Swan's Neck Ch. 02: The Comforter

We travelled light. Earl Harold went on ahead with his swiftest steed and his housecarls. Ealdgyth, myself, and the ladies in waiting followed more sedately. The old Roman roads were such a blessing, and we arrived in Westminster two days before the Christ Mass.

The Court was hushed with anxiety. The old King was a saintly man, so they said. He was pious, he gave much money to the Church, and he was a kindly figure, but as my Lady said, he was 'no King.'

The job of King was to rule and provide for the succession, Edward had done neither. A weak, vacillating ruler, he had bent before whichever set of earls seemed in the ascendant. His exile of the Godwin family just before I had joined them, had been a short-lived attempt to seize back power, but he had fallen back into his old ways fast enough.

No doubt chastity in a monk is estimable, but a King should make heirs, and Edward, unlike my Lord Harold, lacked virility. That, as my Lady said with immense frustration, was why we were 'in this mess.'

During the family's exile in 1051, Edward had offered the succession to the throne to William the Bastard, the cunning and brutal Duke of Normandy. He had no right to do so, according to earl Harold, who had ignored that claim upon his return from exile. In 1064 Harold had been shipwrecked in Normandy, and William claimed he had then recognised the claim; this my Lord called an 'evil lie.'

Perhaps the best claim to the throne was held by the young man recently returned from exile in Hungary, Edward, the grandson of the great Edmund Ironside, but he was young, unknown, and had no supporters; and King Edward, whilst looking on him with favour, had not handed him the succession.

Now the old fool was dying, with no heir.

It was little wonder my Lord Harold was in a temper.

Tall, I would have said six foot plus, though I never had occasion to measure his height, but once, and that was not an occasion for measurement, he was the most handsome and the strongest man in England. As a warrior, he was without peer. To watch him deploy the great two-handed battle axe, was as pure a display of virility as one could have outside the bed chamber. It was little wonder Ealdgyth adored him. But she too was in a temper.

'Harold, I am your wife, you can have none other. I am the mother of your children, your bedmate, your love.'

He went red, as men tend to when they know they are in the wrong.

'No, Danegyth, stay, you need to know this too.'

'Well,' she said, 'what have you to say?'

'My love, I need to consolidate my claim. Edith of Mercia brings with her the support of the earls of Mercia, between us we own most of England. It is a marriage of State. Besides, it will bring the Church onside.'

'Fuck the Church,' Ealdgyth spat the words out with contempt.

'They take your money well and easily enough, and they baptised our babies, tell them to fuck themselves, you are mine you gorgeous man, mine, do you hear me!'

I think they heard her in the next two rooms.

'My love, my love, I must do this to secure the throne.'

'Fuck the throne, fuck it all, you are mine, my man, my heart's desire.'

'You have your little Danegyth, and can keep her.'

It was the first time he had openly acknowledged our relationship, and even now, it was only need that had driven him to it.

'That is different, she is my woman-love, you are my man, I need what you give me too.'

Harold shuffled uneasily.

'It is too late my love, Edith will be here tomorrow and we wed after Christ's Mass, that's an end of it!'

'An end, an end, damn you damn all faithless men, Danegyth, come with me.'

She swept out, every inch the queen, with Harold red-faced and furious, perhaps with himself.

We got to her chamber.

'I want you.'

That was all she said.

She pulled me to her, slipping my kirtle off, then my under-gown. As she did so, I helped her reach the same stage of undress. Usually, our love-making was slow and luxurious, but here was pure lust, fuelled by her anger.

'I need to fuck you, my little one.'

I was hers, always.

Pushing me onto the couch, her fingers were at my aching slit before I could catch a breath. Mine followed into the warm, sticky wetness. She had been aroused by the display of anger and passion. She needed to be satisfied.

My lips fastened to her nipples, first the one, then the other, sucking, then licking them until they stood stiff as tent pegs. I then bit them, not too hard, but enough for her to notice the slight pain. She thrust her two fingers deep into what she called my 'cunt.'

Controlling my urge to lie back and be fucked, I gave a good, hard suck, on her right nipple, and began to push her bud back. It was swollen. So were her cunt lips. My hand massaged her there. She moaned louder.

'Fuck, fuck, you do that well you little whore, I want you, want you, want you.'

And with that, my cunt was stretched as she pushed a third finger into me. I moaned.

Grazing her wet, stiff nipples with my teeth, my thumb applied pressure to her bud, massaging it, as two fingers explored her wetness, spreading out, searching for that rough patch which always gave her pleasure. As I found it, her fingers worked faster in me.

I felt myself rocking on her fingers. I gasped, I felt so wanton.

But I kept my head, knowing her needs, and began to massage her in the way she liked best, touching her spot where she moaned the loudest.

'Fuck all fucking men, you are who I want, you are my lover, my faithful one.'

Amidst the lust we both felt, there was the truth. I was hers, by life or by death, if I could serve her, I would.

And I gave her the service she needed at that moment by bringing her to a great, loud, screaming, shuddering climax. My hand was soaked. She came, and came, and came.

I kept my hand on her cunt, feeling her fingers in mine, and I came too. Quietly, grunting, but copiously.

Her great blue eyes looked into mine.

We kissed, long, lovingly, acknowledging what we were to each other.

'You will not leave me too, little one, will you?'

I looked longingly at her.

'My lady, I could not, never, I am your wife, whatever the priests say, we are one flesh, and by life and by death I am your girl.'

We hugged. We cuddled. We held each other. And, for once, I held her, and she licked my tiny nipples. I stroked her long blonde hair, comforting her. We slept.

It was rare we spent the night together, as Harold usually wanted her, and she him. The five children they had were a sign of their pleasure in each other. Now, all of that was threatened.

Taya, the pretty blonde lady in waiting, who loved my Lord Harold, came into the Chamber.

'I am sorry to disturb you, my lady, but our Mistress needs to be with my Lord soon.'

I signalled her to go.

She looked slightly too long at us.

I wondered about her? Was she like me, or was something else going on in that mind?

I woke Ealdgyth, combed, brushed and plaited her hair, and, washing her down, helped her into her clothes. She was so beautiful. Harold was a fool, I thought, but then no, he was a man of power, so yes, a fool, to want that Dead Sea fruit when he could have Ealdgyth.

I sponged myself down and dressed. I plaited my own hair, as my Lady readied herself.

She looked down at me.

'Danegyth, thank you for last night, I needed it. I need you now, more than I have ever done.'

I am here, and will always be, my love.'

I raised myself on tiptoe and kissed her.

'I love you, Danegyth.'

With that, we went to hear our fate.