The Handfasted Wife Read online

  Elditha threw the coverlet over her shoulders, hurried to the door and opened it a crack. ‘Padar?’

  ‘Who is there?’ Ursula sat up on her pallet.

  ‘Hush, Ursula. It’s only Padar.’

  ‘My lady, we must leave or you will be discovered.’

  ‘You know, then, that the abbot returned last night.’

  ‘I rowed in on his heels. Guards by the boats challenged me.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘That I was fishing.’

  ‘In February!’

  ‘Not unusual. I said that a cook wanted a fish for the abbot’s breakfast. I told them that there had been a rumour that pike lay upstream, though I never caught any …’

  ‘How do we avoid the guards?’

  ‘Cover yourselves with those monks’ robes and walk out. If challenged, I’ll say I am rowing novices to Oxford. Hurry, Brother Thomas is waiting for us by the orchard door.’

  Elditha pulled the loose novice habit over her head, snatched the sealskin bag from the table and packed the lapidary underneath her treasure box, pushing it deep inside her pack. Then she threw the monk’s cloak over her gown and cloak. ‘Thank Mary, this garb is wide enough to cover all of me and more. In any case these robes will keep us warm. The river will be freezing. Hurry, Ursula.’

  Ursula nodded, but, as was usual, she took time to fold the covers from her pallet. She tidied Elditha’s bed and only then did she pull the voluminous garments over her slim frame. The monks were still singing as they hurried out of the cell.

  Padar lifted the pack from Elditha and led them along the corridor, past closed doors, to where the monk waited with a lantern. Brother Thomas lifted his bundle of keys and unlocked the orchard door. As she slipped by him, he whispered, ‘You have it safe, my lady?’

  Elditha pointed to the pack.

  ‘Blessings, my lady. May St Christopher guide you to safety.’

  ‘Thank you, Brother Thomas. Thank you a thousand times. And may your kindness to us be rewarded in Heaven.’

  Padar lifted the lantern, hurried them through the door and along an avenue of apple trees. Their twisted trunks appeared bare and menacing, reminding Elditha of the danger ahead of them. They continued down the slope to the river, where a large rowing boat was waiting. Elditha looked over at the wharf and saw why Padar was worried. The guards by the moorings opposite were awake and alert and a familiar voice was shouting.

  ‘You haven’t seen it. There it is.’ Brother Francis pushed past the guards and lifted a silver censer from a boat. ‘You will do penance for your neglect … If it is ruined …’ He trailed off and he stroked the object as if it were a prized hawk.

  Padar lifted a warning finger to his lips as they climbed into their boat, but the priest spun around. He stroked the censer again with one hand, moved a few steps closer to their mooring and peered across the wharf at them.

  The guards laughed and one called over, ‘Out again, fisherman?’

  ‘It’s never ending,’ Padar grumbled to them, pulling his cowl up, concealing his face. ‘Now I am to ferry these tardy novices to St Frideswide’s.’

  The priest clutched the censer tightly as he came along the planks and closer to their boat.

  ‘Do I know you?’ he asked.

  Elditha and Ursula bowed their heads beneath cavernous hoods. Elditha felt they were trapped like sparrows caught in a net.

  Padar mumbled, ‘You are mistaken, Brother …’

  ‘Brother Francis,’ the monk said. ‘But, yes, I have seen you before.’

  ‘You are mistaken, Brother,’ Padar repeated, and using his staff, carefully pushed the craft away from the bank. In an unhurried manner, he sat in front of the women, took up the oars and began to row the boat through the narrow cut that lay between the abbey and an island, just as the abbey cook was crossing from the island with a boat full of fish. He shouted over the water, ‘Catch us a pike today. Abbot likes his fish.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find,’ Padar called back. ‘I’m off to St Frideswide’s.’

  ‘Godspeed, then.’

  Padar rowed furiously out into the river and guards and the monk were swallowed by mist. Elditha glanced back expecting pursuit, but there was none. They glided on through the water, not speaking. Squalls of icy rain blew. Patches of mist clung to the dripping willows. Occasionally other boats passed them and there was the odd greeting, but none took particular notice of a boatman ferrying novice monks upriver.

  A few more hours passed and a distant bell rang for Sext as Padar manoeuvred the craft into a fast-flowing tributary towards a mill on the left bank. As he pointed to it and called out that they could rest, a current caught the boat and spun it around in a whirlpool. For a moment it seemed that they would either be tipped into the swirl of the river or tossed about until they crashed into a bank. Elditha clutched the side and hung on and called to Ursula to do likewise.

  ‘My lady, take the oars,’ Padar yelled. He reached over and placed the oars one by one into her hands. She managed to grasp them and, by leaning first right and then left, she helped to keep the boat afloat. ‘Row harder,’ Padar called to her. His pole was in his hands and he was standing feet apart in the boat’s stern. He reached for an overhanging tree to give them leverage. Elditha threw her weight into rowing, finding a strength she had not realised she possessed.

  ‘Well done, almost in,’ he shouted, letting the branch go and pushing the pole into the stream. He threw the pole out, caught an elder trunk that leaned from the bank and pulled them alongside the entrance to a mill house. Wobbling precariously, he jumped onto the floating jetty, and secured the craft to an iron ring that hung from it.

  ‘Here is where we’ll break our fast.’

  Elditha steadied herself on the shaky platform. Ursula’s foot became entangled in her robe but Padar caught her as she fell forward.

  ‘Careful, the current here is fierce,’ he said, above the crashing sounds from mill and water. ‘It’s dangerous, don’t fall in.’

  The miller was ambling towards them.

  ‘Keep those hoods pulled over your faces. Today Benedictine silence will serve us well.’ He waved to the miller. ‘I said I’d be bringing monks for breakfast,’ he called.

  The miller nodded. ‘Simple fare it is, but good enough for monks. Welcome, brothers.’

  He showed them into a large room stacked with sacks of flour. On the table a meal was laid out – a hunk of cheese, ham shanks, bread and a jug of buttermilk. The miller waved them to a bench. ‘Eat as much as you want. I know you young men have a hunger on you.’ He held out a hairy hand and Padar pressed coins into it.

  The miller pushed them into his belt purse. ‘If you need anything else, shout. I’ll be loading my boat.’ He grabbed a bag of flour, heaved it over his shoulder and disappeared outside.

  They ate in silence until Elditha spoke. ‘Padar, what will happen when we reach Oxford?’

  Padar gnawed at his ham bone for a moment, laid it on the table and said, ‘We will stop there for a night. There is a small nunnery upriver, a priory dedicated to St Margaret. It’s close to the water, before Lechlade. It was endowed by Godiva of Mercia. The nuns will shelter us. Once we are in Gloucestershire, there’ll be fewer Normans and it’ll be possible to ride on towards the Severn.’

  ‘Godiva of Mercia, Padar, she who was wed to Leofric?’

  He nodded.

  Godiva of Mercia had witnessed her handfasted marriage to Harold. The Countess had been widowed by Leofric, one of the great triumvirate of Saxon earls who had watched over King Edward so carefully, who had kept England safe from invasion and who were ever worried about the Norman knights whom Edward had invited into the kingdom, and the Norman priests whom he had introduced into the Church. The three great earls were all dead now, all of them – Leofric, Siward and Godwine. And now, Harold, Gyrth and Leofwine too, all gone, the end of their world, the end of their best and greatest warriors. She wiped a tear away with the back of her hand.
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  ‘Yes, my lady, the same. She has survived,’ Padar said in a gentle tone. ‘Even though she is older than Countess Gytha, she lives on her manor near Coventry, quietly enough, I’m told.’

  ‘I’m glad of it. Who is at Deerhurst on the Severn now?’

  ‘The manor house is owned by Edward’s doctor but he never took up residence. He is always in London, I’m told. The manor has a reeve to see to things, and he is one of us. There is a group of thanes who wish to meet you there, my lady. Lord Beorhtric leads them.’

  ‘You have worked hard on my behalf.’ It was more than she had hoped for.

  ‘When we reach Deerhurst, there will be an escort waiting to take us to Ireland, but the bad news is that we need to wait for Easter.’

  ‘Not before?’

  ‘These are the arrangements.’

  ‘And until then?’

  ‘You will be safe at St Margaret’s Priory.’

  ‘So then, we must remain novices, Padar?’

  ‘No. After Oxford you can become dispossessed women, travelling west to seek sanctuary in St Margaret’s. Lady Ursula there would make a devout nun.’ He winked at Ursula and, seeing her bite back a retort, said more seriously, ‘These are dangerous times. Where safer than a nunnery? I doubt that even Brother Francis will show up there, never mind Count Alain of Brittany.’

  ‘I’m not so sure, Padar. Will the miller reveal us if either come here?’

  ‘The miller lost sons at Hastings. There are many who want to see the back of the Bastard.’ Padar wiped his hands on his robe. ‘And, now, are you done eating? If we are to reach Oxford by nightfall, we must get on.’ Padar rose and led them back to their craft. The miller was loading his boat. He waved as they rowed away and on out to the main river. ‘Lady Mary protect and watch over you,’ he called after them.

  Dusk fell as Oxford came into view and Padar rowed them under a bridge. He moored the craft by a church close by to the burgh’s stone wall and they entered through an open gate into the town. They hurried along streets that swarmed with women carrying purchases. The open spaces near the churches were filled with people of all kinds, rich and poor, and children. Since it was just before Vespers, hawkers of meat pies and pastries were trying to rid themselves of their produce before the church bells rang for service.

  Here in Mercia even ragged children looked fed. ‘But hunger may yet come,’ said Padar when, remembering the desolate villages they had passed through on the way to Abingdon, she remarked that no one was starving here.

  Soon Oxford’s fortress rose up ahead of them, a solid tower, like those the Normans were building all over Wessex. It was set on a mound with a bailey before it, so that it easily dominated the town. It was one of King Edward’s wooden castles. Soldiers swarmed around the motte, so Padar guided them away from it, along lanes that stretched like a spider’s web out from the castle mound. He took them through a narrow passageway to a church door.

  Bells began to ring out all over the town for evening service, drowning Padar’s speech.

  ‘My lady, if you wish to pray, there is a little time,’ Padar said, as they entered through the low door. ‘Our protector here has not arrived yet.’

  Closely followed by Ursula, Elditha walked along the tiled nave, until, noticing a statue of the Virgin Mary that was set in a niche in a shallow side chapel, she paused before it. It had been weeks since she had prayed inside a church. Even in the Abbey of Abingdon, where there was one of the most beautiful churches in the land, they had not ventured into the nave for fear of discovery. She fell to her knees and, looking up at the statue, she thanked the Virgin Mary for bringing them safely from Abingdon. She prayed for Ulf, for her older sons, for her girls and finally for Harold’s soul. ‘What have we done to bring such displeasure on the House of Godwin?’ she whispered, but there was no answer. If God’s silence had convinced Queen Edith that the lax ways of the English clergy had displeased Him, she was misled. It seemed to her that God had left the world to fight its own battles.

  Padar remained in the shadows near the entrance door. Every time Elditha glanced back through the pillars she saw him watching them and waiting. Soon, a thin man in a rich, fur-trimmed cloak entered the church and touched Padar’s shoulder. Padar nodded, stepped along the nave, touched Elditha’s arm and in a hushed voice asked the women to follow him. As they walked along the nave, he introduced Alfred the Coiner.

  ‘My lady,’ said the stranger, in a voice so low none but she heard his words, ‘I knew your husband, the King. I minted his coin. My manor house lies by the old church near to the North Gate, not so far off. There I can promise you hospitality.’

  Passing the gathering crowd and the priests who were chanting and swinging censers, they hurried out of the building and into the narrow lanes.

  ‘Stay close now,’ Padar warned.

  They stumbled through alleys, avoiding offal and steaming lumps of animal shit, then over a humped bridge and into a wider street. They picked their way through until they came to another stone church. Elditha could hear snatches of plainsong as they passed. There was one voice only and it was simple and pure as a thrush singing on a summer morning. She paused to listen.

  ‘My lady, I’m not far from here,’ Alfred chivvied them on. ‘Just behind the church.’

  Moments later they were standing by the gate that led into Alfred’s yard. The houses here seemed too huddled together, despite being separated by fences, yards and cross-gated lanes, but Alfred’s was behind a solid, wooden, door-like gate that was set into a stout palisade.

  Alfred called out and a gatekeeper slid open a small window set in the gate. Seeing his master, he nodded, closed the window and called to yard boys to unbar the door. Alfred lost no time ushering them through the door and across a cobbled yard. His house had been built on to, so that instead of being low like a normal hall it reached up several storeys high. Alfred hurried them to a wooden side staircase that climbed to the second storey of his house, saying, ‘The staircase here goes down into my cellar and climbs up the side of the house to a second floor and a loft. Follow me and mind your step.’

  Lifting a lantern hanging on a wall and holding it high, he led them up the steep, narrow staircase. Two doors opened out on to a small platform above. He rapped on one of these and immediately a woman opened it and gestured for them to come inside. ‘My wife, Gertrude,’ he said.

  Gertrude was a smiling, handsome, brown-haired and rosy-faced woman of middling height. Elditha warmed to her immediately. She stood smiling in the doorway. Ushering them in, she said, ‘My lady, you are welcome here. This will be your chamber and Alfred will take Padar to the hall.’

  The room they entered contained a curtained box-bed, chests and a lattice-work cupboard that leaned into the opposite wall. Gertrude pointed to a saffron-coloured, finely woven bed-covering where she had laid out two gowns. They were plain, but of soft good wool, one brown and the other blue and both with cross-stitched patterns embroidered on the hems. She touched Elditha’s white robe. ‘You won’t need these now. I think the blue will suit you, my lady.’ She went over and lifted a veil and plaited linen fillet and held them up. ‘The veils were embroidered by my own hand last summer and they have never been worn.’

  Elditha wistfully fingered the delicate silver embroidery, ‘Too much kindness, Gertrude, such exquisite work.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady. My maids will bring you hot water for the wash bowl, and we have soap here too. I make it myself and add rose petals to mask the smell of ash and fat. When you are ready we can take supper together in the antechamber below.’ Her dark eyes were laughing. ‘It is private and apart from the world of men. Come down when you are ready.’ She pushed a heavy curtain by the cupboard to one side and revealed the gallery and the interior staircase. Gertrude pointed towards the back of the hall below and, bending over the rail, Elditha could see that below them another room was curtained off from the main hall. ‘That is where we shall sup tonight. The servants think that you are wid
ows of the old court; that you are travelling into Mercia where you will take the veil. I have told them that you are Torfida and her companion, Ailith. Now, come back into the chamber and remove those robes.’

  Elditha hurried, glad to remove the monk’s scratchy habit. ‘Thank you,’ she said, after they were standing in their old gowns.

  ‘Give those to me also. I will brush them and fold them with lavender and send them to the boat tomorrow, along with food and drink for your journey.’ She bustled off, leaving Elditha and Ursula to the task of cleansing their tick-ridden skin.

  Later, bathed, smelling faintly of rose-scented water and dressed in fresh gowns, Elditha and Ursula descended to Gertrude’s antechamber.

  ‘You are transformed,’ Gertrude exclaimed, obviously pleased to see them looking like women. ‘Come and eat, for you must be hungry.’

  They sat down to a table covered with an embroidered cloth and with fine linen napkins to cover their laps. Gertrude signalled to a girl to serve portions of a meat pie, a barley pottage and winter greens. The servant daintily placed a little of each dish onto their wooden plates and left the food platters on the table. Gertrude turned to the girl and said politely, ‘Thank you, Drusilda, you may leave us.’

  Elditha praised everything: the fine cloth; decorated plates; the Eastern rug that covered the planks instead of rushes; the posy of snowdrops on the coffer by the small, high, shuttered window; the beer; the meat. She ate as if she had not eaten for days, her appetite heightened by the river journey from Abingdon.

  Ursula picked at the pie and put down her spoon. Gertrude looked concerned and asked her if she was unwell.

  ‘Oh, my lady, do not be offended. Everything is delicious.’

  ‘It will be the Lenten time tomorrow, my dear. Where you are going there will be no meat for weeks.’

  ‘I have lost my appetite, but I am not ill. I am confused. You see, today, in the church, I had an idea that just grew and grew. It is in possession of my whole being.’

  Elditha reached out and took Ursula’s hand and quietly said, ‘A vision? What happened? Can you tell us?’