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drab space. The room was candlelit and crowded. This would not work to her advantage, especially with Edith glaring at her.
    E dith was a mystery Godiva could not decipher. A decade earlier, while Edward was still peacefully cloistered on the Continent, his brother Alfred had left Normandy to claim the English throne. Earl Godwin had shown up to meet Alfred when he landed on the shores of Sussex. He had welcomed Alfred and his bodyguards, accompanied them inland, swearing all of England eagerly awaited to put Alfred (son of a former king) on the throne . . . and then, even as he spoke these words, Godwin’s men killed Alfred’s guards as Godwin took Alfred hostage, blinded him, and piously sent him off to die in a monastery in the Fens.
    This had made an impression on Alfred’s brother Edward.
    Now, eleven years and several dead sovereigns later, Edward was on the throne, and Godwin’s own daughter Edith was his wife. How pleased could either Edith or Edward be about this marriage? Godiva was still trying, and failing, to determine that.
    N ow she bowed low, rose, and said, “Your Majesty.”
    â€œYes?” Edward said curtly, from the bed.
    She was not sure how she would have proceeded, had not she been abetted by Fate in the form of Sweyn Godwinson, with his jaunty flung-back cloak, who appeared at the door that very moment and said, “Sister!” to the queen, and entered, without waiting for permission.
    Edith turned her hawk stare from Godiva to her brother. “Sweyn,” she said carefully.
    â€œSister, you asked to see the new Bible from Leominster, and Mother Edgiva has just delivered it to me. I am about to send it home to Hereford, where you seldom come, so this may be your last chance to see the excellent penmanship of the nuns. It is rare to have a manuscript illuminated by sisters, sister.” He grinned at her, and said with the coaxing tease of a brother, “I think you would appreciate it.”
    Edith got to her feet and went somewhat icily with her brother. Sweyn dared to wink one soft brown eye at Godiva before he left, which made her heart leap a little, pleasantly: he was removing the queen because he had, somehow, intuited Godiva would appeal privately to the king about the heregeld, and he wanted to assist her. No, not really—he wanted to assist Edgiva. Godiva would mention that to her.
    Edith’s two women went as well, which seemed to dismay Edward, as the lady of Mercia was now the only woman in a private room with him and his men.
    â€œYour Majesty,” she said with another bow. “I thank you much for meeting me during your period of leisure.”
    â€œWhat would you?” he asked brusquely. “Between your friend and your husband I am quite worn down.”
    â€œI was remiss in my behavior today, at Council,” she said, eyes downcast, fingers playing with the ruby on her heaviest gold chain, not unlike how Edgiva fidgeted with her rosary. “I should have spoken plainly at a certain moment, but was too cowardly to do so.”
    â€œYou wish me to abolish the heregeld,” he interrupted tiredly.
    â€œMore than that,” she offered. “I wish to suggest how you may immediately render it unnecessary.”
    â€œI already know how to do that,” Edward said stiffly to his bed’s wool canopy. “I need only admit that your husband and the others hold all the power. I need only yield the slightest interest in actually ruling.”
    â€œThat is not what I was going to say at all,” Godiva assured him.
    â€œThey placed me on the throne as their puppet, and I am dangerously close to being, in fact, nothing but their puppet. I have almost nothing of my own; I should take something from the earls just to demonstrate my power. To give up the heregeld is to give up my own forces, which is to give up even the appearance of power.”
    She took an urgent step closer, so that she was nearly