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CHAPTER FOUR --THE BONES OF SCANDAL

(Canterbury, England, March 25, 1066)

Sitting across from the Archbishop of Canterbury within a large antechamber adjacent to the wily Primate of England’s private quarters, Lady Ealdgyth Swanneshalles pondered the wisdom of having agreed to confer with Stigand without her husband’s knowledge or consent, wondering if she shouldn’t have at least attempted to inform Harold regarding Stigand’s doubtless intriguing invitation. Sighing Lady Ealdgyth regretted more than ever the prevailing estrangement between her and Harold, cursing the royal ambition that had separated them after twenty-five years of true love and general contentment. Sipping the wine Stigand had ordered for her Lady Ealdgyth gave her host a wan smile, wary of the cunning behind the Archbishop’s pretense of geniality.

For his part, Archbishop Stigand studied Lady Ealdgyth, King Harold’s hand-fast, or Danish- law wife with his usual lustful admiration, his contempt for Harold increased by the stupidity of the reckless nobleman in casting off Ealdgyth after her years of faithful devotion to him. Stigand marveled at the undiminished beauty of Ealdgyth even after the birth of numerous children, how her tall figure had retained its lean and athletic proportions. At age forty-four Ealdgyth was still the loveliest woman the Archbishop had seen, with slender limbs, a graceful carriage, large dark eyes which glowed it seemed with warmth and wit, luscious red lips, gleaming white teeth, and a pert nose, her slightly ruddy complexion smooth and her brown hair which extended to her waist worn up, and concealed beneath a plain white cloth wimple’s genteel modesty. Ealdgyth wore a light green silk gown over a blue kirtle, a leather belt fastened about her waist where she wore a silk coin-purse and a knife for protection. A pair of green satin gloves rested upon the table and upon her feet the noblewoman wore a new pair of dark leather Italian shoes whose tightness she found a little uncomfortable. Ealdgyth sported a silver cross around her long white throat, a gift from Harold on their twentieth anniversary, and a gold wedding band was prominent on her left hand. Emeralds hung from her ears and at the center of her being sparkled an ineffable jewel of charm that captivated almost all Ealdgyth encountered. Ealdgyth’s voice was a light and lilting contralto, comparable it had been observed to that of the lark and the nightingale, though in her temper’s eruption it was likewise said Ealdgyth Swan-Neck was a formidable mirror of the fierce bird for which she’d been popularly christened.

“So, Your Excellency. I’m here at your request. Tell me, Archbishop, what brings me to this your most lavish abode?” Stigand grinned, imbibing his wine as he replied to Ealdgyth’s inquiry in a tone of cordial familiarity Ealdgyth found distasteful. Suspecting the guiling cleric of hiding some selfish agenda behind his outward mask of amiability, Lady Ealdgyth maintained her guise of innocent interest in the Archbishop’s purpose, to discern Stigand’s nefarious intentions for her husband’s immediate notification.

“It’s truly quite simple, Madam. As both of us of late have proven victims of Harold’s unjust betrayal, it occurred to me we should look to one another’s defenses against further injury by His Majesty, don’t you agree? In wake of Harold’s marital alliance with the house of Leofric, you’re left vulnerable to expulsion at Aldgyth’s contriving, as I’m left subject to the same peril I fear in light of your former husband’s deliberate slighting in the matter of his coronation as this realm’s sovereign. Thus, it makes practical as well as moral sense that you and I should join together to ensure the protection of our endangered interests in this land. I can utilize my position to speak out on your behalf, Lady Ealdgyth, against any effort to force you and your children out of this country. In return, it would be a great advantage for me to have the esteemed consort of a king, a woman everyone still respects despite Harold’s callous disowning of you, as a public defender of my authority as England’s Primate, since there are those here and abroad as you know who have long advocated my deposition from this hallowed see. It seems to me that in firm combination you and I could resist any menace to our respective estates, provided we’re forthright with one another, sharing critical intelligence which could be employed against our oppressor should the need arise. I trust you appreciate what I am saying, Madam Swanneshalles, and are prepared to tender me an appropriate response.” Lady Ealdgyth flushed and bristled at Stigand’s assuming of her willful complicity in his dissembling against Harold, but reined her outrage to learn how the treacherous churchman proposed to proceed. Shrugging and flashing Stigand another smile in deceptive intriguing at his offer, Ealdgyth solicited the Archbishop to unveil the specifics of his plot, determined to expose the degenerate Primate and effect his overdue eclipse.

“My response, Excellency, will depend upon my learning exactly what you have in mind, if it please you. What sort of intelligence is it you wish to share, pray? I mean, what is it you assume I know of Harold that would be of interest and what private knowledge do you possess that could possibly harm him?” Stigand’s eyes narrowed in seasoned wariness at such a coy inquiry and he replied in a polite but impatient manner leaving no doubt as to his precise requirement. Ealdgyth continued feigning potential accommodation, eager to draw the Archbishop out in his treasonous design past redemption.

“With respect, Madam, let us not waste time on futile pretenses. You know what I’m talking about. You’ve heard by now through your own sources of certain things referred to by Harold’s sister Lady Edith at King Edward’s deathbed, Harold’s culpability for the sudden deaths of Earl Godwine and his elder brother Sweyn for example. There’s also been implication it was Harold who is liable as well for the murder of his cousin, Earl Beorn, long attributed to Sweyn. And of course we can’t forget to mention the charges of abuse being currently lodged against Harold by Lady Judith, can we? I’ve no doubt you’ve intimate knowledge of some sort regarding all these incidents, Lady Swanneshalles, and others, such as Harold’s possible responsibility for the death of Edward the Exile, perhaps? Oh, and if Harold saw fit to admit he colluded with Lady Aldgyth to encompass the foul slaying of Prince Gruffydd, in particular if your husband’s reward for such cruel collaboration was the pleasure of young Lady Gwendolyn, this too would prove valuable as a potential sword to aim at His Majesty’s throat, so to speak.” Lady Ealdgyth was left furious by the Archbishop’s blunt crudity of solicitation but bit her tongue hard to prevent a betraying retort as she evaded Stigand’s demand, gulping her wine as she gathered her thoughts. Stigand awaited Ealdgyth’s answer with obvious irritation, his eyes chilling her with their glare’s intensity.

“Well, my lady? I assume you’ve things you wish to divulge or is this conference concluded? I cannot wait upon your cooperation all day, Ealdgyth, as every passing minute brings both of us closer perchance to the pain and shame of ignominious expulsion.” Ealdgyth sighed, nodding as if in agreement with the Archbishop. Stigand leaned forward, anticipating her accomplice.

“I must admit, Excellency, your words make sense to me. I’d be a fool indeed not to hold my position here in peril, given the unfortunate circumstances of late. It might therefore be wise for us to cooperate, as you suggest. It could be that there are some things I know that could make it difficult for Harold to consider attempting to oust us from our preferred perches, my lord, but if there’s to be a true partnership between us, Stigand, I’ll require a demonstration of trust, ere our venture unfolds. To be specific, I’d like to know what you have or believe you have against my husband, all in the interest of full disclosure. Once I’ve considered the viability of your alleged information, I’ll be better able to determine what private intelligence of mine is worth unveiling. That’s fair, isn’t it, Archbishop?” Stigand reflected upon Ealdgyth’s proposal as she took more wine, draining her cup. Stigand then grunted in assent, and removed a small golden bell from his flowing purple robe’s pocket, ringing it in summons to Ealdgyth’s apprehensive curiosity.

“As you wish, Lady.” A young monk soon appeared in response to the bell’s clarion, and the Archbishop whispered a low decree into his subordinate’s ear. The monk bowed and used a key kept on his person to enter Stigand’s bedchamber, emerging a few moments later bearing a gold chest he then set down before the Primate. Stigand removed a silver key from another pocket to open the chest, which Lady Ealdgyth saw held a small bound volume somewhat dusted with age.

Stigand waved a hand in dismissal of the monk, who then withdrew as silent as he’d come.

“What you now behold no one else has seen in thirty years, Madam. You recall no doubt the mutilation of Prince Alfred Aetheling, brother to our late King Edward, may God have mercy on their souls. Alfred had been invited here from Normandy by Earl Godwine at the behest of King Harald Harefoot during the contention for the throne being then waged by that sovereign and his hated half-brother Harthecanute, the son of my former patroness, Lady Emma. The latter as you may have suspected had poisoned her noble husband Canute to ensure Harthecanute’s succession as England’s master, but wily Canute had invited Harold Harefoot hence in anticipation of such a nefarious tactic and so Harefoot managed to seize power ere Emma could rally sufficient support for Harthecanute’s crowning. Harold Harefoot had already garnered the throne of Denmark from his sire and could muster formidable force to protect his English estate, but saw fit to ally himself with a compelling symbol of England’s past independent glory, such as existed. Thus it was that Earl Godwine was commanded by Harefoot to extend invitation for Prince Alfred to return home and stand against Harthecanute, detested by Alfred as well, for a very substantial reward. Alfred came, as we know, but there’s far more to the familiar tale than has yet been told. For the Prince had another agenda, at first, which by his proverbial cunning Godwine managed to manipulate to his own ends, with the result at length proving his house’s union with that of Aethelred’s and my own deserved rise to Canterbury’s most venerable office.” Lady Ealdgyth shivered involuntarily at the Archbishop’s ominous insinuation, shifting in her seat as she inspected the volume pushed at her for examination. Opening it she read the first lines scripted therein to Stigand’s smug grin of perverse satisfaction.

“Let it be known before Almighty God that I, Avis de Parisienne, lady-in-waiting unto Gytha, Countess of Wessex, hereby declare this sworn testament to contain naught save the true account of events and statements I personally witnessed and heard leading up to the terrible injury of one Alfred, Prince of England formerly in exile, and the subsequent death of said Alfred, this second day of June, in Our Lord’s year 1037. Let it also be known I give this testimony of my own free will without coercion of any kind upon my immortal soul’s hope of its eternal salvation in Christ Our Lord. Amen.” Looking up Ealdgyth was irked by Stigand’s evident gloating, and asked him for more details about Avis de Parisienne, and her role as well as his own in the familiar tragedy of Alfred Aetheling. The Archbishop proved more than avid to oblige.

“I can’t say I remember ever hearing the name of this Avis de Parisienne before during all my long association with Lady Gytha, Excellency. She was an attendant of my mother-in-law’s, she states? Well, what can you tell me about her? And also, Stigand, just what part did you enact in the drama surrounding Prince Alfred’s misfortune? And how is it you have this testimony when I don’t recollect ever hearing of this Avis having been brought before the tribunal of lords who’d examined Earl Godwine for Alfred’s alleged slaying and acquitted him?” Archbishop Stigand’s reaction to Ealdgyth’s queries was to smile in his crooked fashion and once more ring the golden bell to call that same young monk who’d appeared earlier. When his clerical subordinate entered Stigand ordered more wine for Ealdgyth, and also inquired concerning another appointment after his conference with her.

“Brother Waldred! Some more wine for Lady Swanneshalles, please. Oh, and have the good sisters arrived, so I might welcome them once my present audience with Lady Ealdgyth has been concluded to our mutual satisfaction, I’m certain?” Brother Waldred, a thin lad of around twenty with large watery eyes and a nervous twitch in his left cheek, hesitated to reply, then sighed as he nodded in confirmation, his gaze meeting Ealdgyth’s for a fleeting instant to convey an unspoken warning. Ealdgyth tensed at Waldred’s silent pensive admonition, all her natural instincts alerted for imminent danger. Turning her attention back to Stigand and the curious testament of Avis de Parisienne, Lady Ealdgyth reminded herself to be careful as Waldred departed to fulfill Stigand’s dictate, casting a brief but telling glance at Ealdgyth over his shoulder as he went.

“So, Stigand. This Avis. Who was she, exactly? And why has her testimony regarding what befell Prince Alfred Aetheling been occulted these last thirty years, almost? I don’t see what her words could have to do with Harold, he was only a boy at the time, and took no part in the strife between Harold Harefoot and Harthecanute or his sire’s innumerable intrigues, I can assure you. So why then maintain what she said in such absolute secrecy all this time? And just how did it come to pass that you should possess ownership of Avis’s testimony, Excellency? Is she dead? If not I’d like an opportunity to speak with her myself if it please you. I prefer to get my fill of dung from the beetle’s own mouth, if it’s all the same to you, Archbishop.” Stigand raised his cup in a toasting gesture, prompting Ealdgyth to reluctantly respond in kind, sipping her spirit as the old churchman drank likewise. An enigmatic smile crossed Stigand’s face as he replied to the request of Ealdgyth in the negative, his tone sly and unctuous in its denial’s implied regret. Ealdgyth frowned, sensing the Archbishop was lying but disinclined to dispute him.

“Alas, I’m afraid your request cannot be honored, Madam. Although Avis de Parisienne is still living, the years haven’t been kind to her. At present she resides in a convent, suffering a severe degree of dementia, and can’t recall her own name, much less the events of over thirty years ago, God have mercy upon her poor soul. That’s what renders her testament so critical. It is the surviving proof of what truly happened, and as such could prove devastating to Harold if made public. Of course, if actual testimony were to be required, it wouldn’t be difficult to find it with a little effort and expense, I’m sure.” Lady Ealdgyth contemplated Stigand with wariness at such a devious suggestion, understanding his implication and contemptuous of his lack of scruple though it didn’t surprise her. Sipping from her cup, Ealdgyth commented upon the Archbishop’s proposal with considerable sarcasm.

“Yes, I’m certain it wouldn’t. If necessary I’ve no doubt you could elicit testimony declaring the Virgin Mother a wanton harlot, and furnish earnest testimony from her alleged lovers saying how Blessed Mary was more expert in the arts of Venus than all of Southwark’s sordid denizens. You know, Stigand, if there exists at the very bottom of the sea a living creature of the most vile aspect and habits detested and avoided by all others in absolute disgust, that poor entity can take some small comfort in the fact that so long as you live, it will never need bear the onus of being the lowest form of life upon this earth. That title is and shall ever remain your dubious personal distinction and I daresay I’m aware of none who could dare wrest it from you, by Christ and His blessed saints!” Archbishop Stigand crimsoned at such a blunt insult’s hurling, his lips growing taut in bitter resentment of Ealdgyth’s crude and demeaning characterization. Ealdgyth grinned in smug derision, raising her cup in a mock toast that only intensified Stigand’s seething.

“Your tongue remains as sharp as your beauty is enduring, Lady Swanneshalles. However, I suggest you spare me your wit’s edge and save its slash for those who duly merit its cold sweep. Perhaps if I were to inform you that your good husband had agreed in a covert meeting with the Lady Agathe at Corfe castle of late to accept a daughter of hers, young Lady Margaret I believe, as his potential royal consort in place of Lady Aldgyth, and had also bartered away Wessex as a bone thrown to Edgar Aetheling, you’d be more inclined to consider me as a serious ally, given the increasing precariousness of your situation. I should also mention this proposed alliance of King Harold and the Aetheling’s faction’s predicated upon His Majesty’s sworn oath to dispose of all impediments to the status and security of Agathe’s offspring. All impediments. Do I need to explain what that means, or can you infer it without further elaboration?” Ealdgyth flushed in fearful anger at the Archbishop’s alarming insinuation, refusing to credit Harold with such awful deliberate betrayal of not only her, but of their children. Stigand regarded Ealdgyth’s upset with malign pleasure, his eyes gleaming with sinister delight.

“I don’t believe you, damned varlet, not for a moment! Harold, he couldn’t, he would never do deliberate harm to me, to our … No! I don’t believe it! I know Harold! He’d never consent to imposing hardship, injury, and disgrace on our children, no matter what he might feel about me or what dire circumstance surrounded him, never! I know my husband loves me and would die to protect our family! I know Harold would! Ah, you’re just trying to deceive me, Stigand, may you burn in hellfire for all time, damned scoundrel, you’re attempting to manipulate me to serve your own infernal ends, diabolical arch-villain, and it won’t work, fiend, for I hereby deny and defy you, blackguard, you hear? Take this for your blasted proposition and base lies, scum!” Picking up her cup Lady Ealdgyth threw the contents in Archbishop Stigand’s face, leaving him drenched with wine. Dripping with a burning indignation Stigand fixed Ealdgyth with a baleful glare as he rang the gold bell to summon Brother Waldred, fuming as Ealdgyth observed him in scorn and despising.

“I fear you’ll regret your rash action just now, woman. You’ll find my ill will no less terrible to suffer than Harold’s, Madam, and with far more dreadful consequences attached to its arousal, mark me!” Lady Ealdgyth laughed, raising her hand to make an obscene gesture in dismissal of the Archbishop’s threat. Brother Waldred entered and gasped upon beholding the Archbishop’s person splashed with wine, Stigand rising to withdraw into his bedchamber to change vestments as Ealdgyth winked and waved in vexing levity.

“Stay here and keep Lady Swanneshalles occupied, Waldred. I’ll only be a few minutes. As I said, Ealdgyth, you will be sorry for this, profoundly and permanently.” Ealdgyth shrugged at Stigand’s stern warning as the affronted Primate disappeared, addressing Brother Waldred in an intimate fashion to discern the Archbishop’s true motives behind their meeting. Waldred sighed, unhappy to be included in his master’s scheme Ealdgyth could see but also hesitant to betray the notoriously ruthless cleric.

“I saw the way you looked at me earlier, Waldred, as if to warn me against the Archbishop’s doubtless disingenuous agenda. Tell me now, Brother, while we’ve a fleeting moment of time to ourselves. What is Stigand about in calling me hence, truly? You needn’t fear the Archbishop’s wrath, young man, for I promise you he’ll soon be gone from his unmerited seat here and sent in chains to Rome where I’m sure there’s a foully fit dungeon awaiting his worthless hide’s hosting.

Please, Waldred. You can confide in me, I can assure you not only of my protection but also the King’s, I swear. Trust me, Brother. No harm shall come to you by speaking frankly. Tell me on your soul’s salvation, what evil does Stigand plan against my husband beyond what he’s already deigned imply, pray?” Waldred cast an anxious look at the door to Stigand’s quarters, and gave Ealdgyth a curt response of vague quality, his terror palpable. Ealdgyth rose, but suddenly felt a bit unsteady, gripping the table to maintain her balance and shaking her head to clear it of hazing as Brother Waldred paled, studying her with an expression of concern and pity.

“Madam Swanneshalles, I can’t … I mean, it’s not my place to comment regarding the private inspiration of His Excellency, truly, I don’t know anything, I’m just … I didn’t intend to convey anything to you before, despite what you seem to think, and all I can tell you is … is you should be careful with whom you share spirits with. That is, I … Is something the matter, Madam, you appear to be a little … unwell. Oh my! It seems you’ve drunk a bit too much, I hope you’re not having a perilous reaction to what my lord Stigand bade me add to your liquor, much against my own natural inclination, mind you, for it should’ve taken somewhat longer for you to feel effects from the sedative, or so my experiments had indicated. I’m very sorry for this, my lady, but you must understand I had no choice, seeing as how my family’s fortune and safety depends on good relations with His Excellency, he’s remorseless in punishing slights and betrayal as I’m sure you will now appreciate with alas greater insight than ever, and so I beg your pardon sincerely, for it wasn’t my notion to entrap you thus, God as my witness, Lady Swanneshalles, perhaps it would be best if you sat down, as it wouldn’t do for you to collapse outright and injure yourself by … “ Ealdgyth felt intense light-headedness, and grew faint, her eyes rolling as she swayed on her feet under the influence of abrupt and encompassing weariness. Reaching out to Waldred for support Lady Ealdgyth took no more than two or three steps before complete blackness engulfed her, and she knew nothing after for what felt an eternity, swallowed by a bottomless abyss of unconscious ignorance and oblivion.

When the first dim sense of waking cognizance penetrated her shell of prolonged slumbering, Ealdgyth discerned that she was sprawled across a large bed, surrounded by a sheer satin curtain. Moaning softly from a throbbing pain in her head and feeling nauseous, Ealdgyth noticed to her dismay that she was quite naked, and at once broke out in a cold sweat, shivering as she groped to her feet, stumbling about in search of her garments. As her mind gradually began regaining clarity, Ealdgyth realized she was in her present scandalous condition in Archbishop Stigand’s bedchamber and her hand went to her mouth in abject horror, the dazed noblewoman believing herself at first the victim of a nefarious sexual assault by the lecherous Primate. Examining her body Ealdgyth detected no signs of a physical ravishment and felt no expected pains from such much to her great relief. Then the door to the Archbishop’s room flew open and Stigand strode in flanked by a pair of women, Brother Waldred trailing behind them with a wan expression of shame upon his face. One of the women was a nun, in late adolescence or her early twenties, a quite comely girl for one of her vocation with a curvaceous figure and large dark eyes that held profane wisdom contrary to her apparent calling. The other companion of the Archbishop was familiar to Ealdgyth, a thin hawk-faced noblewoman of unpleasant disposition and a malicious tongue called Lady Garcyne, a cousin to Ealdgyth’s chief rival Lady Aldgyth and a harsh critic of Ealdgyth’s for many years. Garcyne smirked at Lady Ealdgyth’s embarrassed discomfiture, Ealdgyth’s focus fastening upon Archbishop Stigand as the latter greeted her with a disdainful jeering cordiality ere he revealed the vicious purpose behind Ealdgyth’s devious narcotizing and denuding to her aghast disbelief.

“Well, Lady Swanneshalles, as we seem to have the better of you, it’s only fair you should be informed concerning what’s befallen you, and why. You see, Madam, in wake of His Majesty’s unfortunate betrayal of my confidence I turned to a new patron or should I say, patroness for my support. The Lady Aldgyth. The Queen’s not favorably disposed to you, alas, and so she asked me to assist her in effecting your removal as a thorn from her side, Ealdgyth, in a manner which left Harold more amenable to her influence, at length. Hence my invitation to you was extended. How very shocking it will prove should it be revealed that in desperation for your sparing of the galling exile you’d heard was about to be imposed upon you and yours, Lady, you saw fit to try and seduce me, the Primate of England, to your cause’s championing through the most depraved of tactics, coming here and presenting your exposed pulchritude for my potential pleasuring that I might be moved by wanton lust to defend you from King Harold’s inevitable edict of expelling. And you won’t be in any position to contest such an allegation, I fear, once I’ve had you ejected from this residence to flee back to your manor with your sin bared for the entire world to behold, in a manner of speaking. I daresay the spectacle of such a formerly proud gentlewoman rushing to hide her nude body’s humiliating exhibit from public gawking through the respectable streets of Canterbury would swift become the lurid gossip of all Christendom and not to Harold’s profit, as I’m certain you’re well aware, unless of course you’re open to prudent negotiation. Is this so, my lady?” Ealdgyth felt a deep blush envelop her body from utter mortification at her debasing entrapment, averting her eyes to avoid having the meet the mocking gaze of her antagonists. At the advance of the young nun Ealdgyth started, causing the girl to raise her hands in a gesture of reassurance with a smile.

“Don’t be afraid, Madam, I’ve no interest in harming you. My name is Sister Agnes. I’m the natural daughter of a certain Avis de Parisienne, whom I understand His Excellency’s spoken of. I should tell you I’m one of those sordid denizens of Southwark you’d alluded to earlier or I was, rather, until His Excellency redeemed me from that wretched existence to enter his service, thank Christ in His mercy. Like my mother before me, I supply information of a rather sensitive nature to the Archbishop concerning a variety of persons and predicaments. For example, I have in my possession some old letters of your kinswoman, Lady Gytha, dating back some thirty years, that quite clearly establish not only the fact of her adultery with Prince Alfred Aetheling in violation of her marriage vows with Earl Godwine, but also prove beyond question her intent to slay said Earl Godwine in the most treacherous fashion not long after the arrival of her covert lover upon English soil, a return she herself had suggested to King Harold Harefoot out of malign desire to have Prince Alfred murder her husband, and thereafter move to oust Harold Harefoot so Alfred could reclaim his father King Aethelred’s royal estate with Lady Gytha as his sovereign consort. A pity Lady Gytha proved so very trusting of my mother, her cherished attendant and confidant, but such is simply the nature of some souls, is it not, much to the advantage of agents like Avis. And me. Would it be presumptuous in imposing to request a closer examination of your sundry skin etchings, Madam? I’ve known some associates of mine in the business of pleasure to sport some elaborate flesh-art but in all frankness I’ve never seen any as colorful and curious as yours. Could I please have a proper look at them?” Ealdgyth frowned in profound abashing at the bald unveiling of the bright ink daubed upon her body only her immediate family and close intimates knew of. The Lady Garcyne came forward to inspect her discomfited foe as well, grinning with gloating derision at Ealdgyth’s unwilling helpless exposure.

“By all means, Agnes, let us have a fair look at this wench’s garish display of self-decoration in the ancient pagan tradition of her savage mother! You know, I heard that when Lord Eadwig first set his old eyes upon Elowen, Ealdgyth’s mother, the bitch was painted entirely in blue and brandished etchings even more intiricate than her daughter’s at present, and practiced the brutal religion of her barbaric tribe which required mortal sacrifice of babes and children, among other innocents! Aye, the Cornish witch cast a powerful spell upon the noble stag that fateful day and so he brought her to bed and England, bequeathing his lavish fortune to the likes of such heathen filth, heaven help this venerable realm! Ealdgyth owes her considerable wealth to the profitable manipulations of the wild and wicked Elowen, and for years now has endeavored to effect noble pretension to a true English gentlewoman’s estate, but as we can so plainly discern, you needn’t even scratch the skin to uncover the bare fact that the primitive fruit falls not far from the tree of its degenerate origin, does it, Madam? You’re no better than your squatting, scratching slut of a mother, are you, Swanneshalles, tell me, does the crash of thunder send you fleeing to the haunt of some fetid cave for protection from the ancient gods of your conquered race, and do you also bleed infants and children as well as animals to sate the appetites of those dark entities idolized in your backward superstition? Why, you’re as much a Christian woman as the Archbishop’s a God-cursed Saracen, Ealdgyth, we should have you placed in a public cage and heralded as the untamed wonder of the age for a gaping populace to hurl stones and perhaps some raw meat at! What say you to my suggestion, Excellency?” Archbishop Stigand laughed as Lady Ealdgyth’s countenance reddened in bitter resentment of Garcyne’s cutting commentary and her fists balled involuntarily in outrage at her despicable excoriation. Dropping her arms and adopting a posture that permitted all her etchings to be viewed Ealdgyth began to explain the meanings behind them in an effort to reclaim some shreds of the dignity so rudely assailed by Stigand’s strategy.

“With respect, Lady Garcyne, the evidence fails to support your contention implying I’m not imbued with a proper religious orientation. This blue rose, for example, upon my right shoulder, symbolizes the faith in what mundane minds would deem impossible, such as the triumph of the risen Christ over death and sin. It derives from a certain legend that tells how Mary Magdalene presented Our Lord with a red rose in celebration of His glorious resurrection which Jesus made to turn blue with a touch and returned to her, with the admonition that through belief in Him, all things under heaven could be encompassed as the rose would thereafter symbolize. And this on my left shoulder, the dove of pure white, represents the Holy Spirit, which the Greeks of old had personified in a womanly form first as Athene, and then later in the light of Christ as Sophia, the essence of divine wisdom. These lions bearing shields etched at my wrists? They represent the virtues of valor and dignity, such as exhibited first by Daniel when confronting the beasts at the order of Nebuchadnezzar, and later epitomized I’m certain you’ll agree by Our Lord’s supreme courage in so sacrificing Himself for the redemption of souls with such an admirable display of composure.” Garcyne was taken aback by Ealdgyth’s unexpected defense of her body’s inking and frowned, muttering to herself as she attempted to conceive an adequate rebuttal. Agnes on the other hand nodded with intrigued approval of Ealdgyth’s spirited explanation as Archbishop Stigand studied the exposed noblewoman with less sanguine curiosity, referring to Scripture as the ultimate rebuke to Ealdgyth’s physical decoration.

“Madam Swanneshalles, while I admit to a certain vulgar interest in your form’s rather garish ornamentation and its purported significance, Leviticus clearly declares against the practice of adorning one’s body in such a fashion as you’ve chosen to emulate from your mother. And in all frankness, Lady, we’ve other more pressing issues to discuss at present, such as your leaving this realm with due speed to accommodate Lady Aldgyth and save King Harold the onus of the great embarrassment that shall ensue should the sins of his mother, and their illegitimate consequences become grist for common speculation.” Lady Ealdgyth countered Stigand’s declaration with tart concision, likewise quoting Holy Writ to support her choice of physical illustration and pointing to a specific reference etched upon her left breast. The Archbishop reddened, irked by Ealdgyth’s cleverness and smug sarcasm.

“I’m afraid there is conflicting perspective concerning the flesh and its uses within the Word, Excellency. See this? It reads, “First Corinthians, chapter six, verses nineteen and twenty,” yes? Well, my lord, in case you’ve forgotten, that particular portion of Scripture opines, “Do you not know your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, and whom you have received from God? You are not your own and you were bought at a price. Therefore, worship God with your body.” Have I not done so, as did my mother before me? By the way, Lady Elowen was known both here and in Cornwall as a most venerable benefactress of the Church. It was due to her and her generosity that Waltham Abbey and Westminster were constructed and consecrated, though alas my mother failed to live to witness the latter’s completion. And as specified within the last testaments of both my parents, and improved upon by myself, a considerable part of my income on a yearly basis is donated to feed the poor, educate the young, and shelter all who are without a residence, in addition to substantial tithes and other contributions to the Church. It could be stated fairly that my wealth affords you yours, Excellency, at least in part. Therefore I find it offensive you’d permit Garcyne to deign attack me as ungodly, and join her in such erroneous judgment. After all, Archbishop, it was Christ Jesus who warned against hurling stones under the false pretense of one’s own unfamiliarity with vice, wasn’t it? You should remember that prudent advisory of Scripture stated in First Samuel, chapter sixteen, verse seven that counsels, “The Lord does not look at the things that man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” Truly divine words to live by, Excellency, don’t you believe?

I know what God beholds whenever he reviews my heart, Stigand. Would either you or Lady Garcyne care to venture what might be uncovered within your own, pray?” The Archbishop had to smile at Ealdgyth’s deft maneuver as Lady Garcyne fumed at being rebuked by one she held her personal and social inferior. Sister Agnes continued her inspection of Ealdgyth’s etchings, inquiring as to the meaning of those still enigmatic.

“My lady, what are some of the significances behind the other marks you bear? Some seem familiar to me in vague fashion, while the rest I must confess in ignorance quite elude me. Can you perhaps enlighten me?” Ealdgyth smiled and shrugged, more to annoy Lady Garcyne than out of any sincere desire to illuminate the young nun who posed as great a threat to her and her family as Stigand and Aldgyth. Raising a hand to the center of her chest Lady Ealdgyth traced a design depicting a bright red heart flanked by hands facing each other as if in a friendly greeting, the heart being surmounted by a seven-jeweled golden crown and bearing an inscription reading Harold Et Ealdgyth Amor Aeternitas. A wistful smile of fond remembrance crossed Ealdgyth’s face as she explained the precious meaning of the brand, her heart both swelled and saddened at the bittersweet memory of its acquisition.

“This is a design originating in Eire. It’s called a claddagh, and has a three-fold symbolism. The heart’s for devotion, the hands for friendship, and the crown is for loyalty. The inscription reads, “Harold and Ealdgyth, love forever.” I acquired it on the occasion of our betrothal, over twenty-five years ago. Well, at least the image hasn’t faded, even if the sentiment at its center hasn’t endured as well as I’d like, it would seem. Of course, with me it remains constant as it was upon the day I had its undying declaration etched upon my flesh for all eternity. This one here, upon my right breast, is a golden winged scarab, which in the land of ancient Egypt held sacred significance as an avatar of the rising sun, and a symbol of infinite rebirth. This design on its back is called an ankh, which the ancients called the key of life. It’s believed by some that the cross of Christ is a descendant of this symbol and since our true faith early on was in the habit of borrowing sundry totems from many older beliefs as became evident to me from both scrupulous historical study and the travels of my youth I wouldn’t doubt it. They do appear quite similar, do they not, Excellency? And isn’t a fact that even today in the lands of the Norse, missionaries are instructed still to appropriate aspects of the native religions to assist in their efforts of conversion without hesitation?” Archbishop Stigand shrugged, ignoring Ealdgyth’s insinuation. Agnes then reached out to touch a pair of drawings situated just above and below Lady Ealdgyth’s navel the now unabashed noblewoman was quick to describe.

“The labyrinth’s meant to represent the dilemma of life with its incessant moral confusion and manifold temptations. These two crossed axes are called labrys coincidentally, and are supposed to have been wielded by a fierce race of warrior women of old known as Amazons. They remind a woman she has a natural responsibility to conduct herself bravely and faithfully as a soldier of virtue as proudly as any man born of her womb, in the cause of bearing the Lord Christ’s divine standard unto all the earth’s dark corners as the image of the cross suggests. I trust the fact it’s a cross that’s depicted in the Celtic style doesn’t detract from its sacred symbolism. After all, true faith’s depth is always demonstrated far more through one’s right actions than the haggling over the rendering of mere religious icons. Correct, Archbishop?” Stigand sighed, shaking his head as Lady Garcyne swore in exasperation, and Sister Agnes couldn’t help but laugh at Ealdgyth’s none-too-subtle stabs at the Primate’s pious pretenses. The Archbishop waved his hand with an air of impatience, attempting to return the focus of conversation to urgent political issues. Lady Ealdgyth to Stigand’s increasing irritation ignored his effort, continuing to instruct Sister Agnes regarding the nature of her skin’s meticulous display.

“This is all fascinating, Madam Swanneshalles, truly, but I’m sure you’ll agree we have more important matters to discuss at present than your personal eccentricities. You have already heard what may befall King Harold and Lady Gytha should you not prove wise enough to accede to the desire of Her Majesty the Queen, thanks to the testament of Avis de Parisienne and the letters of your mother-in-law held by Sister Agnes, the latter being of the most explicitly shameless nature, I assure you. And of course your own current predicament leaves you little choice but to submit to Aldgyth’s insistence that you depart England without delay after you’ve committed testimony of an incriminating nature against Harold unto parchment, and announced your withdrawal from this realm in public on a permanent basis at Her Majesty’s direction. I should warn you that if a proper understanding between you and Lady Aldgyth isn’t reached at once, the bones of scandal shall like Lazarus arise anew from their ancient sepulcher garbed in a fresh flesh of ignominious attribute, to the everlasting detriment of all your family and the destruction of its last vestiges of respect as a noble house. Therefore I would suggest you cease prattling regarding your accursed etchings and concentrate your attention upon issuing a practical response to the ultimatum which Lady Aldgyth has deigned to afford you, as she’s unwilling to wait on any … Madam, will you please listen to me? Lady Ealdgyth!” Indifferent to the Archbishop’s exhorting, Lady Ealdgyth indicated for Sister Agnes to step aside so she could continue informing the young nun regarding the meaning of her body’s ink-work. Stigand threw up his hands in frustration, muttering below Ealdgyth’s hearing as he observed her impromptu tutorial in shared vexation with Lady Garcyne, the latter contemplating Ealdgyth with irate disgust.

“Now, Agnes, this design placed below my navel? It’s called a triquetra, which is comprised of a trio of interlocking signs known as vesica piscis, in antiquity a symbol of that creative force contained within the sex of the female. The Holy Trinity was originally conceived as a feminine triad, you know. The pagan Greeks often personified them as the Muses or Graces, for example. And there were many other names for them, too many to even count. As you can see, the image of the triquetra is centered within another design, this one called a sevenfold mandala signifying the seven branches of classical learning, these being arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, grammar, rhetoric, dialectic, and music. And the veiled woman in blue located square in the middle of the triquetra represents an entity known as the Pistis Sophia, the embodiment of wisdom the Greeks termed Philo-Sophia, or the universal mind. Remember I told you earlier how the Holy Spirit’s initial conception was as a woman just like us? Well, this is what I was talking about, my dear. I’ll wager you were never taught such things when a child, Agnes, were you? I never knew the truth of history myself until I traveled with both my noble sire and my tutors, a kind and brilliant couple from Wales as a matter of fact who instructed me concerning how much of history is ever subject to a deliberate interpretation of pure convenience, such as occurred when Our Lord’s true faith became dominant over the religions of antiquity and our sex was alas consigned to an unjust status of inferiority within its sacred narrative, despite the presence of such crucial female figures as Mary Magdalene and Saint Priscilla therein.” Archbishop Stigand scowled, denouncing Lady Ealdgyth’s claim of sainthood for the latter woman with smug condescension. Brother Waldred however quick interjected to correct the Primate, garnering Stigand’s baleful glaring in offended indignation at such an insolent and unwelcome contradiction.

“Now you’re resorting to outright invention, Madam! To my knowledge there’s no such saint as you claim, and scant evidence to even suggest the woman’s actual existence! You’ve amused us all with the colorful history pertaining to your body’s ink, Lady, but my interest ends where it devolves into plain erroneous perjury!” Brother Waldred tapped the Archbishop upon the arm at Stigand’s authoritative proclamation, his tone respectful but firm as he challenged it. Ealdgyth’s humor at the monk’s refuting of the Primate’s perspective only made Stigand’s ire at being thus corrected all the more inciting.

“Excuse me, Excellency, but I fear that you’re mistaken. If you read the Acts of Saint Paul in chapter eighteen you’ll find references to the woman Priscilla, also known as Prisca, the wife of a certain Jew of Rome called Aquila. They’re also both alluded to in Paul’s letter to the Romans, chapter sixteen, and in chapter sixteen of his first letter to the Corinthians as well. According to Scripture Prisca or Priscilla was significant in helping the Apostle spread the Holy Word of Our Lord, and there is another tradition which may refer to the same woman or perhaps another, also named Priscilla, who according to the ancient sources was a pious widow who placed her wealth at the disposal of none other than Saint Peter to assist in spreading the faith of Christ. Her house was used as a secret residence, and recruiting station, or so the legend implies. Her burial site in Rome has attracted pilgrims for centuries, and as a matter of fact there is a Priscilla canonized as the patron saint of all widows. Begging your pardon, Your Excellency.” Lady Ealdgyth laughed and nodded at Brother Waldred’s astute awareness and the Archbishop’s embarrassing ignorance as she pointed to a drawing of female figure upon her left arm that bore the Latin legend Pila Et Fides. Stigand flushed, incensed equally at his minion’s presumption and Ealdgyth’s mirth.

“Very good, Brother! I’m glad to see there’s someone here who actually studies the Word of God, although I can’t blame the Archbishop for placing the pursuit of personal political priorities over the perusing of Scripture on a regular basis. After all, what good would the Bible be to him in prison, pray? I doubt the Almighty would be inclined to deprive wild beasts the savoring of a fallen Primate’s flesh, if it came down to such an earnest exhortation upon your part, Excellency. Of course, the church would never countenance a fate so cruel and barbaric. I understand torture is a far more refined art these days as I hope you have an ample opportunity to discover ere long, with all due respect, of course. You shouldn’t deign to dispute me regarding points of history, as it’s always been a favorite subject of mine. And I hardly would’ve had this representation etched on my skin if I didn’t have a firm grasp of the relevant facts behind its significance, would I now, Archbishop? It’s called a caryatid, by the way, also being known aptly as a priscillarum. We’ve always been what the inscription declares, Stigand, we women. “Pillars of Faith.” I daresay that without our ardent efforts on the part of many religions through the ages, the majority of the gods known to the world would never have been exalted to their sacred stations, much less endured as objects of widespread reverence. Our Lord Christ included, again with all proper respect.” The Archbishop frowned at Ealdgyth’s perceived impiety, and wagged a finger at her in stern angry admonishment. Ealdgyth evinced no fear, her expression and posture unruffled.

“I’ve had enough of your accursed mocking insolence, woman! You shall demonstrate a full and appropriate deference to me, and my venerable position henceforth, or I swear I’ll have you flogged by my guards to learn your place, by Christ’s sacred blood! For one who stands on very tenuous ground, Madam, your defiance is sorely miscalculated! A word from me, and you’ll be thrown out of the Palace to be jeered at by the gaping commons as you rush to hide your body’s perverse pictorial display, and if the disgrace attending such expulsion inflicts not enough harm upon your husband and house, the public reading of Lady Gytha’s letters of wanton lust and the testament of Avis de Parisienne shall, I promise you! Lady Garcyne! I believe you have terms of the Queen to deliver to this arrogant wench!” Lady Garcyne advanced and without warning struck Ealdgyth across the face and spat upon her, the saliva splashing an etching on Ealdgyth’s right arm. Lady Ealdgyth reddened in outrage, but kept her emotions reined, staring at her foe with cool contempt.

“Indeed I do, Excellency! Like you I’ve had enough of this preening bitch’s posturing and I am want to put an end to her unwanted and debasing presence in this noble realm! Therefore, it well pleases me to inform Lady Swanneshalles of the following demands I’ve been commanded to articulate upon behalf of Her Majesty Lady Aldgyth, my good and esteemed kinswoman. The Queen of England demands that you, Ealdgyth Swanneshalles, take action to divest yourself of your widespread holdings in this country, retaining no more than a modest sum necessary for the sustaining of you and your family in exile abroad for one year. Second, you’ll commit to writing your substantiating of certain criminal charges tendered against King Harold Godwinesson by his sister, Lady Edith, my cousin’s royal predecessor. You will also admit your own private liability in the crimes for which you will give legal corroboration. Third, you will admit on parchment to having heard Harold Godwinesson give formal admission that his oath rendered to Duke William of Normandy two years ago was sworn of his own free will, without any act of coercion by Duke William. Fourth, you will issue a formal statement recognizing Lady Aldgyth as rightful consort and Queen of this realm, advocating public allegiance unto her, and to any heir to the throne that she might conceive. You’ll also urge Harold to retain Archbishop Stigand as Primate of England and exhort public support for such. Fifth, you will relinquish all rights you have hitherto claimed as King Harold’s consort, and also surrender all claim to Harold’s estates royal and otherwise on behalf of your bastard offspring. Sixth, you will pay Lady Aldgyth a substantial sum for slander she’s suffered through your agency, direct and indirect. Last, you will appear before the Queen at the impending Easter feast at Winchester, dressed only in filthy rags with a chain of expiation about your waist, and before the assembled lords and ladies of England and King Harold beg on bended knees for Lady Aldgyth’s pardon and forgiveness, ere you depart from this land, forever. Do as you’re told and you may return to your home this day with your public dignity intact, and King Harold’s reputation along with his good mother’s shall be spared a swift and fatal savaging. Refuse, and you shall be cast forth into the street to bear the mortification of your flesh and soul at once, and Harold and Lady Gytha shall prove the ruined scorn of all Christendom, perhaps to mortal consequence. It’s your choice, wretched cunt. You’re required to make it now, Madam.”

Lady Ealdgyth said nothing, but responded by returning Garcyne’s blow in kind, knocking Lady Garcyne backward to collapse on her rump stunned, Brother Waldred and Sister Agnes attending the dazed noblewoman as Ealdgyth issued a tart defiant rebuttal to Archbishop Stigand.

“Garcyne’s most fortunate that Saints Monica and Felicity are forgiving entities as one might well expect of those blessed to commune directly with the Almighty, or else her gross disrespect of their hallowed images might’ve earned her heaven’s lightning wrath on the spot. I myself am not so indulgent of fools like her or of dissembling serpents steeped in treachery like you and the Lady Aldgyth. You can inform Her Majesty that Ealdgyth Swanneshalles is no wilting flower to be threatened into meek submission and flight by such scurrilous tactics as have been this day so disreputably employed. I shall never yield Harold or betray him, tell her, and tell her this as well from me, Archbishop. You see this upon my right hip, the figure that extends to my thigh? It’s a phoenix, Excellency, a symbol of eternal rebirth and redemption, and like the phoenix I shall rise from my present perilous circumstance to be renewed in strength, faith, and loving devotion from my husband, Stigand, no matter the length of time or cost it requires to reinvigorate our bonds of conjugal trust and unity. I am also akin to the etching upon my left hip, that of the Lady of Saint George, for like that mythic heroine I shall keep green my enduring belief in my great love while he combats the manifold dragons of this world you and that bitch Aldgyth most basely represent. And as this web of life inked on my right ankle and the scales of Libra, my birth sign, etched on my left imply, my lord, all things and actions are forever linked in an intricate lace of balance in which the singular constant is the inevitable rendering of due justice no matter how long delayed. You tell Aldgyth she ought think upon that, and dread the hour I choose to answer her despicable endeavor this day to abase and extort me in kind. Tell the Queen, Stigand. And don’t think even for an instant I’ll ever forget your role in this day’s villainous exercise, or fail to retaliate for it in my own good time. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to leave. The stench hereabouts grows intolerable. Will you give me back my garments or will I be required to depart without them? If so then I’ll need to charge you for their cost, or the Church rather. Please don’t make me bill His Holiness for your theft of my private property, if you please. Good day to you, Your Excellency. Brother Waldred. Sister Agnes.” As Lady Ealdgyth started to walk out of the bedchamber nude without the slightest trace of hesitation or modesty, Archbishop Stigand seized her by the arm to halt her, his face dark with fury. Ealdgyth wrenched free, confronting him without fear.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, crazed wench? You think you’re just going to go out and walk home through the streets of Canterbury naked as you are save for those etchings of yours, Madam? I don’t think such a rash decision services your cause, my lady, or your family’s for that matter. How think you King Harold will react when he learns of his fresh public scandal attached to your reckless exhibition, pray? I doubt he’ll summon you to Winchester to receive a fond kiss and embrace of appreciation!” Ealdgyth shrugged, a cold look of disdain upon her face as she spat at the Primate’s feet and made an obscene hand gesture in resentful abhorring. With a wink and a sly grin Ealdgyth departed, her last words flung with the force of a mortal spear.

“As our good English commons say, Stigand, go fuck yourself! You may shout your menace to the sphinx emblazoned upon my lower back, and be advised it will soon have a new design to gaze down upon. My arse cries out for covering, and your countenance will suit a shit-hole fine, I daresay. I’m only sorry the tree of life nestled between my shoulders is not tangible enough to hoist a convenient noose from so you might emulate the fair example of Judas Iscariot, accursed blackguard! Good day, Archbishop, and I say again, Stigand, beware. Beware!” At Ealdgyth’s departure, Lady Garcyne groaned in pain as she was helped to stand up by Brother Waldred and Sister Agnes. Stigand glanced at her with casual indifference and instructed Waldred to remove Garcyne from his quarters while he conferred with Sister Agnes.

“Escort Garcyne to the anteroom down the hall and let her rest, Waldred. Agnes and I have something of importance yet to discuss.” Brother Waldred nodded and took Lady Garcyne out as Sister Agnes awaited the Archbishop’s pleasure. After a few minutes of rumination Stigand addressed the young nun, his tone hard and purposeful.

“Well, Agnes, you may inform Her Majesty that as I told her would transpire, Lady Ealdgyth has declined to oblige her. We are thus left to ply the course of exposing Harold and his mother to ensure Aldgyth’s retention of royal status and so far as the matter of Ealdgyth and her brood’s concerned … the Queen may need to resort to more drastic measures to be rid of them. You tell Aldgyth, girl. If she wants to charge Ealdgyth with assault upon Garcyne, she may proceed, but I’d advise against it. Better to just have the woman disposed of than engage in further efforts to undermine Ealdgyth morally and legally, in my view. Afterward, I want you to return to Dover and talk to Lady Edith and Agathe again, and learn whether or not that rumor of King Edward’s nomination of Edgar Aetheling as his sovereign heir is true. Also, keep me informed regarding Earl Tosti’s movements, and make a special effort to uncover whether Lady Aldgyth is bedding her captain of guards as I suspected. If she is, and Morgan ap Meurig should impregnate her, it would prove much to my profit to know of it ere King Harold hears of it. I don’t trust Aldgyth’s assurances of support, especially since Ealdgyth still remains a thorn in her side, for the moment anyway. Oh, and about what you told me concerning the Duke of Normandy’s daughter. I want Lady Agatha brought here to me for an extended stay under my protection. Possession of such a vital pawn can only strengthen my position in this critical chess game and I’ve every intention of being the victor who achieves checkmate ere it is concluded.” Sister Agnes curtsied, a smile on her face. Archbishop Stigand contemplated the shapely young nun with a lascivious admiration and licked his lips, his eyes glittering with perverse appetite.

“Very good, Excellency. Now, is there any other service I can perform for you before I carry out your dictates, my good lord?” The Archbishop laughed in evil fashion, then sat upon his bed and pulled up his robes to expose himself to Agnes. The latter wet her lips, grinning as she knelt at Stigand’s feet, lowering her head to engage in the act of French pleasuring as the aged Primate sighed at Agnes’s practiced expertise. Surrendering himself to the sensations Agnes yielded him Archbishop Stigand pondered the wry dictum of Saint Augustine as always in agreement with its ardent petition for chastity, albeit likewise at an eternally distant and undisclosed instant.

CHAPTER FIVE