“Yes, my lady, your memory serves you well.”
“Is it true, the rumors?”
“That she rode through the streets naked?”
“Did she, Rheda?”
“If one believes what one is told.”
“I had heard that she took pity on the people and pleaded with her husband to revoke the oppressive taxes, but he refused. When Earl Leofric grew tired of her appeals, he said he would rescind the taxation if she rode naked through Coventry, but he never believed she would do such a thing. Yet she did it, if the rumors are true.”
“My mother claims the story to be factual, my lady. The people were told to close their windows and remain indoors while she rode through the town with only her long hair hiding her nakedness. The Earl had no choice but to put an end to the taxation.”
Gwyneth kept her voice steady when she asked Rheda about Peeping Tom. She knew the question might raise eyebrows, but she had to ask, she had to know.
“Did everyone stay indoors? Did anyone look?”
“You are referring to the tailor, Tom.”
“Yes, he was struck blind if the account is accurate.”
“My mother never spoke of the tailor, but I, too, have heard the tale.”
“I find such an ancestor fascinating. Her story should be preserved.”
“My lady, I beg you not to repeat my words, or I will lose my position.”
“I did not mean to cause you any distress,” Gwyneth told her anxious servant. “I shall speak of this to no one, not even with my husband.”
Gwyneth embraced Rheda warmly, hoping to allay her fears and was relieved when the woman smiled.
“I almost forgot why I am here,” Rheda blushed as she retrieved a letter from the pouch she wore beneath her tunic.
Rheda handed the communiqué to Gwyneth and smiled upon taking her leave. Gwyneth sat beneath the window, glancing upon the letter, which was addressed to her. Her hands shook as she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
My lady, Gwyneth...
It is imperative that you cross the mountains before winter sets in; otherwise, you will be forced to spend the months in one of the border towns, which I do not recommend, given King Philip’s troubles with his vassals. You must not get caught up in the melee in your condition, lest all is lost.
Preparations are in place, so you need not fear discovery, but you must set out within a fortnight upon receipt of this letter. We have little time, my lady, do not tarry.
Godspeed.
Brother Ulrich.
Gwyneth was ashen when Erik walked into the room. He took the letter, reading the ominous words before speaking.
“We will leave as soon as Earl Edwin departs. I do not expect his visit to be longer than two days.”
“Do you not find all of this unsettling?” Gwyneth asked, her voice cracking with emotion.
“If our son is to survive, we must do as we are bid.”
“Erik, I am not one to frighten easily, but I must confess, I am apprehensive.”
“Gwyneth, Divine Intervention, remember? Those are your words.”
“Yes, my love. You are right. No more questions about how or why. We are together and that is all that matters.”
“Earl Edwin arrives tomorrow. I would have you make preparations while we are in council. Wynstan will be of help and that is why he knew of your arrival.”
Gwyneth embraced her husband, finding his strong arms comforting as she thought of bearing Erik’s son, a son to preserve the dynasty into the twenty-first century.
***
Gwyneth was dressed in her finest gown as she stood next to Erik, resplendent in his warrior’s garb as they awaited the arrival of their expected guest. She behaved appropriately for a woman of her station, deferring to her husband’s every command whenever there was an audience. Her performance was impeccable, having studied the nuances of drama while spending one summer at Stratford-upon-Avon with the Royal Shakespeare Company.
When the Earl of Mercia rode through the main gate, Gwyneth maintained her regal stance, her eyes aglow as Earl Edwin entered the citadel. She was looking at a familiar face, and praised the artist who had truly captured his likeness in the portrait she had seen at the Medieval Gallery in London.
Earl Edwin dismounted and bowed before his hosts. Gwyneth smiled, nodding her head in acknowledgement as the earl turned his attention to Erik.
“Thank you for agreeing to this meeting,” Earl Edwin said. “I would join you shortly ... within the hour, if that suits you.”
“As you wish,” Erik replied. “Gwyneth will see to your men. Come, your chambers are nearby. Walk with me.”
Gwyneth met with the Captain of the armed escort who sat upon a beautiful chestnut stallion. She spoke the usual pleasantries before instructing her servants to lead the men to their assigned quarters. She waited until the retinue left the courtyard before heading towards the chapel library.
It did not take Gwyneth long to reach one of the oldest buildings in the citadel, a building which had not survived into her century, being a wooden structure. She opened the door to the chapel, stepping inside as her eyes adjusted to the candle-lit room. She walked to the altar, remembering the night she and Erik were wed as her thoughts wandered. She knew well the history of the citadel, the recorded events that had endured the ravages of time. Now, God willing, she would be able to complete the story once she read the manuscripts and listened to the stories that had been repeated for generations.
While praying before the Crucifix mounted on the wall, she noticed that the altar had been moved. She pulled back the white cloth and saw a trap door, which she opened warily, revealing a stairwell. Gwyneth grabbed a candle before descending the stairs, and soon found herself in a burial vault, which contained at least a dozen coffins.
“We must excavate here when I return,” Gwyneth mumbled to herself.
The air was stale and musty, but a solitary vigil candle hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room, its steady light casting eerie shadows upon the walls. Gwyneth ran her hand over the rough stone, wishing she could open the lid so she might identify the remains. If she had more time, she would have examined every detail of her find, but that would have to wait. She walked the length of the room, searching for a door, which she found quite easily.
Gwyneth ascended the stairs, taking care not to soil her garments as she reached the top. When she opened the door, she found herself standing before the chapel library. A sudden wind gust extinguished the candle, which sent a chill throughout her body. She was not superstitious, nor did she believe in omens, but in this setting, with everything that had transpired, she was ill at ease. Was it because she had disturbed the dead, or was it because she was in a century she did not belong in? She admonished herself for her foolishness and lack of faith. Yes, Divine Intervention had brought her here, and Divine Intervention would bring her home, but not before she accomplished what she was meant to accomplish, which was to bear Erik a son who would preserve the dynasty. She took a deep breath, thanked the Lord for his deliverance, and smiled. Her faith restored, she was no longer afraid. Erik had accepted what he could not understand, and so would she. Whatever happened, they would suffer the same fate, and that in itself, was a blessing.
As Gwyneth entered the library, she noticed a scribe sitting beneath the window, copying sacred text. Well, she assumed it was sacred text as she glanced upon the shelves, perusing the titles. The sound of the quill scratching against the parchment reminded her of fingernails scraping the length of a chalkboard, but it was not unpleasant. She could have asked the scribe to point her in the right direction, or even have him bring her the book, but she did not want anyone to know what she was looking for.
After searching for an hour, Gwyneth found the blueprint of the fortress as built by the Romans, which revealed the location of concealed rooms and tunnels. She studied the drawings, memorizing the schematics, unaware that Rheda remained in the shadows, watching as the hours passed.
Once Gwyneth had committed the diagrams to memory, she placed the book upon the shelf and left, oblivious to being spied upon. Rheda waited until the door closed before retrieving the coveted work. She left through the secret passageway, following the old Roman tunnel, which led to the cliff where the courier waited.
“You are late!” Seymour exclaimed.
“I beg forgiveness,” Rheda replied. “She spent hours in the library, and I had to wait until she left to avoid being seen.”
“And why was she there?”
“She was looking at this,” Rheda said while handing him the book.
Seymour glanced at the pages before replying.
“Find out why she wants this information. We will meet again tomorrow. Do not fail me.”
Chapter Four
Erik met with Earl Edwin in his private office located in the barracks. He chose this location so no one would overhear their conversation. While he believed everyone who served him was loyal, he could not chance betrayal.
Wall torches illuminated the room that was bereft of windows. A brisk breeze filtered through the open door as the heat of midday lingered. The two men sat sipping their wine while Erik’s first officer stood guard at the foot of the buildings, denying entry until the meeting had ended. Erik waited patiently for the Earl of Mercia to reveal the reason for his visit, which he believed was to forge an alliance, and he conjectured against the Welsh. Privately, Erik had no quarrel with Gruffudd ap Llywelyn since disputes over territory were valid, and usually solved peacefully. Regrettably, the Welsh king was becoming powerful, too powerful for King Edward to ignore.
“I have recently been to court,” Earl Edwin told his host. “The king knows I am here. It was his idea that I should speak with you.”
“How may I be of service?”
“There is much unrest within the kingdom. King Edward’s enemies believe him to be an unfit ruler because of his piousness, but do not let his love of the Lord fool you. It is but a ruse, his pious behavior. King Edward is not simple. He is cunning and ruthless when defending his kingdom.”
“I have never doubted the king’s prowess,” Erik interjected.
“Do not misconstrue my words. Your loyalty is not in question, but there are many who would have the Norman bastard succeed when it is time. Which is the reason for my visit. There are spies everywhere, and one must be alert. King Edward believes the Welsh upstart is conspiring with the Normans. If this proves true, your army must be ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Gruffudd must not extend his territory. Personally, I do not believe he would venture this far south, but Wessex has always been coveted.”
“I need more men,” Erik replied. “I cannot leave the fortress undefended.”
“You shall have them. Seasoned warriors have been dispatched to assist with the training. Unless there is a battle, the new recruits, once trained, are to return to their homes to work the fields. No need to feed and house them all since we are not at war. The king’s coffers are being emptied, and further taxation would cause a riot.”
“Housing more men will not be a problem. The boys from the outlying villages have almost completed their training and will be happy to return to their homes. They are well aware they could be called to fight at a moment’s notice. I do not foresee any problems.”
“We are in agreement, then,” Earl Edwin said while rising. “Come, show me your training field.”
Erik led the way out of the barracks, nodding at Bryson as they came upon the busy courtyard. His first officer followed his commander while glancing at the warriors patrolling the wall-walk. Ever vigilant, Bryson did not take chances since one never knew when the enemy might strike. The Earl of Mercia would not be assassinated on his watch.
***
Gwyneth watched from atop the Keep as Erik and Earl Edwin made their way towards the training field. She noticed the warrior walking behind the two men and wondered about his identity. She assumed the man was one of Erik’s personal guards and possibly, he was also a close friend. That was the problem with history books. They usually stated the facts and never mentioned the human element. It was names and dates ad nauseam throughout her early school years. 1066 - everyone knew the year of the conquest since that battle had changed the course of history. But if you asked any of the children in the twenty-first century what happened in 1215, they would look at you as if you were from another planet. There was just no interest, especially since history had nothing to do with them. That was the past, and they lived in the present, and most did not care about the future. And history seemed to repeat itself. Why? Because every generation makes the same mistakes, that was why.
“Enough of the philosophy,” Gwyneth mumbled beneath her breath as she turned her attention towards the rocks below.
Gwyneth wondered if she would be able to see the tunnel opening that led to the cliff. She stepped up on her toes, peering over the wall and was taken aback when she noticed someone standing there. She thought it might be a man, but she could not be sure. She leaned forward, hoping to get a better look when she saw another person. All she could see was the top of their heads, nothing more. She tried not to speculate, but that was impossible because clandestine meetings were deceitful, whatever the purpose.
The meeting did not take long, which Gwyneth found troubling. Something sinister was being planned, but what? She turned her attention back to the courtyard, scanning the area for anything unusual, such as two people suddenly appearing out of nowhere. She raced to the opposite wall, looking down at the cluttered buildings, recognizing the kitchens because of the vegetable gardens nearby. Gwyneth was just about to head to the west wall when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. A woman came out of a door and was heading towards Erik’s private quarters.
“Look up, I need to see your face,” Gwyneth thought. “Who are you?”
Father Gerard happened to be walking towards the woman, and Gwyneth prayed the Benedictine would recognize her. If she could not determine her identity now, she would seek out Father Gerard before meeting Erik. She was disappointed when the woman did not stop, acknowledging the priest with a nod of her head.
Gwyneth ran down the stairs, hoping to meet Father Gerard before he disappeared. She walked swiftly towards Erik’s private quarters, but the priest was nowhere to be found. She backtracked, heading towards the kitchens, believing someone might have seen the woman coming out the door and was thoroughly surprised to find Father Gerard picking vegetables.
“My child, is something wrong?” Father Gerard asked when he noticed Gwyneth’s flustered appearance.
“The woman you were talking to, who was she?” Gwyneth blurted.
“What woman?”
“As you were coming from my private quarters, there was a woman.”
“Oh, you must be speaking of Rheda.”
“Yes, Rheda, thank you. I thought I had recognized her, but I had to be sure.”
“Something is bothering you. What is it? Do not be afraid to speak your mind. You can trust me.”
“I do trust you, Father, but I cannot say if there is anything wrong.”
“Gwyneth, my child. There are things happening that cannot be explained. We both know this. And the danger is great.”
“I know, and once I am sure, we will talk, but not until then.”
***
The kitchen servants were busy preparing the feast being held in honor of the Earl of Mercia. A wild boar had been roasted to perfection, its sizzling juices dripping onto the platter as it was removed from its skewer. Trout coated with herbs cooked on a griddle while a beef stew simmered in a cauldron. Loaves of freshly baked bread were kept warm upon the hearth, the tantalizing aroma carried by a soft breeze. The scent of honeyed cakes and curd cheese pastries was invigorating as the women finished their tasks. Bowls of berries and nuts, and platters of vegetables and roasted meat would be carried into the feasting hall once Earl Edwin was seated. The men had already delivered casks filled with mead and wine and were waiting t
o begin the procession.
Rheda nodded approvingly to the kitchen servants as she entered the room, paying no heed to the women she considered beneath her station. She scrutinized every dish, and she even had the temerity to taste the beef stew, much to the cook’s consternation.
“Bring the food now,” Rheda said, somewhat too sharply as she left the kitchens and returned to the feasting hall.
Once inside the room, Rheda joined the minstrels who had been playing their instruments in the farthermost corner so as not to disturb the distinguished guest. While she was conversing with the young man, she noticed Gwyneth was watching her. As soon as she finished her instructions, she met with Erik’s wife, fearing chastisement, but for what?
“My lady,” Rheda whispered. “How may I be of service?”
“Find Father Gerard. It is our wish that he grace our table this evening.”
“Father Gerard is in the chapel. I shall not be long.”
“Just give him the message, Rheda. It is not necessary for you to return. Spend time with your family.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
Since Gwyneth had witnessed Rheda’s tryst with the stranger, she did not trust the woman. Actually, she no longer trusted anyone living within the citadel. Her problem was knowing the past, even though documentation for this time period was sparse. There were plenty of reliable sources after the Norman invasion, William the Bastard had seen to it. Luckily, she knew enough to figure out what was happening around her. It was knowing the outcome that she found distressing. She was walking that fine line where one wrong decision could alter the timeline.
Something sinister was afoot, and Gwyneth believed that Rheda was involved in the treachery. She needed to find out the name of her co-conspirator before she and Erik left the citadel. It would take months to reach the abbey at St. Gall, and she did not relish the thought of constantly looking over her shoulder.
Erik’s gentle touch brought her thoughts back to the present. She smiled at her husband, squeezing his arm lovingly as the food was placed upon the table. Gwyneth curtailed her enthusiasm, but her eyes sparkled. She was taking part in an authentic feast, not a reenactment but a real event. Her eyes widened as the men sliced the wild boar, which she had yet to taste since the animal was on the endangered species list in her century. She waited impatiently to have her plate filled with every course, savoring the different tastes as she ate the food with her fingers.
The Briton and the Dane: Timeline Page 3
