She was careful not to criticise Sweyn because she suspected that her letter might be read before it was sent and after all it would be sealed by Jarl Niels and sent with merchants visiting Flanders. If their journey was a guide it would take several weeks, perhaps longer, to reach its destination. She took care to press some blue flowers and include them as a keepsake for Gytha. She wrapped a cheese she had made and prayed that it would not spoil on the long sea journey. Finally she included a needle-holder that she had embroidered with a dragon ship sailing over waves, just like the Wave-Prancer, so that Gytha would not forget the journey they had made in it to Denmark.
‘Gudrun,’ she said a morning later as they walked to the weaving sheds with baskets heaped up with newly spun wool. ‘I think Padar will be back soon. I feel it.’ She glanced up at a flight of sparrows crossing the sky. ‘Look, they are returning. If Padar has been to the lands of the Rus, surely he will bring back news of my betrothal. Grandmother was sure that I would be betrothed to Prince Vladimir. She arranged it.’
‘Really, truly. Then, Lady Thea, will I travel with you to Russia?’
She smiled. They had become close companions, genuine friends rather than simply mistress and maid. ‘Yes, my dear girl. If I am betrothed; Prince Vsevolod might choose another princess for his son, one better connected and wealthier than I.’ She sighed and feigned sorrow. ‘I could lose my handsome, devoted prince yet and grow into an unwed crone here in Søderop making cheeses and butter, embroidering altar cloths and pillows for Jarl Niels grandchildren.’
‘Nonsense, Lady Thea, that will never be so. You are much too beautiful. If Padar describes you well …’ Gudrun looked sheepish as she spoke Padar’s name. She blinked and said softly. ‘I hope that one day I can find a husband too. I, too, wish for love, my lady.’
Thea felt a sense of reality enter her dreams. ‘But in truth, my friend, we never actually marry for love. It grows. It did between my mother and father. Theirs was a handfasted wedding in the old way. She was the daughter of a wealthy nobleman and he died leaving her a great heiress. I never knew my mother’s family. My father’s family became her family and just look what happened to his brothers. Uncle Tostig died a traitor, Uncle Gyrth died at Senlac and my favourite uncle of all, Uncle Leofwine, also fell in the great battle.’
‘And my father too.’
They continued in companionable silence across the courtyard. Thea pointed to the bench outside the shed where men inside were busy working the table looms. They sat down. The rhythmic noise of shuttles clacking and the oily smell of new wool escaped from the shed. ‘There is something I cannot say in the house.’
‘My lady? I am listening,’ Gudrun said quietly.
‘Before she left for Easter at Roskilde, Princess Gunnhild told me that there was a cunning woman here who was clever with ancient spells. Gunnhild said that the woman might help me make an invocation to disturb William’s enjoyment of our stolen English lands.’ Thea glanced down at her tightly clenched hands. ‘If I cannot marry well then he is to blame.’ Thea’s eyes stung as if pins were pricking them. ‘Do you think God will punish me if I ill-wish that Bastard?’
‘That is twisted thought; it is as twisted as an old snake, my lady. It will curl about your heart like a serpent and choke you. My lady, be careful what you wish for. It is more honourable for us to hope that King William just keels over and dies or that he is defeated in a battle. Sorcery and witchcraft are dangerous.’ Gudrun shuddered. ‘I am not sure that Princess Gunnhild has your interests at heart. If you were discovered dealing in spells, you could jeopardise every chance of a good marriage.’
‘But, Gudrun, if it was only a small spell, if we can find the woman, will you help me?’
‘Yes, I suppose, but only if we pray devoutly that none of her evil can taint us, only those who have committed evil.’ She sat still thinking until she added, ‘King William killed my father too.’
‘Then we shall go into the shed and deposit these baskets. After that we must walk down to the river and follow the sycamore pathway into the woods.’
‘But we shall be outside the palisade.’
‘Yes, and we can say we are visiting the dyers. They have been dying fleeces.’
‘Do you know how to find the cunning woman, my lady?’
‘She has a hut by the great rune stone marker where there was once a chieftain buried in his ship.’ Thea frowned. ‘She delivers herbs and charms for the sick but she has stronger magic too; so Gunnhild said.’
‘We must take Ghost,’ Gudrun said firmly. Ghost was the fiercest hall hound. He was completely white and wore a studded collar.
‘We can take Ghost. Let us ask for salt for the dyers, a good excuse to get outside the palisade. I heard Lady Ingar say they need salt and that no one would be available to go to the river today. We can offer. That way no alarm will be raised and I do not have a music lesson today until after Vespers.’
‘They’ll look for us during the dinner hour.’
‘We’ll say that we plan to eat down by the river.’ Thea stared up at the cloudless sky. ‘Lady Ingar will be so pleased about the salt that she will allow us to take meat and cheese with us. Everyone is busy today. She will let us go if we take Ghost. That hound can be really fierce. I’ve watched him catch rats in the hall straw.’
Just after noon, with Ghost trotting along by their sides, occasionally snuffling in hedgerows, Thea and Gudrun hurried towards the mill. Gudrun pushed the sack of salt, a sack of corn for the miller and their dinner in a wheelbarrow along the palisade pathway. Thea swung Ghost’s leather leash from her hand.
Organised shelves with large sacks of milled flour lined the walls inside the mill. In the centre of the room ladders ascended up the mill’s interior to the floors above. Gudrun shouted up the ladder to the miller who came lumbering down the ladders to greet them.
The burly miller seemed surprised to see Thea standing in her mantle in the middle of the space below amongst sacks of un-milled grain. Bowing, he said, ‘My lady, what brings you to the mill?’
‘Lady Ingar sends her greetings and a sack of last September’s corn to be ground into flour. She will require it by tomorrow.’
‘Will she now?’
‘She expects company. There is not enough flour left for the bread. She asks that you send it over to the hall kitchens when it is milled.’
‘It will be done.’ The miller followed them outside, lifted the corn sack, opened it and thrust his hand inside. ‘I suppose it is cleaned. The last sack took an age as it was full of grit.’
Thea shrugged. ‘I do not know that, Jacob. I am just delivering it. We must be on our way now.’
‘God speed, my lady,’ Jacob shouted above the roaring of the millstream and the clunking of the mill wheel. ‘Tell Lady Ingar I shall have her flour up to the hall by noon on the morrow.’
Thea and Gudrun waved their good byes and skirted the mill pond. They passed by a dam that Jacob was always strengthening. The river lay beyond the cut leading to the mill stream’s dam. They trundled the wheel barrow along the river trackway. Ghost raced after them, then before them frantically wagging his long tail.
Thea wrinkled her nose as the pungent stink from the dyers’ longhouse reached her. But she did like seeing the coloured fleeces stretched over the hedgerows where they were thrown to dry. Today, dyers were using woad which was particular smelly although the result was pleasing, a deep blue like the sky.
After handing over the precious bag of salt, one of the dyers thrust a bone for the hound at her. Thea shoved it into the wheelbarrow and hurried them along the river away from the stench. ‘Come on, Gudrun. Let us find a secret place amongst the bluebells to eat our picnic. Ghost can chew at his sheep’s bone. And, you know what? We can leave the wheelbarrow here and fetch it on our way back to the hall.’
‘You are still determined to find her, my lady?’ Gudrun looked thoughtfully at her mistress.
‘Yes. We shall find her, so let us look for a log t
o sit on and eat that cheese.’
She chose a spot amongst the bright blue flowers that was shaded by elders and pushed the barrow out of sight into the trees. She pointed to a log, flat on the top, conveniently close to the river bank where they could sit, drink their ale, eat and rest for a short time. After they had eaten their share and given Ghost the rest, they were able to tug off their boots, slide down onto the riverbank and cool their feet in the fast-flowing stream. Moments later, Thea pulled her feet out, dried them on her mantle and said, ‘Now, Gudrun, we must hurry.’ She pointed into the wood behind. ‘Let’s try that way, in through those beech trees. They should open out onto a pathway. Dry your feet and come on.’
Thea glanced up at the trees by the stream. They were bursting into leaf. Verges were filled with lacy cow parsley. Hawthorn clung in snowy clumps to the hedgerows. Spring was already turning towards the summer season.
Thea discovered a rough trackway that led into the woods not far from where they had been resting. It was as if it had intentionally opened for them, as if something was drawing them forward onto it, an invisible force that she did not wish to resist. In the distance she could hear the peal of bells. ‘The monastery of St Olave,’ she said, delighted that the track wound through the trees close to the comfort of resounding monastery bells. She turned to Gudrun. ‘As long as we stay on the track within reach of the bells’ ringing we cannot get lost.’ Logic told her that since woods around the king’s estate were not very dense the path would take them towards the ship burial.
She called Ghost to her and walked forward into the beech trees. Keeping a few steps behind, Gudrun followed her. ‘Are you sure this is the way, my lady?’
Thea turned. ‘No, I’m not sure, but I shall soon find out, and besides, is it not a wondrous thing to have the afternoon to ourselves; not to be surrounded by people and their work, endless work. Listen to the birds, Gudrun. You can really notice them here.’ She stopped and raised her hand to her ears. ‘I hear woodpeckers knocking on tree barks and, listen, there is the finch. I think I can imitate that call.’ For a moment they both paused and listened. Thea pursed her lips and made a perfect imitation of a finch calling to its mate. Stopping, she breathed deeply. ‘It is so good to feel part of the woods, as if we were Ghost or even the animals he chases along the verges. Just look at Ghost now. He’s enjoying his freedom too.’ Nonetheless, she held onto Ghost’s leash ready to slip it through the hound’s collar in case he deserted them and bolted into the thickets. She only promised Ghost conditional freedom.
Ghost clearly knew his freedom’s limitations for he stayed within them, faithfully shadowing Thea, only darting into the undergrowth sporadically, returning to rub against her legs.
The woods opened into a wide clearing and the stones that marked an old ship burial stood just as Princess Gunnhild had said. ‘See, I am right. It’s somewhere here. The cunning woman’s house is close. I feel it.’ Thea stopped and gazed around her. ‘I think the path stops here.’ She pointed into a stand of trees. ‘Look, a track continues over there.’ She pointed into an avenue of beech trees, convinced that she discerned smoke floating up into the branches.
The cunning woman’s low, lime-washed hall lay behind an ancient oak tree with spreading branches. ‘There it is,’ she whispered to Gudrun. They stopped by the tree. Thea took a deep breath, wondering should she call out a warning of her presence? There was no need. A heartbeat later, the lady herself came out to greet them. She waited for them by the cottage entrance. Immediately Gudrun made a sign with three fingers behind her back. When Gudrun muttered, ‘Hail Mary, Lady of Grace, protect us,’ Thea ignored her maid’s fear and marched forward.
Ghost bounded up to the lady, raised his head, sniffed and retreated, barking and leaping around Thea as if a bee had stung him. He crouched low, making a strange gurgling sound in his throat that was not exactly a growl. ‘Stay, Ghost,’ Thea urged, fearful now that the cunning woman had disturbed the hound. Gudrun drew closer and instinctively reached out for Thea’s mantle.
The lady did not appear how Thea imagined a witch would look. She was not old, nor was she poor. Her linen dress was blue, a deep blue, and was attractively embroidered about the hem and neck with red threads set down in intricate patterns of interlaced swirls. A gold necklace hung about her neck, made up of gold discs or perhaps coins. Her hair hung in two thin braids below a plain, neat, white linen cap. She leaned on a stick that was carved with tree leaves but, although the cunning woman’s braids were silvered, she did not look old. Her face was unlined and her eyes were hazel and kindly.
So this was Ragnar, Gunnhild’s witch.
For a moment the lady said nothing. She gestured with her stick for them to come forward. They tentatively took a few steps closer. Ghost pulled back momentarily and bared his teeth.
‘So what is it you need, my lady? A love potion or a candle to make your lovers more loving?’ The gentle laugh that followed possessed a light clinking cadence. It made Thea think of all those elf stories she had told the children on Flatholm. And for a moment she was sure she saw Prince Vladimir himself materialise before her, clad in a brown mantle with his glossy black hair spread about its hood and she was sure he held aloft a gleaming silver sword. He was smiling. His mouth opened to show gleaming white teeth. What was he trying to say? Was he warning her? As quickly as the vision formed it disintegrated. She was standing on the track with a witch staring at her.
Ragnar studied Thea’s startled face and for a moment Thea felt uncomfortable. She slipped the leash about Ghost’s collar. The act of bending concealed her nervousness.
The witch spoke again. Her voice sounded young. Perhaps witches never aged. ‘Come, my ladies, I know you require something. I see it in your countenance.’ Thea stared at her, holding the leash so tightly that she was sure her fear must show. ‘Something is bothering the Lady Thea, I believe.’
‘You know who I am, witch?’
‘Yes, my lady, I know much that happens here. And I know your names, Lady Thea and her maid, Gudrun.’ She smiled. ‘I live in the king’s woods with his permission. I am the guardian of that ship burial over there.’ Ragnar pointed into the trees. They both instinctively turned to follow her gesture. When they turned back she said, ‘Many come to me for cures and for advice. Some seek spells, others incantations. Some want a lucky token.’ She looked into Thea’s eyes. Thea drew back from her penetrating stare. ‘I think you want the future. I am right, am I not, my lady?’ Thea nodded. She wanted more than the future. She wanted to make the future.
‘Well then, come inside. Bring the hound. Or, no, best leave him. He may not like the parts of the dog, the heart, the liver, and paws that I use in my cures.’
‘Ghost, stay by the entrance.’
Thea shuddered. There was no turning back. She slipped the leash over a post and Ghost growled again and sat still, marking a mother duck and her ducklings waddling towards the pond by the side of the witch’s dwelling.
Once inside Thea and Gudrun sat together on a bench, their knees touching. Glancing nervously about the room Thea noticed a row of jars on a shelf opposite and shuddered at the thought of what else they might contain besides parts of pickled dog.
The woman’s hearth was neat, she observed with a sharp glance. A rack of drying herbs released a pleasant scent of rosemary, thyme, fennel and hennebelle. She could not recognise the other aromatic smells discharged from a second drying line above the hearth. Her eyes slid along the fireside to a pot cast from iron, suspended from a bracket hanging to the right of the smouldering fire. Beside the pot she saw a great bronze basin. The witch must use this one for her conjuring. It was huge and decorated with a circle of naked dancing figures. Other forms engraved on its surface held drinking horns. Some dangled bunches of grapes. As Thea studied it, the bronze seemed to glow right at her. At length, she tore her gaze away and across the small room. Sunbeams from the window fell on an elegantly carved chest opposite. An opened silver-plated box sat on the che
st, pouring out a heap of gold and silver jewellery.
‘I was polishing those when I heard you come. They are talismans. Step closer, my lady.’
Thinking of the vision she had earlier, Thea stood on shaky feet and crossed the hall room. She lifted a silver swan’s foot hanging on a fine chain from the casket.
Lady Ragnar smiled. ‘It has chosen you. You will wear it in the lands of snow and summer meadow. Take it with you when you leave today. It will bring you good fortune, a fine marriage and many children.’ She looked at Gudrun. ‘Now, girl, you may choose something.’
Feeling less jumpy, Thea found herself saying, ‘Gudrun, you must. You are here now and cannot deny Lady Ragnar’s kindness to us.’
Gudrun rolled her eyes, but left the bench to stand by her mistress. Diffidently she reached into the casket and drew out a long cloak pin. She touched its apex and immediately drew her finger back. A spot of blood was blossoming on the tip of her pointing finger. Instinctively she sucked the crimson bead away. Thea lifted the pin, which was decorated with swirls that seemed to have no beginning and no ending. She gave it back to Gudrun. ‘’Tis beautiful.’
‘It is for your cloak, Gudrun. Be careful with it,’ Lady Ragnar said with a smile hovering about her mouth. ‘The pin has its own life. Its name is Needle. You will journey far, child, and I think you will discover the love of a man who will bring you great joy and I suspect a terrible danger. Yours may not always be an easy pathway but do not worry because in the end you are promised great happiness.’ She drew a breath after she spoke those words. The room grew silent. Motes of golden dust floated above Thea. She clasped the silver swan tightly in her hand and felt Lady Ragnar’s gaze penetrating her heart.
At length Lady Ragnar said, ‘So, Lady Thea, why do you come here? I feel it concerns more than your own future. I sense your sorrow and loss. Perhaps in the telling of it you will find comfort. Sorrow can become happiness. Loss can turn into gain. Tell me your sadness; nay, it is anger, Lady Thea. Sit again and speak with honesty. Only then can I help you.’ Tears were clouding Lady Ragnar’s green-rimmed hazel eyes as if when speaking she had felt Thea’s own anguish.
The Betrothed Sister Page 11
