Thea and Gudrun returned to the seat below the window. Thea made a play of hanging her swan’s foot about her neck and tucking it below her gown. What should she say? Where could she begin?
She began slowly. ‘I pray that I do not have unwarranted darkness in my heart, Lady Ragnar. I truly believe in justice.’ Then she could not hold back. Her words tumbled out in a passion. ‘My father lost his kingdom. My brother Magnus died fighting to recover our lands. My brother Ulf is locked away in a castle in Normandy, a prisoner and he is only nine years old now. That is, if he still lives. My mother is as good as a captive. She is hidden from the world in a nunnery in England and she may not ever write to me. My grandmother is an exile. She has known suffering, too much of it. So, you see, I want help, Lady Ragnar. I want a spell, an incantation perhaps, conjuring words on a scroll, something that will make the king many call The Bastard, who is responsible for my family’s sorrow, recognise his wickedness, the cruel hand he has dealt us, without thought for all those people of England who fought for my father and whose families now suffer exile and loss. I want a conjuring that will protect the weak, the poor, the landless and the needy from that Norman’s evil doing.’
Ragnar sank down onto a stool beside her beautiful bronze basin. For a moment she looked at the small glow in the raised hearth. She leaned towards Thea and Gudrun, who grasped Thea’s hand. Stay strong, Gudrun, Thea willed. Do not falter now.
Ragnar spoke again. ‘A noble speech, my lady. I believe you mean every word of it. But, you see, change is the only sure thing in life. We are as pebbles on the earth’s great beaches. We cannot turn tides. But, Lady Thea, wait for a moment. There may be something in the future that I can sense. I can show it, but I do not change the future.’
Ragnar took an urn from a shelf and dipped it into her water bucket. She poured the water into the bronze bowl and waited for it to settle. Sitting on a stool, she allowed her head to lower as she looked over it. Thea leaned in closer. The water was clear as a crystal casket, as pure as a flame glowing by a church altar, as calm as an angel’s smile.
Yet, Lady Ragnar saw something in its surface. She studied it, her face serene. After a little time she looked up. ‘As he has destroyed one family, then his own will never live in peace. Sadly, sons can turn against fathers. His eldest son will become a warring prince. He will wield swords and shields. He will create blood and darkness against his father, the king. King William of England, Duke of the Normans, will not die a peaceful death.’ She set the basin aside and held Thea’s eyes with a stern look. She shook her head. ‘I do not need to curse that king. Listen to me, my lady. You must not attempt to tamper with fate. Let fate be and she shall find her way. We cannot save those who are already dead; may your father and your brother rest in peace. As for your little brother, he lives. Of this I am sure. And I promise you this. I shall pray to God and his angels for Ulf’s safe keeping.’
Ragnar rose from her stool and said, ‘Now you must both return to the hall. Jarl Niels is my cousin but he will not like you visiting my home. May God and His holy angels care for you too, my dears; may the Sisters spin you a kind fate.’
Thea fussed with awkward fingers about her mantle. She pulled a silver coin from the sewing purse that hung from her belt. It was a special coin, one of several that the coiner Alfred had given to her once. She had concealed them in her travelling chest because her father’s image was stamped on them. They were a legacy from the year he had been king. ‘Keep this, Lady Ragnar, and think about my father’s journey to whatever heaven he travels towards; remember my brother Magnus too. I loved him dearly.’
Ragnar inclined her head and when she looked up Thea saw that her eyes were once again moist. The sorceress did not grant another word of comfort but Thea knew in her heart that her brother Ulf would one day return to his own family. Her hand flew to the swan’s foot pendant. Everything that had fallen into chaos would fall once again into some new place and settle.
As they walked home a burden seemed to leave her heart and she felt lighter. Gudrun’s colour had returned and she was smiling to herself, as if her heart held a secret. The bells from St Olave’s monastery rang out. If they hurried they could slip into the chapel in time for Vespers. She would pray to St Theodosia that one day Ulf would return to their mother, who must miss her youngest son every day of her life.
‘Gudrun, we cannot leave the wheelbarrow behind. We’ll push it back to the hall. Everyone will think we have stayed by the river all afternoon.’
‘She was not like a witch, my lady, not frightening at all.’
‘No, but put that cloak pin away. And do not wear it here. Remember never to speak to anyone of what you heard this afternoon, not even Padar if he returns to us. You don’t want him to think you a superstitious ninny.’
‘No, never, my lady.’
After they had passed through the wicket gate set into the palisade, Thea glanced quickly along the pathway past the stables towards the kitchen building. She was surprised to see horsemen dismounting and grooms running forward to seize their reins.
‘Gudrun, look, leave the barrow there by the kitchen building. If Lady Ingar looks for us, the church is where she must discover us. It seems her visitors have arrived a day early and they do not look like her cousins.’
‘Oh, my lady, are we in trouble?’
‘None we cannot deal with. Go, Ghost, go and find your friends.’
She wiped the dust and grass stains as best she could from her gown and strode forward.
11
The estate church steeple rose up through the trees. Thea and Gudrun hurriedly made their way along a narrow pathway that servants usually took to the church. Thea breathed easily when they encountered no one. The bells stopped ringing. As they reached the porch they could hear the priest intoning. Apparently, Vespers had begun.
‘Let us slip into the back of the nave.’
‘Will they see us?’
‘Not if we are careful to keep out of Jarl Niels’ sight, Gudrun.’
They never reached the nave. Lady Mary waylaid them by the porch. ‘There you are. We have searched everywhere for you. Important men have come seeking you.’
‘Come for me?’ It was not the greeting she had expected. She had not considered for a moment that the horsemen she had seen were anything to do with her.
‘Mother is with them.’ Mary nodded in the direction of the altar. Following Mary’s nod, Thea’s eyes glanced along the nave. As her eyes adjusted to the church’s dim interior she saw four strangers who wore embroidered tunics with wide sleeves and broad belts. ‘The Rus ambassadors?’ she said, turning back to Mary.
‘Correct, Thea. You are not totally addled by your day in the sun. Their guards are in the yard. You may have noticed horsemen. Queen Elizaveta has come to speak with you. You will find her with Father in the hall. Everyone has been waiting for you to return. Mother brought the foreigners into our church, just to keep them busy until you were found.’
Thea felt an anchor was weighing her heart down, dragging her deep into the depths of a great unknown sea. What would Jarl Niels say to her? Her mind worked quickly, composing a lie. Where had she been?
‘To the hall now. You look a mess. Is that a bramble tear in your gown?’
Thea glanced down. Her saffron gown did have a rip near the hem. ‘Oh, it must have got caught when we paddled in the stream.’
Mary’s answer was to prod Thea in the back and send her hurrying out through the church door. Gudrun followed, trying to keep up. Thea could hear the girl’s stout boots clatter on the tiled floor of the porch. The priest intoned on, singing a long prayer. Thea turned her head and looked back through the opened door at those gathered in the nave. No one had shifted their attention from the priest.
‘Hurry; the skald has returned,’ Lady Mary said as they crossed the yard. A group of armoured men were sitting with their backs against the stable block wall, their weapons by their sides. These must be the guards they saw a while ago
before Gudrun pushed the barrow to the kitchen lean-to.
Lady Mary paused by a crab apple tree close to the hall entrance. She lifted up Thea’s chin, forcing her to look into her darkening eyes. ‘You had better have a good excuse ready for Queen Elizaveta. Where have you been, child? You were not at the mill. Nor were you at the dyers.’
Thea fumbled about for words of explanation. ‘We had a picnic and then fell asleep under bushes close to the river bank. It was hot and we were tired. The bells for Vespers awakened us.’ The lie had easily tripped off her tongue.
‘Just look at the state of you …’ Lady Mary began.
‘There they are …’ A familiar voice reached out from the shadows beyond the open, great, studded hall door. Thea peered through it, trying hard to see him. She stepped closer and there he was. Padar, wearing his familiar red mantle, was sitting on a stool inside the hall doorway; his harp lay across his knees. He was twiddling the strings. Standing up, he carefully placed the harp on the stool.
‘What does the queen want with me?’ Without even greeting Padar, the question tumbled out of her mouth.
His eyes slid past Lady Mary to Gudrun then back to her. ‘Queen Elizaveta and Jarl Niels are waiting to speak to you.’
‘About what?’ She stood on the hall threshold momentarily frozen, cold despite the warmth of the afternoon.
‘Your betrothal, of course.’
‘They can wait a quarter of that candle notch longer,’ Lady Mary said, glancing at the fat candle standing in the hall porch gloom marking time. ‘Look at her, skald. She is not fit to be seen in those garments.’ She turned to Thea again. ‘Go and change your gown, Thea. We shall tell Jarl Niels you are on your way. There is to be a feast in your honour. Wear your best gown.’
Thea peered past the hour candle into the hall. Figures were rushing about. She now heard the bumping of benches, the clanging platters and the noise of servants’ chatter. She peered past Lady Mary. She stepped past Padar and looked about. Two of their servants were hanging fresh tapestries showing sailing ships and river scenes from beams by the walls. The king’s pennant hung behind the top table on the raised dais. Servants and slaves were bustling about carrying loaves of hastily baked bread and barrels of ale. There was the smell of fowl roasting.
Lady Mary, who had followed her inside, said in a cross voice, ‘Yes, you are to be betrothed to Prince Vladimir. You can see the hurried preparations we have been making for the queen’s visit, while you fall asleep by the river.’ She lifted Thea’s hands. ‘Wash those. You are not a slave.’ She seized Thea’s arm and propelled her out of the entrance and along the outer wall to the staircase. Trembling with excitement, Thea began to mount the stairway. Padar, who had followed them, momentarily smiled up at Gudrun as she placed her boot on the first step. ‘Come on, Gudrun,’ Thea said irritated at them both. ‘We have only a quarter of the candle notch.’
That afternoon, Thea, who had hastily washed and changed her overgown, stood before the queen, feeling a sense of fear as the queen told her that she was to return to Roskilde and warned her how she was to behave that evening.
‘You must look your best tonight. We have a few weeks and a little more to prepare, my dear. One of the ambassadors will stand as proxy for Prince Vladimir. This evening you will be veiled and you will say nothing. It is discreet. Nothing, my dear. You do understand. They will be watching you. You will behave like a princess. You eat daintily if at all and you must lower your eyes. You will walk gracefully, not like a country woman but like a noblewoman.’
‘My child,’ Jarl Niels broke in and spoke gently to Thea, ‘important matters of trade with the Rus are at stake. There is a little disappointment that they have chosen an English princess rather than a Danish princess. However, for you it is a grand marriage. Queen Elizaveta has your interests at heart and she intends that you will understand the way a Rus princess must behave. We want no misunderstandings.’
Elizaveta nodded and Thea wondered if she resented the fact that she was to marry Prince Vladimir rather than one of her stepdaughters. ‘Are the princesses recovered?’ she politely ventured. ‘Are they well, my lady?’
‘They are recovered and as well as can be expected but all our hopes, my child, are with you. Do not disappoint us. Now go and prepare yourself. Lady Ingar will fetch you when we are ready to introduce you to these new ambassadors.’ She sighed. ‘They are a serious group of men, more serious than those who carried the pox to our palace.’
Gudrun’s hands were shaking as she pulled the sapphire blue gown from the coffer. Moments later, she lifted out the silver, sapphire-studded circlet and its luminous veil. Both had been folded into a rose-coloured gown that Thea rarely wore.
Thea seized the circlet from Gudrun, allowing the rose gown to fall onto the floor. She would soon be betrothed to Prince Vladimir and travel to Novgorod where she would marry the prince in a great, no doubt exceptionally magnificent, Russian wedding. He would appear as he had this afternoon in a fine mantle. Soon she would meet him. The vision in the wood was an omen, a good omen. Her prince was not warning her, he was greeting her. Tonight was one of the most important of her life. She must impress them all.
She stood still in the middle of the floor, her hands flying to her face. ‘By the nons, how could the witch’s magic work so quickly? Do you think she had intelligence of their coming here before we went to her cottage? Or is it coincidence?’
Gudrun bent down to rescue the gown that lay in a heap on the floor rug. Clutching the garment, she said, ‘Coincidence maybe, though she clearly can see things we cannot. But, my lady, Padar is back, however it has come about.’
Thea raised an eyebrow. Her maid’s eyes were shining and her face was glowing with pleasure.
‘You may keep that rose overgown. It becomes you. When I am Princess of the Rus, I shall have all the dresses I could ever desire. You must have that one. The undergown is still in the chest. Wear both this evening. My handmaiden should complement her mistress.’ She instinctively touched the swan talisman that lay cool and comforting between her breasts. Should she wear it or keep it hidden? Better it remained hidden.
She lifted her polished mirror from the coffer, peered at her face, pinched her cheeks and laid the mirror down again.
Gudrun blushed, her creamy skin taking on a lovely glow. ‘I am pale beside your beauty, my lady.’
‘We must both look radiant tonight. Once my betrothal is settled, you will travel with me into the country of the Rus.’
Gudrun’s eyes looked anxious and her skin paled to the colour of church candle wax. ‘But Padar?’
‘I shall request Padar’s protection. We shall see if he is the one Lady Ragnar thinks will bring you joy.’
Gudrun removed the brooch from her belt purse and peered at it. ‘Needle will remain in my belt purse as my talisman.’
‘See it does. We are in enough trouble.’
Gudrun lifted Thea’s comb from the chest. ‘Shall I braid your hair into two plaits or fold it into a neck twist?’
‘Two braids will suffice. There is no time. They are waiting for me. And I think use the sapphire clasps. They will show beneath my head covering.’ She smiled happily. ‘I feel, Gudrun, that our visit to the witch was a good omen. Our lives are changing.’
‘And about time too, my lady.’
Ingar was mounting the staircase. Thea recognised her tread so she placed a finger on her lips, composed herself, raised her head and arranged her veil.
Part Two
Betrothal
The son of Prince Vsevolod and of a Byzantine princess of the house of Monomakh, Vladimir married Gita, the daughter of the last Anglo-Saxon king, Harold, who was defeated at the Battle of Hastings in 1066.
Medieval Russia’s Epics, Chronicles, and Tales, edited by Serge A. Zenkovsky, 1974.
12
Roskilde, Calends of August 1069
The day of Thea’s betrothal feast arrived within a month of her return to Roskilde. Since Prince Vladi
mir was helping his father to keep order in Kiev, the Rus diplomat, Lord Igor from Novgorod, stood proxy for him. If Thea had hoped that the prince, himself, would come for her, he did not and she was disappointed when she discovered that she would not travel to the Rus lands before the spring sailing season.
She asked Padar to describe Prince Vladimir. Padar confirmed that he was tall and dark with brown eyes that sometimes looked hard but quickly added that they were more often softly hued. He told her that the prince could be distant but that was his sense of how a prince should behave. Her face fell. She had hoped he would be lively and fun to be with. Padar raced on, ‘Oh yes, my lady, he is very devout. He attends all the services.’ So he was serious. ‘Yes, a learned prince,’ Padar said. ‘He is much loved by them all. I think him fair and kindly. My lady, you must not be disappointed that after your betrothal you cannot travel over the seas at once. There will be time for you to make ready for your journey to the lands of the Rus.’ She wondered for a heart-beat if Padar was being diplomatic and if there were other reasons that she must wait.
This is usual with betrothals, she told herself, chasing off her disappointment as if it was a bothersome fly to be flicked away. She spun around. She was ready. Followed by a group of fussing maids, she swept from the chamber where she had dressed and down the stairway. Great princes are busy, fighting battles or caring for their peoples, and I am sure my Vladimir is already a great prince.
As Thea stood at the bottom of the stairway she found that she had difficulty breathing. Her new overgown of gold damask, embroidered with silver crosses, was stiff, tight and uncomfortable. She disliked the hardened damask, its tight sleeves scratching her skin. She resented the fact that it hung badly on her because it had not been made for her but, long ago, for Queen Elizaveta.
The Betrothed Sister Page 12
