The Betrothed Sister

by Carol McGrath

  The boys stopped sorting, their eyes opened wide. ‘Are we coming too, Master?’ one ventured.

  Dirk laughed. ‘Those of you fit to use a sword when we are attacked.’

  Padar said, ‘You will come with me, Dirk, you, you and you.’ He pointed to the boys one by one. ‘And the best band of English mercenaries we can find to protect us from here to Mechlenberg.’ With those words Padar stuffed his package into a leather sack and pulled on his sheepskin-lined leather boots. He tied up the woven laces over his woollen leggings, tugged his long tunic down and lifted his old sealskin cloak from its peg. Grabbing the sack with the pelts, he pushed out of his entrance door into his slippery courtyard.

  He hurried past the guards he employed and who were walking about his yard with stamping feet and exhaling white puffs of breath that seemed to hang as if frozen in the air before vanishing. He called to one, ‘Bring a torch. Walk with me. We are off to the castle.’

  A few moments later accompanied by a burly guard, an exile who limped along behind brandishing a flaming torch, Padar sped forward as if he was a sinner being prodded across the frozen landscape of his courtyard by a devil’s spear. He hurried to his gateway, yelled up to an elderly English warrior who now resided in the gatehouse above Padar’s gates. The old thane opened his shutters and poked his head through the opening. ‘Unlock the gates, lads,’ he shouted. ‘The master needs to pass through.’

  Two gatekeepers appeared from the shelter of the gatehouse and battled for a moment with a bulky barrel lock that secured it.

  ‘Lock it behind me.’ Padar swept through followed by his torch-bearing companion.

  The sun was setting and patches of frozen slush appeared reddened by its glow. Padar loved this city. On a torch-lit, snow-filled evening it was an ice-trimmed gleaming Valhalla. Carvings on door posts appeared like goblins, trolls and elves guarding the kingdoms that lay behind their entrances.

  Many shopkeepers had already pulled down shutters and were padlocking them for the night. He was far too late for dinner but if he hurried he might make supper in the great fortress hall. He passed through the goldsmith’s quarter, not far from the kremlin, when he saw a shortcut through the square by the church of St Nicholias.

  As he neared the church, a priest and two women were emerging from the church entrance. The church door was set low into the church wall and their hoods brushed against the top of the lintel. He watched them turn towards the door and draw up their hoods again to cover their faces. Why were they familiar? The thought slipped into his mind and out as he hurried on towards the castle path.

  A moment after he noticed the women he heard a crowd’s shouts. A figure came fleeing along the street, sliding, slipping and righting himself again, his scanty mantle flying behind him. Observant as ever, Padar saw he was a youth. The fleeing boy hurtled by him pursued by a mob. Padar flattened himself against a wall. He saw from the corner of his eye that the cloaked and hooded women across the track were frozen in fear by the church door. Padar peered at them again. Though they had drawn their hoods close over their wimples, Padar was sure that he recognised Katya, and the other was surely Lady Thea. Before he could cross over to them, they hurried away from the mob towards the river path below the kremlin. They were apparently chaperoned by a tall priest who seemed to push them onwards towards a track that paralleled that which the mob had raced along.

  Gudrun was not with them. He was puzzled. Perhaps he was wrong. Something was surely amiss. What would Lady Thea be doing at the church of St Nicholias with Katya and a priest? He shouted at his lantern carrier to hurry and chose another short cut amongst the warren of narrow streets, one he knew could bring him to the kremlin gate closest to St Sophia.

  Padar and his limping lantern bearer entered the inner courtyard as the bells rang for Vespers. He heard the stamping of horses. A party of noblemen had gathered in front of the great hall’s entrance door. Pennants emblazoned with bears and snow leopards, reindeers and moose, animals that lived in the northern folds of the world, flew on long poles held aloft by pages. The band of richly clad nobles were handing over their horses to stableboys.

  Before he could move aside, the patriarch’s low wagon pulled by two fine grey horses came rushing into the courtyard, knocking him and his lantern bearer into a wall. The vehicle skidded to a halt. Dogs straining on leashes pinned to stakes began barking fiercely. Servants kicked the dogs and helped the patriarch dismount. The elderly cleric rushed forward towards the nobles carrying his staff high. ‘I was only intending to conduct Vespers for Princess Anya and her ladies.’ His staff bobbed up and down like a puppet on a stick as he bowed. ‘And here you are, my lords, returned to us at last.’

  Prince Vsevolod and his party spun around to greet the patriarch. The prince clapped his hands, stamped the slush off his feet and said in a voice clear as a blue sky day, ‘I have come to visit my wife. We shall celebrate our Easter feast here in Novgorod.’

  ‘The young prince too?’ The patriarch looked about the nobles and Padar also searched the gathering for Prince Vladimir.

  ‘He is in the town. I have sent out to find him. I had sent my son into Novgorod on an errand.’

  At that moment the doors leading to the hall were dragged open by servants. The new governor of Novgorod exited, followed by an excited host of retainers and a few of the terem ladies. Shouting greetings to the newly arrived riders, they immediately surrounded the prince and his retinue, the ladies seeking out their husbands.

  ‘I have come to visit my wife and the Lady Thea. Where are they?’ the prince said loudly to Lady Olga who had stepped forward from the group of women. ‘Are they well?’

  ‘Both ladies thrive, my Lord Prince. I shall send for them.’

  ‘We shall attend Vespers. Hurry, go and find them. The patriarch is waiting.’

  Noble Rus ladies were never permitted to go out alone into the city streets. Yet, he had just seen Thea and Katya slip out of St Nicholias. Remembering how wilful Thea could be, he felt a sense of alarm. Whatever they had been doing in the church, it was secret. He must find Gudrun and warn her. He looked down at the parcels he was carrying. Lady Olga was organising a maid to go and find Princess Anya, waving her hands and shooing the maid towards the terem tower. He would take the furs to the terem kitchen entrance and ask for Gudrun.

  ‘Wait here in the courtyard until I return. Just keep to the shadows.’ Seizing the lantern from his servant, keeping close to the wall out of sight, Padar sped after the maid.

  19

  The mob passed through the square, vanished out of sight and their cries faded. Thea’s legs trembled. Katya was shaking. Thea huddled deep into her mantle and drew her hood further over her wimple. She grasped Katya’s hand tightly.

  Father Sebastian said, his voice low, ‘We must get away.’

  He drew Thea and Katya from the shelter of the church out into the little square. When he held his lantern high, she could discern the anxiety in his eyes by its light.

  ‘What were they shouting?’

  The priest adjusted the lantern, holding it higher. ‘They want blood for something.’ Father Sebastian glanced about the small square with fear in his eyes. ‘If they catch the person, I may well get drawn into this. If they find out who you are, we are all undone and there could be dreadful consequences. I need to get you back to the castle before we get caught up in something we cannot control. I shall alert the castle guards once I see you in through the gates.’

  ‘Is he a thief?’

  ‘Maybe, my lady, maybe not.’

  The late afternoon chill had begun to set in. Father Sebastian glanced up anxiously at the setting sun. Church bells rang.

  ‘The fifth hour; Vespers will begin very soon. This way.’ He led them along a street parallel to the one they had followed into the square.

  They made their way out of the square and into a narrow lane, treading carefully over the freezing slush, without talking. Just as they rounded the next corner, Father Sebastian stopped
and opened his arms wide as if to shield them. At the bottom of the wide street stretched the river. There, the mob had caught up with their prey. They carried sticks and brooms and those who had nothing in their mittened hands were scrabbling about on the icy pathways for stones, loose planks and anything else that they could turn into a weapon. One young woman stood out a little apart from the others. Her legs were covered with grey woollen stockings and her feet were stuck into leather shoes but she was clutching a blanket closed like a mantle with one hand. With her other hand she was pointing at a cowering youth and screaming an onslaught of crude expletives.

  Thea stopped walking. ‘What is she shouting? What is going on?’

  ‘He has raped her and she curses him,’ Katya said, lowering her voice. ‘By the law laid down women’s accusations are always believed.’

  ‘That is just.’

  ‘Perhaps, my lady.’ They peered through gaps created in the gathering crowd as the mob bent down to seek out more stones from the frozen ground. Katya clutched Thea’s mantle. ‘But not always. I think I recognise him. The youth worked for a friend of my father. If he is the same he is no rapist.’ She looked up at Thea with fear in her eyes. ‘We cannot stay here. They will make him take the test. If he fails it they will kill him.’

  ‘What test?’

  At that moment, a red-faced, bulbous-nosed man in a fox-fur cap carrying a chisel in his belt came towards them and seized Father Sebastian’s arm. ‘You will witness this, Priest.’ The man, an artisan by the look of him, was furious. His chisel was tucked into his belt. His other hand hovered over it.

  ‘I am escorting these women to the fortress,’ Father Sebastian said.

  The artisan’s eyes lit on the priest, studied him briefly. His glance skimmed past Katya and blazed into Thea. There was to be no argument. ‘They can wait.’ Two peasant women were dragging a brazier from a courtyard and were jumping up and down blowing at it with bellows.

  The man with the fur hat tied under his chin said, ‘They can wait. There was a rape and the punishment is fire.’ He dragged Father Sebastian away from Thea and Katya and towards the brazier. Thea could not see where the priest was taken. Was Father Sebastian to be a witness to the youth’s branding?

  A crowd was swelling around the fire basket. A group of yokels pushed past her, separating her from Katya, and as more people joined the spectacle, Thea found herself swept further up the hill and towards the fortress. She could not see Katya anywhere.

  She stopped when the mob paused. She stood on the tips of her boots trying to make herself even taller than she already was. Slightly elevated by the slope leading towards the castle, she could see over the heads of others. Though she could not catch sight of Katya she could now glimpse Father Sebastian as he was hauled closer to the fire by two burly artisans. A wave of anticipation swept through the crowd. One of the two artisans who had dragged Father Sebastian forward, raised a vicious looking pair of tongs. She gasped and turning to the woman to her side exclaimed, ‘What is it?’

  ‘Iron.’ The woman who was toothless had turned and was staring at her. Stubby fingers reached out and touched Thea’s mantle. ‘Watch, rich girl. Watch and learn. He is a pup of a merchant’s son, one of your own, but by our prince’s laws he will suffer for his crime.’

  ‘What has he done?’

  ‘Taken that girl –’ she pointed ‘see her watching; the child wrapped in a blanket; took her away from her home and used her. Says he is innocent but, watch, rich girl, and we shall see the right of it.’

  The old woman elbowed herself forward and shoved Thea to one side. Thea swayed, righted herself and, unable to look away, watched, peering through a space that opened between heads.

  She saw that Father Sebastian was trying to argue with the artisan. The artisan ignored him and shoved the tongs into the fire. Two men held the merchant’s son. A hush followed, except for the terrified cries of the pleading youth. ‘What if he is innocent?’ Thea cried out, unable to bear the cruelty she was witnessing.

  ‘We shall see,’ her neighbour said.

  The artisan withdrew the tongs from the coals, raised them momentarily and laid them across the lad’s bent and bared back. The boy screamed and tried to free himself from his captors. Even at a little distance up the hill, Thea thought she could smell his burning flesh. She heard the boy scream again.

  ‘Guilty,’ cried the two women who had stoked up the brazier.

  ‘Hear his confession, Priest,’ another called.

  ‘The iron burns his flesh. It is seared black.’ The artisan had laid down the tongs and shouted above the heads of the mob. The boy collapsed. Father Sebastian was kneeling in the slush by his side.

  He stood up and raged at the mob. ‘No, this is not the right way. It is not God’s way. Nor did the princes of the Rus nation ever intend such barbarity without an investigation. I will bring him to his home and their families must decide his fate, not a mob. They may pay reparation if he is guilty; if they can afford it. That is the law … if they wish to save his life. A judge must mediate.’

  It was a just plea, and Father Sebastian’s words did not fall on deaf ears. The girl who had accused the youth was led away by a group of women into the cheering crowd who parted to allow her passage. The artisans nodded at the priest and Father Sebastian knelt again and took possession of the weeping boy. Apparently he was to be spared for now.

  ‘What will happen to him?’

  ‘Rich girl, that which should happen to all your kind.’ The woman looked back at her, drew her hand across her throat and then spat at Thea’s mantle. Others jostled forward. Thea desperately tried to push her way back, to escape, but she was trapped on all sides. She pushed and shoved and managed to darn her way through the crowd until thankfully a gap opened. A breath later she felt herself shoved again. This time she fell down onto the slippery slush. Boots were trampling over her. She would die here.

  At last a hand reached out and pulled her up. She could hardly stand. Her legs could not support her. ‘We must get away, now,’ Katya said in a breathless voice, then, ‘Lean on me.’

  ‘I cannot walk.’

  Katya hauled Thea away from the furious crowd and into a narrow street that led up to the kremlin. ‘Father Sebastian will help the boy. We can manage our return without him.’

  A moment later they slipped through the postern gate. Katya called a greeting to the guards. Clouds passed over the thin moon as Katya hurried a hobbling Thea into the church. ‘We are fortunate that the hour for Vespers is over. We can say that you slipped in the garden and fell. Do you have the prayer mat, my lady?’

  ‘No, I thought you did, Katya.’

  ‘I must have dropped it, but no matter.’

  They were just about to slip past the terem guards, when Gudrun stepped out of the shadows.

  ‘Padar is back. He came to warn me. He saw you. They have been asking for you,’ Gudrun said. ‘I told Princess Anya’s messenger that you could not be disturbed. I drew back the curtain a little from your bed and shoved a pillow below your coverlet. Princess Anya’s servant accepted the lie. He thought you were asleep. I have been waiting in the garden for you since.’ All this fell from Gudrun’s lips in a great rush.

  ‘Why did Princess Anya want me?’

  ‘Prince Vsevolod and his retinue have come to the fortress. What has happened, my lady?’

  Thea sank against the wall, exhausted and shocked.

  Katya tugged Gudrun’s hand. ‘Let’s just get her into the bedchamber and under the covers. We’ll need to check her for bruises. She was trampled on by a mob.’

  ‘Not after Lady Thea surely?’ Gudrun said.

  ‘No, by St Stephen’s bones, no.’

  Thea felt Katya supporting her. ‘It is my ankle,’ she said.

  ‘Hurry. They will think we are just three servants. Let me speak for us all. It is so dark they will not make out who is who,’ Katya said.

  ‘The guards have torches,’ Thea gasped for breath.


  ‘No matter, since we are only are going where we go every day.’

  As they passed the two guards who lounged about the doorway into the terem, Katya called out. ‘We are delivering a new prayer rug for the Lady Sabrina.’ And in a lower voice she said, ‘More’s the pity we lost it to the mob back there.’

  The guards nodded and continued to pace about the tower walls, taking no further notice of three women who mounted the wooden staircase.

  The doorway into Thea’s chamber was flung open. Lady Olga emerged, took one look at them and said sharply, ‘What, by the saints, has been going on? Where have you been?’ She pointed at Gudrun. ‘You will be whipped for your lies. You told our messenger that your mistress was in bed.’

  Thea said firmly, ‘I was resting and then got up to take air in the garden. It is icy. I slipped.’

  ‘You, Princess, will get into your bed and you will stay there until I return. As for you, Gudrun, clearly you are not telling the truth. A man was seen conversing with you earlier. It is not permitted.’ She turned to Katya. ‘Go to the kitchens and fetch a bowl of warm water and cloths. Your mistress needs bathing.’ She turned to Thea. ‘Prince Vsevolod has come. He will want to know what is amiss with you. He will demand an explanation as to why this servant girl lied to his wife’s servant when clearly you were wandering unprotected around the fortress.’ Olga lifted up a suspicious-looking pillow and showed it to Thea. ‘Subterfuge!’

  ‘I was walking in the gardens. If I chose to place a pillow in my bed I shall,’ Thea said quickly, her heart hammering on her rib cage. ‘Go, Lady Olga, my maids will attend me. I do not wish to take you from your other duties and I do wish to lie down.’