The Handfasted Wife

by Carol McGrath

  ‘And they have taken them all for their barricade,’ Elditha said as she opened another coffer filled with jewels and pulled out a ruby pendant. She passed it to Gytha.

  Gytha held it up to the torchlight. The ruby glowed. She straightened her back and dropped the pendant over her head. It lay against her chest, its red glow gleaming in the darkness. ‘I wore this on my wedding day. Godwin gave it to me and I must save it.’

  ‘And you, Gytha, were you handfasted or married in the church porch?’

  ‘Our marriage was blessed by the Bishop in the cathedral. We were not cousins. I was related to Canute, not to Godwin.’

  Elditha sighed. She lifted up an ornate silver-and-crystal box. ‘And the relics?’

  ‘That contains lace from St Mary’s veil. Bishop Leofric can have that for his cathedral. He coveted it long before, when it was in our chapel. I had these relics removed here for safety. Now, we must return them to God’s house, even though it seems that God has deserted our cause.’

  From another chest, Elditha drew out two prayer books. She peered closely at the lettering worked into their leather covers. ‘And these are surely precious.’ She replaced them and lifted up another book. Opening it, she exclaimed, ‘Gytha, one of Harold’s books on falconry is here and, look, a book of riddles.’ She lifted up the little book, opened it, shut it again and held it to her breast. ‘It is the same as the one he gave me, after he married Aldgyth. It was lost in the fire at Reredfelle.’

  ‘Take it, my dear. All these books belong to us.’

  Elditha felt a great heaviness. Even now, Aldgyth remained on the edges of her vision, haunting her memories of her last day with Harold. Clutching the book tightly, she remarked, ‘Aldgyth was with child.’

  Gytha busied herself closing her chests again. She let the last coffer lid drop. ‘Aldgyth’s child was born in Chester last April, a boy. Do not dwell on it, Elditha. We have more things of importance to concern us than Aldgyth. I hear a bell. It is Nones already.’ She smiled a wicked smile. Her eyes glowed like candles. They were those of a woman much younger than her great age. ‘We shall leave all this here for now. I think it is time we spread a few home truths about the Normans among the women of Exeter.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We need the town to continue to support us. Rumour is a powerful weapon.’

  When they came out of the cellar the town’s church bells were ringing. Gytha’s women were milling around outside the hall, waiting for her to return, their breath hanging about them like pale veils. Gytha tapped her way forward in front of Elditha, using her stick, picking her way steadily across the frosted earth. She pulled her little bell from her belt chain and, competing with the church bells, rang it insistently. She would lead them to prayer in her chapel.

  Elditha excused herself and hurried inside the hall’s opened doorway and past the hearth to the chamber in the far wing which she shared with Thea. She opened her saddle-bag and placed the little book there with her remaining treasures, the christening robe and a small purse filled with coins – the one lined with Ulf’s dove which he embroidered a year ago. It was all the treasure that now remained to her; that and the amber ring on her little finger.

  The following day, the palace women began whispers that the Normans would spare no one if the Countess opened the gates of Exeter. As Elditha moved around the bower and yard overseeing all, she heard their deliberate talk of terror as the women dropped their distaffs. They discussed how the Normans beat their wives and how they treated them badly. As they made samples and cut linen for bandages in preparation for an expected onslaught, they spoke of how the Normans ate stolen children in times of bad harvest and famine. As they talked, Elditha realised that Gytha’s women had begun to believe their own stories.

  Elditha went up onto the walls again. It was quiet. There was no arrow fire, no cries, screams or taunts. The Normans had moved their ladders closer, though they did not climb up them. Instead, down below, the ladders littered the frozen earth. They kept the mangonels back from the walls. At supper she learned that the women’s tactics had been effective. The town absorbed their stories and there was no further talk of surrender. To her relief, the townspeople had refused to support Bishop Leofric, who was lending his support to the merchants, and for now there was a reprieve.

  39

  Certain knights sent by him from Normandy had been driven by a storm into their harbour.

  The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis , 12th century, edited and translated by Marjorie Chibnall

  As the siege slid into a third week the weather changed. A wind rushed over the land from the western sea and a vicious storm blew up. That evening Gytha’s sergeant had sent a dozen or so of her retainers out of the east gate to guard the quayside and the harbour stretch between the river and the town ditches. There was a score of her private army up on the fortifications behind the palace. Beneath the driving wind and rain, Padar and Alfred stood with Gytha’s guard, pacing the walls as they watched the Normans drag their mangonels farther back into a stand of poplar trees taller than the machines themselves.

  A number of ladders lay on the ground below, left there by the Normans on the day before. Alfred suspected that when morning came and the storm had blown out, the Normans would attempt to scale the walls. The three weeks’ lull granted Gytha by the enemy showed signs of drawing to a close. The enemy’s patience must be worn thin by the freezing wet for their tents were poor accommodation.

  A boy came running through the rain, shouting for Alfred.

  Alfred stepped forward to meet him. ‘I am here, boy.’

  ‘The Countess wants to know if the ship barricade is breaking up.’

  ‘Wait here, boy,’ Alfred said.

  After a final look at the Normans guarding the bridge, and with Padar following, they wended their way around dripping tar pots and close-knit groups of shivering soldiers, circling the town below, until they came to the place in the east where the river started to hug the wall. From there they could see the shadowy outlines of boats crashing and banging against each other across the width of the river. They looked down. Gytha’s guard was on the beach near the river gate.

  Leaning against the wet stone, Alfred leaned over, peering down on the drenched quays and shadowy warehouses that lined the harbour. ‘Come on,’ he shouted and raced to the steps that led down to the river gate. Half-slipping, falling and fighting the wind, they came down. Padar called to the guard to unbolt the door. Struggling against the storm, they rushed out, down a steep track and onto the wharfs.

  Padar reached the long, pillared jetty that thrust out into the river first. Pulling his cloak around him, he walked out onto it, scanning the river where it flowed to the sea, searching for the barricaded boats. Not far off, they loomed up. Looking back at the land, he could see no sign of Gytha’s soldiers along the shore between the wall and where the river lapped up against it.

  But Alfred’s keen sight was able to make out the glint of spears on the shingle beach farther up the river near the bridge. He was not close enough to ascertain whether it was Normans or their own people. With the wind pushing behind him, he turned towards the bridge, and ran through the storm and along the quay.

  Moments later, he could make out men wading across the river towards the town. Their hands were raised in surrender. Coming closer, he saw that it must be Gytha’s guard who had surrounded them and were dragging them from the river, one by one, onto the muddy banks. They were cutting them down on the shore, deaf to their shrieks and pleas for mercy. Inches away from him, one of the surrendering men stumbled up onto the shingle. A spear flew past and caught the wretch in the neck. He fell against the wall ditch and slid down it into a bloodied heap. ‘What are you doing?’ Alfred yelled, rubbing his own neck. No one heard him. He recognised Gytha’s captain. He was encouraging his men in a frenzy of killing. Alfred manoeuvred his way through fallen bodies and skewered victims closer to him. ‘Who are these men?’

  ‘
English mercenaries who fight for the Normans. They are traitors.’

  ‘But they are surrendering?’

  ‘They are scum seeking shelter.’

  ‘But they are surrendering scum, are they not?’

  The captain shrugged. ‘They would be mouths to feed. But if you don’t like this, do you feel brave enough to stop them? The men would turn on me.’

  Helpless, Alfred turned back towards the wharf. The rain was now beating into his face and pouring down his helmet in rivulets. His heavy, drenched cloak was slowing him down. He reached the jetty where Padar was standing above the swirling river, gazing from his hood towards the boom. As he came closer, he saw what Padar was watching: a small coracle. The craft was fighting its way through the churning water towards the quayside.

  He reached him just as the craft rocked close to the jetty. It was pulled by an undertow between the jetty pillars, then disappeared from view, only to reappear on the other side. Padar raced across, leaned over and shouted down, but there was no reply. The figure in the boat stretched out to the pillar closest to him and caught hold of it. There was a sudden gust of wind. The boatman lost his grip and the coracle spun round. Again he reached out for the pillar, and grasped it. He raised his hand to the iron mooring hooks and hauled himself onto the dock. Then his boat was swept away by the force of the water. Collapsing at their feet, he bent double and spewed.

  Padar pulled his sword from his belt and held it high, ready to strike.

  The boatman was on his knees, yelling up, ‘Stop, Padar. You know me!’

  Padar dropped the sword. ‘By Christus! What are you doing here?’

  Alfred grabbed a handful of Padar’s mantle and pulled him back. He reached for Padar’s weapon. ‘Are you crazy to unarm yourself outside the wall, man?’ Padar blankly looked back at him. ‘Here take it.’ He thrust the weapon back into Padar’s hands. ‘Who is this bastard, Padar?’

  ‘Connor of Meath, and he may be our deliverance.’

  Connor struggled to his feet and began to speak.

  Padar shouted at him, ‘Don’t try to explain now, just lean on my shoulder.’

  Alfred said, ‘Padar, listen to me. Gytha’s guard are massacring mercenaries down there. They were seeking shelter here among the wharf buildings. The Normans will retaliate as soon as the storm blows out. I need the sergeant. He’ll order Gytha’s guard inside the gate again.’

  ‘Help us behind the walls first.’ Padar began to head off, dragging the Earl and fighting the wind. Alfred caught them up and grasped hold of the Earl’s other arm. Pushing through the rain, they hauled Connor up the slope, through the wharf door and into the destruction the storm had wrought on the town. Alfred veered to the left and climbed the slippery steps to the wall towers. Padar was left with the Earl.

  Pushing at Connor’s sopping mantle, Padar guided him past the debris that came hurtling down the town’s wider lanes with a loud banging and clashing. The minster’s bells were wildly ringing, their clangs eerily echoing through empty streets. They were tossed in the gale until they reached the gate. Gytha’s gatekeeper yelled at his boys to pull it open to allow them through. Padar kicked a rolling, thumping barrel out of their way and summoned all his strength to drag the Earl out of the storm and into the hall. He led him down the central aisle, past restless servants who were trying to snatch sleep, and behind a thick curtain into his own alcove.

  ‘Here.’

  He thrust a linen sheet at the Earl. When Earl Connor had dried himself off, Padar brought him soup from the cauldron that was always kept filled for Gytha’s guard.

  ‘What is it?’ asked the Earl as he greedily grasped the bowl.

  ‘Herbs, cabbage and onion. We are beginning to stretch the grain but the pot is never empty. Here, take this too.’

  Earl Connor seized the spoon and ate. Finally, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and began to talk. He had come from the coast, he said. Half the south-west was on the move and he seemed just another destitute soul. Seeing no other way into the town he had skirted the town as the storm began to gather force. He had discovered the skiff abandoned where the River Exe widened as it flowed towards the sea, beyond the ship barrier, and had taken advantage of the storm to slip around the boom and get into the harbour. ‘Simple as that, skald,’ he said.

  Padar lifted a skin bag and handed it to him. ‘The messenger reached you?’

  ‘More than a week past. I arrived back after Christmas to find the lady gone, King Dairmaid furious and Magnus distraught, but the messengers did come through.’ The Earl wiped his mouth as he swallowed. ‘Madness – she is mad, foolish, to make this journey in winter and alone.’

  ‘She was not alone. What about the Danish ships?’

  Earl Connor shook his head and drank again. ‘Not before summer. The Countess will have to save herself however she can. Magnus has sent me for his mother and sister. The Countess will have to accept the Norman fealty, pay the tax, survive and wait. My task is to bring Lady Elditha and her daughter away from here.’ He passed the skin back. ‘The second I hope for; the first may be more difficult, and as I see it, the second depends on the first.’

  ‘Get some rest,’ Padar said, thrusting a blanket into Connor’s arms. ‘They are all trying to sleep. You can see them in the morning.’

  40

  Candlemas Day 1068

  The flower of their youth, the older men, and the clergy bearing their sacred books and treasures went out to the king. As they humbly threw themselves on his mercy that just prince granted them pardon and forgave their guilt.

  The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis , 12th century, edited and translated by Marjorie Chibnall

  By the following morning the storm had abated, but the besieged women awoke to further tragedy. As dawn was breaking, soldiers ran into the hall shouting for Countess Gytha. A messenger hurried to the chamber Elditha shared with Thea. They were already awake and dressed. ‘Thank the saints Gytha is asleep,’ Elditha said. ‘Stay with your grandmother but do not awaken her, Thea.’ She threw her furred mantle over her gown and, without even waiting to bind up her hair, rushed out of a side door into the garden, and climbed the orchard steps. Hair streaming behind her, she raced along the wall to stand with the soldiers who were gathered there to look at the grisly sight of a young man hanging from a gibbet outside the North Gate. His fair head had fallen onto his chest. His richly embroidered, saffron-coloured garments hung loosely from his bones.

  Rumours raced through the morning. By Sext, the most important merchants had climbed on the walls behind the palace to see this horror for themselves. The Normans had hung a son of Exeter during the grey daybreak, while rain still pounded on the town’s houses and as its citizens had begun to assess their damage. To the astonishment of the town burghers, in full view of those watching up on the walls, the Normans cruelly blinded another. The victim’s screams could be heard penetrating the wet air. Below, rank-and-file soldiers competed with the jeering of their betters.

  Elditha and Gytha received Earl Connor in Gytha’s antechamber in the new hall. Alfred related the previous night’s events. Gytha’s relief that the merchant ships were not destroyed turned to anger when Alfred reported the massacre on the beach beyond the Port Gate. The murdered men who dangled outside the North Gate were hostages granted by her merchants to the enemy. Elditha’s amazement at seeing the Earl, knowing he brought news of her sons, could not lessen the horror that had emerged early that morning.

  ‘Why did the Normans have hostages?’ Gytha said, clearly puzzled.

  ‘Because those weasel merchants were treating with them behind our backs,’ Alfred said.

  ‘Send for Leofric at once,’ Gytha ordered Alfred. ‘Let us see what he has to say.’

  An hour later, Bishop Leofric came stumbling breathlessly into her antechamber. ‘Countess, we had no choice but to parley with them ourselves. The merchants …’

  ‘Are fools,’ interrupted Gytha. ‘And so are you. Even in parley we should be
united, not divided. How, Bishop Leofric, how were there hostages?’ Gytha demanded.

  The Bishop looked down and said nothing.

  ‘Speak,’ Gytha raged. She waved towards a stool and Bishop Leofric sank gratefully onto it, his dark-gowned withers spreading over its edge.

  He began with his excuses. ‘These are my responsibility, my flock. They worry about their trade. The chief merchants of the town had granted King William six hostages – their own sons and even an elderly uncle – several days before the storm broke. It was proof of promise that they would bring an end to the siege. Then there was the slaughter by the river quay last night …’

  Gytha broke in, ‘So they think you have broken faith, Leofric?’

  ‘Broken faith, and let me remind you, you have not controlled your guards, Countess. King William gives a harsh warning.’

  ‘That pack of bullies is no Christian army.’

  ‘Countess, a son of Exeter is dangling at the gate. Another will die of his blinding. God has abandoned us and your people blame you. They say your stubbornness will be the ruin of them all. The burghers have banded together and …’ he stopped, and looked hard through popping eyes at the stranger by Elditha’s side, ‘… once again, my flock brings their anger to me.’ Not waiting for her to reply, Bishop Leofric rose off his stool. ‘And now I must comfort their families.’ He swept out of the chamber with a gawking monk attendant following, trying to snatch up the hem of his cloak as it swept over the puddled tiles.

  ‘Their anger is nothing to my own,’ Gytha shouted at his departing back.

  Earl Connor climbed onto the ramparts with Elditha and Thea, saying he wanted to survey the Norman camp from the top of the town walls. Her joy at seeing Connor was spoiled by his news that King Dairmaid had called her a foolish woman, just like the rest of her kind. She felt that this must reflect Connor’s own opinion. His words were chill. Unless they could stop the cataclysm, he said, there would be more hangings, more destruction. It was what she already knew. They must surrender. There could be no help before the summer.