Every day Gytha’s bower hall reverberated with the bird-like lightness of their voices. Women dropped spindles and spun thread; they busied themselves in the brewery; they made cheese and butter in the large dairy; they baked bread and competed to invent new puddings for Lent. The women of Exeter worked hard to bring a renewed rhythm into their broken lives.
As spring emerged, the Countess walked in the garden with her granddaughter, inspecting plants and poking her stick into the soil looking for new growth. Thea ran ahead, climbed up on the wall and walked a little way along it. After a few moments, she shouted down, ‘There are travellers by the North Gate. I can see a man riding a large black horse and a woman on a brown mare … and churchmen crossing the moor. I think that must be Bishop Leofric with one, two, three, six monks, all riding horses. Do you think that the Bishop will bring news from my mother?’
Gytha glanced up at the wall and leaned her leather-gloved hands on her stick. ‘How would the Bishop have news of Elditha, child? The boy Padar sent us said she was travelling away from trouble, not into it. Hopefully, she’s safe with your brothers by now.’
Thea shouted back down, ‘Grandmother, please write and find out.’
‘Maybe soon; now come down off that wall. We are going to find a gift for the good Bishop Leofric.’ She grunted. The Bishop of Exeter might be turning his mantle. Leofric would need a special gift this Easter to keep him sweet. She snapped her fingers at two women who were gathering primroses. ‘Go inside and find jars for the posies. Put them in my chamber.’ She pointed her stick at Thea, who had just jumped off the bottom step. ‘And Thea, you follow me.’
She led the girl to stone stairs that descended the outside wall of the palace. A small door below opened into cellars below her main hall. ‘You go first,’ she told Thea. Following, staying close to the wall, Gytha felt each step with her stick, before placing her foot on the next, until they reached the bottom. She selected the larger of two keys from her belt ring, pushed it into the barrel lock and creakingly turned it. She pushed the door. It didn’t shift. ‘The wood has swollen with the rain. No one has fetched anything up for a week,’ she grumbled.
‘I can do it.’ Thea put her weight against it. It was still sticking. She pushed harder until, with a groan, it gave way.
‘Wait, Grandmother, there are lamps.’ Thea leaned down and lifted a tinder box kept ready by the entrance. She struck a spark, lit a spindle, and with it three lamps which she placed carefully along the length of the cellar. The lamps lit up the undercroft’s shadows. Shapes became objects as gradually Gytha’s eyes adjusted to the dimness.
A sequence of spaces lay underneath the hall paralleling the alcoves above, containing stored tableware, large bowls carved of oak and metal pans. ‘The women rescued all they could from their halls before coming here,’ Gytha remarked. ‘Come, I need to show you something else.’
Herbs hung from the rafters to dry. Along the walls, flasks of mead and barrels of wine stood neatly stacked in rows. Her cellars contained sacks of dried lavender; fat sacks of goose feathers and several packs overflowing with duck feathers. In one corner of the undercroft, two chairs awaited the attention of their new carpenter from Hampshire. Sacks filled with oily fleece waited for Gytha’s ladies to spin it into wool. She led Thea past them all. At the back of the cellar, just below the Countess’s sleeping chamber, there was another room. ‘In this cellar we shall find a gift for Bishop Leofric.’ She unlocked the door and pushed it, expecting it to stick, but it gave way without difficulty. Once they were inside she lifted the lids of several chests.
Thea gasped. She had never seen so much gold and silver. ‘It must be greater than the treasury in Winchester, Grandmother.’
‘Indeed, and some of it will provide your dowry.’
Thea went from coffer to coffer as Gytha opened lids. There was one filled with expensive cloth, then one with a hoard of glittering jewels, amber and garnets set into silver. Next to it stood another chest filled with books on hawking, scriptures, psalms and poetry.
‘These, my dear, belonged to your father.’ Gytha explained. ‘He collected books and I have saved these ones. The Bastard stole my sons. He will not have Harold’s books.’
‘How did you get them here?’
‘I sent for them in December. When the sea was emptied of shipping, my messengers sailed to Bosham. They raided the hall and brought them out.’
‘I never knew.’
‘You don’t know everything, Thea. God help us if you did.’
‘I can keep secrets, Grandmother.’
‘Secrets are dangerous.’ She knew that only too well. In her time she had kept many.
There were other chests in the hidden chamber, beautiful painted wooden boxes containing gold and silver cups and plates, large and small gem-studded ornaments. One cedar-scented coffer held valuable tapestries. ‘Smell it, Thea.’ Thea inhaled its exotic, musty smell. ‘And there,’ said the Countess, pointing with her stick. ‘There, you see, my dear, how I have protected my ladies’ futures. Wouldn’t the Bastard like to get his wolf paws on all of this?’ She pointed to a row of chests neatly placed at the far end of the room. Thea held up the lamp and peered at them. These were the treasures carried to Exeter by the noblewomen who had fled into Gytha’s care that winter; these were their most precious possessions: jewel boxes, small panels of wood painted with biblical scenes and touched with gold paint, rolls of valuable silk cloth and great tapestries. Gytha released a sigh and leaned on Thea’s arm. ‘Never speak of what we have in our care outside this cellar.’
‘No, Grandmother, I promise.’ Thea looked at Gytha with her dark, solemn eyes. ‘Never,’ she whispered.
‘That chest over there is locked.’ Gytha removed a small brass key from her belt ring and pointed to a chest which had a lid that was painted with a blue-robed pregnant Madonna. ‘Take this key and open it,’ she said.
Thea twisted the key and the lock opened. She cautiously lifted the chest’s painted lid. Gytha hobbled closer. Peering in and probing with her stick, she daintily poked about a collection of ornate boxes. ‘Ah, there it is, that casket,’ she said with one final tap of the tip of her stick. ‘Just look at the garnet in that crystal lid. There’s a slither of the holy cross inside, brought to England by St Helena herself – if you believe it. It is our most valuable relic. Carry the casket upstairs for me.’ She tut-tutted to herself as she slammed down all the lids that remained opened. This was a present that the greedy Bishop would surely covet.
They dressed in their richest overgowns to visit the Bishop of Exeter and Gytha, looking approvingly at Thea’s neat fillet and veil, remarked as they came into the courtyard, ‘Your grandfather always said, intimidate the clergy with your own power, dress proudly and travel in elegance. Our power may be reduced, but the Bishop must not see it.’ Their litter, usually used to descend the hill from the palace and attend Vespers in the cathedral, was draped with heavy wool curtains decorated with Grecian figures that were spinning threads, and was pulled by two white horses, their silver harnesses studded with amber decorations. Gytha sat imperiously within it determined to do business with the Bishop, steeling herself to take no nonsense from him concerning the Bastard’s tax.
Bishop Leofric received them in his hall. He led Gytha to a comfortable padded chair by the hearth. Servants placed wine and cakes on the small carved table close to the Countess’s elbow and, for a while, they exchanged pleasantries, drank a cup of wine and nibbled hazelnut cakes. Gytha asked about his journey to Winchester.
He told them that Norman troops were busy guarding the roads south of Gloucester. He then remarked, ‘Bishop Odo will be collecting the King’s taxes here soon.’
‘Really?’ said Gytha dryly. ‘There’s no coin for tax here.’
Bishop Leofric went on, ‘Well, you know that the King …’ She frowned and then noticed how he quickly shifted tack, ‘I mean, Duke William, is in Normandy.’
‘And he has my grandson with him.’
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br /> The Bishop coughed. ‘Countess, here there is nothing we can do about that. The child is motherless since Lady Elditha disappeared …’
‘Nonsense, he has a grandmother, aunts, sisters. I want you to work for his return. Ulf belongs here with his family.’
‘The child is a guarantee that there will not be rebellion in Wessex.’
‘If they leave us alone, we’ll leave them alone.’ She knew that was a lie but said it anyway. Her grandsons would plot revenge, and so would she. Aloud, she said, ‘Continue, Leofric, you were speaking of Bishop Odo.’
‘The Bishop has taxed Winchester and Oxford too, so we must expect the same here. Of course, in return we get a new castle for our town’s protection.’ Bishop Leofric shifted his plump feet on his cushioned footstool.
‘Let him try that here, Leofric, and he will see how we resist. Just watch tax collectors come to my towns. They will be seen off back to London. Do you think I shall allow the Bastard to tax us or let him get a castle built in my town?’ She tapped the tiles impatiently with her stick. ‘So, Leofric, I hear that you visited Wilton on your travels. What news do you bring of my granddaughter?’
Leofric bowed his head. ‘She is with her aunt, Countess. Gunnhild draws designs for lettering. She is talented, an unusual child, and she appears happy there. Edith has sent an answer to your letter of last month.’ He waved to a monk who hovered close to him. The monk ducked behind an arras, and returned moments later with Edith’s letter.
The Countess passed it to Thea. ‘My dear, put it away for now.’
‘Don’t you wish me to read it to you?’ the Bishop offered.
‘No need. But before we leave, my Lord Bishop, we have an Easter gift for you.’ She looked at her granddaughter and reached out her hands. ‘Thea, the gift.’
Thea handed Gytha a linen sack. Gytha took it and held on to it, amused, watching the Bishop’s eyes goggle with anticipation. At last she passed it over into his podgy jewelled hands.
The Bishop lost no time unwinding the silk cord that tied the neck of it. He drew out the gift, and gasped, turning the box around and around, examining it. ‘Countess, what a marvellous thing and well, well, this is a truly magnificent garnet.’ He held it up to the sconce light. It seemed to glow. ‘It is a crystal box!’ he exclaimed. His rubicund face creased with smiles. He delicately tapped the side. ‘What treasure lies inside this casket? A finger, a bone, a fragment of the Madonna’s veil?’
‘A slither of the cross.’
‘How unusual!’
Determined to remind him of where his loyalty ought to lie, she said quickly, ‘In return for this Easter gift to the cathedral, masses must be sung for my sons’ souls.’
‘Countess, it is done.’ He passed the crystal casket to a hovering monk. ‘Place this in my chamber, Brother Paul.’ He reached out and touched Gytha’s gloved hand with his plump fingers. ‘Now, Countess, before you leave us, I have something to ask of you too.’
‘Do.’ Gytha wondered what the Bishop could possibly want of her now.
‘I met with travellers on the road west, a thane and his wife who request speech with you. These are wealthy travellers. They have already made a generous donation to my church of St Mary’s. May I send them to you?’
‘Very well, Bishop. Send them to me tomorrow.’ She gathered up her mantle, took her leave and, linking her arm in Thea’s, hurried back to her waiting litter. She grimaced as the litter jolted and rattled her bones as they climbed up the steep, rutted path to the palace. Yet, all told, the interview had had a satisfactory outcome. She had made it very clear to the Bishop who was the power in this town.
Later, in the privacy of her chamber, she read that Gunnhild would remain in Wilton. She sighed and put the letter away. The girl was probably safer in Wilton Abbey than in a town that the Bastard had marked out for his attention. On the following evening, though, Gytha received more news when Alfred and Gertrude entered her palace. When Alfred had told her all, she said, ‘I am glad you did not reveal your true story to Bishop Leofric. You have suffered on our account.’ She reached out and patted Gertrude’s knee. ‘My home is yours for as long as is necessary.’ Gertrude wiped tears from her eyes. Gytha found them sleeping space in an alcove at the back of the main hall, almost a room, since it contained a curtained box bed made of beech wood and carved with Wessex dragons. ‘We used that bed ourselves when Godwin first built this hall. I was keeping this space for Gunnhild, but I fear she will never return to us.’
Gertrude said she was sorry that Gunnhild could not come to Exeter. She told Gytha about the gift. ‘Countess, it was a terrible mistake, a dreadful, careless thing to do. It has brought about this disaster and I fear to think what revenge my action may be wreaking even now.’
Gytha said, ‘Elditha did not use her wits either. Now it is in the past. You were not to know what could evolve.’ She took Gertrude’s hand. ‘And, my dear, you will be welcomed by the ladies in my bower.’ She turned to Alfred. ‘I almost forgot to ask. What tale did you tell the Bishop?’
‘That the Normans took my estate.’
‘Ah, then, we must think of something suitable for you to do here. In the meantime, you can join my guard.’
That night, as she lay awake, Gytha wondered how Alfred could use his skills to their benefit. Gradually an idea formed itself in her mind. She shifted her aching bones in her feathered bed and folded her ancient hands under her chin as her idea grew like a ball of tapestry wool weaving webs of intrigue. If Alfred could forge coin of silver, then perhaps he could work with other metals too. They may need to defend Exeter. At length she snuffed out her candle. Satisfied with her plan she turned on her side, curled up like a younger woman and drifted into a pleasant sleep.
A new pattern of living emerged for Gertrude. She embroidered a linen table covering with her exquisite stitching and told stories of the queen of the fairies and her husband who lived on the heaths, moving as royalty does move, from invisible winter halls to summer bowers. Her collection of stories included tales of elves with their mischief and accounts of fat, evil trolls who dwelled in the summer-lit northlands but by winter moonlight travelled in sleighs over tundra of hard-packed snow. Gytha smiled to watch Thea become animated. Her granddaughter was entranced by Gertrude. Perhaps she was a tenuous link to Thea’s mother, or more likely to the world of her imagination, where she believed she would wed a prince.
On a soft April day Gytha collected her ladies together in the palace yard and suggested that they ride out to the small Priory of Our Lady. It was attached to the Abbey of St Ronan’s vast estate and conveniently secreted among trees close to the river. It was time to call on her old friend the prioress, since she planned to involve both Alfred and Prioress Mildryth in her plans for Exeter’s protection.
Grooms led mares out from the stable and helped the women mount. A small guard followed on foot to protect them. Town wives and traders fell to their knees as they trotted through the morning market. They made slow progress down the rutted path from the palace and through the narrow streets because Gytha would stop and ask her men to distribute purses of pennies to the poor.
‘God bless the House of Godwin,’ a woman cried out as she caught a miniscule linen purse.
‘St Osyth watch over you,’ the Countess called graciously back.
‘May the Holy Virgin bless you, Countess.’
She bowed her head and acknowledged them all. She was gladdened in her heart that here in this Godwin outpost, her house had always been much loved by the people. Chattering, with their bridle bells jingling, the women proceeded through the River Gate towards St Osyth’s cross and past the wharfs. They crossed a bridge to continue along a sunken track close to the river. A watermill creaked. Birds sang in trees. Spring flowers released their scent as horses trod on them. Gytha felt stronger – much younger than her 65 years – as she rode through the sunshine. Her troubles, for a while, could be hidden away behind Exeter’s stout walls.
Shortly after noo
n they rode into the priory’s courtyard. Alfred dismounted first, cupped his hand for the Countess’s small, booted foot and lifted her carefully off her mare. Hilda and Thea slid from their side saddles unaided and hurried to Gytha’s side. They offered her their arms for support, but Gytha shook them away, leaned on the stick and walked forward with a determined step. Her old friend the Prioress Mildryth was already hurrying towards her from the chapel.
‘My, my, Countess Gytha, you are so welcome. It is good to see you again.’ The prioress looked at Thea. ‘What a lovely girl your granddaughter is, ripe for spoiling. Welcome, welcome. We have much to talk about.’
‘Ah, good to see you too, Mildryth, though I’d say we have all enjoyed better times.’ She sighed. ‘It has been a bitter grieving winter; my four handsome sons cut down in their prime. But let us think of happier times. This visit has been long in the coming. Tell me, how is the priory doing?’ She took Mildryth’s arm as they entered the priory’s guest hall.
They sat on cushioned benches in the hall. Novices served buttermilk and honey cakes. After a little conversation and refreshment and seeing her ladies contentedly talking to the nuns, exchanging chatter concerning recipes, the Countess rose and signalled to Alfred. She asked him to accompany Prioress Mildryth and herself into the garden. Tapping her stick along the pathway, she walked through new growth, pointing out the herbs she needed for the palace garden. ‘I will have the gardener cut slips for you, my dear friend,’ Mildryth said. By the time they reached the orchard, Gytha was tiring. She sank onto a long, stone bench and caught her breath. Her two companions waited. She had no intention of going farther. She had important business with them. She began, ‘Listen, this is what I want you to do, Mildryth, so sit beside me.’ She lifted her hand. ‘You too, Alfred.’ She patted the cool stone. ‘And not a word from either of you until I have spoken.’ The prioress folded her hands neatly in her lap. Gytha looked from her to Alfred and back and continued, ‘Alfred, here, is a coiner. He knows the working of metal. You remember how we discussed setting up a foundry close to those tin workings on the priory land? Alfred could build our foundry, but not for the forging of coin.’ She laughed. ‘Not at all, because we can import metals from Ireland to mix with the tin we have here and we can make weapons. Swords, axes, arrow heads – weapons of every kind that we need for our own protection. Our boats will easily slip past Norman patrols into the inlets on the north coast. Are you agreeable?’
The Handfasted Wife Page 25
