The Handfasted Wife

by Carol McGrath

  There was silence. Outside rain fell steadily. She could hear it pouring off the wooden troughs in the yard. Would Edith deny that Ulf was here with them? If she did, would the Bastard tear the palace apart until Ulf was discovered?

  ‘A harsh price for our loyalty,’ Edith finally replied.

  Elditha leapt to her feet. ‘No, you cannot have him. My son is a small boy.’

  When he looked at her, his face betrayed nothing: no emotion, no kindness or unkindness as he said in a brisk, factual manner, ‘My lady, I will care for him as I would my own son. Six years old and in a year he would be of an age to go into another noble household anyway.’

  ‘There are other Englishmen, older and stronger than my child.’

  The wind and rain rattled the shutters, and because the wood was damp the hearth fire belched an acrid, bitter smoke. Edith reached over and gently touched Elditha’s hand. ‘Be sensible, my dear. Sit down. This battle you cannot win.’ She looked at the Duke and said, ‘Take him. But remember, Duke William, if you harm a hair on his head you will lose my support. We want him back when you are king.’

  William muttered, ‘When I am king, I shall find one of my knights to wed the mother, a loyal knight, to raise the boy and educate him as a good Norman.’ He looked again at Elditha, who had sunk despairing back onto the bench. This time there was the hint of a smile on his lips. Then it vanished again. He was hard, she thought. And he will get his way.

  ‘You might find that the Lady Elditha would prefer a convent to marriage,’ Edith said.

  ‘She will be glad of our protection for the sake of her children.’

  ‘Then, my Lord Duke, you must choose that knight carefully. For now, she is in my protection.’

  He stood. ‘We shall be leaving this afternoon, so the boy and his nurse must be ready to travel.’

  Elditha clattered up the stairs in a fury to her chamber. There was nothing she could do other than hope that Brother Francis would care for her son. She called Margaret and instructed her how to watch over Ulf. Margaret wept as she packed a small coffer with clothes and some new wooden chess men that Ulf loved to play with. He had begged his Aunt Edith for these to replace those his father had given him and which were now lost for ever, burned to ashes in the fire at Reredfelle. She hugged Ulf to her breast and said that they were going to see his cousins in Westminster and that his mother would follow soon. Elditha tried to control her emotions as she agreed with the lie. She promised herself that she had not found Ulf only to lose him again. She would get him back.

  Later that day Ulf and Margaret left the palace. Brother Francis rode with them. He hardly gave Elditha a passing glance, but he made a great fuss of Ulf. Elditha wept. In a final plea to Duke William, she requested that she travel with them but the cold Duke refused. Gytha consoled her, saying that Ulf would be with relatives in London. It could not help, because her heart was broken into shards.

  On St Cecilia’s Day, the 22nd day of November, Elditha attained her 32nd year. Her ladies gave her small gifts: silk threads and needles. The Queen presented her with jewelled hairpins and Gytha’s gifts were a silver cloak-pin with runic inscriptions and a ring with an opal set into the gold band, which had once belonged to old Queen Emma. Thea stitched Ulf’s little dove tapestry into a purse which Elditha hung from her belt. She blinked away tears and said that she would treasure it always.

  A few days later the Countess Gytha, Thea and a group of noble ladies, including Maud and Freya, departed for Exeter, Gytha’s Wessex stronghold.

  ‘The Duke has not forbidden our journey. I think he sees us as mere women and no threat,’ Gytha said. ‘I am going before he changes his mind. He trusts Edith.’

  ‘Take Thea too,’ Elditha begged. ‘I want her to be safe. I cannot go. He must release Ulf to me.’

  Now, only Ursula remained behind with Elditha. They would pass Christmas in Winchester alone with Queen Edith.

  16

  January 1067

  For a wolf shall carry to the woods our wretched welp.

  Wulf and Eadwacer, in A Choice of Anglo-Saxon Verse, edited and translated by Richard Hamer

  Edith announced after Christmas that London had fallen without a siege. Archbishop Stigand and the young Edgar Atheling accompanied by Earls Morcar and Edwin had ridden out to greet Duke William and his half-brothers Odo and Robert. Duke William was crowned king on Christmas Day in Westminster. Perhaps now he will return Ulf, Elditha thought as Edith said how they must remain positive. No promise of freedom followed from London.

  Elditha’s days were short and dreary. She listened to the daily noise in the yard below. She could hear how women’s anxious voices bounced around the stone walls as soldiers swore, banged weapons and thumped around the yard, their leaders yelling at their men in French, a constant reminder that Winchester was occupied by foreigners. She thought of Harold every day, her heart breaking until she thought there was nothing left of it but instead an empty space where once there had been a heart. When Ursula accompanied her to the Nuns’ Minster there was a brief distraction as they cared for the sick. She thought of setting out for Exeter, but she knew that Edith would never permit it. It was evident that Ulf was not coming back soon.

  On a chill January day Edith came to the bower hall where Elditha was stitching a shirt to send to Ulf in London. Edith showed her a letter that had arrived from King William, which Elditha seized as if she was starving of hunger and it was bread. She slowly and painstakingly read the Latin script. At first the Duke assured the Queen that her nephew Ulf was in good health and was content. He had joined a group of young English noblemen with whom he was familiar. Ulf sent his greetings to his lady mother. Then she read, ‘The Saxon Lady, Eadgyth Swanneshalls, is expected to wed the Breton Lord, Count Alain of Brittany. The Count of Brittany will visit her in Winchester as soon as we can spare him from our service.’ King William’s own red wax seal dangled from a yellow ribbon. Elditha furiously threw the script down, cracking the seal on Edith’s tiled floor. ‘I am not a mare to be bargained off to a rapine horse-dealer.’

  Edith said smoothly, ‘It may be for the best. How else can you survive?’

  ‘You sold my son, but you will not sell me.’

  ‘They would have taken the town and slaughtered us all.’ She tapped the scroll angrily. ‘This marriage will help us to ensure the family’s survival here in England.’

  ‘Edith, my answer is still no.’

  ‘Then you had best hide in a convent, and if you do, I cannot guarantee the safety of your children – Ulf, or Thea; not even Gunnhild will be safe.’ Edith swept out of the bower, having first ordered her cringing servant to gather up the damaged wax seal.

  Edith sent Elditha messages every day. The Bishop wished to see her. The abbess of the Nuns’ Minster wished to discuss Elditha’s duty as a mother. Finally, Edith climbed the stairway to Elditha’s chamber, sat in her chair, accepted a cup of hippocras and announced, ‘Count Alain is expected for the Feast of St Benedict on Saturday. You must appear.’

  ‘He is nearly ten years my junior. He burned my hall, terrified my people. He allowed his men to call me a whore. And how will that Norman save my lands, since they will soon be his own in any case?’

  ‘He is not Norman. He is Breton and it is a good match. Think of Ulf’s future.’

  ‘Ulf is Harold’s son. He will always be a threat to the Bastard.’

  ‘Elditha, he is your overlord now and by Norman rules he owns us all. He has kept the boy safely at his own court with the Atheling Edgar and the young earls Edwin, Morcar and Waltheof of Northumbria.’

  ‘All of them hostages. When William returns to Normandy, the hostages will accompany him. He can never release Ulf.’

  ‘How do you know that, Elditha?’

  ‘That man will trust no one, not even a count from Brittany. He will not trust Countess Gytha, nor will he trust me. We are Godwins. And he will suspect my older sons of rebellion.’

  ‘I am a Godwin,’ Edith reminde
d her.

  ‘You were wed to King Edward, whom Duke William claims promised him a throne. He will want others to think that he trusts you, who gave him the keys of your town. And he wants to be sure that you, Edith, trust him, which, perhaps, you do.’

  ‘Elditha, you go too far.’ Edith left, shaking her head.

  Elditha lay awake that night, thinking of ways to avoid her fate. There was a pond in the garden, but it was not deep enough. She had a seax, a sharp knife, but she could not bring herself to use it. She looked up at the high rafters and over to her chair, to her long twisted belt cord, and finally exhausted, she ran her hand over her sheets. She was still awake when the bell for Prime began to ring out. An idea had come to her at last, and it could work. She did not have to die yet. She could survive and avoid this marriage and get away to Ireland.

  Once again the minster bells began to ring furiously, this time for the blessed saint. The door flew open. Ursula called to her, ‘My lady, Queen Edith requests that you attend the service for St Benedict.’

  She pushed away her coverlet and sat up cross-legged with her hair falling loose. Smiling, she pushed its heavy weight back. ‘Ursula, I have thought of a plan, but I need your help.’

  ‘How?

  She opened her palms. ‘Simple, find Padar and he will help us to disappear. We had thought it possible before William came to Winchester.’

  ‘But, my lady, I have no idea now where to look for Padar.’

  ‘He is in the woods. Go to the goldsmiths’ quarter and talk to the goldsmith called Alfric. Margaret mentioned him. You will ask Alfric to tell Padar that we need his help.’

  ‘If I am caught, you know it will be the end of us.’

  ‘There is always the convent.’ She jumped off the bed and began pacing. ‘But, Ursula, try. You must. Please try to, or I shall have to myself.’

  Ursula said, ‘Everywhere will be busy today. I can mingle with the crowds.’

  Elditha stood before her clothes coffer. ‘Good. Now, let us see what garments would be suitable. I have a feast to attend.’ Not wasting a moment she lifted the lid of the chest and drew out a wine-red dress of soft wool. ‘It may be her cast-offs, but it will do very well.’ Then she pulled out a brown woollen mantle with a hood. ‘Ursula, take this cloak. It will protect you.’

  Elditha dressed quickly, wore a heavy veil and circlet, lifted her own mantle, slipped it about her shoulders and fastened it with a brooch, changed her slippers for warm boots and took her friend’s arm. They climbed down into the hall and out into the yard. ‘Now, Ursula, listen as we walk, this is what you must say.’

  They arrived in the minster just as the plainsong was commencing. The Queen knelt apart from the onlookers, with her hands folded in prayer. Near the front of the long nave the group of Normans stood, some vigilant, others with bowed heads. One of them was Count Alain of Brittany. She would recognise that head anywhere. Elditha pulled her hood over her veil, around her face and withdrew behind a large pillar. She spoke into Ursula’s ear. ‘Slip away as soon as you can. If you are stopped, say that you have to visit the infirmary at the Nuns’ Minster.’ Ursula glanced around at the pilgrims who thronged into the church. ‘Godspeed,’ Elditha said softly so that only Ursula heard. ‘And take this. He will remember it.’ She drew a small gold ring seal from her finger.

  Ursula slipped it into her belt purse. As the choir sang the Latin masses, she drifted into the crowds of pilgrims. Elditha watched her disappearing back until she had melted into the press of worshippers. Then she moved forward closer to Queen Edith, determined now to be seen, praying that Ursula would have success, hoping that she was making a decision that would not threaten Ulf’s safety. It was the only decision she felt she could make. Never would she wed with the enemy.

  17

  February 1067

  He has as many knights as there are fish in the sea, and you could number his ranks as the stars of Heaven. He is seizing boys and girls, and the widows also; and at the same time, all the beasts.

  The Carmen de Hastingae Proelio, attributed to Guy of Amiens, 1068, edited and translated by Catherine Morton and Hope Muntz

  The sound of many languages, Norman-French, Latin, English and even Norse circled Edith’s table in Winchester’s Hall that afternoon. Elditha leaned towards Count Alain as he attempted to engage her in conversation. Throughout the many courses that accompanied the feast of St Benedict, she could not forget that this knight had been responsible for the destruction of Reredfelle. She never forgot, either, that his army had called her concubine or that Duke William had stolen her child or that Ursula was risking her life for her in the streets as she, herself, dined with the enemy.

  ‘My lord I am a king’s widow,’ Elditha said to Count Alain. ‘I need time to pass before contracting a new marriage.’

  ‘It is in question as to whether your marriage to Earl Harold was a true marriage, Lady Elditha. Although I have no doubt your handfasted contract was blessed by God and his saints, it was not sanctified.’

  She felt her face heat with fury. Bad enough that she should dine with this monster who had burned down her hall, mistreated her villagers, murdered her thanes – but this old insult! She rose and then, seeing others looking her way, she said loudly for all to hear, ‘How dare you challenge it? I am sure that God does not care whether a priest sanctions a handfasted wedding.’ The Normans seated nearby hushed. Then, as he glared at them, they lifted their eating knives again and continued their own conversations. A warning look from Edith and she sat down again.

  He solemnly shook his head. ‘It was not, I understand, conducted according to the laws of the Church.’ He lowered his voice since the other eaters were only pretending involvement in their own conversations. ‘Madam, our contract must be one that will be seen throughout Christendom as honourable. We shall wed in the new abbey. It will please King William and it will please the people and …’ She felt his hazel-shaded eyes appraising her. ‘And, my lady, I would wed you within the six month.’

  ‘And I shall consider the pressing nature of your suit, my lord.’

  Elditha glanced along the table. Ursula was now in her place beside Queen Edith’s ladies. Edith, busy speaking with a captain’s Norman wife, smiled at her, obviously pleased that she was now apparently co-operating. Elditha rose. She looked at Edith. ‘May I have permission to leave? The service today, the standing and this long feast has tired me. I discover my appetite to be gone.’ Edith studied her, looked curiously at her for a moment, then nodded and waved her away. Relieved to be let off so lightly she rose and curtsied, ‘Goodnight, my lord.’ She caught Ursula’s eye and then fled from the hall. When she reached her chambers she lit fresh tapers, poured a cup of hippocras and nibbled a honey cake that she had deftly filched from the hall’s sideboard on her way past. She waited patiently for Ursula to follow her, thinking, never, ever, could she wed that man.

  A few days later, Alfric took Ursula to Padar. On her return to the palace, Ursula told her Padar’s plan. She must find an excuse to get away from Winchester. The best plan was to travel to Wilton on the pretext of visiting Gunnhild. They must then stay overnight in St Swithun’s Priory, which was the usual Godwin stopover between the two places. When she was decided on the day, then Ursula would tell Alfric. Padar would abduct them both from the priory and help them to travel in secret to Dublinia. It was a simple plan. She knew that it could work. But Padar had stressed it had to appear that she was abducted, so that her child could not be blamed for the mother’s broken faith. From Ireland she could work to free her son from King William.

  Distasteful though the deception was, Elditha permitted Alain of Brittany to woo her, attending meals and sitting beside him. He accompanied her to services in the minster. He showed understanding and sympathy for her loss. She tolerated it, knowing that she was a convenience. Any financial penance that the Pope might inflict on those who had so brutally taken part in the killing of the English King, her own husband, might be avoided if he took the
King’s widow to wife.

  At last Alain of Brittany departed for London, saying that he would return to Winchester in a month’s space. She would sign a contract and their marriage would follow. The day after his departure Elditha sat sewing in the Queen’s antechamber and quietly announced to Queen Edith that she must travel to Wilton to see Gunnhild.

  She was canny about it all. Gesturing towards the window she said, ‘Let me go now. The weather is fine, Edith. It might not be so, later in the month.’

  ‘My dear, if I permit you to visit Gunnhild, I expect you back before Count Alain returns. We have a wedding to plan, linens to purchase and silks and tapestry no doubt. As the wife of King William’s friend, you will be a great lady and you must look like one.’

  She nodded, and then asked Queen Edith for Eglantine as her own mount and another gentle horse for Lady Ursula.

  ‘And I can spare you three guards. They are from the Norman garrison, trained fighters. You can break the journey at St Swithun’s Priory, a desolate place in winter but very welcoming. They keep a good table. And, Elditha, do not fail to remind me to the Prior of St Swithun’s. He was always such a good friend to the Godwins.’

  The following day Ursula visited the goldsmith. They would set out for Wilton on Thursday. Elditha clasped Ursula’s hands in her own. She heard the relief in her own voice as she spoke the words, ‘At last.’

  On Thursday, Elditha, Ursula and their guard rode into St Swithun’s Priory. The sun was fading and the weather looked as if it might turn. The sky was heavy with dark clouds and the temperature had suddenly dropped. As they trotted into the yard, Elditha noticed a small, grey-clad monk sweeping the pavement outside the refectory. She knew him by his small height and his movements. He glanced up at her and boldly winked as she passed, jingling her bridle bells loudly. The guards were shouting for the stable boys. They hauled themselves off their horses, their armour clanking, and started looking around. Two boys came running from the stables. She quickly glanced back at Padar. His hood had fallen back. He had lost his pigtail, his beard had disappeared and his head was tonsured like the other monks.