The Betrothed Sister

by Carol McGrath

  ‘There is also a new needle for the red thread.’ Olga set the small skein beside the blue and lifted the white. ‘Now, the white.’ She held up the white skein. ‘White is the scared colour. When you stitch the Cathedral of St Sophia, you use white. Angels, too, are white. This thread also has its special new needle.’ She threw Thea a steady gaze and repeated, ‘Your needles are never to be loaned or carelessly left here in the sewing room.’ Olga gave Katya and Gudrun a stern look. ‘Your handmaidens must never use them. The needles possess your energy and none other.’ The two girls lowered their eyes demurely to their hands folded neatly in their laps.

  Olga went on, ‘Thea, we purchased all these needles for you Monday past. It is the day of the moon and the moon’s energy will transfer into whatever your needles touch, into your bride and groom, into the fortress and into your new life here in our lands.’

  She indicated the yellow threads. ‘Yellow is never used alone. Yellow represents wisdom. Little yellow stitches do make a beautiful border.’ She stroked the silks in a covetous manner and finally said in a gentler tone, ‘All your threads are of silk. They travelled here from Byzantium. Make sure your handmaidens guard them carefully for you.’ Olga looked again severely at Gudrun whom she clearly considered careless, though the truth was Gudrun was thinking of Padar, Thea mused. Lady Olga glared at Katya who perhaps was not quite good enough to be so close to the betrothed of Prince Vladimir, not from the elite of Russian maidens. She does not like me either, Thea thought with realisation. She does not make this task pleasant. She speaks of my wedding as if she resents it.

  ‘Thea, I shall leave you to make a small cross-stitched border in blue, a ship and a procession towards a kremlin. You will be seated on a white mare at its head. Let us see how you begin. I shall check it later. Tiny stitches because with many tiny stitches you can create the rushnyk’s powerful energy…’

  Olga never finished her sentence because an agonised shriek blew up the stairs as if a flying witch was chasing the cry with a besom. Thea looked startled. Gudrun clutched Katya. The women of the terem lifted their heads and gasped. Olga calmly inclined her head and listened. The cry continued, stretched out like a spider’s long, sticky thread.

  ‘Princess Anya,’ Olga then said. ‘Her birthing has begun.’ She waved a hand towards the ladies who obediently picked up their embroidery again. ‘Carry on with your tasks.’

  Thea lifted her needle secured the thread neatly on the back of the linen. She began to sew several rows of little blue crosses to represent the summer sea she had crossed from Denmark to Russia.

  Stitching was a distraction from the cries in the chamber beneath them. Thea tried to concentrate on her embroidery. Katya and Gudrun advised and helped. The cries paused. The other women crossed the room one by one to admire her first stitches. Just as Thea had relaxed again, further agonised wails funnelled up the stairway. She murmured a prayer to St Theodosia for Princess Anya.

  Lady Olga announced the obvious, ‘That will be the princess again.’

  The ladies dropped their sewing into their laps. Their maids ran to the opened doorway and stuck their heads out. Lady Olga sent them scurrying back to their stools.

  Olga smiled around the chamber before saying, ‘By evening we may have a new prince or princess. Put away your sewing. You, Lady Sabrina,’ she looked over at a plump blonde woman of at least thirty years of age. ‘Lead the others to the church. Pray for the safe delivery of a prince. I shall visit the midwives.’

  Without a further word she hurried from the chamber, wooden-soled slippered feet clattering down the stone stairway. Once her footsteps had receded, the women began to pack away their sewing. Thea instructed Gudrun and Katya to place her threads and her rushnyk in a bag set aside for this purpose, to take it to her chamber and store it away safely. ‘Then you may join us in the church.’

  With childbirth anything could happen and Thea had an ominous sense that this birth might be difficult. She could not help feeling scared. As the women descended the stairs moving down slowly, gracefully as swans, Thea began whispering her own prayers and fingering the counting beads that hung from her belt; she recited Roman paternosters, because they were the prayers she knew best.

  They glided past the refectory where daily they ate together like nuns, the hall where nursemaids supervised children and where the children ate, the curved archway that led to kitchens, and past closed chambers, dormitories and a spacious antechamber. All of these rooms belonged to the terem household. Lady Sabrina opened a small doorway that led outside into the garden. One by one the women lowered their heads, adjusted veils and drew mantles close about them as they filed onto a pathway leading to the back of the fortress’s lime-washed church.

  They sped through poplar trees that shed pollen pale as snow, scattering it over the women’s veils and mantles. They entered the church through a side door set into its long wall. Inside, a priestly guard nodded the veiled women into the church’s nave. It was cool and it was empty. Led by Lady Sabrina, the women moved slowly about the church kissing icon after icon, praying for Princess Anya and the safe delivery of her child, their soothing murmurs echoing around the nave.

  Thea clutched her veil to her nose.

  Every day, the kremlin’s inhabitants said their prayers here, both men and women. It was impossible to miss the reek of human habitation, sweat and stale clothing, despite the pungent smoke wafting through the church from its many incense burners. Instructed by Katya, Thea was quickly learning the ways of the Rus Church. However, as she kissed the icons of saints whose names she had not yet assimilated, she prayed instead to her own saint, her lips moving with no sound escaping from them for others to overhear. ‘Please protect this princess whom I do not yet know.’ Then, she whispered other prayers. ‘Protect my grandmother in St Omer and all her ladies. Care for the children I have left behind. Guard my brothers Godwin and Edmund and watch over Ulf, who remains a captive in the land of the Normans and is now lost to us. Keep my little brother safe.’

  16

  July 1070

  The day felt so long and tense. Thea prayed until she could pray no more. It was late in the afternoon, the hour of lengthened shadows. Exhausted, she slipped out of the church followed by her two maids. They were standing by a poplar tree inhaling fresh air when a priest wearing a dark brown khiton rushed past followed by Lady Olga. She paused and said sharply, ‘Clearly, you have abandoned your prayer. It is of no consequence. Princess Anya has given birth to a daughter.’

  Before Thea had a chance to show her relief, Olga turned away and following the priest’s rushing feet, disappeared after the cleric into the church. Bells were ringing, high noted, as bird song on a summer’s dawn. Thea stood listening until Katya touched her arm. ‘We should return to the others, my lady.’

  Other bells joined in, deeper and louder. Thea said with excitement, ‘They must be ringing bells all over Novgorod.’ Their resonance reflected power and musicality both. ‘Oh, Katya, I have never heard so many ring like this in unison. I love your churches. Their bells entrance me.’ She turned and walked back into the church, thinking how Padar had said that Prince Vladimir was religious. She could understand why now. The church was both mysterious and comforting. It drew her in.

  The new princess was called Eupraxia. The princess’s seclusion had passed. A priest purified her chamber with prayer and incense. Finally, one summer’s morning, Lady Olga introduced Thea to Princess Anya.

  She led Thea into the princess’s beautiful apartment on the bottom floor of the terem, introduced her and, rushing off to visit the cooks, left her with the princess. Thea and the princess sipped a glass of cherry cordial together. They made halting conversation in Russian and managed to communicate with many smiles and much goodwill.

  After a little while had passed, Thea lifted baby Eupraxia from her cradle and held her carefully in the crook of her arm. She was glad that the baby was not bound to a board to straighten her limbs as many English babies were but
instead simply wrapped loosely in a soft embroidered shawl. ‘She is beautiful,’ Thea sighed.

  ‘I think so too,’ Anya replied with a doting smile on her lips.

  Thea thought to herself, soon this will be me. I cannot wait to hold my own first baby.

  Thea peered at the little bundle in her arms. Little Eupraxia had dark eyes, so soft a brown they looked like rich velvet fabric. ‘How can a baby have such eyes within a month of her birth? I thought new babies had blue eyes.’ She spoke in Norse.

  Princess Anya, whose own eyes were dark and whose hair was loosely braided and black as polished ebony, called Katya from her footstool to translate for them. The princess laughed and said, ‘It is not always so. My child’s eyes changed colour quickly, darkened so soon.’ She leaned over Thea and touched Eupraxia’s cheek. ‘She will be as bright as her eyes.’ Anya paused and looking lovingly at her daughter said quietly, ‘And I think my little Eupraxia will grow into a spirited young woman.’ As if in agreement, a whimpering issued from Eupraxia’s rosebud mouth and quickly grew into a loud protest.

  The princess called for a nursemaid to take the tiny bundle from Thea’s arms.

  ‘She has my Kypchak blood.’

  ‘Kypchak?’ Thea asked, after the nurse had lifted the crying baby and sat in a quiet corner to give her suck.

  ‘I am a princess of the Turkish tribes,’ Anya explained and Katya translated. ‘But since my own mother was Russian I speak Russian too. I understand this people.’ She glanced over at the nurse. ‘My daughter has the dark eyes and the rebellious blood of her grandfather, who is a great prince of the Eastern steppe-lands.’

  ‘I understand. My grandmother is from Denmark and my mother was once a wealthy lady of Wessex in England. Both are of a rebellious nature. I think I am as well.’ Katya frowned, translated and Thea quickly added, ‘My mother was fair and green-eyed but my eyes are the shade of stones. My colouring came from my grandmother’s family.’

  The nurse placed a sated Eupraxia in a fabulous gilded wooden crib large as a winter sleigh. Another nursemaid clad in a neat vinegar-coloured gown began moving her boot up and down on one curved foot of the cradle setting it into a gentle rhythm. Eupraxia appeared to drift into sleep.

  Anya lifted her eyes away from the cradle. ‘I have good news for you, Princess Gita.’

  ‘Oh, what news, my lady?’ This, Thea understood, and responded in Russian.

  Princess Anya nodded. ‘You see, my husband will come to visit his new daughter and Prince Vladimir will accompany him. So, for this very special occasion, as is our custom, you will wear the dress we usually wear for important celebrations. It will be heavily embroidered with gold and silver thread. We usually wear five underdresses but we are in summer so I think we can let you off with four.’

  ‘Four,’ Thea said, dismayed. She remembered how uncomfortable she had been during her betrothal ceremony of the previous September.

  ‘Yes, a chemise, a short garment, a long narrow-sleeved garment which will have much embroidery and finally the dress. Your hair will be bound in two braids under a high hat and a veil will fall over your face.’ She studied Thea. She reached over and touched Thea’s hair. ‘Red hair is very fortunate. I think if we can find brocade that is green and covered with gold embroidery you will look very beautiful.’ She looked at Katya. Katya translated.

  ‘But if no one can see my face or my hair …’ Thea said in clear Russian.

  Anya lowered her voice and said mischievously, ‘I think your plait might just peep below the veil. The tall hat will be becoming.’

  Katya’s hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a giggle. Thea understood and touched her head laughing along with Katya.

  Then just as she felt they were having fun, Thea felt another presence and glanced over her shoulder. Lady Olga had returned silent as a creeping cat and was standing behind her. She has been listening, thought Thea to herself.

  ‘Lady Anya must rest now. We shall send the tailor to you this evening and two seamstresses. All will be done according to our customs. I think yellow will suit her better than green.’

  ‘I prefer green.’

  ‘We have discussed this already. She will wear green brocade,’ said Princess Anya.

  Olga smiled. It was not a sincere smile. She looked from Thea to Katya. ‘Thank you, Katya, you have done well. You may go down to the kitchens and join Gudrun who is learning to pot plums in honey syrup.’

  It was the first time Lady Olga had actually praised Katya, though Katya’s translations had not entirely been needed on this occasion.

  Thea rose to follow Katya from the airy room. She was loath to leave this happy chamber, one that was not perfectly tidy but filled with cushions, shawls, scent from the garden and new life. ‘Thank you, Princess Anya. May I return soon to visit baby Eupraxia?’

  ‘Yes, of course, come soon.’ She gestured towards the garden door. ‘I shall show you the herb gardens, the pear tree garden and the cherry tree garden. And I shall be pleased to talk to you about our ways. You speak good Rus already, Gita.’

  ‘My friends call me Thea,’ Thea said in good Rus.

  ‘Thea then,’ the princess said.

  Olga spoke in a severe tone. ‘She must learn to speak perfect Russian. We shall teach her.’ She looked at Thea from head to toe, slowly. ‘Thea is tall for a woman. She could learn to walk in a stately manner, and not bolt like a deer.’

  Princess Anya raised her eyebrows. ‘I have no doubt that a princess as intelligent as Thea will learn quickly. Her beauty will enchant my stepson.’ Thea knew then that Princess Anya was her ally.

  Olga clearly had to have the last word. ‘In time, with instruction, we can make Princess Gita into a Russian princess.’ She closed the door into the garden. ‘The opened door will allow a draught through which is not healthy for a new-born baby. I lost one infant to a chill. Your women should close it.’

  ‘Thank you, Olga. I can close a door if I wish to have stifling air about me. As for Eupraxia, no fear of her taking chill. There is only the lightest of breezes today.’

  Olga inclined her head and hurried Thea from the chamber as if she, too, was a danger to the baby, her continued presence a burden on the beautiful olive-skinned princess.

  Thea wondered to herself why there was no evidence of Olga’s children in the nursery rooms. Perhaps they were already grown up and living in other households.

  A week later the two princes galloped into the courtyard and the kremlin was thrown into a great stir of activity.

  The terem ladies were as excited as children anticipating New Year’s gifts. That afternoon, the ladies arranged Princess Anya in a throne-like chair in a spacious receiving hall attached to the terem tower. They placed the sleigh-like cradle beside her and retired to sit on a padded bench behind the throne. Lady Olga, Thea and their maids were decorously arranged amongst the terem’s noblewomen on various cushioned benches about the hall. Most of the ladies looked hopeful. Thea mused, they cannot wait to see their husbands.

  Into this excited gathering of women swept the two princes, accompanied by a small group of richly clad boyars wearing sweeping mantles, with jewels on their fingers, on their cloaks and decorating their hats, gleaming and sparkling as they stepped into the sunlight that filtered in through the isinglass windows.

  There he was, the young prince with his father. He was tall. His hair was black. His jaw and chin looked carved with strength. He was very handsome. The prince was looking about the hall with searching eyes. She longed to speak to him. His eyes were seeking her out, of that she was sure, but she was seated in the shadows behind a noblewoman whose headdress was as tall as a steeple and kept obscuring her view. She twisted her neck to see better and slid along the bench a little away from the colourful steeple. His father only had eyes for the princess seated on the throne and the cradle by her side. Even if Prince Vladimir had seen her in her elaborate dress, he would not see her face and etiquette demanded that he greet his stepmother first. That was
it. She must wait her turn. Her heart quivering like a bird waiting to burst from a cage, she watched him leave off his searching and turn towards Princess Anya’s chair. Lady Olga stepped forward to welcome the princes. Surely now Lady Olga would fetch her forward, When she did not Thea felt a sinking feeling, as if a stone had lodged in her heart, weighing it down. She was not to speak with her prince today it seemed. Tears pricked at her eyes. She blinked them away and tried to will the prince to see her.

  She had time to study them further as the princes bowed to the princess. As both princes bent down and peered into the cradle, she forced herself to concentrate on their garments which were different to those worn by nobles at King Edward’s court. The two princes both wore matching greenish-hued, loose, straight coats. Their gowns had swirled out like women’s gowns as they walked up through the hall towards the princess and the cradle. Thea touched her own overgown. She had never possessed such expensive clothing before. It was green brocade, rich and loose. Under it she wore a second straight-sleeved matching silk gown. The outer garment surpassed Grandmother Gytha’s blue dress that she had worn years before in Roskilde. It was superior to the ugly gown embroidered all over with crosses that she had worn for her betrothal. The Rus must be the wealthiest people in all of Christendom. She forgot to sit up straight and instead strained forward for a better glimpse of her prince. Her position had not improved as the headdress was slightly to her left. For a flicker of a candle flame she was sure Olga was glaring at her from her place by Princess Anya’s side. Thea straightened her posture and inwardly cursed the woman.

  Prince Vsevolod took his wife’s hands, raised her, gave her the kiss of peace on her forehead and folded her into an embrace. He released his young wife, reached into the cradle, and this time he lifted the baby, holding her aloft so his boyars could see their tiny princess. There was a rumble of appraisal followed by applause. Eupraxia gurgled and, as was typical of her character, howled at her father. Vsevolod quickly gave the baby over to her wet nurse. He bent down, took his wife by the hand, helped her to her feet and led her through a doorway, into rooms set aside for their privacy and comfort. Thea observed a haughty look cross Lady Olga’s face as the prince and princess departed accompanied by their retainers, leaving Lady Olga in the hall to introduce Prince Vladimir to his future bride, as surely now she must. Thea drew in a deep breath, exhaled and composed herself. It could not be long now.