The Handfasted Wife Page 29

  Elditha sank to her knees and took Gytha’s frail hands in her own. ‘Mother,’ she said, ‘I am come for Thea.’

  ‘Thea is safely locked up in a priory.’ It was said with determined amusement. ‘For her own protection, and she is learning to embroider and read Latin too.’ Gytha’s formidable energy seeped into the chamber. ‘You get up off those knees at once, girl, and sit by me.’ She pulled her hands away and patted a little tapestry-covered stool by her side.

  Gytha’s voice was musical, like the blackbird’s song on a spring morning, familiar and comforting. Elditha leaned over and touched her wrinkled cheek. She noticed the musty, elderly lady smell of Gytha, how it mingled with the scent of distilled lavender. Her eyes lit on the silver bell sitting on the table and Gytha’s stick with its jewelled head. The passage of time was as momentary as the touch of a butterfly’s wing. When at last Elditha began to speak, she poured out much of what had happened to her. It was a long story to shorten.

  A servant came and lit candles as they talked, deep into the wintry afternoon. Elditha recounted her journey to Ireland and news of the King of Dublinia, and finally she confided her sons’ plans. To regain the kingdom, they needed coin to pay armies, more than King Dairmaid had in his keeping from her sons’ inheritance. The coin hoard that Harold had sent to him after he was crowned King of England was not enough. ‘Gytha, can you help them pay for an army?’

  At first, Elditha almost regretted asking. The fire crackled as a log split and the flames flared up and Gytha looked thoughtful. After a while, Gytha said, ‘You remember the dowry coin, Elditha, Thea’s and Gunnhild’s money?’ she said. ‘I can release that to help buy ships and pay men. Most of the treasure here belongs to others. Perhaps they can contribute a little of that.’

  Elditha raised Gytha’s wrinkled hands to her lips and kissed them. ‘And should I bring Thea back with me?’

  Gytha smiled and when she did her face lines smoothed out and her countenance was beautiful. ‘She is a few hours’ ride from Exeter. Do you remember Alfred of Oxford and the young carpenter you sent me last year?’ Elditha nodded remembering the youth she had sent to Exeter. She was surprised to hear that Alfred and Gertrude were with Gytha. ‘Well, Alfred has exchanged the work of a mint for the manufacture of swords. We have a forge at the abbey and Thea is with them.’

  ‘They risked all for me. And now they take risks again.’

  Gytha waved her stick with impatience. ‘Remember, Elditha, life is a journey. The knack of it all is to survive. Danger is everywhere, within and without, behind us and before us. They were destined to come to me. Alfred and the carpenter, Edgar, are fine metal-smiths now.’ Gytha looked into her fire. ‘Put another log on that, Elditha.’

  Elditha lifted a log and tossed it into the embers. For a moment it hissed and sparked. She drew back and sat on her stool again.

  ‘Gytha, come with us.’

  ‘No, Elditha, my place is here. Now, we have talked enough. You must rest. The cook will see that the skald is housed and fed. As for you, there is the old sleigh bed in the chamber through the curtain there, close by me.’ She lifted the little silver bell.

  At its tinkling, servants came scurrying through the curtains. She sent some to the kitchen for food and drink, jugs of heated water, fresh linen and a clean gown.

  When the servants bustled off again, Elditha said, ‘As soon as we collect Thea, we must return to the ship.’ She paused. ‘I wish you would come with us,’ she said.

  ‘No, no, my dear child, we are too many here for King Dairmaid. Send Exeter an army in the spring and they will be paid with silver. We shall collect Thea in a few days. Surely you can wait until Candlemas to leave us?’

  ‘The ship’s master is trading weapons into Cornwall. It could be a few weeks before he sails home.’

  Gytha said, ‘So, when the time comes, our thanes will be well armed. I think we shall be ready by summer.’

  35

  The king came back again to England on the Feast of St Nicholas … the Welsh became hostile … and the king set a great tax on the wretched. And then he travelled to Devonshire and besieged Exeter stronghold for 18 days – and there a great part of his raiding party perished.

  The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles , January 1068, Worcester Manuscript, edited and translated by Michael Swanton

  A long column of men led by King William and Alain of Brittany filed out through the gates of Wilton Abbey. As Queen Edith watched them leave, her brow darkened. She glanced back at Gunnhild who stood in the abbey entrance.

  From the safe distance of the church porch Gunnhild, flanked by the other noble girls, remarked to her companions, ‘He’s very handsome.’

  ‘He’s as ugly as an overgrown troll. And he’s responsible for your father’s death.’ Eleanor of Oxford wrinkled her pert nose.

  Gunnhild said, ‘No, no, Eleanor, not King William. I refer to the knight.’

  ‘Girls, be silent. Go in at once.’ Edith swept them inside the church. They would pray for the people of Exeter.

  Edith reflected on her recent encounters with Alain of Brittany: how, last year, furious at what she suspected now was Elditha’s deception, she had sent messengers out onto the road to Exeter to help to find her. Returning messengers had assured her that Elditha had fled south and west. Then she had appeared in Oxford and was almost captured in Gloucester. Now she could not help but admire Elditha’s courage. The Normans were proving a cruel race.

  Her thoughts sped to the promised commission for Odo’s church in Bayeux; it was a small reward for her support for the new regime. Even though there were many other workshops in the land, Wilton surpassed them all. If Wilton’s designs should be displayed in the new Cathedral of Bayeux, the Godwins would be remembered as the great nobility they truly were, and they would be immortalised on an English tapestry created for a Norman cathedral. Harold must always carry a hawk. His horse would be elegant. English halls would appear magnificent, with tiled roofs and two storeys and the pinnacles of the great Palace of Westminster would reach far into the sky.

  Yet, during King William’s brief visit she had met with a slight disappointment. Wadard had visited her on the previous afternoon to inform her that Bishop Odo was now considering Canterbury designers for the work, though, of course, Wilton might be asked to contribute a panel or two. She had told Wadard that she would consider a panel when the Bishop himself came to visit. Wadard was an unpleasant man and she had noticed today, as the Normans left Wilton, that he and the monk Brother Francis were riding among Count Alain’s train. He must be travelling south-west with the Duke and the Count.

  After the girls had departed from the church in their neat line of twos, Edith remained behind in a side chapel. She opened her liturgical book at the petition prayer to the Holy Mother and begged her intercession for the protection of her own mother’s person. She prayed for her younger sister Hilda. Then she prayed that the Holy Mother’s protection be extended to Thea, the niece who reminded her most of Elditha – wayward and determined. She remained on her knees until every muscle in her body ached and her women sought her out. As she rose, Edith wiped away a tear with her veil. What was a tapestry in comparison with a woman’s safety? No amount of prayer would help Gytha who, she knew, would never allow the King to take Exeter without some kind of resistance.

  Two days later Thea helped Alfred load the wagon’s false bottom with weapons. They piled seaxes, short swords and arrows with deadly sharp metal tips into the cart. ‘Careful with those and mind your hands,’ Alfred called out. As daylight slid through the woods, the wagon was ready to leave for Exeter.

  ‘Let me come with you,’ Thea pleaded.

  ‘You are safer here.’

  ‘We need gold thread for St Olave’s cope. I can fetch it for the nuns.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He looked anxiously up at the sky. It was filled with fat white clouds. ‘If snow falls, we could be trapped inside the gates for days.’ Alfred tossed the last sacks of flour into the wagon. He
added a side of salt pork, two fat cheeses and a brace of partridge. ‘Those are for the Countess, a gift from the prioress.’ He studied the sky again, shook his head, threw a leather cover over everything, pulled off his hood and said, ‘We’ll see.’ But Thea knew she had won when he ushered her into the cottage to consult Gertrude.

  Gertrude confirmed the need of gold thread. She reminded Alfred that there had been no danger since November, called a maid from the dairy and sent her to the prioress with a message. Alfred and Thea broke their fast by the hearth and waited for a response.

  The prioress asked them to fetch thread and two new spindles. Wasting no more time, Alfred hitched a horse to the cart and Thea, delighted at her freedom, climbed onto the crude wooden seat. It was a leisurely journey and for a while the sky cleared again, light blue patches swimming among the white clouds. But as they came out of the woods onto the river track, Alfred dropped his reins and let out a long, low whistle. Thea stared.

  Beyond Exeter, to the north-east, a pall of smoke curled into the sky. Alfred shaded his brow and peered far into the distance. He saw a column of soldiers snaking across the moor land, approaching the town. ‘St Olave’s sacred shawl!’ he exclaimed. ‘They are coming.’ He glanced back at the sacks and whipped up the horse, causing the cart to skate along the frozen ground.

  He flicked his whip again and again, urging them faster along the river path. Thea prayed fervently that they reached the town gate first. Alfred cursed. Pillars of smoke were funnelling up from those villages that huddled closer to the town’s eastern walls. ‘Christ’s holy bones.’ He whipped again at the horse, hurrying them forward until they left the river where the track divided and took the fork along the walls up to the North Gate. ‘It is the safest route in. Let us hope they open the gate to us.’

  A host of fleeing villagers were crowding into the town through the gate. Those who had not made it in time would have to continue to the river or go west into the woods – anywhere away from the advancing army.

  Perspiring profusely, Alfred pulled off his hood. ‘Thea, the Countess will have my hide for this. You should not be with me.’

  ‘King William won’t dare do harm to us.’

  ‘You think? Thank sweet Mary that you are safe for now.’

  The gate behind them was dragged to and bolted. They were trapped inside the town.

  36

  January 1068

  Elditha hurried from the dairy with a pail of milk for a posset for Gytha. The Countess had been brewing a chill ever since she had climbed onto the windy town walls that morning. Hearing a commotion around the gate, she stopped to see what caused it. Gytha’s guard had allowed a cart through into the palace yard and the captain was remonstrating with a band of terrified refugees who were trying to follow it in.

  From the top of the orchard wall that morning she had already seen fires to the east. She had watched the Normans march over the moor, at first a line of ants that later became armed infantry and later a cavalry riding huge war horses. She saw their banners of chevrons and animals unfurling in the wind. When she observed the baggage trains that followed, she knew for certain that they would camp outside Exeter’s walls and wait for the town to surrender. The people now crowding inside the walls were disgruntled and frightened. She felt even sorrier for them than she felt for Gytha, who had ranted and raged when she saw the size of the Norman host approaching.

  The carthorse that had arrived in the yard was stamping and snorting enormous belches of breath that billowed into the winter air. Still holding her pail she waited to see who had driven it so hard. When Alfred leapt down, she recognised him at once, even though his face was now red and raw; but why was Alfred here now with a Norman army circling the town?

  She handed her pail to a servant and told him to take it to the Lady Hilda. Pushing through the crowd of grooms who were now gathering around the cart, she saw Alfred help a girl to jump down from the cart. The girl landed with a graceful spin into a dusting of snow. Elditha flew forward with her veil blowing back and shouting, ‘Thea, oh Thea!’ She stopped momentarily, lifted her hand and brushed away the snowflakes that were drifting onto her face. When she reached her child, she caught her in her arms and held her tight.

  ‘Mother, by the Holy Virgin,’ Thea said, when they let go the embrace. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I have come to bring you to Ireland, though for that I may be too late.’ Elditha took Thea’s mittened hands in her own. She stared at her daughter’s lovely features, then down at the simple woollen cloak and gown that hardly concealed her shape. At 15, Thea was a woman. She whispered, ‘Thea, how you have grown up.’

  She then grasped Alfred’s hands. ‘Why have you come into such danger?’

  Shaking his head, Alfred handed his reins to a groom. ‘We had no idea, but I bring weapons. The gates have closed. The peasants who followed us into the town are already destitute.’

  ‘I watched them come over the moor.’ Elditha felt her anger rise into fury. No one expected a winter campaign, not this, not now. She knew only too well what would follow. William would lay waste where he found resistance, as he had done when he had marched to Hastings. ‘Alfred, where is Gertrude?’

  ‘She is in the priory.’

  ‘They will not attack a priory, Alfred.’ She touched his arm with a reassuring gesture. Some men from Gytha’s guard were already unloading a pile of short swords. They lay heaped up on top of sacking, the metal gleaming against the ground’s frosted covering.

  ‘Arrows too; be careful with them. Don’t get them wet,’ Alfred shouted at the men.

  ‘We will talk when you are ready. There is a stew-pot on the hearth and bread and cheese on the trestle.’ She hurried Thea towards the hall’s entrance, then stopped and called over to the grooms who were helping Alfred with the cart. ‘Send someone up onto the walls again. See how they are armed and count them. Look for their siege machines. Count them too.’ She turned to Thea. ‘Thea, you have disobeyed your grandmother. You should not have come here. Stay out of sight in the hall among the other women until I send for you. Entertain the children. Tell them stories, do anything to distract them.’

  ‘I came to fetch threads for the prioress,’ Thea said, her voice subdued. ‘Are we safe, Mother?’

  ‘That, Thea, is a question I cannot answer. We, at least, are not abandoned outside the town walls, nor are we escaping from a burning village. For that we must be thankful. Go in to the hearth and get warm.’

  Thinking how quickly everything changes, she organised a sleeping place for Alfred. Then she hastened through the maze of inner rooms to Gytha’s private apartment. The Countess was sipping her posset. After the initial shock she had felt at the approaching army, her normally high colour was now returning, but the set of her jaw was determined. ‘They are at least 300 knights and there may be more. They saw William’s own banner flying, that wolf. The Bastard himself has come.’

  ‘What must we do, Gytha?’

  ‘We sit tight. The skald sent out messengers the very moment he heard that the enemy was out on the moor. God willing King Dairmaid will send us aid.’

  Elditha bit her lip and said, ‘He does not know that I am here.’

  ‘He soon will, my dear. He should have sent a ship of his own for Thea.’

  ‘Gytha, I have to tell you that Thea is here. She came with Alfred. He has brought a consignment of swords and arrows into Exeter this morning.’

  ‘I ordered her to stay in the priory.’

  Elditha nodded. ‘I know. She came for embroidery thread.’

  Gytha grunted. ‘Well, it may now be some time before you will take her to safety.’

  Elditha leaned over and gently stroked Gytha’s leathery cheek, wondering what King Dairmaid’s response would be when he discovered where she was. And Magnus, her sweet Magnus, with whom she had left a purse. Now he could run her household. When would she see him again? She said aloud, ‘I must bring Thea warm clothing. It is snowing. And, Gytha, we must
keep busy. There will be extra mouths to feed. The homeless have descended on the town. They will need blankets and bread.’

  Gytha sat erect. ‘Elditha, send for Bishop Leofric. William will send representatives in to parley. Leofric must understand that I shall not yield my town.’

  She is, Elditha thought, absolutely unbending. God help them, for they would soon need a miracle.

  As the sun began to set, the Bishop hurried up the hill to Gytha’s palace accompanied by his pale scribes. As he passed, his monks huddled in silent groups around the churches, watching and shuffling to and fro to keep warm, trying to be invisible.

  William’s messengers came into the town at Vespers, led by Alain of Brittany. They rode through the town, heavily armed, carrying a pennant with a wolf embroidered on dark fabric, its coat glittering with silver thread. The frightened townspeople ignored the bells for Vespers and kept to their houses. The armed strangers trotted past the minster, the Holy Trinity Chapel, the churches of St Stephen and St Lawrence, up the hill to the palace gates.

  When their arrival was announced by Gytha’s steward a hush seeped through those who had gathered to see the enemy close up. In the deepest shadows of the hall, out of the way of candlelight, hidden among a bevy of veiled women who sat on the padded bench behind Gytha, Elditha looked down at her hands and pretended to set stitches on a napkin border. Gytha sat in a great carved oak chair, coldly surveying the four knights and their boy pages, one of whom held aloft that sinister banner with the wolf’s head. Elditha pulled her veil closer and bent over the piece of material that lay in her lap. Alain of Brittany spoke his master’s case. They wanted the tax. Elditha thought: not just the tax; they want the town. Moving her lips in silent prayer she sent a plea to St Cecilia that the Count would not know her. Opening her eyes and lifting her head again Elditha saw that Gytha was now tense with anger, rigid like the jewel-headed stick she grasped in her hand. Her voice was ringing out, ‘Tell your Norman paymaster, Count, that this dower land is my right. My town has never paid a tax and will not do so now. Always exempt. That is the law.’ She glared at the prelate who stood by her side. ‘So, it is an illegal tax. Bishop Leofric, is it not?’