The Handfasted Wife Read online

  ‘I will help however I can,’ the prioress replied solemnly.

  ‘But can you grant Alfred somewhere on the estate to live and work?’

  The prioress raised a pair of delicate eyebrows. A smile hovered on the edges of her elegant mouth. ‘There is the old forge. We can make the cottage comfortable.’

  Gytha turned to Alfred. ‘At least we can try to save our corner of Wessex. Can you help us, Alfred?’

  Alfred made a steeple of his hands below his chin, closed his eyes, opened them and said, ‘My life is yours, Countess.’

  Gytha rose from the bench. ‘Good. This is where we begin, here with a forge. Prioress Mildryth will shelter you and Gertrude.’ She felt a smile play about her mouth. ‘We shall tell Bishop Leofric that Gertrude is teaching the novices embroidery and that you are helping the prioress manage her estate.’

  As they walked back to the building, she wondered if she was creating great danger for them all. Perhaps for the sake of her town, their trade, their future, she should not be planning armed resistance to that bastard William of Normandy. Yet, she could not allow him to take control of the south-west. She thought of her grandsons. For their sake, she would challenge the enemy when they banged on her gates demanding the keys to her town.

  30

  Late April 1067

  The Sea Serpent’s bright sails caught the wind, and the ship sailed unimpeded through the channel at Bristol into the open sea. Once out on the Irish Ocean, as Elditha had requested, they set the ship northwards towards Bangor in Ulster. The abbey had been destroyed 50 years before and its monks and treasures were housed in an old and weathered wooden building the local people amusingly called the New Monastery. One day, Earl Connor said to her, a great new stone abbey would be raised from the old ruins.

  He wanted to send the Sea Serpent to trade for seal skins in Iceland and they would have only been dropped off in Dublinia, anyway. ‘It can be done,’ he said granting her request, and grinning at her. He flashed his white teeth and added that her very wish was his command. The thought occurred then that he had more than a simple feeling of friendship for her as the mother of the Godwin boys. His black, laughing eyes constantly followed her and he was extremely solicitous for her comfort on the sea journey. He sat with her under the awning and placed his own heavy mantle about her shoulders, pointed out seabirds to her as they sailed close to the coast, ate with her and slept, wrapped in a blanket, at her feet. He made her feel safe, and now relieved that, after guarding it for several months, she would deliver the lapidary to the New Monastery as she had promised Brother Thomas. The Earl would ride with her from the New Monastery back down to Dublinia. Afterwards the Sea Serpent would sail on and into the Northern Ocean under Connor’s sea captain, a man called Ulich, but he, himself, would not make the journey. He would see her safely to her sons and send a messenger before them to announce their impending arrival.

  After a day and a night on the sea, a landscape of greens and woody browns revealed the coast of Ireland. As the tide began to race towards the shore the Sea Serpent lifted on the waves. Moments later the green hills of Ulster were rolling inland from the coast. Through trees that hugged the coast she could see how a tall, thatched, roofed building scraped the sky. It belonged to the monastery church.

  ‘Into the currachs,’ called Earl Connor. Once in, they were among the call of seagulls and the slap of water and, with oars moving them through a flooding tide, they sped to shore. The landing was an easy one as the water was calm. They trailed up through the trees to the monastery. She was bedraggled, her gown torn and her cloak muddy. She looked more like a fishwife than a lady of England and she knew she smelled like one too. Yet, at that moment, nothing mattered more than Brother Thomas’s precious book.

  The abbot welcomed her with food and drink. He declared that he was overjoyed to see the woman who had been Earl Harold’s wife. When Elditha brought him news that Thomas of Abingdon, the renowned scholar and herbalist, was safe, he clasped her hands and tears rolled down his lined face.

  ‘The news from England has been terrible. The old Norse raids of all those years gone by are as nothing in comparison.’ He wiped away his tears with his cassock sleeve. ‘I have heard that the Normans will take many valuable treasures from the great English houses into Normandy.’

  ‘They don’t destroy churches, but they are taking them over. It is all part of their great plan. But here is good news for you.’ Elditha opened her battered leather saddle-bag and gently lifted out the leather sack containing the book. ‘Brother Thomas charged me with this. We have saved a precious treasure and brought it to you. It has survived water and sword. It is a miracle that I still carry it.’

  The abbot carefully lifted it from her hands and, leaning down, sniffed the leather covers. He slowly placed the lapidary on his table, with reluctance, she noticed. ‘My lady, how marvellous of Thomas to rescue this and …’ He looked up at her with tears in his eyes. He leaned down and kissed the cover. He raised his head and then his arms, stretching them up and cried out, ‘Be praised. Thank you, Lord.’ He turned to her. ‘God bless you, my lady.’

  She slipped the fine silver chain from her neck and handed over the tiny key. He opened the book and, as he turned its stiff pages, he made little gasping sounds of delight, remarking on the book’s physical beauty and at the important knowledge it held among the beautiful illustrations. ‘It is no surprise that our Holy Mother has protected its journey while rendering it invisible to others,’ he said, with astonishment in his voice. ‘Here in Bangor it will be seen again by all who seek its wisdom.’

  After he turned its pages, the abbot wept again and dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve. ‘My lady, I am old and in my time I have seen many beautiful works, but I have never seen the like: the pure colours, the golden leaves, skies so blue that it is always summer and the precious gems so magnificently rendered. It will be one of our library’s greatest treasures. May the good Lord bring you many blessings.’

  As they rested in the New Monastery at Bangor, Elditha prayed and gave thanks for their safe delivery to Ireland. There, in the airy wooden church, she prayed for Harold, Leofwine and Gyrth, and for her son, Ulf. She prayed that soon he would be returned to her.

  The boy who had helped her to safety on the Severn stayed close to her. He knelt behind her, guarding her as she prayed, and when Earl Connor was not around he walked with her between the abbey and the lough shore. They stood by the shoreline where they watched the Norse sailors load barrels of food and water onto currachs and row them out to the Sea Serpent.

  She discovered that the youth was an orphan of Hastings. He said that he wanted to be an oarsman on Earl Connor’s ship. She repeated this to the Earl and it was done. The boy would sail with Ulich and the crew north on their trading mission to Iceland. Soon, towards the end of the week, the best sailing day arrived. When the wind had turned, the large, striped-sailed ship set its sea-serpent prow northwards into choppy seas and sailed towards the midnight sun.

  A few days later, Earl Connor and Elditha set out for Dublinia. The abbot provided them with horses, and Elditha, in a spontaneous gesture – one she never regretted – gave him two precious blue gems.

  ‘You have lost your kingdom, my child. You will need your jewels.’

  ‘I have no need of these. If you have them set in gold they will be a suitable page marker for the book of gems. Take them.’

  ‘Every day we shall pray for you,’ he said as they parted, and Elditha took pleasure at his joy.

  News of their arrival flew before them. When they trotted into Dublinia and up the hill to King Dairmaid’s house, her three sons were waiting in the palace yard to greet her. She called out their names. She could not wait to be off her horse. She saw no one else in the gathering crowd in the courtyard, just Godwin, Edmund and Magnus. And they had grown into handsome, strong youths. She thanked the Lord that they had been here last year and not with their father and uncles.

  ‘How we have prayed f
or you,’ Edmund, her middle son, shouted back to her. He was still her elegant, laughing boy, the one so like her, his pale hair flowing onto his shoulders, his cloak flapping gracefully in the spring breeze. His eyes were the same green, and his neck rose above his gem-studded brooch pin, long and graceful as was her own. At 16, he was a young warrior, well able to take up arms to fight for a kingdom.

  Godwin’s muscles bulged under his tunic as he lifted her down off the mare. He held her aloft as if she were goose-down. She saw Harold in him. Curling locks framed his face and his mouth was generous, like Harold’s; his eyes the same deep blue. At 17, he wore a moustache in the fashion of an English nobleman. Elditha saw before her a king’s son full-grown, and one who would be thoughtful, thorough and brave in battle.

  Dark-haired, slim Magnus hugged her as if he were still a young child. She held him close and smelled the young sweat of her boy. Yet, in 18 months, all three of her sons had grown older, even Magnus who all too soon moved a step backwards, letting go the embrace. Anticipation and pleasure, the like she had not felt in months, caused her heart to burst open like a fat peach filled with the warmth of summer. ‘I love you all,’ she whispered, trying hard not to weep for joy in the presence of Dublinia’s great men.

  The King of Dublinia came to join them. He received her before his small court that had gathered by the grand, carved bog-oak porch door into his palace. After he had embraced her, he led her by the hand into his feasting hall. Inside, a score of servants scurried about a great raised hearth; warriors bowed as she passed and their ladies, dressed in richly decorated gowns, gathered to greet her, wearing kind, welcoming smiles.

  It had been 16 years since Elditha had last met Dairmaid, King of Dublinia, and he had aged. His beard, once black, was now white as a winter fox’s fur, though his eyes had remained the startling blue of the Icelanders. A statuesque woman, wearing a gold fillet, with dark plaits that swung against her slim waist hurried out of the group of noblewomen. Two wolfhounds followed her and rubbed against the King’s leg bindings.

  ‘Sinead will care for you,’ said King Dairmaid, introducing his wife and pushing the hounds away. ‘Elsa died in childbirth,’ he said by way of explanation, and then grunted, ‘They both died. The Lord willed it.’ Elditha did not enquire further. It was heart-breaking to lose a wife and a child.

  The young Queen embraced Elditha. ‘Your sons are as dear to me as my stepsons, and you, Lady Elditha, are welcome as a sister to me.’

  The King looked fawningly at his young wife. ‘And later you can talk, but now, my dear Sinead, find food and drink for Earl Connor. I must speak to Elditha alone.’ He took her arm and nodded to her sons. ‘You also,’ he added. Turning to the Earl he said, ‘My wife will give you the ale cup.’ He winked. ‘Her women have missed you.’ Elditha now noticed that the Queen’s ladies were looking boldly at the handsome Earl, and that he smiled back at them. So he is a woman’s man, she thought to herself. Off to your ale cup then.

  In contrast to the great hall, which was filled with the smell of firewood, human sweat and the wolfhounds’ damp coats, the private room she found herself in was scented with spices and wine. A carpet covered the length and width of its planked floor. Tapestries touched with gold threads covered the walls. Carved side tables held gaming boards, ivory counters, dice and boxes inlaid with silver. On one table, higher than the others, amber chess pieces were strategically placed, waiting for an interrupted game to resume.

  ‘Sit, my dear.’ King Dairmaid indicated an enormous winged chair close to the brazier. Accepting the imperial-looking chair, she sank gracefully into its woollen cushions. He indicated stools for her sons.

  He poured wine into exquisite gold-and-glass drinking vessels and handed them around, but he did not sit. Instead, he hovered over her. ‘Now, how many years has it been? You were but a girl then with a small child.’ He waved his glass at Godwin and Edmund. ‘And that one there,’ he jabbed his large pointing finger towards Edmund, ‘was in the belly. Fifty-two, was it? Young Magnus was not even a thought. You are still a beautiful woman, Elditha.’ His stare was penetrating. ‘Let us drink to your health.’ He paused and raised his cup to her, drank back the wine and poured again. ‘My home is your home. Tell me of your travels. Later, my wife will give you fresh linen and a chamber in my hall and she will find servants for you.’

  Elditha thanked him in Norse, the language he had spoken to her and one that she had known from childhood. It was not greatly different to the English tongue. She sipped the sweet wine and told him of how she had escaped marriage with the Norman earl and how she had crossed the sea to Bangor.

  When she had finished he laughed. ‘So, I had best not find you a husband after all, though, believe me, many will try for your hand.’ The word “husband” hung irritatingly in the air. ‘An empty house close by my hall will be made ready for you, my dear. You must have your own house, for you will be here some time.’

  ‘A sleeping place in the bower would suffice, Your Grace,’ she said.

  ‘Not so. I expected that you might consider yourself an obligation, my dear. Not so, Elditha. Your husband was my good friend and his father Earl Godwin was my father’s friend. The trade the Earl brought us was the best trade we ever had. Godwin made me rich. I have amassed a fortune. He traded me slaves to sell on, wine, spices, you name it. Earl Godwin had his elegant, long fingers in many sweet pies. But you could not know that, I suppose.’ She caught a whiff of the sweet wine as he leaned closer to her. ‘Harold sent me gold – a great part of your sons’ inheritance. They are my warriors. I am as their father. My home is your home. My town is your town. You must have your own household. It is courtesy to the mother of princes.’ He looked at her shabby dress. ‘There will be an allowance from the inheritance for you, of course. A small chest of coin should be sufficient for your immediate needs. King Harold was generous.’

  Later that night, as she lay on a pallet in a curtained alcove in the bower, Elditha wondered what this King would demand of them in return for his generosity. He could not invade England on their behalf. He was not the High King of Ireland with a great army of warriors able to wage war on a foreign territory. The Normans were invincible as warriors, terrifying foes with clever strategy, as their conquest of England was already proving. They were moving so quickly through England’s towns, building castles, marrying into their old nobility and destroying their peasants. If her sons fought against Normandy’s horse-mounted knights to regain their kingdom, could this Irish King give them a ship army? He would not help unless they were sure of victory. And if he intended to set her up as a great lady in Dublinia, then he must have a motive, but other than alliance she could not fathom what it might be.

  31

  In the course of the tenth century a recognisable town developed at the point where the River Poddle entered the Liffy. This town had an enclosing wall, Christ Church Cathedral and a number of other churches.

  Dublinia: The Story of Medieval Dublin, edited by Howard Clarke, Sarah Dent and Ruth Johnson 2002

  Elditha wandered around the palace buildings, the garden and orchards. She rode into the town. Dublinia had grown in wealth since she had visited it as Harold’s young wife. It had always been a town of merchants and a slave-trading town but it had expanded in 16 years. The town’s rich merchants and nobles wore jewels and richly embroidered garments and lived in large halls. They kept slaves, a tradition that deeply perturbed her. Long ago she had released her own slaves and, though there were still slaves in England, the Church frowned on the practice.

  She moved into the empty hall. It had been cleaned out of someone else’s belongings and made sweet for her. She wondered who had owned it. King Dairmaid had simply said that for as long as she remained in Dublinia, it was useful to have her occupying it. The building stood on a high spot near the King’s palace, staring down on the harbour with an outlook as far as the grazing land across the River Liffy. The Queen sent her two ladies, who would learn English ways from her.
Olga, the elder, was a distant relative of the King. Sinead confided that the girl had little hope of a husband on account of a large birthmark on her left cheek and a limp. Anya, the Queen’s own youngest sister, was a small, pretty girl with red hair and pale skin. She would have no difficulty finding a suitor, and Elditha saw her watching Earl Connor when he entered the hall. Elditha liked them both well enough, but her heart went out to Olga most. The girl tried so hard to please. She kept Olga close by her and determined to teach her all she could about English embroidery. Olga responded to her kindness and learned quickly.

  She also found herself passing many hours in the stone building of Christ’s Church. During the summer she would enter the cool nave, sit on a bog-oak bench and remember Harold. Amid the scent of candles and incense she recollected their youth together and their love. She remembered how they had moved around their estates, the long feasts they had in winter, the May days, the harvest celebrations. She remembered how she had loved Reredfelle too. Her heart became heavy as her thoughts turned to Padar, Harold’s greatest gift to her, there in her greatest hour of need, now in the hands of enemies. How would he survive? Where was he now? She hoped desperately that by now the silvatii of Gloucester had hidden him from Beorhtric and Count Alain. She prayed for him and sent messengers to the harbour to watch for vessels sailing from England so that they could enquire if anyone knew about the Godwin skald’s fate. She often had an overwhelming feeling that she had abandoned him, and when no news arrived she prayed even more regularly that God would keep him safe.