The Handfasted Wife Page 9

  Raising her arm, she turned her disapproval on the guards who were now accosting the earl, prodding him with their daggers and cursing him. ‘Leave him alone. He claims that he is an earl. I need you by me, not watching the womenfolk over there.’ She threw a purse of coin at one of her men. ‘Pay this woman what she wants for my ladies’ purchases and have the threads and ribbons sent to my house.’ The Earl of Meath watched her performance with a surprised look of admiration on his face. Then he bowed and moved away.

  Surrounded by her women and her guards, one of whom followed closely behind them holding Eglantine’s reins, Elditha hurried away from the glass beads and leather pouches, and to the grander pavilions where they would find expensive threads of gold and silver. Her eyes burrowed through the crowds, searching and thinking if only she had asked the rude warrior about her sons. She kept peering through the lanes for him again but he had vanished.

  Harold did not come for the Whitsun Feast. She asked her steward if the messenger had returned with news of him.

  He shook his head. ‘The King must still be recruiting support in the north of the county, my lady.’

  ‘Have the cooks prepare a smaller feast today. We may have company tomorrow.’

  She threw herself into supervising the preparations in her hall, but although she concealed her feelings carefully, her ladies sensed her anxiety and trod softly, not wishing to disturb her. She consoled herself with the thought that he would arrive after Pentecost.

  On Pentecost Sunday she attended three services at St Augustine. This church was fat with relics – sealed treasure boxes with saints’ knucklebones and splinters of holy wood and it was filled with wall images of saints, Madonnas, infant saviours and many devils. While its walls and pillars were splashed with colour, darkness gathered in drifts in the many side chapels and there was everywhere the constant press of people. Still, Archbishop Stigand did not call on her, nor had he invited her into his presence, even though she had sent him a Pentecost gift of fine cloth from her looms.

  The following day Harold arrived in Canterbury preceded by silken embroidered banners and followed by an army of warriors, and when he rode through the North Gate he sat proudly on a stallion as the crowds cheered him. Looking down from a window set high into the gable of her hall, Elditha and her women watched the procession pass and, seeing him looking so regal, her spirits soared.

  Leofwine, the Earl of Kent, rode by his side and Gyrth, the youngest of Harold’s brothers, trotted on a grey horse close behind. Harold wore a gold circlet and his armour shone in the sunlight. He paused and raised his hand, causing his followers to rein back their horses, bent down and spoke to a small boy who leaned on a crutch and waved a hollyhock. The crippled child handed the flower up to the King, who immediately produced a purse and gave it to the woman standing with the child. The woman kissed his hand with gratitude. Elditha found herself softening.

  Padar rode behind the royal party. In the few days since Elditha had seen him, the skald had undergone his own transformation. He was now wearing a mail breastplate which gleamed beneath his cloak and he was seated on top of a handsome black gelding. Then her eyes followed Padar to the front of the second column where a stocky fighter with tow-coloured hair rode with Harold’s house-ceorls on a pale-coloured, high-stepping Arab horse. She gripped Ulf’s hand so hard that he squeaked and turned to her ladies. ‘That rude Irishman is riding a horse that surpasses my husband’s stallion.’

  The three ladies smiled and clucked together, ‘But the King looks so majestic.’

  Accompanied by Archbishop Stigand, Harold came to Elditha as the evening shadows began to fall. He embraced her at the entrance to her hall. She knelt and ceremoniously bathed his feet as was the custom, while Lady Ursula, as her favourite lady, attended to the Archbishop. Now she saw what she had not recognised that afternoon. Harold had aged in the months since she had been at Reredfelle. His drooping moustaches were greyer than at Christmastide and there were fresh lines carved deep into his face.

  ‘Elditha,’ he said and reached towards her veil. Then he dropped his hand and he was the king again, aloof and untouchable. The moment had passed. They proceeded into the hall where trestles were laid with fine cloth and silver bowls.

  Elditha had made sure that supper would be plentiful. On the religious day before, they had only eaten fish and pies filled with meal and herbs, but today meat was permitted. The appetising smell of roasting flesh, herbs and onions had been drifting out of Elditha’s cookhouse all day long, since Harold’s entry into Canterbury.

  For an old man, the Archbishop stood steadily. He slowly traced the cross in the air with an aged paw and then blessed the food and wine. Servants buzzed around like busy summer bees. Her army of cooks anxiously sent forward the many dishes they had prepared. Course followed course, doves and pigeon, pottage of beef brawn, suckling pork, meat pies and beef, as well as dishes of new peas and carrots from the garden. Although wine was plentiful, Elditha held on to her cup, determined not to have it refilled. Harold addressed his conversation both to the Archbishop on one side and Elditha on the other. The talk was of war. Now that he had raised his fleet, England could stop any invasion from across the Channel.

  He smiled his reassurance at Elditha. ‘The rebels will have flown by summer’s end like swallows, though unlike swallows they will never return.’

  She wondered if the unspoken closeness of before – the ease they once felt in each other’s company – was now absent. Children who had meant so much to her were no longer in either of their households and as yet Harold had not asked after his youngest son who was in her household, though Ulf, of course, had asked to see his father. ‘He will come to you in the morning,’ she promised Ulf before Margaret hurried her charge off to sleep in his own chamber, rather than beside his mother. Even if she had to waken the boy, Harold would see his son.

  Harold’s brothers lodged in the town. They arrived to the feast late and departed early, saying that they needed to rest with their men. As Leofwine kissed Archbishop Stigand’s jewelled hand he promised, ‘Our soldiers will not behave badly in Canterbury, nor will they drink to excess, destroy property or attack the townspeople. Gyrth and I will go now and see to it ourselves.’

  After he spoke to Archbishop Stigand, Leofwine raised Elditha from her chair, held her in a close embrace and asked how all went with her. She smiled up at him and said, with as much neutrality in her voice as she could manage, ‘Indeed, I am well, cousin. The estate thrives, as have done all my other properties. Come soon and see for yourself.’

  ‘Dear sorceress, nothing would please me more.’ He turned to Harold. ‘Do you stay, brother?’

  ‘I shall rest in Elditha’s hall tonight. We have much to discuss.’

  ‘Brother, there is no lovelier woman in Heaven and Earth than this woman; no more beautiful children than yours and hers.’ Without waiting for his brother’s response he gathered his men and swept from the hall, Gyrth following in his wake.

  Elditha felt heartened by this open support for her cause. She would always love Leofwine. When she called for another horn of wine, she was smiling.

  Later, after a course of sweet pastries served with custard, the Archbishop laid down his spoon and coughed politely. ‘My lord king, I must speak to you, about a matter that has come to my attention. I would speak of it in private. And since it concerns the Lady Elditha, she should hear it too.’

  Harold’s brow creased with puzzlement. ‘Then perhaps we can speak in my lady’s antechamber.’

  Elditha called Ursula to her. ‘Fetch me a jug of hippocras and my crystal palm glasses.’ If this talk was connected to Brother Francis, she must defend her villagers.

  They climbed the staircase to Elditha’s private chamber. The Archbishop stood by the window while Ursula filled his crystal cup. He held the precious glass up to the candle glow, turning it so that its honeyed contents were transformed by moonlight into a pool of liquid gold.

  ‘From Byzantium, a wed
ding gift from Godiva of Mercia,’ Elditha said with emphasis on the word “wedding”. It was obvious from the way he held his cup, sipped, opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, that the Archbishop had something difficult to broach. Elditha waited.

  ‘Speak,’ Harold said.

  He wiped a crumb from his mouth. ‘A matter at Reredfelle has come to my ears. I have heard disturbing stories from Brother Francis.’ So that was it, and he still had not thanked her for her gift of pale linen to the monastery.

  The King said, ‘And, your grace?’

  The Archbishop turned to Elditha. ‘Lady Elditha,’ he began, ‘how do you find Brother Francis? I understand that the King’s son progresses well under his tutorage?’

  ‘Brother Francis has worked hard. He devotes himself to prayer and to the care of our son and the Lady Chapel – and to the precious and holy relic, of course.’

  ‘The cotters, how do they progress under his care?’

  ‘The villagers have their own monk-priest.’

  ‘Perhaps this priest, Father …?’

  ‘Egbert.’

  ‘… is behind the times, my lady.’

  ‘How do you mean, Stigand?’ Harold interrupted.

  ‘Perhaps, my lord king, it confuses the people of Reredfelle to have two priests. Father Egbert could be moved to Canterbury, where he can receive instruction and learn the humility befitting his calling.’

  ‘Or we can introduce him to my College at Waltham.’

  Elditha clutched her cup. ‘Father Egbert has a wife and children and the villagers respect him. He knows the scriptures well; he can read and write and he recites by heart many stories from the Old Testament.’ She turned from Archbishop Stigand to Harold. ‘I wish to keep him with us.’

  ‘Then you shall do so,’ Harold said gently. He stroked his moustaches. ‘But we must persuade him to visit Waltham after the harvest is in.’ He plucked a small strawberry from a fruit dish and nibbled it. ‘These have ripened early, my dear. They are delicious.’ He turned to Stigand. ‘Now, my lord archbishop, permit me to walk you down to the hall.’

  Archbishop Stigand was dismissed before he could extend his cup to Ursula for refilling.

  ‘Ursula,’ Elditha said with a mischievous smile, when Harold had gone. ‘The loving cup?’ Ursula nodded and crumbled a herbal mixture from her belt pouch into the jug. ‘Godspeed, my lady. May heaven’s angels lie with you both tonight.’

  ‘I hope for human comfort, not angels.’

  Her ladies turned down the bed in her chamber and dressed Elditha in a robe of embroidered linen so fine it was translucent. They placed a mantle of silk around her, the same sea-coloured silk which had been her Easter gift from the King. Ursula unbound her hair and allowed it to tumble over her shoulders. Elditha could smell her own scent mingling with her perfumes of chamomile and musk.

  When Harold returned to the chamber, he drew her to him, buried his head in her hair and whispered into her ear the words, ‘Elditha, how I have missed you. We parted badly. It has made me so sorrowful to hurt you in this way.’ He held her away from him. ‘But, first, take me to my son. I want to see him sleeping.’ It was what she had hoped to hear.

  Ulf never stirred as his father looked down on his face. It was serene, like that of a seraph.

  ‘Ulf may, one day, become a churchman.’

  ‘Not like Brother Francis and never like Archbishop Stigand,’ she said.

  ‘Neither of them!’ He lifted Elditha’s hand and folded it into his own. ‘I will wake him in the morning. Come, my love, it has been too long.’ He added softly, ‘And I miss the sound of your breathing when you are sleeping next to me.’

  She handed him the loving cup and they sipped the herb-sprinkled wine. That night they lay together as husband and wife, though his passion told her that the love potion had been unnecessary.

  ‘How I wish we were back at Nazeing,’ she said, when sated and rested they awoke to the sound of church bells ringing.

  ‘I wish it too,’ he said. ‘But, Elditha, our wyrd has not intended it so.’ He cupped her chin and traced the curve of her cheek. ‘Fate decreed that I had to marry her, but, my beautiful swan, remember that whatever happens I love you and our children, all of them.’

  ‘I do know it,’ she whispered back. He had hurt her deeply and, though she might forgive it, she could not forget. As she stroked his long hair and dozed in the familiar safety of his arms, she thought, but for how long will you stay?

  8

  Summer 1066

  And when his fleet was gathered, Harold went to Wight and lay there all summer and a land army was kept everywhere by the sea, although in the end it was to no avail. Then when it was the Nativity of St Mary, the men’s provisions were gone, and no one could hold them there any longer.

  The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, July 1066, Worcester Manuscript, edited and translated by Michael Swanton

  Harold rode into Reredfelle from the south coast and they came together again as husband and wife. If it felt as if Christmas had not happened, it also felt as if this was like all the other reunions they had had before when Harold had been on campaign. It was as it had been after that dark year when he was in Normandy trying to free his nephew and brother. Ulf scurried about the estate, happy to be with his father. Harold took him riding in the deer hay and taught him to get Elf to jump. The three of them ate in the wood in the open air from baskets of food, breads, honey cakes, pies and fruit preserved in mead. Her ladies clucked and wove daisy chains but always gathered away from the little family.

  One evening Harold gave Ulf a rare chess set of carved ivory figures and taught him how to play. Ulf loved the expressions on their faces and was quick to learn their moves. Elditha stitched as she watched them play. Ulf’s face was stern with concentration. ‘This is Duke William and this is me,’ Harold said pushing the kings across the wooden chequered board.

  Ulf lifted a queen. ‘And this is my mother,’ he said. ‘She will win the game.’

  Elditha glanced up from her embroidery. She did as she usually did when there was nothing more to say. She raised her very mobile eyebrow.

  ‘Indeed, she will.’ Harold smiled at her as he said it.

  Harold promised that on his return to London he would have documents drawn up making Reredfelle Elditha’s own property. He was impressed by her rescue of the decaying estate. In July he returned with copies of these and stayed for several weeks, riding out to the coast to supervise his fleet. Earl Tostig had occupied the Isle of Wight.

  A week later, Harold’s messenger rode in. ‘There is no sign of them,’ he said. ‘They are dislodged. Earl Leofwine says to tell you that Tostig may have a plan. His ships are sailing north.’

  ‘Tell Leofwine to pursue our treacherous brother. He must not raid the eastern coast, either.’

  ‘Earl Leofwine has already set sail.’

  ‘Good,’ Harold said. ‘Go and find food in the hall, man. You look exhausted.’

  ‘Hopefully, then, that is an end to it. He could not land around Bosham so off he goes and good riddance,’ Harold said to Elditha after the messenger was gone, but there was tension in his shoulders as he spoke.

  She said that she had oils that might relieve this and sought them out from a cupboard in their bedchamber. Massaging his aching limbs with sandalwood oil, she thought sadly, he will return to Westminster soon, and to that woman. Aloud she said softly, ‘Harold, I hope that we can retrieve what we had together before last Christmastide, for our children’s sake and for us …’

  ‘Elditha, it will not always be so.’ He turned over and grasped her hand and, pulling himself up, kissed her.

  ‘You have wed with her and you have bedded her. Her children must not be raised above our own boys.’

  He gathered her into his arms. ‘I swore to you once that Godwin will be king after I die. I meant it then and I still mean it. He will return from Ireland a prince and a warrior fit to inherit this land. That will not change.’ Harold lay back and wa
tched her pour a little oil into the palm of her hand. When she turned back to him his arms were folded behind his head. ‘Elditha, England may be attacked at any time. I still need them, Morcar and Edwin.’

  She said, ‘Bring our boys home.’

  ‘Elditha, we are beset by enemies. Harald Finehair watches England with greed in his eyes. William watches for his best chance to invade us. Tostig will look to both for opportunity. Our boys must remain in Ireland until danger is past.’

  ‘And I, Harold, have now but one child left to me.’ She paused.

  ‘And?’ he said.

  ‘And I am not too old to conceive again.’ With her finger she traced a birthmark shaped like a swan’s feather, which lay where his right thigh joined his groin. Her finger dropped to a dragon tattoo that circled the thigh below the birthmark. She kissed the swan’s feather. This birthmark was hers, she’d said, after she had discovered it. She, he had said, was his swan.

  ‘A last child would make me happy.’

  ‘Then, let us hope.’ He turned to kiss her, gently parting her hair and finding her mouth. She felt the old, old desire rise again, and she knew that she would always love him with a great passion.

  That night it was as if the world beyond Earl Godwin’s chamber had forgotten them. Afterwards they whispered words of love until morning filtered in through the window glass and captured them in its sea-green glow.

  After prime, a few days later, she watched from the palisade as Harold and his house-ceorls rode away to the Godwin estate at Bosham. A young warrior carried his standard, a fighting man outlined on a green-and-jewelled background which went flying before them, the replica of which now hung in her hall beside her own swan.

  A week later, Padar rode into Reredfelle, not on the handsome mount he had used in Canterbury but on his usual horse, the smaller, friendlier Otter. She greeted him in the yard as stable boys rushed to take charge of the sweating beast.