practice whoever was named by the former king had a powerful claim.
Edward was driving his witan—and most of the Anglo-Saxon nobles in England—into
despair over the issue. It was essential that he name a successor, if only because there were so
many men who wished to claim the throne: not only Harold, who had the strongest claim, but the
Danes, the Norwegians, the Normans, the French…half of Europe, come to that, entertained
ambitions to add the English throne to what they already held. If Edward continued to
prevaricate then he risked tumbling England into chaos on his death.
Caela watched Harold‘s face, knowing what he was thinking. ―You are the only one who
can take the throne, Harold. Even Edward must know that.‖
Harold snorted softly. ―And has Edward actually spoken to you of this?‖
―Does Edward speak to me of the succession?‖ Caela laughed softly, bitterly. ―Nay, of
course he does not. He has ‗spoken‘ only with his body, keeping it from me, that I may not breed
him a Godwineson as his heir.‖
For an instant Harold entertained the vision of Edward making love to Caela, and his
heart almost went cold in horror. ―Then he is a fool. Better, surely, that a child of his own body
take the throne than risk the slaughter of half of England as rival princes fight it out.‖
There was a lengthy silence, neither looking at the other, which was finally broken by
Caela.
―I have not seen Tostig,‖ she said, ―yet I know he lingers about Westminster. Have
you…‖ her voice drifted off at the expression on Harold‘s face.
―We have fought,‖ he said, ―and now Tostig wastes his time in sulks. I wish that he could
put aside his disagreement with me long enough to wish you well.‖
―Over what have you disagreed?‖
―Tostig wants me to send my army north to subdue Northumbria. I refused. I cannot
afford to waste men and arms in the north when I may need them here.‖
―Tostig has not done well this past year,‖ Caela said. ―If only…‖
―Yes,‖ Harold said. ―If only, indeed.‖
She squeezed his hand. ―All will be well, Harold. Surely. You are brothers, and
disagreements will be set aside soon enough.‖
―Brothers can be enemies as well as any other men, Caela. I pray only that we will
resolve our differences before Edward dies.‖
―And what,‖ Caela said, determined to change the subject yet again, ―have you heard of
William?‖
Harold sighed, and sat back, letting Caela‘s hand drop to the coverlet. Tostig was a
trifling threat when compared to William of Normandy. Not only was William a seasoned
warrior with a seasoned army behind him (he‘d spent over twenty-five years battling half of
Europe to keep Normandy, and he could just as easily turn that army on England), but he also
had a claim to the throne. Edward‘s mother, Emma, was a Norman woman, and close kin to
William; close enough that William might claim through her blood. It wasn‘t much of a claim,
but it was there, and it was strengthened by the fact that during Edward‘s many years in exile
(necessitated by the Danish Cnut‘s seizure of the throne on the death of Edward‘s father) Edward
had formed strong bonds with William and had spent many years an honoured guest in the
Norman court. Some men rumoured that in his gratitude Edward had promised England to
William on Edward‘s death—and if Edward would not lie with Caela, then this was the reason:
he did not want to breed an heir, breaking his vow to William.
Personally, Harold did not believe it. No man, surely, could hand over a throne in
gratitude for a few years of bread and wine and a bed.
Could he? Harold shook his head very slightly. Edward was fool enough for anything,
and who knew what he might have promised William one drunken night when Edward might
have thought he would never regain the English throne from Cnut?
―Edward has never said anything?‖ he said to Caela.
Caela shook her head. ―I know only that they exchange letters.‖
Harold grunted. ―William is preparing the ground to claim that Edward has always
wanted him as heir.‖
―Edward is preparing that ground,‖ Caela said, ―with the Normans he keeps at court.‖
Harold said nothing. God knows Edward had brought enough of Normandy back with
him when he had managed to regain the throne on Cnut‘s death, and the bonds between Edward
and William had been strengthened through treaties over the years.
Had any of those treaties encompassed a promise that William could have the throne after
Edward‘s death? No one knew, least of all Harold, and that lack of knowledge kept him awake
many hours into too many nights.
Harold wanted the throne. Moreover, he felt that he deserved it. He alone had kept
Edward safe from internal disputes and the ambitions of the Saxon earls. He alone had the moral
and military strength behind him to not only take the throne, but to hold it once Edward died.
He was the only choice, the only Saxon choice, unless England decided it wanted a
foreigner.
Or, if a foreigner decided he wanted England.
Now, as Edward declined into old age, and as it became obvious that he would never
consent to get an heir on Caela, the issue of who was to succeed him was becoming ever more
critical.
―If I take the throne,‖ Harold said, reverting to Caela‘s original question, ―Swanne will
not be my queen.‖
Caela arched an eyebrow, but there was a strange relief in her eyes.
―Once, perhaps, I would have fought to the death to have her crowned at my side.‖
He paused, and Caela did not speak.
―Once,‖ Harold finally continued, ―but not now. She and I have grown apart in these past
few years. Strangers, almost.‖
―Then that must explain the birth of your sixth child and third son last year.‖
Harold took a moment to respond to that. ―She has ceased to please me even in bed,‖ he
finally said. ―We rarely touch…and even when we do, I find myself thinking of…‖
He stopped suddenly, unable to say that you.
A silence where both avoided each others‘ eyes, then Harold resumed. ―Swanne cannot
be my queen, even should I wish it. We were wed under Danelaw, not Christian, and the Church
does not recognise our union. England is too Christian a realm now to try and flout the laws. If I
am to be crowned, then I cannot afford to alienate a Church which must anoint my right to that
throne.‖
―You will put her aside?‖ Caela looked incredulous, as if she could not believe for a
moment that Swanne would be content to be ―put aside‖.
―If I am to be accepted by the Church…if my claim to the throne is to be backed by the
Church, then, yes, I must put her aside.‖
―She knows this?‖
―We have not spoken of it but, yes, I think she knows it.‖ He made a harsh sound in his
throat. ―It would certainly explain her growing distance and coldness this past year and more.‖
Caela thought for a moment, then said, ―And who will you take for a wife? For your
queen?‖
The instant she spoke the awkwardness again rose between them.
―That was a foolish thing for me to ask,‖ she said, ―considering how stupidly I behaved
earlier.‖
―There could never be a better queen for this country than you,‖ Harold said.
―I shall find you a queen,‖ Caela said, her voice forced. ―A good woman, and worthy of
you.‖
Harold reached out a hand and touched her mouth briefly with his fingertips.
―I will honour whomever you choose,‖ he said softly, ―but never as much as I honour
you.‖ He hesitated. ―If I thought for an instant that I could take the throne and flout Church law,‖
he said very softly, holding her eyes, ―then I would ensure my grip on the throne by marrying my predecessor‘s widow.‖
And with that, and before Caela could find breath enough to reply, he rose from the bed
and left.
FOURTEEN
Each year London held a celebration to mark the (hopefully, successful) conclusion of
the harvest. It was held in conjunction with the more significant autumn hiring and poultry fairs,
with the involvement of the city guilds, the merchants, and the folk of at least a dozen of the
outlying villages. This festival was held on a Saturday (the preceding three days being taken up
with the market fairs), and it was one of the few occasions in the year when the city came to an
almost complete standstill for the festivities.
On the Saturday morning the guilds held a great parade through the streets of London,
and in the afternoon virtually the entire city repaired for games, competitions and general
revelry, to the fields of Smithfield, north-west of the city just beyond the ancient walls.
Edward and Caela usually attended the afternoon‘s festivities at Smithfield, as did most