Padar had held his suspicions about what was happening in England’s north close to his heart for weeks. Tales had filtered through to Denmark all through that autumn that William was targeting the northern shires, determined to build more castles and stop rebellions. If York had fallen foul of King William, as was rumoured, then these men were exiles. If so, then he wanted to know the how, when and why of it.
He strolled over to the pair. For a heartbeat he paused before speaking. They were the sort of men that even Padar did not want to encounter unannounced in one of York’s narrow lanes. You did not want to be at the other end of one of their double-edged seaxes. However another glance, to his relief, assured him that today the pair did not carry swords. He coughed to attract their attention without risking physical contact. Who knows how they would react to a hand on the shoulder?
Merleswein looked up, his eyes boring into him. Recognition crossed his dark countenance. He leapt up and clapped Padar’s back. ‘Infernal smoke,’ he grunted gruffly. Padar coughed again, this time because he could not help it. The Dane laughed. ‘So, Padar, what brings you here? Not in Ireland with the Godwin boys?’
Padar cleared his throat. ‘I was about to ask the same of you, Merleswein. Not in York?’
‘York is angry, my friend. King William’s men have levied a new geld on the city and that bastard, Robert of Commines, his governor, has permitted their mercenaries’ pillage on those who refuse the tax.’ He spat onto the floor tiles. ‘York wants another king, not the Norman bastard. They are talking about young Edgar.’
‘Edgar?’ Padar repeated. It took only a moment for him to grasp the state of play here, what these men were really up to. Sweyn had always had half an eye on England. He had always considered himself part of the English royal family. King Sweyn was not only a nephew of Countess Gytha but he was also a relative of the fearsome Danish king, Canute, who had conquered England more than half a century before. He would look for the best chance and seize it.
‘That fine young Aetheling is in Scotland and been there since last summer. He has had enough of William the Bastard’s charity. He has run away from the Norman court, got his mother and sisters out too. He wants his crown. The people of York want a leader.’
‘And you choose that youth rather than a son of Harold Godwin? The people of York want peace. They need to trade. That boy won’t bring them peace.’
‘That boy as you call him is a young man of seventeen summers near enough and, moreover, he is a descendant of Alfred. We need such a one at the head of our army.’
‘Your army,’ Padar was now perplexed. Where was this army coming from, Scotland or Denmark; perhaps from both? Clear as torchlight, Padar saw the depth of Sweyn’s cunning. Edgar’s mother, Agatha, was, in fact, Queen Elizaveta’s sister. He frowned at this significance. Edgar, the prince returned from Hungary, related to the Russian princes, had accepted William of Normandy as his king and had sworn allegiance after that October battle in 1066. Last Padar had heard of the young prince was that Edgar had been in Normandy with King William. Now he was planning to lead an army and take the throne from William.
‘Does King Sweyn intend to help him?’ He broached this crucial question carefully. His voice was calmer than he felt. He had a suspicion that Sweyn was about to embark on an act of betrayal.
Merleswein nodded. ‘The lords of the North, Gospatrick, Waltheof, Edwin and Earl Morcar have all pledged their allegiance to the boy. They want their lands back.’
‘What about Godwin?’
‘What about Godwin Haroldson? If he joins us he will get his Wessex lands back. Without us he is useless. England’s woods are crawling with the dispossessed, thanes without land, the hungry and the poor. There are those who call themselves the silvatii, men of the forest, and they will fight back. My friend, think on this, if we can get help from the sea there is more chance of destroying our enemies.’ Merleswein grinned, showing teeth set like stout white rocks into his gums. He caught Padar’s arm. ‘You should join us, Padar. You may be small in stature but you are sharp and quick. I remember your ability with the sword, with the arrow, never mind your agile mind. And you were always a trustworthy scout.’
‘Once upon a life,’ Padar said. He shook off Merleswein’s grip. ‘Now my life is pledged to watch over Princess Thea. What does Sweyn get out of this pact?’
‘Interests in the Danelaw, the Eastern part of England once ruled over by the Danish Viking earls. Though they became English they followed their own customs and laws and for the sake of peace the kings left them to it. They feel a Danish king like Sweyn might help them out. The Normans are moving north and we don’t like it.’
‘I understand Danelaw,’ Padar said. ‘I own Danish blood and I have been on King Harold’s business often enough up in the north when he was our beloved earl and then our noble king. So what is Sweyn after?’
‘Simple, skald. That young Prince Edgar will recognise him as Danelaw’s rightful overlord; well, only if he provides us with a fleet.’
The northerners were fickle, or maybe just desperate, thought Padar to himself. Aloud he said, ‘Beware. Another Northland king tried that at Stamford Bridge just over two years since. He had no proper horsemen, used ships, and he was ill equipped to win a land battle. Remember his sorry ending.’
‘We shall see, Padar. We shall see. Now you did not answer my question. I have told you our business. What is your business here today?’
To his relief, he did not need to answer. The hall hushed except for the noise of shuffling feet and the swish of a curtain. Sweyn himself entered the dais from behind a tapestry hanging. On seeing the king, the thanes pushed forward, turned towards the dais and bowed to Sweyn. Even Merleswein sprang to his feet, knocking the gaming pieces over with a clatter. He shoved his way through the gathering and knelt before Sweyn. ‘My lord king …’ he began to say looking up at the dais. There was no opportunity to finish his speech because at that moment the king’s searching eyes picked out Padar where he stood by the Hnefatafl table.
Waving the burly Dane back, the king called out, ‘Later … Padar, my messenger told me you are here so I come to find you.’ Merleswein frowned darkly. ‘Merleswein, we shall talk later.’ The king waved in the direction of the Hnefatafl board. ‘Go back to that game. The winner plays me after supper.’ He made a guffaw as Merleswein bowed and retreated. ‘Padar step up here.’ King Sweyn called for a servant and demanded apple mead to be carried through to the antechamber.
Once Padar was seated in the chamber behind the hall, on a stool beside the king, who reclined comfortably in his throne-like chair amongst a pile of furs, feet on the hearth rail, he was asked about Gunnhild and Thea. Padar reported that both were well and then inquired politely, ‘Noble king, how are your other daughters?’
‘Recovering; Christ’s mercy, thank heavens, the bastard pox is departing my court with this cold weather.’ Sweyn tugged at his beard. ‘The reason you are here, Padar, is that I have a mission for you. I wish the mission you are to undertake to remain secret.’
The servant edged his way through the tapestry with a jug. Sweyn told him to leave the jug on a table by the hearth, dismissed him and offered Padar a cup of apple mead. After he poured himself a cup as well, the king leaned forward and threw a log on the fire. It hissed and spat. For a moment there was smoke. The wood settled and the fire crackled.
‘It concerns Lady Thea,’ Sweyn began. ‘I made a promise to Aunt Gytha that I would do all I could to help her marriage to the Russian prince. As a Christian king I intend not to break my word and if you sail now you will beat the ice.’
This at least was good news. Padar recognised quickly that he must not, nor could not, broach Sweyn’s possible change of alliance, since he did not wish to jeopardise Thea’s chances with the Russian prince. He leaned forward and listened to the king’s proposal intently.
King Sweyn had gained intelligence that Prince Vsevolod had sent diplomats to Hungary and to Poland seeking a bride for his o
nly son. The Rus prince was worthy of the best match in Europe. Through his mother, Princess Anastasia, Prince Vsevolod’s first wife, the boy was the grandson of Constantine Monomakh. As such he bore the name of this great Byzantine emperor, one of the noblest names in Christendom. Padar must persuade the Russians that a match with Thea would please the Danish king and bring the Rus princes new lucrative trade agreements with Danish merchants. It would be a suitable reciprocal arrangement.
As the king talked and the fire blazed, Padar became excited at the thought of a new adventure, at the trust placed in him, and he even felt relieved to be away from Denmark for a season once he discovered that he would not return before Eastertide. For Thea and Gytha he would move rocks. He would put his own life at risk for them. He would place their needs before a little girl’s affection even if she looked like sunshine and was as sweet as mead. Padar bowed to the king and decided to do all that was asked of him.
He determined to avoid Merleswein as he waited to sail to Staria Lagoda and then by river to Novgorod. He would not tell that thug his business nor that of those whose interests he protected. He hung around the quayside, made friends with merchants and gave the impression that he intended to take up a merchant’s life himself. One day Merleswein found him saying goodbye to a Rus merchant and remarked, ‘So you are off to trade for furs, Padar?’
‘It will be a good living,’ Padar replied. ‘You should consider it yourself instead of kicking up trouble between cousins.’
‘Those Godwin boys can join us any time they wish. But their cousin Sweyn will make a better king. The father lost a kingdom. Who is to say the cubs will do any better?’
‘I doubt Edgar Aetheling will bring anything of value to the table.’ Padar shrugged and strolled off along the quay to find more convivial company. Godwin, he suspected, would never marry a Danish princess now, not if Sweyn supported Aetheling Edgar.
A few weeks later Padar found himself, guarded by one of the king’s trusted bodyguards, a man called Odin, and a small band of King Sweyn’s warriors, whisked by sleigh pulled by fast-running woolly dogs along the frozen river they named Volchov, towards the northern Rus city of Novgorod.
As he peered out from his furs over the frozen woods and fields, he was reminded that deep midwinter had gripped the world. He glanced uneasily through the dark spindle-like trees that lined the river banks. God only knew what nature of malignant spirits and flesh-eating creatures lived within the forest’s secret heart? Padar turned away from the frightening landscape that edged the river and tried to think forward to his arrival instead.
He travelled with gifts in his pack. These included one of King Harold’s priceless rings set with a large opal, and a great number of silver arm rings. After he showed these to the Danish King and Queen, Elizaveta had suggested a gift for Prince Vsevolod’s new wife, a Kypchak princess from the Northern Steppes. Her name was Anya. Padar stole back secretly at night to the guarded warehouse and carefully selected a lovely gold brooch set with garnets. Elizaveta looked on it with approval when she examined it next day. ‘You chose as well as I myself would,’ she said.
As the pack of dogs pulling his sleigh barked, and raced on like possessed demons over the ice road, Padar pondered his mission to the Rus princes. It was too cold for conversation. Odin silently sat beside Padar. Determining that he would return in spring with a positive response, Padar crept down lower under furs. Sweet Christ, it was cold in Russia. If only he could drift off into sleep, time would not hang so slowly about his frozen journey.
Church bells were ringing when, some bitterly cold days later, they arrived outside the great river gate that led into Novgorod. There they were surrounded by a waiting group of curious, helmeted, sword-carrying warriors, the younger members of Prince Vsevolod’s personal guard. ‘We have come to guide you to the fortress,’ their leader announced and Odin translated.
The buildings they passed seemed recently built. Their roofs were high with many overhanging gables. Many houses opened onto streets made of logs split in half lengthways, built up higher above the central roadways than similar walkways in Denmark. They had been constructed on stout pillars and were swept clean of snow. Peering from the sleigh, Padar saw that some buildings belonged to craftsmen and glass-makers. He caught flashes of glass being blown just inside their doorways; others were smithies. Some obviously belonged to bakers because he could smell the loaves baking and began to salivate.
Set back inside gates and courtyards, there were grander two-storied hall houses, much taller than the rest. Odin told Padar that these belonged to noblemen and merchants. ‘Novgorod is a wonderful city and Kiev even nicer. You could make a good living in these Rus cities, my friend. Well, if they were at peace.’
‘You mean there is fighting here?’
Odin glanced in a guarded manner about him, clearly checking that the guards who ran alongside the sleigh were not listening, though noticing this hesitance, Padar remarked, ‘If they do not speak Norse they will not understand us.’
‘Well, hear this then,’ Odin began. Padar leaned in to listen above the swish of the sleigh runners. ‘A few years ago there was an attempted invasion of the city by Vsevolod’s cousin, a prince called Vsevslav. His warriors burned down Novgorod and stole the bells of St Sophia. Mstislav, the governor here, fled, just ran away. He was only a youth then, not fit to rule this city. Now, they have rebuilt Novgorod.’
‘How was the city recaptured?’
‘Vsevslav and his sons were arrested after they lost a battle south of the city. But, there is an even stranger story. They were to be forgiven. You know, like us, the Russians lay great store by cross-kissing oaths, but, and this is the terrible thing,’ Olaf lowered his voice. ‘It seems that Prince Iziaslav of Kiev broke trust. Prince Vsevslav and his sons are now imprisoned in Kiev where they can do no mischief. But a broken cross-kissing oath …’ He crossed himself. ‘No good comes from breaking oaths, Padar.’
Padar shook his head. ‘No.’
By the time Odin had finished, his breath rising into the icy city air in white puffs, they had entered through the fortress’s formidable gates. ‘What happened to the bells?’ Padar asked.
‘Returned after the Battle of Wemiga River where Vsevslav was defeated by the three princes of Kiev and where that cross kissing occurred.’
‘So who is in charge here now?’
‘Prince Vsevolod is in charge.’
‘And, Mstislav, no return for him?’
‘Not a good move. The merchants don’t want him. Their veche, the town assembly, that is, have denied him Novgorod.’ Odin shrugged. ‘The youth is in Kiev with his father, the Grand Prince. The youth will get control of another city, a lesser one.’
‘So are you here, Odin, to be my ears and eyes?’ Padar said.
Odin laughed heartily. ‘To keep you right, little man…and safe. We will be in Novgorod for the winter.’
‘It looks as if I am going to need your help. I cannot understand a word of their Rus tongue. You had better teach me some useful words.’
‘Here’s one.’ He mumbled an incomprehensible word. Padar gave him a quizzical look. ‘It means, “clear off, you cunt”.’ Odin laughed again. ‘You will find English fur-trade merchants here, Padar. Their knowledge of the city and the Rus is limitless. And many of them winter here.’ He slapped Padar’s back. ‘Not so bad to be a guest here. Tomorrow their midwinter feasting begins. It is a good time to be in Novgorod. You will see. They treat us Danes well.’
The guards were waving them forward. Padar swung his travelling pack from under the fur coverings and sat it on his knees. He intended to keep it with him since it not only held his harp but also a casket with the gifts.
They entered through a second set of wooden gates and proceeded into an inner courtyard, Padar clutching his bag, Odin rattling on beside him about the feasting he could expect in this very impressive city over the winter.
The sleigh dramatically drew to a halt with a spray of snow jerkin
g them forward. When Padar raised his head, he saw that an enormous turreted building loomed up in front of them. He drew an impressed breath. Their escort barked something at the gatekeepers. The gate opened and the sleighs passed into a courtyard. They crossed this yard and the procedure started over again, another gate and another courtyard. At last Padar and Odin were able to climb from the sleighs. They waited with their Dane escort before the fortress’s entrance door as one of their helmeted guards banged on the heavy door. When it opened, two servants, who were clad in beautifully decorated, though somewhat inadequate, woollen garments for winter, appeared from the doorway. A slave who followed offered to carry Padar’s large pack but Padar shook his head. ‘What was that word, Odin,’ he muttered.
‘I would not use it to the prince’s servants. This palace hums with intrigue. You want the servants and slaves on side. Only use it with proven enemies.’
‘I think you are telling me a load of crap,’ Padar whispered back.
‘I am not,’ Odin protested.
‘Well, I’m keeping the bag with me.’ He shook his head at the servant and clutched the heavy pack even more tightly.
The Rus guards led their Dane attendants away to their living quarters in the courtyard and the servant escorted Odin and Padar into the hall of what was apparently a highly guarded kremlin or keep. The great three-aisled and pillared hall was filled to bursting with merchants, noblemen and their servants. Members of the prince’s guard, his druzhina, loitered about the tiled floor. They craned their necks curiously to view the newcomers.
The Betrothed Sister Page 9
