She said quietly, ‘Not a spy, I hope.’
‘Those dark days are behind me.’
He sat Gudrun on his low, wide, wooden box of a bed, unstrapped his sword and carefully leaned both sheath and sword against the lime-washed wall within reach of the bed. He removed her cloak and her shoes and her outer dress. He unbraided her hair, laid her on his linen sheets and covered her with a soft bearskin. It was a relief that the night was so cold, the fleas that hide in the sheet seams must have surely died of it. Shedding his mantle, pulling off his boots and removing his outer garments, he climbed in beside her.
As the thin moon’s light slid through the shutters’ cracks, in the safety of Padar’s arms, her body angled into his, Gudrun grew warmer to his touch. Soon she was whispering a brief explanation as to the horror she had endured. She related how Lady Thea was travelling that night to the Convent of the Holy Trinity. For long hours she, herself, was forced to pray on her knees in the Church of the Virgin. ‘All because of a brooch with strange markings on it,’ she said sadly. ‘Bishop Xantes told me I must pray hour by hour, by the bells, to escape its evil possession.’
As she spoke, Padar could feel the wetness of tears seep through his under-tunic. He held her even closer. ‘How did you get away?’
‘When Earl Connor discovered from Lady Thea what had happened, he came to the Church of the Virgin. He said to Bishop Xantes that he would take me with him back to Denmark.’ She sat up, allowing the fur rug to slide from the bed linen. ‘Earl Connor promised that I would make a pilgrimage to those places where pilgrims gathered. I had no time to say goodbye to Lady Thea. Nor had I time to send her a message thanking her for my deliverance.’ She heaved a sob and, falling into Padar’s arms, murmured, ‘Without heed for her own safety, Lady Thea had arranged everything. She told Earl Connor that I must marry you and stay with you. But, I did not know if you would want me. After all they have accused me of magic’s evil grip. They took Needle, my cloak pin, from me,’ she half-whispered, half-sobbed. ‘They stole my talisman.’
‘How could you doubt me, my love? All will be well. I shall find you another. Your talisman watched over you more than we all can know. What appears good in one place may own a different meaning in another. You have committed no sin.’ Padar stroked her loosened hair. It was fair and soft, and its silk sorely tempted him to intimacy, but not tonight. Instead he said, ‘We have each other, a great packet of furs to sell in the south and my sword Gabriel to protect us. When we cross other lands to the Flanders coast a priest will bless our marriage. You will be reunited with Countess Gytha and with many of our old friends from Exeter.’ He stroked her forehead, kissed her eyes and then her mouth. Responding she moved closer into the circle of his arms. ‘Not tonight, my sweet. Believe me, I want to take you, but, for now, you must sleep. Morning will arrive sooner than a bird pecks a worm from the earth. Gudrun, I love you more than my own life. Never again doubt my love.’
Gudrun drifted into sleep, but Padar lay thinking that there was more to this than he knew. How had Gudrun come by her talisman? Why had she been accused? Was Lady Thea safe in this strange country, in a convent that was even more secure than a terem, a convent with its strange icons, silent nuns and bearded priests? He must find Katya’s merchant father and see if he could discover the truth of it all.
Thea sat in an upright chair close to Katya, who had fallen into an exhausted deep sleep. She watched the moonlight sweep over the quiet herb gardens that lay below her window, casting shadows on the wall beyond. A night owl hooted. For a moment she fancied she was in Exeter. It was not such a bad fate, she decided. The convent was peaceful. Rather than being greeted by Mother Sophia as if she was an outcast, she had been welcomed into this gentle community of women as if it were an honour for them to receive and instruct her. Prince Vladimir may have had no option but to wait patiently for their wedding too. Maybe he would send her word.
She fell to her knees and prayed to St Theodosia for Gudrun and Padar. ‘Dear Saint, protect them. Bring them back safely to me one day soon.’
After that she climbed into the bed beside Katya and drifted into an exhausted sleep, glad that the following day would offer her a day of instruction, prayer and work in the herb garden clearing away the last of the early spring snowfall from the pathways.
Some weeks later, escorted by guards, accompanied by one of her ladies, Princess Anya rode on a gorgeous caparisoned white horse into the convent to see Thea. The day was pleasant. It was one of blue skies and scudding white clouds that flew about the sky like cupids’ wings. They met in the refectory. At first a sense of betrayal haunted Thea. Anya had not come to see her before her departure from Novgorod. Now, here she was with only Lady Sabrina and her guards in attendance.
After their greetings had been exchanged and Mother Sophia had left them alone, Thea held her head high. ‘I am happy here, though I wish to know my fate. Am I to be sent back to Denmark in disgrace?’
Princess Anya took her hand. ‘No, Thea. Your wedding will take place next spring.’
‘Another year? So long a betrothal is unnatural.’ Thea tore her hand away.
‘Make a positive experience of your time in Holy Trinity. It is a period for preparation, gathering knowledge and reflection. Many of our women love the sanctuary the convent provides for them. In the Rus lands women who enter convents are revered as if they are clergy themselves; surprising, of course, in this dominant world of men.’ Anya took Thea’s arms and pulled her round to face her. ‘Please know that I am your friend. Know that I have no love for Olga, who possesses a mean spirit.’ Anya broke off. Before continuing, she glanced along the refectory table at Sabrina who was bent over a piece of embroidery and lowered her voice. ‘I do not even want Sabrina to hear me. Olga is bitter because she wanted Prince Vladimir for her own eldest daughter.’ She squeezed Thea’s arms gently, dropped her hands and allowed them to rest on the table.
‘Where is Lady Olga’s daughter?’ Thea asked quietly.
‘She dwells in a wealthy princess’s household far away in the city of Chernigov. The princess is with the wife of Prince Vsevolod’s elder brother. The girl will marry another wealthy noble. The mother is bitter. She wanted alliance with the prince. Rest assured, Vladimir is still your prince, Thea.’
The air in the refectory stilled as Thea absorbed Anya’s words. She had been hurtled from thinking she could be sent back to Denmark to knowing that she was to marry her prince. She heard bird song in the garden beyond and the hum of prayer from the midday service in the Church of Holy Trinity. Somewhere servants were sweeping. All these sounds had become her normal everyday currency. Her heart lifted. She sent a swift prayer to St Theodosia. ‘Thank you. So many women desire marriage with him,’ Thea said sadly, thinking of the cruel Danish princesses.
‘It may be so; many sought him, but Vladimir wants you. The prince has explained his note and his misguided impatience to see you. He wept when his father threatened to return you to Denmark. Vladimir is his father’s only son by the greatest princess of us all. His mother was a Monomakh, a princess of Constantinople. God will protect you. He will keep you safe.’
Thea could not resist saying, ‘They sent Gudrun away.’
‘No, you sent Gudrun away, and you were right to do that. She will return one day, safely, with our friend, Padar. They have, according to Earl Connor, travelled to Flanders. Earl Connor spoke with my husband about her marriage. Appearances must be observed. It would never have been safe for her to remain in my terem. Olga would find a way to destroy you through your maid.’ At this Princess Anya leaned over and whispered in Thea’s ear. ‘We have let it be known that she has been removed from court. Padar has taken her on a journey south. Even Steward Michael does not know their true destination because he thinks they travel north to Denmark. Gudrun will be safe and you will be safe from Olga’s scheming.’
‘And they will visit my grandmother,’ Thea said with hope in her heart. ‘They will return one day with news of he
r.’
‘We shall see,’ Anya said softly.
Before she left the convent, Anya placed a kiss on Thea’s forehead and gave her a tiny cross studded with garnets to protect her. ‘Wear it and think of me. Put all your cares behind you and grow even more beautiful.’ She took Thea’s hands in her own and added, ‘Katya will watch over you. Her father will visit her soon and bring you our news.’
Thea had the prince’s forgiveness, it seemed, and Vladimir still cared for her and insisted on their wedding. She could not contain her joy. She would endeavour to learn new things but one thing she promised herself. Never would she allow Lady Olga to join her terem when she lived with Prince Vladimir in their palace in Kiev.
What had Prince Vsevolod said? Evil can be defeated by prayer and observance of the faith. Perhaps there was truth in those words, she thought, and dug out the weeds that jumped all over the herb garden that summer with renewed determination. Still, he had directed his words at the wrong person.
22
Convent of the Holy Trinity, December 1071
Thea had not made progress with her embroidery. She had lost interest since she had been sent to the convent. Instead, she had passed autumnal mornings working in the herb garden and quiet afternoons in her chamber improving her Russian and writing down stories using an old bronze stylus on sheets of birch bark purloined from the convent’s workshop.
It took her days to master writing on birch bark with a stylus. She persevered and succeeded. At first she penned little stories in her native English, the first language she had learned to write, glad that she had learned the art of writing. Later, she practised writing in her new tongue. The Russian letters looked as if they were enchanted, as magical as the runes and swirls on Gudrun’s forbidden brooch pin. The written word held power, she mused. Long ago people had thought that letters were indeed as powerful as those etched into Gudrun’s needle.
Early in December a first fall of snow, between Nones and Vespers, drove Thea and Katya from the herb garden into the communal hall. Snowflakes drifted against the windows and through the door into the long room the moment they opened it. Inside a blast of heat that burst from a large wood-burning stove felt welcoming and the scent of pine resin created a sense that Christmas and St Basil’s Feast Day were drawing closer.
The other women glanced up from their sewing and smiled. One nodded. ‘Not a day for the soil! Better in than out. Come and sit with us, Princess Gita. We are sewing feast-day gifts for the orphans, belts and purses.’ She patted the bench and threw some little sticks into the stove. They burst into flame and crackled.
Katya blew on her fingers and fetched their sewing bags from a shelf.
‘Tis a day for the hearth.’ Thea found them a place close to the stove.
She had no sooner threaded her needle than Mother Sophia bustled into the hall. For a moment, Thea watched the Mother flap around the convent’s lay guests commenting on a colour, correcting a stitch here and praising a composition there.
When Mother Sophia reached their bench, in what seemed a quick turn of the hour glass, she passed a finger over Thea’s embroidery, remarking, ‘My child, you have made more progress with your study of religion and writing than you have with this embroidery. Still, there is a long winter of time before us.’ She turned to Katya and touched the maid’s shoulder.
‘Now there really is no need to jump, Katya. You are the reason I am here. I have news for you. Your father has come to visit you. Put your work away and go to my receiving chamber, now.’ Mother Sophia was smiling as if she were a cat who had invaded the monastery dairy and supped up all the cream. ‘He is waiting for you.’
Thea glanced up and sighed. If only someone from her past life would visit her, Edmund or Godwin, Padar or Gudrun, or even Earl Connor. It had been months since Padar and Gudrun had departed for Flanders. Mother Sophia moved on to a window alcove where several nuns were weaving on a horizontal loom passing their shuttles back and forwards, working the foot peddle with rhythmic thumps.
Katya packed away her gift belt. ‘My father, Dimitri, I have not seen him since we left Denmark! He will have so much news,’ she said breathlessly to Thea.
Thea caught Katya’s arm before she followed the nun. ‘Ask your father if he has seen my brothers. And Padar, too; their paths may have crossed.’
Katya sped off, unlatching the door into the hall and causing a chill draught to blast into the room. Thea bent her head and tried to concentrate on the pollarded trees she was stitching into her rushnyk. When it is spring I shall see you again, my prince, she thought to herself as she stitched another stunted tree onto her cloth. Would April ever arrive?
Thea flew from the window seat at the sound of Katya’s tread on the stair. The girl opened the door and backed into the room. Thea ran to help her. ‘What have you there?’
‘A box of letters; my father has been to Flanders trading. He saw Padar and Gudrun. He was in Denmark too and met with your brother Edmund. He spoke with them all!’ She laid the box on the wolfskin bedcover. ‘These letters are for you, from everyone who loves you and wishes you well. There is even one from your grandmother, all the way from St Omer.’
‘Why did your father not give these to me? Why to you?’ Thea asked.
Katya said simply, ‘Because they are secret. Mother Sophia might read them first.’
Thea thought about that for a moment. ‘Why would she?’
‘Mother Sophia might not be loyal to your interests. My father says it is best to be cautious.’ Katya pointed to the casket, a plain wooden box with a lock. ‘Here is the key.’
Thea bent down and inserted the key into the small lock. It fitted perfectly.
‘My lady, would you like to read them alone? I can attend Vespers and say that you are indisposed. Mother Sophia is so pleased today that she will not notice your absence.’
‘Why is Mother Sophia pleased?’
‘My father has donated two hundred grivas to the convent and he has given her five bolts of undyed but very fine linen from Flanders for night shifts for the poor.’
‘That is generous of your father. Well then, you attend Vespers and say that I am resting.’
Katya was not listening. Thea looked away from the box. Katya was peering out through the shutters, pushing the slates apart with her fingers. ‘My lady, look, my father is walking in the garden with Mother Sophia,’ she said, turning to Thea.
Thea desperately wanted to open the letters but for a moment she stood beside her maid, looking through the window shutters at a tall man who appeared through the slates as if in broken lines. He looked stark outlined against the snow in a dark bearskin mantle and his brown furred cap. He was leaning towards Mother Sophia. If he was suspicious of the nun’s loyalty he did not show it. They walked close together as if they were old friends. The merchant took Sophia’s elbow and guided her along the wooden walkways that led between the two bare cherry trees bordering the herb beds. ‘They are clearly friends?’ she said to Katya, observing how the pair stood for a moment conversing near the gate.
‘In his world, friends can easily become enemies. My father trusts no one. That is the way he survives, without giving his trust away, because he is trusted with the secrets of others. No one knows the secrets he carries, certainly not Mother Sophia.’ After the merchant had reached the latch gate, he vanished into the courtyard.
‘You must miss your family?’
Katya lingered by the shutters watching the last small flounce of her father’s bearskin cloak disappear. ‘We all miss our families, though we can pray for their good health and their happiness. My father is great fun. He is a sort of magician himself.’
‘What sort of magic?’
‘Oh, this and that. He is always experimenting with a recipe for dragon fire.’
‘Greek fire. That sounds dangerous. No one knows that secret,’ Thea said, thinking of how Gudrun was punished for owning a brooch with strange markings.
‘Well, he clearly has not destr
oyed himself yet.’
Mother Sophia returned along the walkway. For a moment she looked up and Thea drew back. Katya allowed the slates to fall back into place and dropped the leather curtain over the shuttered window. Thea watched Katya hurry about lighting rush candles in the chamber. After she placed a lamp for Thea to read by on the table, she bowed to her mistress and said, ‘Well then, I had best get to Vespers. You may not even be missed.’
Thea pulled a dry cloak from a peg by the doorway, and placed it around the girl’s shoulders. ‘They might even think you are me.’
‘It is no sin not to attend Vespers.’
‘Then let us hope no one comes looking for me.’
The casket was made of bleached pinewood with no decoration apart from a fine interlocking border of shells around its edges. Yet, the pale wood seemed to gleam invitingly in the lamp’s glow.
Thea unlocked the box, opened the lid and slipped her hand inside. She felt something hard and circular. Using her finger and thumb she carefully withdrew the object. It was a small ring. She peered closer at it lying in her palm. This ring was a link to the three years she had spent with Grandmother Gytha. The amber stone in its centre glowed warmly and the silver setting gleamed. She turned it over and over, remembering it fondly, intrigued by it. She slipped it on the middle finger of her left hand. It fitted perfectly. It was not a large ring because her grandfather Earl Godwin had worn it on his little finger, but it was large enough for Grandmother Gytha to wear it on the middle finger of her left hand. She would wear it on that finger too.
The Betrothed Sister Page 21
