Prologue
Copenhagen – January 1430
The chamber was dark. Heavy curtains of embroidered velvet hung in front of the windows, blocking out the bright winter light that shone down from the cloudless skies that day. For the king, the weather itself seemed to mock him. He had no wish for lightness and clear skies at this time. How dare the day look this beautiful when the worsts of misfortune had come to pass? The wax candles had nearly burned out in their brass holders and the fireplace needed tending to as well, but at the moment Eric had no intention of doing anything about that. The darkness suited him better. No doubt she would have reprimanded him about that, but he would never hear her soft scoldings again. The crumpled letter from the bishop of Strängnäs were still in his hand.
”Tha hon til Wadstena kom, thär do then ädhla förstinna from” *
Vadstena. Of course she would die there, of all places in the three kingdoms she had lived since their marriage. The monastery she had devoted so much time to. No doubt she would have preferred it, as the place had captured her heart twenty-three years ago and the founding saint had been the namesake of their youngest daughter. Oh, dear lord, the children had lost their beloved mother. Little Birgitta had barely turned four years old. How do you tell a toddler her mother would never come home again? For several long minutes Eric held his head in his hands as the storm raged inside him. He should never have raised his hand to her all those months ago. Perhaps it was the Lord punishing him for his sins. The last flickering of the candles died out and the room was completely thrown into darkness. Eric straightened himself. There was one thing he needed to do before the day was out, one task more important than anything else that had to be done.
He needed to write to his son. The prince that Queen Philippa had nearly perished in delivering into this world seventeen years ago needed to come home.
*When she came to Vadstena, there the noble Princess piously died - translation
Author's Note: So I have completely lost my marbles evidently.
Copenhagen – January 1430
The chamber was dark. Heavy curtains of embroidered velvet hung in front of the windows, blocking out the bright winter light that shone down from the cloudless skies that day. For the king, the weather itself seemed to mock him. He had no wish for lightness and clear skies at this time. How dare the day look this beautiful when the worsts of misfortune had come to pass? The wax candles had nearly burned out in their brass holders and the fireplace needed tending to as well, but at the moment Eric had no intention of doing anything about that. The darkness suited him better. No doubt she would have reprimanded him about that, but he would never hear her soft scoldings again. The crumpled letter from the bishop of Strängnäs were still in his hand.
”Tha hon til Wadstena kom, thär do then ädhla förstinna from” *
Vadstena. Of course she would die there, of all places in the three kingdoms she had lived since their marriage. The monastery she had devoted so much time to. No doubt she would have preferred it, as the place had captured her heart twenty-three years ago and the founding saint had been the namesake of their youngest daughter. Oh, dear lord, the children had lost their beloved mother. Little Birgitta had barely turned four years old. How do you tell a toddler her mother would never come home again? For several long minutes Eric held his head in his hands as the storm raged inside him. He should never have raised his hand to her all those months ago. Perhaps it was the Lord punishing him for his sins. The last flickering of the candles died out and the room was completely thrown into darkness. Eric straightened himself. There was one thing he needed to do before the day was out, one task more important than anything else that had to be done.
He needed to write to his son. The prince that Queen Philippa had nearly perished in delivering into this world seventeen years ago needed to come home.
*When she came to Vadstena, there the noble Princess piously died - translation
Author's Note: So I have completely lost my marbles evidently.