The Heavy Crown
Bath, England - March 1155
The Princess Wynnflæd sat in the solar working at her needle. It was a pattern that did not much interest her, but it did take up the time. Flowers! Who cared for flowers? Her mother never did, really. Tapestries of stags and cherubs, mayhap. But a simple flower? Too mundane. Yet Bath had grown quiet and as much as she longed for her estate in Derby, she was both bereft of her husband at the now as he was far away in Germany at her father’s order and he...the King...needed her.
After the loss of his wife, whom she adored, her father had not been the same. Quiet himself...pensive...even perhaps growing senile as he looked to see ghosts all around. She knew her father well...mayhap more than any of his other children. Wynnflæd had most recently passed her fiftieth year and marveled at how much she had witnessed. Born in the age of old King Eadgar...lived through the years of the Bold King, her uncle...now styled Princess when that was never her early promise. She had been married to her husband Eadræd of Rose for over thirty years and while she had never been able to truly forgive her father for one child, of her two...it was that other, her Cyneburg and her grandchild Simon...it was that which she rested her life upon at the now. To have followed after her mother...to have born children as was her duty...to have shown her pride of place, kindness, patience and a healthy attitude as often as she might...this was what was expected. This is what her mother had taught her.
The Lady Judith had been dead now for nearly twenty three years and not once during that time had Wynnflæd spent a day without thinking of her. Her mother was never Queen, nor even the Lady of East Anglia in her own right. Judith was her mother...mama...the woman she cared for from the time that she first put eyes to her to the time that she took her last troubled breath. She was a Saint and all that she knew even if she was aware that her father was Lord Chancellor of England and eventually King. It was always her mother that she patterned her life after. Always the sainted woman that showed her how life is lived...how one does.
She looked up to the slim fire in the hearth and laughed as she noticed her needle down. Day dreaming again. Wynnflæd half expected it to be the hearth of her youth, that in Norfolk. So long since she had been there...and so many memories. She smiled at the thought and then heard the now familiar light tap of her father’s staff as he approached. His leg troubled him more now than ever and she was quick to her feet to help him.
“Father...” she greeted him as he entered the solar, “...come and sit. I have ale for you, should you wish it.”
Eadward pulled away from her touch, too proud to accept assistance, “Of course I wish ale, girl! And a warm fire.”
Unhanding her father politely, Wynnflæd grinned and moved to pour, “It is a new batch. One sent from your nephew to Gelre. Are you certain?”
“Pfaw!” Eadward snorted, “German ale?! If such a thing existed!”
As the King sat with some slowness, she held forth a cup and smiled, “Well this one does, so do tell what you think for I am certain that you will, father.”
“Yes, I know...” Eadward looked past his daughter for a moment before looking into her eye, “...yes...I know that I am grumpy. I do apologize, sweet girl. It is a cold day and I have too much to mind. I would rather walk the grounds but the snow...too much of a chill.”
Wynnflæd showed him a pleasant face, “I could always get your mantle, father. It is hearty and the snow is light.”
“No...no...” he looked to the fire for a moment before turning back to her and held her face in his aged hand with appreciation, “Always so motherly, Wynny. Always so good.”
She pulled away from him without realizing it and felt ashamed but moved to close the shutter that she had opened, “I had some great help with that, father. Two children of mine own as well as yours...and mother as a guide.”
If Eadward noticed her reaction, he did not show it and took a sip of his drink before spitting it out, “Pffw!!”
“Not to your liking?” she asked with humor when she turned back.
“If I thought the boy useful at anything, it might have been to faction a decent ale!” Eadward sat the cup aside with irritation.
Without a word, Wynnflæd returned to the trestle table and poured a fresh cup of his favored ale and brought it to him, “I think you to remain sore at cousin Eadgar for other reasons, father. Tis not simply his brewery, is it?”
“She is right,” Eadward looked to the door of the solar and then faced her, “Indeed...not a fortnight did pass after the victory at Gera before he moves off to join with our Norman Duke in his adventure!”
“Yes...” the Princess moved to sit next to him, “...now that rebellion is quelled upon the continent, it seems that the players do act with freedom.”
Eadward looked past her when he pointed, “I shall have words with Lord Berold when next I do see him, I can assure it!”
“Father?” Wynnflæd followed his eyes and then looked back with concern, “Are you well?”
“Yes...yes...” the King settled into his chair and sipped at his drink, “...yet the blood is up. Too many thoughts...too many distractions.”
Wynnflæd showed a happy smile, “What else have you to do, father? Idleness has never suited your purpose and I do believe that you thrive on constant activity.”
“Not as much as I used to, dear girl,” Eadward looked down to his cup, “I cannot deny that I grow weary.”
She held a kind hand to his good leg, “That is to be expected for you are no longer a young man, father. Besides...you have good counselors and they work for your betterment. Even with the actions of this Norman Duke...”
The King raised his eyes to look towards the chamber door, “Always a Norman Duke, is it not? You did know it and so do I!”
“Are you overly displeased with Lord Berold?” Wynnflæd asked once again tracking her father’s eye.
“Would that I could be,” Eadward suggested as he turned back to her with a sadness, “Yet I cannot blame him. It is too much of a dream for Normandy...too much a coup for us to have seen that inheritance torn asunder. No...it was inevitable that he would make his play and it is certain that he shall win it. The boy in Flanders is naught but thirteen summers and holds no chance now that Lord Berold gains some followers.”
Wynnflæd pursed her brow, “I wish I might say that your Lord has always been honest and true, yet I cannot. There are some memories...and his actions. I think to have seen him play a fox amongst the hens, father. A deft smile when his eyes speak some thing more...something other.”
“He is noble...and honest,” Eadward suggested as he rolled his cup in his hand, “Mayhap too honest at times. I have depended upon him and he has served me well.”
The Princess gave nod but offered, “Lord Harold serves you well also, father. He always has. In truth, I am told that he and Hera travel here today. Why not speak to him of your misgivings?”
“Hmm!” the King snorted, “Those two...playing at a game of I know not what! Mortal enemies and the best of friends all at once! I cannot figure them.”
“What is to figure, father?” Wynnflæd asked true question, “They are Lords. Have they not always done such since time began? It has always held true in my lifetime.”
“Yes...” Eadward offered a slim nod as he leaned to his staff and stood with care, “...our Lords. How many of them have I seen? Too many, I say. This one here plotting revenge and that one over there that sees no faction without delight.”
She watched him make his way to the shuttered window hearing the rhythmic tap of his assistance and showed sadness, “It does not always need be thus, father. You have been a firm Lord to them all, but also compassionate. It is in this latter that shows you promise, does it not?”
Eadward laughed as he opened the shutter to the window and looked out, “Yes...compassion to that one. Heh! And how did William the Bastard repay his kindness?”
“That was many years ago, father,” she stood and walked to him, “I speak of your Lords at the now. Cousin Thurfrith is honorable and true and Lord Harold...he has served you since you became King. Even Lord Eadric in Kent...he shall be home soon. God’s blessing...so too will be my husband.”
“That one...” Eadward answered as he looked out to the windswept land beyond, “...that one I shall have to reward. He does deserve it.”
Wynnflæd smiled, “Eadræd needs no reward, father. He is and has always been happy to be at your service. I merely wish him home and to my side.”
The King turned and held to her hand, “Of course you do. A wife’s place is by her husband and husband to wife.”
“And Æthelric too shall be home soon,” Wynnflæd suggested to cheer him up, “He has been gone too long and I think you to be missing of him?”
Eadward let go of her hand and looked out once more, “Yes...you were missed too, were you not? The long return of the prodigal son...I did help with that...even if I was caused to remain here.”
“Father?” Wynnflæd held a gentle hand to his back, “Do you see someone there?”
“What?” the King turned with no confusion to his face, “No. Of course not! Merely thinking of years gone by...that is all.”
She kept hold to his shoulder, “Were you thinking of your brother? Uncle Uhtræd?”
“I suppose that I was,” Eadward realized, “I cannot help but consider his plight in light of mine own.”
Wynnflæd moved to hold his hand with kindness, “What plight have you, father? You are King. You are father to six good children, some of us even grown. You have found love in your life and bested all that have countered you. What does press you so at the now?”
“Sweet girl...” Eadward replied as he looked from over her shoulder into her eyes, “...you have always been so ever present. I cannot recall a day without you. I can scarcely recall the man I was when you were born...I was so young. Even misguided, as a young man may be. It was your mother...”
She grinned, “A helpful reminder that not all Lords are scurrilous, yes? My grandfather was a true man of liege and taught well my mother.”
“Lord Skuli...” Eadward looked past her again with a smile, “...now there is a name from the past! As much a warrior as my brother...and yes, he was true.”
“And of Godwin, father...” she kept her grin, “...lest we not forget.”
Eadward looked away once more without his smile, “Yes...she speaks it true. A good one if there ever was such a thing.”
“Father...” Wynnflæd pressed with a good heart, “...I believe you to be too harsh. Think to Lord Harold...Lord Eadric, even. The young Lord in Lancaster at the now...all true to you.”
“Daughter...the four points of Godwin...” Eadward turned to her once more with a serious eye, “...now five, in truth...they have been everlasting. Since before even I was born. They were upstarts then and they remain so at the now. Yet you speak to something more. What is it?”
Wynnflæd was reticent to say it but finally looked up to her father with caring eyes, “Cousin Eadweald, father. It is too poor that he should suffer so. Your sister aunt Mathilda...”
With firm strikes to the floor from Eadward’s staff, he moved away with a renewed fury, “No, I will not! I shall not hear it! It is only to my sister that I have not placed his head upon the gate...the treacherous man...the ungrateful fool!”
“Father...” Wynnflæd looked after him with a plea in her eyes, “...I have a mother’s heart.”
Eadward stopped and looked ahead for a time before turning back with more sympathy but a resolve still, “I know your worry, dear girl. I cannot change what is done...but I do wish that it had gone otherwise. You shall never forgive me...I know. And I am deserving of that.”
“Yet I have forgiven you, father!” Wynnflæd shifted to take his hand, “I shall never forget it, but understand I do. He was...troubled. And he threatened Æthelric. My boy...it saddens me so that he could not be changed.”
With tears, she held tight to her father’s chest and Eadward looked over her shoulder, “She is your daughter in every way. What pain it brings me that I should deny her.”
“Father?” Wynnflæd looked up to him with wet eyes, “Who is it that you speak to?”
Eadward looked down to her with sorrow, “It is a parade of ghosts, daughter. Long dead men...and women. My history as it is known to me. And among them...most certainly your dear, sweet mother.”
“Yet she is not here, father,” she answered with worry in her voice, “You do not see her, do you?”
The King shifted to hold her close, “I be not senile, Wynny. Yet she is. They all are. An answer to a life long lived. I am at the here and now and they? So far gone. Yet I cannot forget them.”
She pulled away only far enough to search her father’s face, “They do not speak to you, do they?”
“Oh yes they do,” Eadward answered with solemnity.
Wynnflæd kept her sorrow, “I think...I think to know of what you say, father. I do feel it myself at times.”
Eadward held a hand to brush away a tear at her cheek, “Sad as I am to say it, daughter...you yourself have held a long lifetime with all of the memories that does hold. It is inevitable. Sometimes tortuous, but...needed.”
“Do they haunt you, father?” she asked with worry.
He moved slowly to help her back to a chair by the hearth and then sat himself with some care, “The memory does...but not their person. I shall never forget my father...nor my brothers. Sweet Mathilda...and your mother...”
“And dear Meg?” she asked with sad eyes.
“Of course...” Eadward looked away for a moment before turning back, “...my sweet Meg. Taken too soon...and yet that it so recent. It is the ones from old that come back to me. The ones that make me consider.”
Wynnflæd attempted to dry her eyes and looked on with question, “Consider? What is it that you consider, father?”
“Destiny and worth, sweet girl,” Eadward held a hand to her face with some pride, “When I was born, my father was not even King...much as it was for you. Yet earlier than you faced, I was caused to think about our place...my place. Father did succeed in his quest and Uhtræd was so much older. It was to him that all things should come, and I? I was to manage it.”
She gave nod, “Which you did.”
“Aye,” he agreed with a wistful eye, “I did. And yet then...the entire force of Wessex...our House...it landed upon my head. This throne...this crown...it is a weighted thing, daughter. All that you wish is gone from you and no thing matters more than what is required. I have done things...I have said things...that I regret. Yet would I change it? I think not. For it was upon my shoulders that Wessex fell and I would not falter in my duty.”
Wynnflæd showed him kindness as she held to his hand, “You have always been a servant, father...and a good one. I know it well.”
“Serve or no...” Eadward looked past her once more, “...I am. I am King. I am father. I am brother. I am...the realm. My actions when I was young...they only effected me. My actions now? They effect the entirety of our lives. I may make no decision without that in mind. And I have made poor choices...”
“Yes...” she agreed but quickly showed her sympathy, “...yet not all.”
Eadward gave a nod, “Some. And I shall be judged by a higher power than myself. Yet...while I remain here, I must answer to these ghosts...these apparitions...this past. And what do you think that they speak to me?”
“Honor? Duty?” Wynnflæd suggested, “To keep the realm secure?”
The King looked away once again with his wistful eye, “All important, but there is more. You are right...security is not enough. That is a thing desired, but there is more...so much more. When once we were Wessex against the Danes...and then...”
“The Bastard,” she suggested.
“Our history is long and proud,” Eadward agreed, “Shared customs and yet rival factions still...the Danes and centuries of warfare moving back to Roman times...the Britons...the Saxons...the Norseman all the way to now. We are a peoples...proud of our Saxon heritage, but it is no more. We are more than Saxon...we maintain the Danelaw in so many ways...we see the Norman influence throughout even with our victory. There are lands that we hold in France...in Germany...peoples that hold no culture with us...and yet we remain England.”
Wynnflæd seem to understand, “Scots to the north...Celts to Ireland...”
“Indeed,” Eadward gave nod as he looked to her, “And it is upon my head that they all depend. Welsh, Scots, Normans...Danes. Our Saxons...”
“The Germans and the Franks,” she added.
Eadward kept hold of her eye with clarity, “All of us. It is England, daughter. The weight of my life has been to protect a father and then a brother, but now? It is to protect a realm. A peoples. An idea. We are no longer Saxons fighting against the north...nor protecting against the Normans, whether I like them or no. Now? It is to protect that idea.”
“Yet we do remain Saxon, father...” Wynnflæd suggested, “...as do many.”
“No more,” Eadward held a firm eye, “For we now are all of us English of the land of England. A proud realm and will soon have a proud King. All of these dispirit types will be ruled by one...and I only hope that he can keep it.”
Wynnflæd held tight to his hand, “Does Æthelric know of your dream?”
“Tis not a dream, dear girl...” Eadward replied, “...it is the truth. If my son does not know it by now, then he never will. And then God help you all for I shall be gone.”
“I do not wish that day,” she suggested.
Eadward smiled to her, “Yet you will remain. And as I have said often since your brother was born...you must look after him.”
“Mother said the same,” Wynnflæd smiled.
The King pulled her closer with a grin, “Of course she would. She knew well that she might depend upon you...as I do.”
Wynnflæd felt fresh tears, “I miss her, father.”
“So do I, lass...” Eadward held firm to his first born child, “...so do I.”
