake and exercising in the cool morning sun. She had even admired his glistening frame, well formed, toned and muscular. She had blushed when he grinned at her. Bowed her head and turned away. Later she would take more note of his cornflower blue eyes and straggly straw-coloured hair.

And now here he was. Had arrived two days previously in a furious temper accompanied by Godwine Wolfnothson and a small band of soldiers. She learned that he had confronted his father, King Aethelraed, where a furious debate had ended with Edmund walking out, threatening Eadric Streona and riding hot foot to Malmesbury. King Aethelraed: how ironic that his name meant 'wise counsel' when the only advice he ever took came from the evil and grasping mind of Streona.

She got word to Edmund of the kindness the man Torr had shown her and he was rewarded with a place in Edmund's embryo force. A force that was being assembled not to wrest the throne from his father, but to prepare for the inevitable invasion from the Danish King, Cnut.

At last he came to her. They sat in the Abbey gardens. He took her hands and held them. He was hesitant, unsure of himself. Conscious of her loss and disposition.

'I would marry you, Lady Ealdgyth,' he blurted out eventually.

She stared down into her lap. Marriage? I had not expected that!

'Tomorrow.'

Her head jerked up. 'Tomorrow?'

He smiled apologetically. 'I know. It is too soon, is it? But it will assure your safety. Ealdgyth, please listen to me: you have lands in the north and men that I need. If I can form a power base with your help, we may yet raise an army to beat Cnut.'

'Tomorrow?' she repeated.

'If it so please you.' His smile had always been a winning one. 'I have spoken to the abbot. He is unhappy but he will do it if you agree. Being the son of a king can be useful. Besides, I told him that if he didn't do it then I would find a priest who would. I am sorry that it will not be as grand as it should be. As you deserve.'

In spite of her confused state, she saw the sense of it all.

Which is how, the following day, she became the wife of a future king.

But it was a long and hard road for Edmund. In April of the following year – 1016 –Aethelraed died and Edmund succeeded him. He was named so by the people of London and the southern counties, but elsewhere came out in favour of the Dane. Edmund assumed his title when he was formally crowned in St Paul's Cathedral. Ealdgyth was by his side; one-month old Edward in the arms of a wet nurse.

Ealdgyth was already with child again though she was not certain of the fact at the time. Merely suspicious. The marriage, one made of necessity politically, had turned into a genuine love affair. Edmund was a tender lover and Ealdgyth enjoyed greatly their nights together.

There would be few of those now.

Ever since the marriage Edmund had been engaged in a war with Cnut, but it had been a much truncated affair. With Aethelraed incapable of leading the English army the people were unwilling to place their faith in Edmund's lack of authority. Earl Eadric Streona changed his allegiance again and then again. Edmund, frustrated, was close to giving up. Until at last, after illness, Aethelraed finally succumbed.

From then on the war escalated with neither army gaining the upper hand. Edmund had the better of things but his problem was almost permanent: he needed more men. Twice he retreated to Wessex and twice Cnut besieged London. Twice Edmund relieved the city, almost routing the Danish host on the second attempt. He was now in ascendancy, even accepting the mercurial and treacherous Streona back to his favour. Many forgot that Eadric had long been married to Edmund's sister.

With fresh hope, Edmund chased Cnut through Kent and into Essex. The final battle was fought at Assundon where, thanks to the treachery of Eadric once again, Edmund's men were scattered or killed and Edmund, severely wounded, barely escaping with his life.

Ealdgyth joined her husband in Gloucestershire where he was hiding out.

Until Cnut came to him and agreed to talk peace.

November 1016

She could still see the two men, standing together. Edmund had the height advantage but he was still weak from his wounds.

Hostages and gifts were exchanged. Even pleasantries. Ealdgyth sighed. Had circumstances been different, she could have seen the two kings as friends. Formidable if allied. Terms, with Eadric facilitating, were agreed. Edmund would rule London and Wessex while Cnut would have the north. All knew that peace was not assured, for one or the other would eventually make an all out try for control of the whole country.

Godwine had been right though. Agreement had been made that if one should die, the other would rule. Ealdgyth stared into the mist, through glazed eyes, she saw the sails approaching.

Tears filled her eyes, just six weeks following that meeting, Edmund had died in her arms at Oxford, his wounds proving too great a foe for even his strength to conquer. Besides, he was exhausted. His star had burned brightly, too brightly, but the flame flared and faded.

He was gone. And without him, Ealdgyth was lost.

Godwine it was who came to her rescue. Fearing for her life, he arranged that she be taken to Sweden where she would be safe.

Safe, yes. But alone.

Safe but forgotten.

She who had once been a queen.