The Betrothed Sister Page 10

‘Come on, Padar, we must ensure an audience with Prince Vsevolod before the Nativity services and feasts commence. And we want somewhere to rest our bones by nightfall, believe me.’ He threw a glance at the heavy pack which Padar was clutching. ‘And you want rid of that.’

  ‘Too right,’ Padar said with a weary grunt. ‘Yours is light as a sack of goose feathers in comparison, I’ll warrant.’

  A long, thin man with a high forehead and greying long hair, dressed in bright wool and fur, appeared out of a knot of fur-hatted men and greeted Odin like an old friend. Odin turned to Padar. ‘He is a steward. They call him Michael. He is Prince Vsevolod’s man. We are to have a place in the West Tower to sleep and we are promised an audience with the prince after evening mass.’ He groaned and raised his eyes heavenward. ‘I think we must attend that.’

  Steward Michael nodded. Odin turned back to him and spoke in the incomprehensible language that was buzzing all around the hall. Padar glanced behind him to ensure that the servant was still there. The man was waiting for them. Moments later they politely bowed to the steward and were following the slave to a side door and along a walkway to a wooden staircase that zig-zagged up through a tower. ‘It is one of many belonging to the fortress,’ Odin informed Padar as they climbed higher.

  Padar grunted and wished he had allowed the servant to carry his pack.

  ‘We will winter well here,’ Padar said, setting his pack on one of two comfortable feather beds.

  He looked around their chamber, examining every corner as if danger lurked in them ready to pounce. A wood-burning stove stood in one corner and in another Padar discovered a carved cupboard. He tested out the low stools and remarked on a strange wooden carving set upon a table. It depicted St George.

  ‘An icon,’ remarked Odin. ‘They pray to those pictures as we do to our saints.’

  Padar had no intention of praying before this image. In fact, he rarely had time for prayers. The old gods were as good as the new God to him. Whichever suited his mood at a particular time was where he placed his belief. He shrugged and dug his hands deep into his pack, under his spare tunics and leggings, and drew out first his harp, then the casket. ‘I hope they appreciate the gifts.’

  ‘We shall take them down to the chapel with us. The sooner we are rid of them the lighter our load here will be,’ Odin said, scratching his head thoughtfully. ‘And less chance of theft.’

  Padar nodded his approval of this plan. He opened the door a slit. The slave was standing outside their chamber as if on guard. ‘He looks as if he is to be attached to us with fish glue.’ He shut the door. ‘I’m going to purchase a padlock for our door.’

  Odin laughed. ‘Not a bad idea, but he won’t steal. Even the suspicion of theft will get him gutted.’

  The kremlin’s small church was a gloomy space that smelled of expensive frankincense. Padar was fascinated by its strange pungent atmosphere, the gilded pictures of saints and a procession of heavily cloaked women who were moving in a ritual way around the church’s perimeter kissing icon after icon. ‘Women of the court,’ Odin said. ‘Pity we can’t see their faces. Many of them are beautiful.’

  ‘More beautiful than our own women?’

  ‘Different beautiful.’

  The priest in charge wore a stiff, dark red robe covered with gleaming silver and gold embroidery. His white beard flowed and his great cross looked as if it would topple over and crush him.

  ‘There’s Prince Vsevolod with our bridegroom,’ Odin whispered into Padar’s ear.

  Padar turned away from the important priest and peered through the candlelit gloom at the group of nobles. Steward Michael hovered in a distinctly obsequious manner behind Prince Vsevolod. Priests stepped gracefully forward and bowed to them. Other nobles flanked the princes, their eyes lowered.

  The older prince must be Vsevolod, Padar thought, peering through the gloom from one to the other. Both were lavishly dressed in loose, long, straight coats, opened at the front to reveal undergowns of stamped velvet. Their robes were stiff and fell from their sides in a triangular manner. Both held large amber prayer-counting beads in their hands. Padar noted that Vsevolod, though tall, was not as tall as the youth who stood with him. The dark-haired youth with the haughty countenance rattling his amber counting beads was surely Prince Vladimir. Poor Lady Thea, he thought momentarily. She could be out of the Danish frying pan into the Russian fire with that one.

  Evening prayers seemed even more drawn out than Compline was in the Latin world. There were long readings from scripture read in the language of Rus, not in Greek or Latin. Padar had no understanding of what was said, nor did he understand the further icon-kissing that followed, but he approved that what he assumed were Pater Nosters and Hail Marys which were sang in the Rus tongue to the rattle of beads marking out the prayers. Ordinary people could follow if they knew Russian. Fascinating as it was, when the time came to leave, he was glad to escape the smell of incense, wet leather, fur and sweat.

  A guard ushered them from the chapel, through the courtyard to the hall they were in earlier and into a spacious room beyond where Prince Vsevolod was waiting for them, standing by a long window that was covered with isinglass. Olaf tugged Padar’s sleeve. ‘Down,’ he whispered. They prostrated themselves and when they rose they saw that the long-legged youth was warming his toes by an opened stove set into the wall.

  A shape emerged from the shadows by a wall. As the figure came further into the pooling sconce light, Padar felt his eyes widen. He had not seen the Irish Earl Connor, who ran merchant ships throughout the northlands, since they had separated after the siege of Exeter.

  Prince Vsevolod opened his arms. ‘Welcome to Novgorod,’ he said in Norse. ‘I believe we have much to discuss. Earl Connor has already given me a fair account of your lady. I hear that the Princess of the English is fair of face, her eyes grey and that her hair is red gold, that she is intelligent and courageous.’ The prince paused. ‘What can she otherwise bring to our family? I hope we can do business.’

  The youth seemed to watch Padar closely through his sharp brown eyes, which, Padar noted, were at that moment hard like bronze. When Padar opened the casket’s lid to reveal its treasures, Prince Vladimir pushed back his stool and ambled over to his father’s side. Prince Vsevolod bent down and peered into the opened casket. He lifted out the jewels one by one and turned them over in his long, delicate hands. He held the brooch up to the bright torch light glowing from a wall sconce. ‘My wife will be delighted with this. The craftsmanship is delightful. Saxon silver. German garnets. Beautiful.’ As he examined the other items in the flame’s glow his face beamed his approval.’

  Laying the casket on a table, Padar took a deep breath. ‘The princess possesses a valuable dowry and she is well-connected to both the Danish royal family and to England’s ancient aristocracy.’

  He was not quite sure how far back Thea’s noble roots went, so he took another breath wondering how he should give credence to his boast. ‘She is the granddaughter of the great Godwin, King Edward’s advisor and once the wealthiest man in England.’

  The Prince turned to Earl Connor. ‘Can you give an account of this lady’s character, Earl Connor?’

  Earl Connor did not hesitate. ‘She is a devout Christian and though she has suffered much she bears her troubles with great nobility. The Lady Gita speaks well of all. She glides through the world like a swan, but if she must, she can hiss like one too.’

  The princes both laughed. ‘She has spirit,’ Vsevolod said. ‘She will need it in the terem.’

  ‘The terem?’ Padar said. ‘What is it, my lord?’

  ‘The ladies’ chambers,’ Prince Vsevolod said.

  He picked up an extravagantly engraved arm bracelet rich with decoration and considered it. He said absently, glancing up at Padar, ‘Christ’s Nativity falls the day following tomorrow. Rest and enjoy our festivities. Earl Connor will guide you in our ways. I promise you my answer by the Feast Day of St Basil. After it, I must depart for Kiev.�
�� He slipped the bracelet onto his forearm and removed it to this time let it hang from his wrist. ‘I hear the Godwin countess sent our patriarch in Kiev a very precious reliquary on her granddaughter’s behalf. He is well pleased with the sliver of the true cross and St Nicholias’s finger bone, and he is delighted by the reliquary crystal which protects it.’

  Padar bowed. The youth spoke in English, his voice clear and firm, his bronze eyes softening, his English careful. ‘I wish to know this Saxon princess. My nurse always told me that red hair is fortunate.’ He glanced at the silver band that his father was admiring and when his father handed it to him, the young prince slipped it over his own tunic sleeve and up his arm. He turned to his father and said quietly, ‘We should consider their offer, Father.’

  ‘And so we shall, my son,’ Vsevolod said. He addressed the earl. ‘Take these men away now. It is past suppertime. My wife is in the women’s tower and I promised I would sup with her tonight.’ He addressed Padar. ‘I shall bring her Princess Gita’s gift. She will be delighted.’

  Odin excused himself as they entered the hall where trestles were set out for supper. He had friends to see.

  ‘Do you think the women’s quarters, that terem place, is like a Moorish prince’s harem or is it more like the sewing room in Roskilde?’ Padar said to Earl Connor.

  ‘A bit of both,’ the earl replied. ‘The Russian princes do not take more than one wife at a time. Their women do not mix freely in public places except in church or at very special feasts. They have private meals with the family. Family is important.’

  ‘Isn’t it always,’ Padar said as they found places on a bench squeezed in between two fat boyars, noblemen. ‘I expect the Nativity feast will be held publicly. I mean, are we all invited?’

  ‘You guess correctly.’ Connor lifted a jug. ‘Here try this kvass. It’s a fermented rye-bread drink. You will like it.’

  Padar made a face, but nonetheless accepted a bowl of the strange drink. He was thirsty.

  ‘I think you will succeed in marrying off Lady Thea to the young prince. The wedding will be very grand. Now, Padar, tell me about everything.’

  ‘A drink and food first. I am starved.’ Padar lifted the bowl to his lips, drank deeply, smiled and nodded. ‘The kvass is good, tastes of bread, honey and mint,’ he said, setting his bowl on the table and pulling his eating knife from his belt. He speared a hunk of reindeer meat from a platter on the table and began to chew. That was not bad either.

  Connor helped himself to some roasted eggs. ‘How are the boys?’

  Tears welled up in Padar’s eyes as he told Earl Connor of young Magnus’s death. He felt choked as he spoke of it. The earl’s eyes, too, swam with tears as Padar talked. He remarked that he had known Magnus well in Ireland when the boy had been fostered by King Dairmaid. ‘I have been trading. I had no knowledge of the boy’s death. He was too young for that fight,’ Connor said sadly.

  ‘It was a time we thought fearful, but in comparison to what came later Dublinia was a safe haven.’

  Connor shook his head and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. ‘How could they have sent that youth into battle? His mother will be saddened by his loss.’

  ‘They all are,’ Padar confided. ‘Lady Thea swears revenge. Godwin and Edmund are more determined than ever to recover their lands.’ Padar looked around for Odin. It would not do to confide his suspicions of King Sweyn anywhere near him. Fortunately, Odin and his friend had finished their supper and were retreating into a candlelit alcove with a bag of dice.

  ‘It is good to see you again, Connor,’ Padar said.

  ‘And you, Padar. Here’s to Lady Thea.’ He lifted his bowl.

  It occurred to him that Connor and he would have weeks, months perhaps, to remember the past. Padar confided in Earl Connor, ‘I think King Sweyn intends to help Aetheling Edgar. The northern earls have given the boy their support. I am not sure how Godwin will fare, though there are plans being mooted that he marries one of Sweyn’s daughters.’

  Earl Connor munched at a hunk of dark bread and said thoughtfully, ‘I think we should concentrate on Lady Thea’s betrothal. That alliance with Aetheling Edgar may all come to nothing. Unless an attack on England is co-ordinated the English will not dislodge the Normans. I sail to Ireland in the spring. Godwin and Edmund should be encouraged to deal with both Malcom of Scotland and the Aetheling. If Sweyn’s interest is plunder, the Aetheling will have made a poor alliance. If he and Godwin unite it could be to both their advantage.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Padar replied and yawned. ‘Sweyn has more ships to give than Godwin can get from Ireland. Both need King Sweyn.’ He wiped his eating knife on his tunic and tucked it into his belt. Odin was drinking with his friends but he longed for his rest. It had been a long and eventful day. ‘Connor, I must find my way to my tower room and sleep.’ He looked up. The tall slave hovered close by. As if he read Padar’s mind, the servant reached for a torch. ‘Ah, Connor, look, and take note, I apparently have a shadow and would rather I didn’t, but tonight I am glad of him. Without him, I am lost in this labyrinth of a fortress. The West Tower … I have no idea where it lies from here.’

  Connor laughed. ‘You will soon find your way around. I shall introduce you to the English exiles tomorrow. You could settle in this land. Trade is good.’

  ‘I shall consider it, but now my soft feather pillow calls my weary head.’ Padar scrambled to his feet, bowed and with a nod to the slave, set off after his guide through the dark rambling fortress towards the right tower.

  10

  Early Summer 1069

  It seemed as if Christmas had only been a moment ago. It felt as if February passed by within a turn of the hour glass, then March. Easter came and went with services and feasting. Thea’s birthday passed quietly after Easter during the season of the ram. She was sixteen that year. Her gifts were simple but beautiful – Lady Ingar presented her with a silver brooch engraved with flowers, Gudrun a new felt purse, and a fillet from the sisters that like the brooch pin was embroidered with green tendrils and minute blue flowers. She wept with delight. Her pleasure was complete as summer edged into their lives. At last, the beech trees were bursting into leaf and the days were lengthening again.

  As the winter had flown by, Thea had learned to cook, to spin, weave, make cheese and brew beer. She did not mind her days on Sweyn’s farm and although she applied herself diligently to every task Lady Ingar set her, wanting to please the strict but kindly mistress of Sweyn’s estate, her true delight was music. She practised her flute every day. To her great joy at Christmas the instrument makers who had a workshop attached to the manor had presented her with a harp. After that the best part of her day came to be late in the afternoon, just before Vespers, when Jarl Niel’s skald drove a brightly painted cart to the manor’s hall from his cottage by the river, to give her lessons. With his help, she began to set some of her stories to music, plucking out suitable notes to accompany her clear, high-noted voice.

  Grandmother Gytha had sent her a letter during Lent. It was short. Thea’s eyes dripped tears onto the parchment as she read her grandmother’s words and in them heard her grandmother’s voice speak.

  To my granddaughter Thea also named Gytha for myself, Greetings, I am safely residing at the monastery of St Omer and find it is a pleasant place – peaceful after the tumultuous events that have tracked my life. Now it is time to rest. The young boys thrive here, learning more every day. The young girls are with their families in Flanders. We are thus a small company of lay nuns. Your Aunt Hilda sends you Easter greetings. I have every faith that you will soon be betrothed and that your new life in the lands of the Rus will bring you every happiness. Prepare well for it. Learn every skill you can master. Always remember you are a Godwin and a king’s daughter. The years remaining to me may pass all too quickly. We may not meet again this side of heaven. Promise me that after my fates have spun out my life, you will remember my advice.

  Your brothers intend passing the summer in Ire
land. They hope King Dairmaid will help them again. They fear that Sweyn may have other interests.

  May God and His angels protect you.

  Gytha, Countess of Wessex

  What other interests possessed Sweyn? Her grandmother did not say. Thea wept, folded her letter and drew together its familiar Godwin dragon seal. She carefully placed it in the small casket that contained the precious Godwin christening gown. As she lifted the gown out of its soft cloth wrapping and looked once again upon its pale fabric she made a wish that she would soon marry Prince Vladimir and if Prince Vladimir was to be her betrothed, they could learn to love each other and have many children together. She imagined him to be Odin, brave and wise, god of wisdom, battle and poetry but also like Balder, Odin’s gentle handsome son. Sometimes he became Tyr, the god of war, justice and order. She touched the tiny linen gown with the tip of her right ring finger. For a heartbeat she thought of her father and mother. Then she made a third wish. This was that her mother, Elditha, would write to her. William feared that the Godwin women might ferment rebellions in England, and so kept them apart. Maybe, just hopefully, Elditha would find a secret way to speak to her eldest daughter. Instead of writing to Elditha, she swallowed her tears and wrote a reply to her grandmother.

  Dearest Grandmother Gytha,

  I hope this finds you and the ladies of St Omer in good health. It is my greatest wish that you are happy and that sometimes the stern-faced nuns who dwell there smile, that you have plenty of firewood and good food. You say you have found peace in the lay community there. I pray to St Theodosia you speak the truth.

  Words cannot describe how much I miss you. I am, none the less, content to be here. The farm is a pleasant place and everyone who dwells here is kind. Princess Gunnhild returned to Roskilde. She missed her sisters. Padar vanished on a secret mission soon after we arrived here. I heard that he was sent to the Rus to visit the court and my future husband, if indeed my husband is to be the Rus prince, Vladimir of Kiev. Indeed, if it is to be he whom the ambassadors spoke of then I am very happy. Thus, I prepare with great diligence here learning how a household is well ordered that I may organise my own with great care …