Edith nodded a greeting to a group of nuns who sat sorting wool nearby. When she reached them she saw that the girls were using a selection of precious miniver brush heads set into quills, and a jar of ink. The object of her niece’s interest was clearly visible now. It was a small statue carved out of ivory. Edith lifted it from the table and turned it round in her hand. St Cecilia; was not St Cecilia Elditha’s name-day saint?
Gunnhild slipped from her stool and fell to her knees before Edith. ‘Aunt, this is …’ She never finished her sentence. Following Gunnhild’s lead, Eleanor leapt to her feet to kneel. Her sudden, quick movement caused an elbow to knock over the ink pot. It crashed violently to the floor, splattering dark dye onto Edith’s boots, spotting the hem of her gown and staining her cloak. Charcoal sticks paused in mid-air. The embroiderers looked up. A nun rushed forward with a rag and began to mop the Queen’s boots. She began to dab at the hem of Edith’s gown but Edith impatiently waved her away. ‘Clumsy girl,’ she said through her teeth and glared at the quivering Eleanor.
Gunnhild scrambled off her knees, picked up the shards of shattered ink pot and placed them on the bench. ‘Lady Aunt, it is my fault. I begged Brother Alfgar for old ink, ink that was no good for him to work with.’
‘Silence, Gunnhild. You have used expensive brushes with old ink.’ Edith turned to Eleanor. ‘As for you, go and change that filthy cloak. It was a disgrace before in church, and now it is more so. You will miss the dinner hour. Instead you will go to the chapel and remain on your knees until Compline. You will never use ink again, certainly not before you have mastered your impulsiveness and your tears. Go!’ Eleanor scurried off through the workshop, all eyes following her as she passed. Edith turned to the nun who hovered close by. ‘Sister Hegga, you are at fault. You have allowed these girls licence. What are you thinking of – miniver brushes! I shall speak to the abbess about this lapse.’ She stabbed her finger at the nun. ‘And it must never happen again.’ She turned to Gunnhild. ‘As for you, Gunnhild, wipe your hands on the rag there and follow me, and bring that statuette with you.’
Gunnhild obeyed and tried to rub the black ink away but it stained. She grasped the small statuette tightly and crept after her aunt.
When they reached her receiving chamber, Edith examined the child’s drenched boots, much too thin for such cold weather. She made a mental note to have them replaced.
‘On the table,’ she said indicating the figurine. ‘Then sit.’
Gunnhild perched on the edge of a stool. ‘Will you send Eleanor away, Aunt?’
‘I am undecided. She was given a place here by the abbess herself.’ Edith knew that in truth they could not afford to lose such a talented embroiderer.
‘I wanted to draw in ink and with the finest brush. It is not her fault.’
‘I see, Gunnhild. There is much to learn in this abbey. Many young noblewomen leave their father’s hall for their husband’s hall, ignorant. Here, they learn to become great ladies, and, my dear, you also, if you are permitted to remain, will become a great lady.’
‘My lady Aunt, are you sending me away?’
Edith softened. ‘Not I, my child, but your grandmother thinks it suitable that you live with her.’
‘But I do not wish to go to Exeter,’ Gunnhild said. ‘I like the abbey here. I am learning to write and to read and to design. And I have companions here.’ She looked at her feet.
‘That is as well, Gunnhild. Permit me to read you the letter my mother sends you.’
‘I can read it for myself, Aunt.’
‘Today I shall read it and you must listen closely.’ Edith leaned down and, unlocking her scroll chest, removed Gytha’s parchment and read it to her. Gunnhild never spoke. ‘You see, Gunnhild, I am concerned for your well-being. This is not a good idea because it interrupts your education.’
Gunnhild said, almost in a whisper, ‘Aunt Edith, I do wish to stay with you.’
‘Then, I shall keep this safe for you in my chest. But I have a question to ask.’ Edith laid the scroll down and lifted the statue of St Cecilia. ‘How did this come into your possession?’
The girl hung her head and said without looking up, ‘Eleanor’s aunt brought four carvings when she visited me.’
‘Does the abbess know of this? Are they all carvings of St Cecilia?’
‘No, she brought me St Mary, St Bridget and St Margaret as well.’
‘Why would Eleanor’s aunt bring you such a valuable present?’
‘My mother sent them as a gift for my name-day.’
‘Your mother, Gunnhild? How?’
‘My mother was in Oxford with Eleanor’s aunt.’
This was an unexpected turn, thought Edith. She remained calm. She had shielded Gunnhild. The girl knew nothing of the abduction. ‘And where is she now?’
‘I do not know, Aunt Edith.’
‘A beautiful gift, but I fear that your mother may be ill-advised.’
‘Oh! But, Aunt Edith, may I keep them?’
‘You may, but for now leave St Cecilia with me. You will have her back when you have done penance for your concealment. You will pray all of this afternoon to St Edith that she continues to lend you her kindness and the protection of her abbey.’
Could Elditha have been responsible for her own disappearance? Edith sat pondering, unable to pick up a needle, call for her scribes or even join the midday meal in the refectory, as was her habit. She lifted her mantle from its peg and slipped in through a private and secluded entrance to her personal chapel. She prayed for guidance as to what to do about Elditha. Should she say anything? She could be held responsible.
That afternoon, Brother Francis and a man called Wadard, Bishop Odo’s man, rode into Wilton. As they trotted into the abbey precinct, a magpie flew past and knocked the cowl from Brother Francis’s head. Brother Francis righted it and remarked to Wadard as he spotted another magpie settled on a snow-filled ledge above, ‘Two magpies are a good omen, Master Wadard. Perhaps the abbess will agree to a gift of two tapestries for the Bishop.’
‘Ugly creatures! I never took you for one who paid heed to old superstitions.’
‘Of course not,’ Brother Francis said quickly. ‘Let us stable the nags and call on Queen Edith.’
Edith had her back to the brazier when they arrived in her receiving chamber.
‘Brother Francis, this is indeed a surprise,’ she began, after the bowing and scraping and shallow smiles were done with and she had told them to sit on low stools by her hearth. ‘Why are you here and not with my nephew?’
‘Your nephew, Ulf, is with the King in Normandy, Your Grace.’
‘Ah, I see. Then, where is the nurse, Margaret?’
‘She remains with the boy. She is content and the boy thrives. He is spoiled by King William’s son Robert.’
‘In that case, why are you here?’ She studied him. Brother Francis’s hands began to shake. She saw him clasp his hands under his habit. He gave Wadard a shifty look.
Wadard said, ‘We have come with greetings from Bishop Odo. His Grace the Bishop rules the realm whilst his brother, King William, is in the Duchy. The King is introducing the great thanes of this land to his own people.’
Edith raised an eyebrow. ‘To the point, Wadard.’
He went on, galloping now with his words, ‘My lady, we come with a request. Bishop Odo wishes to commission a tapestry from your workshops; a great tapestry to hang in his new church at Bayeux.’
‘The completion of the church at Bayeux is still years off.’
‘Then there are years left with which to design such a work and execute it.’ Edith glared at the weasel man. He had once been a loyal thane, a Godwin man. ‘Wadard, what exactly is your business here?’
‘The Bishop is concerned for you and those girls you have in your care,’ he began. ‘We have discovered camps nearby. Queen Edith, do you suspect anyone in this abbey of wrongdoing against our sovereign King?’
There were many who wished King William ill. There we
re also those who wished her misfortune, ever since she had given over the keys to Winchester’s treasury last November. She considered for a moment. This man might be of use to her and after that she might be rid of him.
She tapped her side table with a long, bejewelled, middle finger. ‘There is indeed a service you can do to our mutual benefit.’ She lifted the statuette of St Cecilia from her desk and held it out to Wadard. ‘Fine craftsmanship, don’t you think, ivory and valuable.’ She looked at Brother Francis. ‘You do remember Gunnhild, Brother Francis?’
‘Lady Elditha’s daughter; an intelligent girl.’
Edith lowered her voice. ‘Gunnhild received this gift only a few weeks ago from her mother, a gift for her name-day. Yes, I see your surprise. You are aware, of course, that we seek the Lady Elditha. We think she has been abducted. But now I believe that she may be travelling west.’ She turned to Wadard again. ‘Gertrude, wife of Alfred of Oxford, brought this gift to my niece. Elditha was in Oxford.’
Brother Francis drew a quick intake of breath. ‘I saw him. I knew it was odd. I saw the Godwin skald ferrying novices from Abingdon Abbey up-river. Perhaps the Lady Elditha was with him.’
‘Yes, maybe she was. And she will be with her lady-in-waiting.’ She grasped her hands together. ‘But this important fact you may not know, monk. Lady Elditha is betrothed to Alain of Brittany. So, if you seek her out and bring us news of her, I shall reward you.’
‘And the skald?’ said Brother Francis.
‘The skald is a nithing, a murderer, and he must be brought to justice.’ Edith turned to Wadard. ‘Seek your information at the house of Alfred the Coiner in Oxford. Find proof of Lady Elditha’s movements. I want her returned to us.’
Wadard bowed low. ‘We can be inside the town walls tomorrow.’ Turning to Brother Francis, he said, ‘Come, we have work to do.’
Herne, Queen Edith’s charcoal carrier, slid from behind the curtain, where he had concealed himself as the visitors arrived. He too hurried out into the night.
25
Here is Wadard
Embroidered on the Bayeux Tapestry
Herne took a horse from the abbey stables and cantered to Oxford over shortcut tracks, riding all night through thaw-dripping woodland. His banging on Alfred’s great gate awakened the doorkeeper, Athelstan, and his yard boys. Herne could hear them grumbling as the peephole window slid back.
The aged gatekeeper’s toothless face appeared lit up from the side by the moon. ‘It’s only the fifth hour,’ he squawked.
‘I must speak with your master.’
‘Come back in the morning.’
‘No, I must see him now.’
‘Can’t it wait? It’s still starlight.’
‘Your master is in danger; messenger from Wilton; let me through.’
Athelstan banged the window shut and Herne heard wooden bolts being pulled back. Two yard boys dragged the gate open and he led his snorting horse forward. The gatekeeper ordered the boys to push the gate closed again, bolt it and to answer to no one else. ‘Here you,’ he said to one. ‘Stable the nag. Be quick.’ He indicated to Herne to follow him. ‘Master Alfred rises early.’
Herne climbed after him up to the first landing, where Athelstan pulled at a bell and shouted, ‘Master. There’s someone come from Wilton.’
Herne heard a key rattling in the lock and Alfred saying, ‘Wilton?’
‘Aye, it’s Herne,’ Herne called into the door.
The gatekeeper waited on the staircase until Alfred waved him off.
‘By St Frideswide’s sainted veil,’ Alfred lifted a lantern up to Herne’s face, ‘you look done in, man. What’s wrong?’
‘Can I have a drink first?’ Herne leaned against the wall, catching his breath.
Alfred ushered him in and offered him a cup of wine and a loaf of bread. Between bites, Herne told him about the monk Brother Francis and Bishop Odo’s servant, an ugly man named Wadard. ‘They are travelling around the country poking their noses into monasteries and convents, checking up on us all. They know Lady Elditha was here.’ He told Alfred what he had overheard.
Alfred frowned. ‘I knew Gertrude was taking a risk. I should have stopped her taking that gift to Wilton. Who is after the Lady Elditha?’
‘It’s Queen Edith who’s looking. Wadard and the priest are her agents in that, though their own business is rooting out resistance and plundering convents and abbeys. You had best disappear, Master Coiner. They work for Odo and they’ll mark those who help her as part of the resistance. You’ll be up in that keep on the hill and you won’t be seeing daylight again.’
Alfred scratched his head as the enormity of this sank in. At last he said, ‘Herne, Lady Elditha’s trail will jeopardise our cause. I’ll leave Oxford now. I know where to go. Gertrude must come with me.’
Herne nodded. ‘Hurry, Alfred. I’ll wait.’
Alfred and Gertrude packed one saddle-bag each, a change of clothing and a pouch with Gertrude’s jewels.
‘No questions and no maids, Gertrude. We’ll be back soon.’ Alfred swallowed as he spoke the lie.
‘Why …’
‘Not now, I’ll explain all when we are on the road.’
Alfred hurried to workshops at the back of his hall where his three apprentices were snoring by the fire. He selected a key from the chain that hung from his waist and unlocked the door leading into his store-room and softly closed it, lifted two saddle-bags off the wall and opened a chest. Digging his hands in, he lifted out handfuls of gold coin, and filled the bags almost to the top before stuffing leather cloths over the hoard to conceal it from prying eyes. After locking his storeroom, he awakened the sleeping lads and sent them off to the kitchen to break their fast.
Herne met him in the stable. Pointing to a large piebald pony, Herne said, ‘I’ll take a fresh horse and I’ll saddle up two for Gertrude and yourself. Then, I’m making for the woods. Where do you intend to go?’
‘We’re riding south and west. Herne, can you help Gertrude? She is on her way. I have something else to do first.’ Then he rushed off again.
Godfrey, the foreman, a cousin of a cousin, arrived just as church bells began ringing for morning service. Alfred explained that he was off to London. ‘I have to forge new coin and the old lot not a year old.’ He unhooked his keys from his belt, muttering, ‘Ah well, best to obey a summons. Keep an eye on the house and the servants whilst I am gone.’ Godfrey scratched his head and looked confused.
‘Be careful whom you trust. Set a guard on the building at night. I’ll send word when I’m returning.’
‘Gertrude?’
‘Gertrude will accompany me, Godfrey. She needs new silks for her embroideries.’
Godfrey nodded. ‘Be careful then, and Godspeed.’
Alfred hurried down the wooden stairway to the barn where Gertrude was waiting with Herne and the horses. By the time the bells rang again for Terce, they were on the road to Exeter.
Later that day Brother Francis and Wadard rode into the castle bailey. Wadard demanded food and drink and asked for a guard of ten to twenty men, saying that they were on the Bishop’s business. Brother Francis was beginning to understand his companion to be determined. The quaking warden did not dare refuse after seeing Odo’s seal. By Vespers, Wadard’s recruits were hammering on Alfred’s gate. Athelstan refused them entry. ‘Master’s gone away for a week to London – on King’s business.’
‘Open up or we’ll break down the gate. This is the King’s business.’
The old man reluctantly ordered his boys to draw back the gate.
‘At last.’ Wadard spat the words. He barged through the yard, with the troop of soldiers following and shouting threats at Alfred’s terrified servants.
They found the mint at the back of Alfred’s yard where Godfrey was firing up the oven. Startled Godfrey looked up, wiped his hands on a rag and slowly came forward. A boy was setting out coin dies and two others were working the bellows. Wadard looked at the dies, lifted one up and t
urned it over.
‘What treason is this? There’s a new King now.’
‘We don’t do the face image. We do the other side only. One side is blank. These are temporary coins, tokens. All we’ve done is melt down the old ones and give these tokens in exchange. We need new moulds. Master is gone to London for them. The finished coins have to have a consistent weight.’ Godfrey pointed to the scales on a corner table.
Wadard reached out and grabbed Godfrey’s tunic. ‘I have questions for you.’ He dragged him from his work and shoved him onto the earth floor, where he held him at the end of a short sword. Wadard’s band of soldiers stood behind their new commander with their swords pointing at Godfrey.
Wadard said, ‘Where is Alfred the Coiner?’
‘I told you. My master has gone to London.’
‘When?’
‘Today. He’s gone to fetch the new dies.’ Godfrey looked up at the bench, where an apprentice’s hands were shaking so badly that a mould dropped, crashing to the floor.
‘He’s a liar,’ said Wadard, kicking Godfrey in the belly. ‘Has Alfred the Coiner entertained a lady and her servant lately, a storyteller like you?’ He laughed at his own joke and twisted the point of his sword, drawing blood from Godfrey’s throat.
‘I don’t know,’ Godfrey gasped. ‘I come in the morning and leave by nightfall.’
‘Name?’
‘Godfrey, son of Robert the Merchant,’ Godfrey said.
‘French, Breton, Norman?’
‘Father, Norman. My mother is English.’
‘You had best be loyal then,’ Wadard said as he kicked Godfrey again. ‘Get up and return to your work. No image of the dead King or his kin is to be imprinted on coins.’ Wadard put away his sword and, with his men following, left the mint. Terrified, Godfrey shook and wobbled like his mother’s sloe jellies as he hurried back to the great fire in the forge.
‘Get on with your work,’ he said to the quaking apprentices. ‘Your loyalty is to the master. Say nothing. Get the heat up.’ They obediently worked the bellows.
The Handfasted Wife Page 21
