The Betrothed Sister

by Carol McGrath

  A little bell chimed, reminding her of Grandmother Gytha’s bell. For a moment she thought that the countess might have enjoyed her wedding and had she been there they could have joked about the ridiculous ceremony later, but her thought had no time to linger. She missed her mother. A mother should see her daughter married. Had Elditha even received her letter? There had been no reply though perhaps it was too soon for one. A tear edged its way onto her cheek. She swallowed hard. There must not be another, not today.

  The great door swung open again. Everything now began to proceed too quickly. There was no time to feel sad. This was, after all, her wedding day. She had longed for this prince. Surely she was not feeling a sense of regret, not that she ever had the power to turn her back on this marriage.

  A dozen candle bearers entered followed by a bearded priest in his sweeping embroidered robes. The candle bearers stood at the sides of the hall, six to one side and six to the other. The cleric held aloft an enormous cross of gold studded with enormous gems, yellow amber in the centre and blue sapphires and deep red garnets on the cross’s arms. Moments later, Prince Vladimir’s cousin, Sviatopolk, who was to be Vladimir’s chief attendant, entered and stood behind the priest.

  Her heart hammered against her rib cage because at last Vladimir had entered. It was the first time she had seen him since that stolen moment in the church in Novgorod. He stopped and knelt four times, each time facing in one of four directions. Her heart soared. The enchantment took hold of her again. How beautiful he looks. His long black hair fell softly onto his shoulders. His full-length gold damask gown and mantle fanned out into a triangular shape at his feet. She was sure his mouth twitched a smile as he looked her way and knelt at last to her, his chosen princess.

  In order of age a procession of relatives followed. Uncle Iziaslav, who had been usurped what seemed a long time ago by the magician prince, looked kindly and very handsome. He was still greatly criticised, she had heard, by the boyars of Kiev. The difficulty, Katya claimed, was that he simply was not as clever as his father. The great Prince Yaroslav had developed trade in amber, furs, beeswax and slaves. He had controlled three great trade routes. Iziaslav’s father had developed money-lending systems that made Rus merchants very wealthy. Iziaslav had done nothing to protect the merchants of Kiev from the Steppe tribes. In fact, the tribes demanded a toll on the merchandise that travelled on the rivers through the lands belonging to the Slav villages they had pillaged.

  Trying to remain dignified, with the help her maidens and Katya gave her, Thea rose, waiting momentarily as the maidens adjusted her veil and arranged her trailing mantle. Once the maidens stood back, she walked from the table to a wide archway which divided two halls. She entered the adjacent hall where two chairs had been placed on a dais for herself and Edmund, dear Edmund. If only Padar and Gudrun were here. What could have happened to them? Under Anya’s sharp eye, her maidens gently removed her veil, deftly undid her long single plait, separated it and neatly rebound it into two long tresses to symbolise her approaching union with Prince Vladimir.

  Vladimir’s close relatives entered the smaller chamber. Vladimir followed. He bowed to her and she inclined her head. She must not speak to him, not yet. It was forbidden. Servants moved around the nobles and offered bread and cheese to the family visitors. Katya had told her that the bread was important because it contained water from seven wells, flour from seven sacks, eggs from seven hens, butter from seven pots and so these wedding loaves would symbolise their approaching oneness.

  ‘Everyone in the prince’s family supports this marriage, so they will all eat the bread,’ Katya had said some nights before.

  ‘They condemn magic but practise it themselves,’ had been Thea’s terse response. Lady Olga, who had overheard this comment, glared at her. That day, Thea had felt the woman’s antipathy cut into her and she remembered that Lady Olga had wanted her prince for her own daughter.

  By the sixth hour all was ready. The bells of St Sophia were ringing again. Edmund led her out to where two caparisoned horses were waiting for her. She would ride beside Edmund through Kiev to the cathedral. Her closely guarded procession would follow in litters and on foot. Vladimir’s procession was to take a shorter route. They would meet before the iconostasis inside St Sophia, since princely marriages were always conducted inside the cathedral.

  The courtyard was covered with fresh hay, cornflowers and marigolds. Once Thea was helped up onto her white mare, she set off at a slow walk, led by a handsome young man who carried a pennant with the Wessex dragon embroidered upon it in gold and red. Edmund rode a pace behind his sister. What a day of triumph it was. Only a year before, Prince Vsevolod had threatened to return her to Denmark in disgrace. Six years before this day, her family had lost a throne. She thanked St Theodosia that fate had intervened. No one would come between her and her ambition to be become a great Rus princess. At the city’s Golden Gate she paused as the citizens of Kiev cheered and tossed marigolds at her. Her heart filled with pride. They admired the young prince who was to be her bridegroom. She, therefore, because of the prince was their favourite princess. One day they will love me for myself, she determined, as she approached the Cathedral of St Sophia.

  Together Thea and Edmund waited with the bridal party, which included Princess Anya, as Lady Olga hurried ahead with the rushnyk. After she spoke her vows, Thea would kneel on it for her crowning. As they waited she scanned the faces in the crowds by the cathedral. It was difficult to see them properly as she was veiled. She whispered to Edmund, ‘Do you see them?’ A moment later he replied, ‘They are not here.’

  One of the bishops appeared in the cathedral’s entrance to lead her forward. Thea hesitated for a moment unsure. In England everything was so different. Handfasting was still the accepted form, except for weddings of the high nobility. And then, it was only after the wedding vows were said that a couple entered a church for a service and blessing. Princess Anya touched her lightly on the arm, and encouraging her, whispered that she must follow the bishop who had turned back into the cathedral.

  The cathedral’s five naves and five apses were highly decorated with icons and frescos, its floor covered with mosaics. As Thea glided through the pillars over a tapestry of gold to the main chancel she was momentarily blinded by colour and beauty. It was as well Princess Anya had brought her there before, so she understood exactly where she was to walk. She must remember not to step onto the mosaic floor. When she reached the iconostasis, Vladimir was waiting for her.

  After she bowed her head for the ceremony, she thought of how three weeks earlier at Easter she had watched as Prince Vsevolod and his two brothers had taken the relics of St Boris and had carried the wooden casket that contained them on their shoulders into the cathedral. Monks had preceded the three princes holding candles aloft. Deacons waving censers, priests and bishops followed. They had watched as the casket was opened by the Metropolitan and the cathedral filled with fragrance. It was a miracle. But so was her wedding. Today incense was drifting lightly about the cathedral. Today it smelled of roses, her favourite flower.

  Thea tried to concentrate on the Metropolitan’s reading from Genesis, on his reading from St Paul to the Corinthians and the Miracle at Cana. The difficulty was Vladimir’s proximity to her right, because she longed to reach out and touch him. At last, they were exchanging rings. Each received a burning candle. Now she must be very still. She knelt on her rushnyk. He knelt beside her. The Metropolitan placed the heavy jewelled crowns on their heads. Thea found that she had to shift her position because at the moment of their wedding crowning a sharp jabbing pain seared through her knee. If she moved too quickly, her crown could crash to the ground. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She ignored the tears that gathered caused by a searing pain. If only she could stand.

  At last she could breathe. She could rise to her feet. The ceremony was over.

  She stood unsteadily, leaning slightly on Vladimir. He looked at her with a question in his eyes. She fe
lt ungainly, awkward but, importantly, the heavy crown remained balanced on her head. That was all that mattered. She glanced down. The rushnyk had attached itself to her gown. Not only had something stabbed her knee but she could trip on the embroidered cloth if she tried to walk. Slowly, holding her tall candle carefully in her right hand, she moved her left hand along her gown towards her knee and tried to detach the cloth. The rushnyk was attached to her overgown by a sharp, long bronze pin. Its point had penetrated through her outer gown and her two fragile silk undergowns as she had knelt. She lowered herself slightly, stretched down and managed to pull the pin away, letting a small gasp escape her lips as the cloth dropped onto the floor.

  Vladimir looked sideways. He could not but notice the bronze pin glinting on the floor amongst the crumpled embroidery. The Metropolitan nodded at her. No one else appeared to notice, and if they did they discreetly ignored it. She glanced sideways at Vladimir. He took her hand and pressed his reassurance into it.

  Ignoring the pain that still assaulted her left knee, still holding her candle and proudly wearing her crown, Thea held her head steady. She tried to forget the throbbing pain in her knee. With grace, she walked beside her husband, her hand clasped in his, through the long nave and from the cathedral to their waiting horses.

  Only Olga, who had been responsible for laying the rushnyk before the beautiful door into the sanctuary, could have done this to her on her wedding day.

  On the third night of their marriage Thea and Vladimir made love properly for the first time. For two days they had made love with hand pressings, with whispers of love, and with stolen fluttering kisses. Her maidens had fed them each night as they lay side by side, before discreetly removing themselves from the bedchamber. By then she had forgotten everyone else. They were together. The enchantment had returned.

  On the first night, Vladimir gently kissed her and dared to whisper, ‘I love you, Princess.’

  She whispered back, ‘And I thee.’

  Vladimir fell into a deep sleep but she watched the moon sail across their window and the stars blink at her as they sat high in a dark cloudless sky. She fancied one star was her father and that others were Magnus and her three uncles who had died fighting in the battles of 1066. Her grandmother was there too. Thea felt her presence. She climbed out of the tall bed and opened the box in which she had placed her grandmother’s ring. She slipped it onto the middle finger of her left hand. I shall wear it now always, Grandmother, she vowed to herself, and it will lend me your strength.

  On the second day, Thea and Vladimir were surrounded by wedding guests who had celebrated far into the night, the men in the hall and the women in the terem. They received gifts sitting up in the great bed. On the second night, they whispered many words of love, vying with each other for the best ways to express their love. Vladimir won the game. His skills with languages were superior to hers. Vladimir asked her in a low whisper, ‘Why was the pin in the wedding cloth? Did you leave it there by mistake?’

  Thea confided, ‘Of course I did not leave that pin in the cloth. How would I? It must have been Lady Olga. She wishes me ill. If I had allowed my crown to drop then I would be disgraced.’ Feeling angry that he could think she would make such a mistake, she told Vladimir about how Lady Olga had treated Gudrun.

  ‘If this is truth, then Olga must be held to account. I shall speak with my father and explain to him why Lady Olga will not be welcome in my household. Her plan failed because of your courage.’ He squeezed Thea’s hand. He kissed her on her lips. She longed for her husband.

  He removed her veil and covered her face with kisses. She kissed him back passionately. He slid his hand beneath her embroidered night shift and touched her naked breast. ‘I want to kiss you here and here,’ he said, moving his fingers slowly over her breast. She flowed like honey at his touch. He took his hand away and she wished that they could discard the night shifts and sink into the bliss of lovemaking. Yet they must not. It was against the rules. She sighed; the rules again. There must be some way to distract themselves from this unbearable agony. To lie in a bed, side by side, hungry and unfulfilled was unbearable. Vladimir sighed. She felt him move away from her.

  ‘This is torture,’ he said. ‘It is unnatural. I may have to sleep on the floor rug tonight.’

  ‘No, no, stay. Do not do that. Listen, since we must remain chaste until tomorrow night, and since this day has been a day of gift giving, it is time for my gift to you.’ Thea climbed down onto the step that was pushed against the great bed, lifted the dreadful though very lovely veil that lay crumpled there. She gathered it into a ball and mischievously threw it at him. He caught it and threw it back. She picked up a pillow stuffed with feathers and threw that. He tossed it back. Their game continued until the cover split and the feathers scattered over the wolfskin cover and the tiled floor. She laughed and ran to her coffer.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  For a moment she felt around deep inside the chest, beneath her linen, further down below her jewel box, and deep into a corner, she found what she sought. Her six tablets were tied together with a crimson ribbon embroidered with golden thread.

  She knelt beside him and placed the gift in his lap. Prince Vladimir pushed himself further up the bed and leaning back against the remaining pillows slowly untied them.

  ‘It is my story for you,’ Thea said softly, climbing back into bed. ‘It is called The Little White Duck. In this story, a prince marries a beautiful princess. He tells her not to converse with any stranger while he is off fighting battles. A witch tempts the princess down from her tower to bathe in a crystal stream. She taps the princess on her shoulder with her stick and turns her into a duck. The witch disguises herself as the princess and the poor duck swims away. What else can she do? Soon she has children, but the witch finds her and destroys the ducklings. Yet, all is not lost. Fate is kind. When the mother duck laments the loss of her children, the prince recognises her crying, seeks her out and finds her lamenting her loss by the stream. When the duck flies into his hands, he says “Be a silver birch behind me, a fair maiden before me.” A magpie flies down from the silver birch tree and shakes magic water from his wings onto the dead ducklings. Their children come alive again. The duck is a princess once more. They have found each other again. The prince and princess banish the witch from their lands and so that is the end of the terrible witch because her spellmaking is destroyed.’

  Prince Vladimir kissed her, scattering the tablets about the bedcover. ‘My princess, I shall banish all witches from our lives and I shall love you forever.’

  ‘Just Olga,’ Thea said, looking up at him with a wicked grin.

  Collecting the tablets together, Thea crawled over the rumpled cover and placed them on the coffer at the foot of the bed. Later, she slid into his embrace. That night, Thea fell asleep in Vladimir’s arms, her body longing for his. She wanted to remove her embroidered night shift but she must not, not yet. ‘Goodnight, my prince,’ she said instead, very softly.

  ‘Princess, I dream of holding you and making love to you tomorrow night,’ he whispered back.

  ‘Sweet dreams then,’ Thea said. Slowly she moved out of his arms and turned towards the window to watch the moon and stars again until she drifted into sleep.

  The next day they arose just after dawn and attended masses in St Sophia separately. Thea observed how Olga remained in Lady Anya’s circle. They had all returned to Prince Vsevolod’s palace where Anya kept her terem. Thea’s ladies gathered around their mistress as if she were the queen in the centre of the hive. She certainly felt she was. The actuality of it all was not as terrible as she had feared. The atmosphere had lightened. There was a sense of gaiety. Yet, she did wish her mother could have been part of it. She wished her sister Gunnhild was with her and even more she longed for her grandmother. Where were Padar and Gudrun? By now they would have a baby too. She hoped they were all safe. If only all of them were with her, her wedding would be complet
e. As for Lady Olga, she would not be excused the evil she had tried to do to her.

  That third day Thea and Vladimir held court in the hall of their new palace where, because it was the main wedding celebration, men and women feasted together instead of separately. Thea noticed Lady Olga watching her and wondered what she was thinking. The woman was fortunate today because Thea was not supposed to speak. No matter how important Olga was at court she would never allow that woman near her or those whom she loved. She studied the tall, thin steward, who was Lady Olga’s husband, march about the hall pointing his jewelled staff at servants if he noticed an empty cup or a dish that should be removed. It was an odd marriage.

  That evening, Vladimir swept into the bedchamber and everyone departed. She shared a cup of honey kvass with him and then they sank deep into the bed and removed each other’s night attire. When they made love, Thea felt that she already knew her prince. She was not frightened of the marriage duty, as the terem women called lovemaking. How could making love be a debt or a duty when she wanted her prince so desperately to touch her? She was not disappointed. She had never known such joy. His caresses felt as if they were a gift from the angels. Vladimir gently eased a pillow beneath her hips. When he took her she felt as if she lived in a kingdom so sensual that she never wanted to leave it. There was a little hurt at first, as she knew there would be, and there was blood as the women had warned, but Vladimir used a cloth left beside them as well as a basin of lavender-scented water. He carefully mopped away the blood and placed a dry cloth under her.

  The second time they made love was absolutely perfect. The third time she felt bliss.