The Betrothed Sister Page 4

  In the end Countess Gytha had arranged all. Two days later, Thea stood in the yard waiting for Padar and Edmund to unload the noblewomen’s possessions. The women of Exeter who chose the life of the cloister were promised great comforts in return for a portion of their goods: a tapestry, books for the library, a golden plate or two and a bag of silver. With this bargain, Christ was promised three new brides.

  Though they clung to her, Thea hoped that the children would settle and find hope in their new lives. Perhaps I can marry well. One day, I shall have my own children, she thought with longing, when sad-hearted she pulled away from the last little boy and finally departed from her small surrogate family.

  Grandmother simply did not feel strong enough to ride again. She climbed into the cart with Lady Margaret, and fourteen-year-old Gudrun. Padar shook the carthorse’s reins. Thea touched her mare’s flanks with her heels. Edmund clicked his tongue and moved his gelding into place by his sister’s side. Today she was protected by her brother, but was her future safe? She was to become a dispossessed princess sent to Denmark begging for a husband. They had best find her a youthful, handsome prince for nothing less would do. Her prince must win her heart if he was to win her. She was already fifteen years old, and grandmother was right – it was time she had a home of her own and a husband who adored her as her father had her mother. Yes there had been that other wife the earls had made her father take to his bed, but it was her mother whom he had loved. She, too, would have a prince who loved her and one who would love none other, ever. She would be his only wife and his only love.

  She gave her mare a determined flick of her switch and trotted through the abbey gates thinking these thoughts as she glanced back over her shoulder and waved until her aunt was just a grey speck standing by the abbey wall.

  5

  Schleswig, Denmark, October 1068

  Denmark’s low shores slid into visibility. They had passed four queasy days and nights on the dark rolling waves and she had felt sick for most of the journey. Even Gytha had been so ill she could only lie under her furs and moan and complain that this was not how she remembered the seas from her youth. As they sailed into the port, Thea suddenly felt the journey’s agonies vanish. She clasped her hands together so tightly she felt her knuckles click. Beyond the grey lapping sea, she could make out the town’s harbour wall, church spires, and gradually houses with brightly painted door posts came into her view. This sea town was called Schleswig. ‘Look, Gudrun,’ she said to the girl who quietly stood by her side. ‘Our new home. We are away from those who killed our fathers at last.’

  Gudrun said solemnly, ‘But I shall never forgive them. They stole our lands and they murdered our fathers and brothers.’

  ‘Yes, but now we must find a new home, Gudrun. It doesn’t mean that we forgive or forget what happened to our families. Look at the life out there waiting for us.’

  The port’s curved harbour was packed full of colourful ships with strange beasts surmounting their prows. As their oarsmen rowed through the collection of handsome vessels, guiding the Wave-Prancer and the Sea-Dragon into their designated mooring places by one of the many quays, Thea’s attention shifted from the port buildings to bands of labourers who were loading and unloading cargos.

  Danish words ricocheted back and forwards between great-prowed ships and the merchants on the quays. Gytha whose hearing was acute said, ‘I feel at home here.’

  At last the Wave-Prancer had docked. Bursting with excitement, Thea waited patiently for a ladder to be laid against the ship’s hull so they could reach the wharf. To amuse herself as she waited, she studied the prows on the nearest vessels. These bore the carved heads of various-sized dragons painted with green and gold and blue and silver. She had never seen so many griffins, mermaids, sinister orcs, grinning ogres and yellow bears’ heads jostling about in one place before.

  The men secured ropes, lowered sails and dragged coverings over their weapons and cargo. Edmund and Godwin set a guard of their trusted house coerls on the treasure coffers. Then, and only then, were Countess Gytha, Lady Margaret, Thea and Gudrun allowed to climb down the ladder that Edmund and Gunor dropped into place against the Wave-Prancer’s hull.

  Once she stepped down onto the quay, Thea noticed the white ermine fur that trimmed rich merchants’ mantles. Their brightly dyed knee-length gowns were edged with miniver. Many wore cone-shaped, felt, beaver-trimmed hats, and boots that were decorated with intricate patterning.

  These wealthily clothed men moved around the harbour with confidence and purpose, pointing here and there at barrels and sacks with their silver-topped riding whips, selecting this and that to be transported away on various large wagons. Horses with extravagant flashing silver decorations on their bridles restlessly pawed at the earth and shook their manes. Carts with brightly coloured swirling patterns painted on their sides rattled through the hubbub.

  No, the people of Denmark did not appear poor. Surely they would find a welcome at her uncle’s house? Thea’s cousin, King Sweyn, had no love for the Norman king of England. Nonetheless, they all were wary ever since Gunor had said to Padar it was likely that King Sweyn of Denmark had an eye on a slice of England’s wealth for himself and Padar had agreed. The king was not to be trusted. Grandmother warned, ‘Godwin, trust him not. He is one of the locust princes.’

  Padar remarked, with a smile twitching his mouth, ‘Remember this, when passing a door-post, watch as you walk on, inspect as you enter. It is uncertain where enemies lurk or crouch in a dark corner. It is just the same with kings as with the common man, my ladies.’

  ‘Indeed,’ remarked Countess Gytha. ‘Think ahead.’

  ‘Look ahead, the palace lies over there.’ Edmund pointed towards a shallow hill to where large gabled building dominated the town. He shook out his hair, ran his fingers through it, tied it neatly back again with a leather thong and turned to Gytha. ‘A royal palace indeed, though the king, of course, might be at Roskilde. If so we can send messengers ahead to announce our return.’

  Despite her mistrust of the ‘locusts’, as she called princes who had an eye on England’s wealth, Grandmother Gytha’s eyes filled with tears. This was her first home, the place of her birth. She was prepared to be sentimental today, an emotion which was rare. ‘Sweyn was a child in shifts, last time I saw him. Now he has fifty or maybe more years.’

  Feeling great affection for her grandmother, Thea took her arm and whispered, ‘Tonight we shall sleep under goose-feathered quilts.’ It would be welcome after long days sailing over the rolling seas into the northern lands.

  Gytha replied, ‘By the looks of it everyone is well off enough to have a dozen goose quilts.’ Then she grunted, ‘Well, they were ever pirates!’

  Thea started at the clatter of horses’ hoofs and the sound of their jingling bells. Sensing a growing excitement, she looked beyond the wharf to where a band of riders was trotting along a dirt road that swept towards them carving its way through raised walkways fronting the harbour buildings. Merchants, sailors, and slaves with collars about their necks scattered as the newcomers came trotting along the quayside. The riders rode swiftly onto the stone quay, calling to Godwin and Edmund. Godwin raised his hand in greeting.

  The horses swaggered towards them, followed by a long wagon drawn by two magnificent high-prancing white ponies. It was painted white and decorated with a row of tall golden crowns. Gorgeously patterned pennants fluttered from each side as it rolled down along the quay on smooth, well-oiled wheels. A dwarf held the horses’ reins and despite his low stature appeared completely in control of its movement.

  Godwin and Edmund stepped protectively in front of the women as a stout, thickly bearded man, garbed in a richly fur-trimmed cloak, swung down from his mount. His grey-and-white-streaked hair fell thickly to his shoulders under his tall jewel-studded crimson velvet crowned hat. His companion, tall, fully armed, wearing a leather tunic under his short mantle, leapt off his mount to stand behind the older man, his hand hovering me
nacingly over the pommel of his sword.

  Edmund and Godwin fell to their knees. ‘My lord king,’ Godwin said, looking up at Sweyn Estrithson. Merchants stopped their business. They turned and bowed low in obeisance to their king. Thea and Gytha inclined their heads followed by their two ladies, Margaret and Gudrun. Godwin lifted his eyes and announced, ‘We have arrived from Flanders, my liege. I have brought my sister and grandmother with me. They seek your protection.’

  So this was Sweyn Estrithson, King of Denmark. He scanned their small company with sharp, piercing, blue eyes before speaking. ‘You have returned, Godwin Haroldson, and safely, I see. Well, back in Denmark safely. May God be praised! Informants gave me a sad report about the loss of your brother, Magnus. What was King Dairmaid of Dublin thinking of when he allowed that fledgling to fight before he had first broken in his sword?’ He waved a huge gloved hand at Thea’s two kneeling brothers. ‘Get up off your knees, cousins, obeisance in the offal and dirt does not become us. And you too,’ he called over to the kneeling merchants. ‘Get onto your feet and be about your own business.’

  As Godwin and Edmund scrambled up Sweyn Estrithson studied Countess Gytha, smiling from his aunt to Thea his cousin. ‘Now, who do we have here? By Christos, tis indeed Aunt Gytha, who looks as if she could do with a long rest in a soft bed.’

  Gytha inclined her head. ‘That can wait.’ With a jerk of her granddaughter’s mantle, she pulled Thea forward. ‘Nephew, I bring with me my granddaughter Thea and our two attendants. Our request is a simple one. We ask that we may join your court, for a time.’

  ‘For a time?’ the Dane said stroking his beard and looking thoughtful. ‘What other plans do you have?’

  Gytha impatiently tapped her stick. Her voice was strong as ever as she said, ‘England will shake off the Norman pestilence and when that day comes we go back to whence we came, to our own lands.’

  Sweyn narrowed his eyes. ‘Let us pray then that it will be soon.’ He smiled, showing a set of strong though yellowed teeth. ‘Meantime, welcome, Aunt Gytha.’ He turned away from his aunt, reached out, lifted Thea’s tiny hand in his great bear-like paw and said, ‘Welcome, my lovely cousin.’ Thea felt his eyes slide up and down her person, as if he was already appraising her for a marriage market. Well, did she not want a husband? Yes, indeed she did, as long as he was a prince and handsome and kind and not one of Sweyn’s burly warriors who stood about watching, their eyes following their king’s as he greeted her.

  Humbly bowing her head, she wished that there had been time to change their travel-stained clothing. Perhaps then she would not feel so exposed. A gift too, perhaps, would make her feel as if they were not so dependent on this king’s goodwill.

  King Sweyn smiled broadly. ‘Well, now. There are many who have come from other places dwelling at my court, merchants and slaves from the Slav lands and we have your father’s disgruntled thanes …’ he looked hard at Thea, ‘… from England, too, all looking to make their fortunes in my country, but none as comely as my little cousin, Thea. We shall have to find you a husband.’ He was speculating. And, in that moment, she determined that she would have her say in what happened to her.

  He turned from Thea and gathered Grandmother Gytha into an embrace. Releasing her, he remarked that she was as delicate as a bird, adding, ‘So now we shall make room in our humble house for the courageous Godwin women.’ At this, Gytha’s tears flowed, a sight that Thea had not seen since her father and uncles were slaughtered at the Battle on Senlac Hill, not even in the worst days of the siege at Exeter. Gytha dabbed delicately at her eyes with her veil. For a moment, Thea thought her grandmother had lost her wits and her sense. Surely Grandmother did not trust him after all.

  Sweyn said, ‘No need for sorrow today. You are safe here, Aunt Gytha, and look, I have a wagon for your comfort.’ He swirled around, fleet of foot for such a large man and pointed to the elaborate cart where the dwarf sat on its driving platform watching their exchange, his small eyes blinking at them. Sweyn’s hands flew opened in an elaborate gesture, ‘Come, ladies.’

  After he had ushered them towards the cart and helped them and their two women climb on board, he turned to Godwin and Edmund. ‘We spotted the Wave-Prancer and the Sea-Dragon from the high rooms of my palace. Soon enough messengers rode up from the port to confirm that you were back.’ He clapped his great hands together and looked over at some merchants who were clearly half-listening as they finished checking the unloading of barrels. ‘Now let us be gone where we can talk without being overheard by flapping great ears.’ He glared at the merchants. How quickly his facial expressions change, thought Thea uneasily.

  Godwin hesitated. ‘I need to finish securing the ships first. Padar will escort my mother and sister.’ Padar bowed to the king, who slapped him heartily on the back. ‘Good to see you back safely, Padar; you little cat with many lives.’

  Padar said, ‘A cat that moves silently if he scents danger.’

  Sweyn frowned and muttered, ‘No fool there.’ Turning to Godwin, he nodded. ‘As you wish and I shall send carts down from the palace for the weapons and your luggage. I expect the ladies travelled light. We can feed and clothe you all here. My new queen, Elizaveta, will see to that.’ With those words, he swung back up onto his stallion.

  Padar grabbed his pack from the ground where he had dropped it and climbed up onto the richly decorated royal wagon beside the dwarf. With a crack of a silver-headed whip the little man with the reins manoeuvred the wagon around with ease and they were off.

  The air in the women’s room was thick with chatter. This room took up the upper floor of the sea-side palace and pleasantly looked out to sea. For two long days Thea had sat quietly close to a window with a table napkin poised on her lap. She was bored with stitching it. Tired of the sewing and the sound of women’s constant voices ringing in her ears, she watched out of the window, looking for ships sailing into port, rarely speaking unless spoken to.

  Occasionally Gudrun, who had become her obedient shadow, helped her select threads for the napkin that she was embroidering with wool in garish bright colours that the Danes seemed to favour. She longed for the delicacy of silk and the precious silver and gold embroidery threads she had used in England.

  In the centre of the group of women sat Ingegerd, a sharp-faced young woman who was Harald Harthrada’s daughter and recently both Sweyn’s stepdaughter and his daughter-in-law. In the year following her father’s death at Stamford Bridge, Ingegerd had married Olaf, one of Sweyn’s many sons. Shortly after, her mother, Elizaveta, who was also Harthrada’s widow, had married King Sweyn. Elizaveta and Ingegerd had travelled to Denmark from Norway after the defeat at Stamford Bridge. It had long been rumoured that Elizaveta had disliked her Norwegian marriage and was not sorry to be rid of her berzerker husband, King Harald. That bit of tittle-tattle had even reached Exeter. Thea believed it. Elizaveta had been particularly kind and welcoming to the Godwin exiles. Not so her daughter. Thea felt that Ingegerd, who always looked so haughtily at her, would never warm to them. Nor could Thea warm to Ingegerd, but she determined to rise above the slights, and slights there were, but then Thea thought maybe Ingegerd had her reasons.

  Ingegerd’s father, King Harald of Norway, had given battle to Thea’s father at Stamford Bridge while the Normans had landed in the south, in that fateful late summer of 1066. Thea considered it only just that King Harald and her treacherous Uncle Tostig, who had allied with the Norwegian king, had both died in the battle at Stamford Bridge. Between them, they had deliberately weakened the English army by their attempted invasion. Was it because Harald of Norway was planning to carve England up with Duke William of Normandy; for him the Danish north and for Duke William the south? Nobody knew the truth of it, but whatever Harald of Norway was planning when he sailed down the Northern sea road with his war fleet, he was, at least in part, responsible for her father, Harold of England’s defeat, his death at Senlac and that of her two noble uncles, Uncle Gyrth and Uncle Leofwine.


  Somehow she must dwell in peace with this difficult woman. She must try to put her own ill will behind her. If only Ingegerd would show her a little warmth, perhaps the chilly Danish princesses might also welcome her into their circle. But this cold-hearted daughter of Norway, black-eyed, dark-haired Ingegerd, threw confiding smiles at her sisters-in-law when Thea entered the stuffy, carpeted sewing chamber. As they stitched, she cast polite looks cold as winter frost in Thea’s direction, and Thea despaired because she could not penetrate those unsmiling obsidian eyes; eyes that held not a scrap of emotion and clearly wished her ill.

  Thea had to sleep in the women’s chamber in a curtained-off boxed bed that she shared with Gudrun. The Danish princesses had a whole room to themselves, one that was set apart from the women’s work chamber, whereas in the women’s room there was little privacy. Thea felt the princesses’ maids watching her at night until she pinched out her candle and pulled the coarse linen curtain against their sidelong glances. She suspected that they sniggered behind her back when they lay down on pallets close by.

  Although the princesses had maids to wait on them, Thea had to fetch her own washing water and empty her own chamber pot before the Danish princesses arrived each day to sew. Grandmother Gytha, on the other hand, had been allotted her own chamber. She passed her days with Queen Elizaveta in a private antechamber behind the king’s hall, comfortably ensconced far away from the tensions of the sewing room.