The Handfasted Wife Page 8

  ‘You don’t like them?’

  ‘No, my lady.’ He looked uneasy. ‘My lady, I heard in Winchester that the Countess has returned to Waltham. The King is arranging Lady Thea’s betrothal.’

  ‘So then, he arranges and I agree, though I am not consulted. To whom?’

  ‘Earl Waltheof.’

  ‘Ah, we spoke of that at Christmas; a good match. Well then, I am sure in time, he will think to send me word of it.’ She bit her lip, determined not to show her irritation in front of the skald. She shrugged. Why should she be sad when summer was coming and the countryside was so beautiful? Yet there was a pain in her heart – a sense of something lost, as if for her, love had had its season, and passed away.

  ‘Yes, Lady Elditha.’ Padar cleared his throat.

  ‘Padar, is there anything else?’

  ‘Brother Francis is unpopular with the thanes, your house-ceorls and the villagers. The guard complained the whole way to and from Winchester.’

  ‘So what is new about that?’

  ‘Your thanes think he is a spy.’

  Elditha lifted her eyes from the palisade and turned to face Padar. ‘Why so? He is loyal to Archbishop Stigand and the Archbishop is loyal to the King.’

  ‘He creeps around listening.’

  ‘He is the monk here, but eavesdropping is a serious accusation, though I have wondered.’ She frowned. Every time she spoke about the estate to Guthlac the monk was there too, hovering at her elbow.

  ‘And before Eastertide there were those merchants who went around the village gathering information. You are watched, my lady. I wonder if you should travel to Canterbury this Whitsun? The weather is perfect for travel.’ At that they both looked up at the flawless sky. She did not reply. He added, ‘The Pentecost services at St Augustine would be a change to those led by Brother Francis here. Why not take Brother Francis with you to Canterbury?’

  She shook her head and looked towards the sky again. ‘Here they come,’ she called out to her bee-keeper and her women. A cloud made up of a multitude of dark spots appeared from the direction of the woods. ‘My bees are here.’ She lowered her voice, ‘So who do they think he spies for, Padar? Pope Alexander?’

  ‘The Bastard of Normandy, of course.’

  His words were drowned by a cheer from the ladies as the bees arrived in the orchard. The swarm descended into an apple tree and then hung in a tightly packed clump from a bough. The leaves rustled, their branch sighed and bent as it carried the new weight. Elditha’s women raced to open up a sheet of bleached linen and set it under the tree. Two of them lifted the skep and placed it close to the boughs, hoping to tempt the queen inside. One woman beat at the branch with a willow switch to make the bees drop onto the sheet, the stick swishing backwards and forwards, whistling as it caught the air.

  Elditha turned back to Padar. ‘Brother Francis was sent here by Archbishop Stigand, whom we trust.’ She considered for a moment. ‘Yes, on second thoughts, you are right. The idea really does please me, Padar. We shall set out later this week. I shall visit the Archbishop and ask him to punish our spy.’ She laughed. ‘Go into the hall. I see that you dislike my bees, though I have observed that you enjoy honey on your bread.’

  She smiled to herself as she watched his red cloak flee through the garden. He was a loyal friend and she was glad that Padar was part of her household; he was the best gift Harold had bestowed on her.

  A week later, early in the morning, she rode out for Canterbury with Padar, Brother Francis, Ulf and a group of her women. They had an escort of house-ceorls and thanes, all of whom were glad of a change from Reredfelle. The atmosphere was festive and the weather was perfect. She could not wish for a better day to ride through the woods that surrounded the estate. Occasionally they caught a glimpse of a deer darting through the trees, or a kingfisher near a stream. They sang as they rode, old songs, rounds, and when they were tired of that Padar entertained Ulf with his mermaid stories.

  Padar left Elditha’s train on the road that led north to London. He said that he had heard that Earl Tostig was sailing ships towards England from Flanders. He would convey her Pentecost greetings to the King, and visit his own friends in London.

  ‘Tell the King that I have not heard of our older boys since February. Thank him for our Easter gifts.’ Despite her best intentions not to, she said, ‘And say to him that Ulf needs to see his father. As for me, I am well, as you can see, and after the Reredfelle harvest is in I shall visit my Norfolk estates. I am neglecting them. We shall pass the winter there, where I was born and bred.’

  Padar reached over and lightly touched her arm. ‘He will come to see you both, my lady. It has all been more difficult than he ever thought it could be.’

  She shrugged. She was busy and would remain so. Padar kicked his horse’s flanks and galloped off, his long pigtail flying and his red summer cloak caught by the wind he’d created, his small frame lifted momentarily off the animal’s back. She glanced back at him. He raised his arm in a backwards wave and was gone. She wiped a tear away with her gloved hand and moved her mare forward. Ulf refused to sit before Osgod, who lifted him onto his own saddle and, managing Elf, his pony, well, he trotted behind his mother.

  As they entered through the gates of the town, Brother Francis left her retinue too. When they parted at the monastery of St Augustine, the monk remarked that he had news for the Archbishop.

  ‘I have much to report on Egbert,’ he said in a supercilious tone, his face long and lean with the sharp eyes of a rat.

  ‘That is not advisable,’ said Elditha. ‘Not if you want to remain with us. Besides, there is nothing to report.’

  ‘He is married.’

  ‘That is not as yet forbidden for priests.’

  ‘We shall see what is now forbidden,’ retorted Brother Francis, as he turned his nag into the monastery courtyard.

  She nudged Eglantine’s flanks harder than she normally would and turned the mare towards her own properties.

  Elditha owned two large, double-storied houses enclosed by fencing in Canterbury. A higgledy scattering of huts and workshops devoted to dyeing and weaving occupied the yard of the most spacious of her houses. She rode past them into the paved courtyard, stopped in front of the great weaving shed and jumped off Eglantine, as if the long journey had been nothing to her. After handing Ulf’s reins to a waiting stable boy, she lifted her son down from his pony. Towards the end of the journey he had been falling over Elf’s mane, clutching it to steady himself, insisting that he could still ride. Now, on firm ground again, he clung to her mantle.

  The servants fell to their knees before Elditha. She thanked them for their care of her house and bade them rise and go about their work. After a few words with the hall steward, she prised Ulf away from her cloak. ‘Take him inside,’ she said to Margaret, who had clambered out of a covered cart. ‘Bathe him and then have servants make ready a bathtub for me as well. First, though, I must visit my weaving sheds and examine my cloth.’ Her three ladies, who had climbed down after Margaret, nodded their enthusiasm. It had been months since they had looked at bolts of newly woven wool. She smiled at their longing for new clothes.

  She hurried into the barn-like room, followed by her women, and spoke with the weavers. She examined their looms carefully, watching as they pedalled and wound fabric onto the rollers in front of them. Then she selected the finest cloth to be transformed into plain shifts for herself and her ladies. The weaver promised that the garments would be made up by a seamstress before they departed from Canterbury. Elditha made a final search among the bolts of linen, turning them over and looking closely for something special. She held samples up to the rays of summer light that shone through the windows. She had servants carry bolts of cloth out into the yard so that she could examine them more carefully. At last, she discovered a cloth the colour of emeralds.

  ‘Like grass glistening after summer rain.’

  ‘Best green in years. This came out of the vat bright like jewels, my
lady.’

  ‘Send me the seamstress. I shall have a new gown.’

  ‘My lady, it will be done.’ Smiling, the weaver bowed low.

  As evening dropped Elditha soaked in a herb-strewn bath, concealed behind hanging sheets. She trailed her hand over her belly, allowing the water to fall through her fingers. Her skin was white and smooth, despite many years of childbearing. Her breasts were small, high and firm. She was still narrow-hipped and flat-bellied. Children had slipped from them with ease. Her hair fell onto the water, rippling and flaxen. Though she was now past 30 years old, there was no sign of grey in it yet.

  She lay back, closed her eyes for a few moments, remembering how, as an Anglo-Danish heiress of only 14 summers, she had been given to Harold, Earl of Anglia – how willingly she had pledged herself to Godwin’s second son and allowed the ribbons to be tied about their hands, joining his to hers, his heart to her own. Their marriage feast had glittered with jewels and gleamed with the gold- and silver-embroidered cloth worn by the Earl’s brothers and his sisters and his friends. Harold Godwin had already been a great warrior. She had been proud to become his wife, and even prouder when he had fallen in love with her.

  She conceived their children easily – one after the other, all strong and healthy; all excepting Emma, who seven years before had taken ill with an incurable disease. Elditha and Harold had buried this golden, happy child in the church at Bosham. Elditha retained such unhappy memories of Bosham that after her daughter’s death she had never wanted to live there again. Within a year, they had conceived again. Ulf slid from his mother as easily as a snake sheds its skin and soon, though she loved them all, this youngest boy had become the most precious of her brood.

  The scoop of soap that was balanced on the board across the tub plopped onto her belly. Its musky scent was the one she enjoyed in particular. She stretched her arms over the side and reflected sadly that what had happened to their marriage was more powerful than she.

  Yet here in Canterbury she was a queen. Her every need was tended to but, still, she was incomplete without his love. She pushed this thought to the back of her mind and listened drowsily to her ladies laughing and talking in the room beyond the sheets. She called for Ursula to come and soap her back, and for Freya to wash her hair, and told them both to rinse it with water steeped with flowers of chamomile. It would brighten it. Afterwards her ladies took it in turns to comb out her hair, dry it with linen towels and plait it so that by morning her loosened tresses would fall around her once again in rippling waves.

  That night Elditha lay in the upper room with Ulf by her side. It was pleasant to be back in Canterbury. Perhaps they should stay on here through the summer. Then she thought of all there was to do back on the estate before they set off for Norfolk in November. It must not become neglected. She would return to Reredfelle by summer again and make sure it continued to prosper. Meanwhile, Guthlac would see that the villagers planted the fields and tended the orchards.

  Somewhere among the pear trees in the garden an owl hooted. The bells for Compline tolled from St Augustine’s. Then suddenly there came a loud knocking on the outside door. All at once she was wide awake, sitting up. Then, the shuffling of the porter as he hurried into the porch. He was calling out, ‘I’m coming, coming.’ Grumbles of, ‘Let us sleep.’ The front door was dragged open. She lay back against her pillow. If it was a messenger they would speak in the morning. A little talking below, a hound’s bark and gradually the night eased back into quiet. She drifted into sleep curled protectively around her boy.

  Shortly after dawn, when she had climbed down into the hall to break her fast, she discovered the cause of the midnight disturbance.

  ‘Earl Tostig is raiding along the coast,’ the king’s man announced. ‘The King is raising a fleet and he is on his way to meet it. He will lodge here tonight and ride on to Bosham tomorrow.’

  ‘He knows that I am here?’

  ‘He is concerned for your safety, noble lady. The royal estate of Reredfelle is less than a day’s ride from the sea. Earl Tostig is on the island of Wight with a fleet. He is harrying villages. He takes what he can thieve to feed his soldiers.’

  ‘How does the King know I am here?’ Of course, Padar, she realised after she had said it.

  ‘We met the skald on the Great Road . King Harold is calling up the fyrd from Kent to join him to send Tostig back to whence he came, be it Normandy or Flanders. The King has already sent his fleet south.’

  ‘It is Pentecost tomorrow. Everyone will be with families.’

  ‘The King must ride on, no matter what day tomorrow is,’ the messenger said.

  By mid-morning the messenger had galloped out of the gate and was on his way to rejoin the King. How quickly everything changed. Ulf would see his father and his father would see his son. As for her, well, that remained to be seen. What would they say to each other now?

  Elditha gave orders for her house to be cleansed and for a feast to be prepared. She threw on her mantle ready to accompany her ladies to the Whitsun market always held on a field near to St Augustine. For days, since she had told them they were going to Canterbury, they had talked about nothing else but this great market.

  Just before they climbed onto their horses and prepared to ride through the town, she noted how the preparations for the King’s visit were already underway in her hall. There were baskets of strewing herbs waiting by the porch door. The cook had purchased fish from the monks in a nearby monastery which had already arrived. Hens squawked in their runs as kitchen women pursued them, caught the birds and wrung their necks on the spot. Elditha turned her head away, and gathering her reins in her hands, rode out of the gate with her bridle bells jingling and her retinue following behind her.

  As she rode through the narrow streets she reflected on the omen that had caused them all such anxiety. Had the star foreshadowed Tostig’s attack on their coasts? If so, Duke William would follow. After all, Tostig was married to Judith of Flanders, the Duke’s own sister-in-law. ‘St Cecilia,’ she whispered, ‘stop them. He never promised England to Duke William.’ She flicked Eglantine’s reins. The Godwins had seen enemies off before and would do so again, even if the enemy turned out to be one of their own.

  The market became a pleasing distraction. They dismounted. The guard strode on in front of Elditha and her three women, leading their horses. Townspeople pressed to the sides making room for them to pass through the narrow lanes. After a short while, they reached an open space where merchants with the most valuable goods had erected large circular tents. These were guarded by fierce-looking Norwegians wearing breastplates, helmets of steel with broad nose-guards and carrying huge swords with decorated hilts. The lesser merchants had set out their wares on trestles that looked like small ships with awnings, crude coverings against the possibility of rain, fashioned from heavy bleached sacking like sails.

  Trays of bone and antler ornaments were set out close to strings of coloured stone and glass beads. Another stall had purses with ivory ornament. She picked one out and examined it closely. Surely this was elephant tusk ornamentation? It would make a pretty betrothal gift for Thea. She told Ursula to go and barter for it. The girl came back smiling with the purse. ‘It is elephant tusk and I only paid him half of what he asked.’

  The purse was made of soft linen cloth that was of a blue hue and gathered at the neck with silk threads. The treasure lay there. Its twisted silk tassels were ended with several delicately carved ornaments of ivory. ‘You have done well, Ursula. Thea will be delighted. It is rare to find such unusual ornament.’

  Although the hour was early, well before Nones, everywhere was busy. She pushed further into the market, her women following. Their guards were caught in the stream of people far behind them. Everywhere people spoke in foreign tongues. Merchants had travelled from distant lands to trade, and spoke in many languages, some of which Elditha recognised. She spoke French and had an understanding of Norse. Pie sellers walked the lanes with trays. Bakers call
ed out that they had spice cakes and honey buns for sale. The light scent of perfumes distilled from flowers mingled with the heavy pungent smell of animal dung, reminding Elditha to warn her ladies to watch where they stepped.

  At last, a twisting path brought her nearer to the goods they wanted most: needles and thread. There was little silk thread left in the seat of her velvet cushioned sewing chair and hardly any woollen threads for them to work into tapestry for her chapel’s altar hanging. Her ladies constantly paused now, lifting up merchandise, seeking the price of ribbons or feeling the quality of silk. As she wound her way around the stalls, people glanced up, murmured and stared at her with curiosity. Others recognised her and whispered to each other. Elditha adjusted her veil to cover more of her face, held her head high and hurried past, until all of a sudden she was arrested by an unfamiliar voice calling her name.

  ‘Lady Elditha!’

  She looked around for the voice that had called. The accent was of Ireland. A warrior clad in an overshirt of mail, clearly of noble birth, stepped forward. His hand was resting by his seax and she looked back anxiously for her guard, but she could not see them at all through the press of people in the narrow lanes and her ladies were engrossed in searching through a selection of glass beads laid out on the next trestle.

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded of the stranger, fixing him with a furious stare.

  The rogue bowed. ‘Connor, Earl of Meath. I had care of your three sons when they sailed from London to the King in Dublin. I have seen you at King Edward’s court and I never forget a remarkable face.’

  ‘Earl Connor of Meath, if you wish to speak to me, seek a proper introduction. Do not accost me here among the people of Canterbury at their Whitsun Fair.’

  She called out to her ladies. Seeing the intruder they hurried to her, closing about her protectively, stretching their cloaks outwards like colourful wings. Her guards, bobbing through the crowd, were dragging Eglantine and the three other horses with them. At last they saw the trembling ladies with outstretched arms, left the horses by a stall and pushed through a band of ragged children towards the stranger.