The Swan-Daughter (The Daughters of Hastings)

by Carol McGrath

  ‘That,’ Niall hissed through his teeth, ‘is not a sight we need to see. We must outride the bastards.’

  ‘I’ll take the rear,’ Hubert said. ‘You, Alfred, keep Lady Gunnhild between Lord Niall and my horse.’

  They dug heels into horses’ flanks and galloped, keeping a steady distance between them and the pursuit. Gunnhild’s arms ached with the effort of riding and making sure that Maud did not slip from her arms. ‘Hold tight to Argos’s mane, sweeting. It won’t be long. I am going to get us home.’ Fear overcame her gathering fatigue. She rode as if the Furies were in pursuit.

  They slowed down momentarily as they came to a rushing wide stream. ‘It will hinder them, too,’ Niall called back.

  ‘Let me take Maud for a bit,’ Alfred said, steering his horse alongside her. Gunnhild allowed him to loosen the child’s hands from Argos’s mane and lift her onto his own saddle. They pushed on through the trees until they were into water meadows.

  Surely they will fall back here, Gunnhild thought. She glanced round. There was no sign of the riders. They had turned away as they had left the borders of the Hallikeld estates and had neared Alan’s patrols. ‘They will expect Alan’s men here,’ Niall said. ‘It is a wonder we have not encountered them either this night.’

  As a watery dawn broke, they were plunging into the wide fields close to the village of Well. Niall signalled to them to pause into a steady walk once they had reached the narrow track that skirted the great field beside the village. He stared up at the brightening sky. ‘Somewhere else got that downpour.’ He pointed to the encroaching horizon. ‘Beyond that is Richmond.’

  Well was very close. Again Gunnhild feared passing it. She gritted her teeth as she rode. Once past the edge of that dark wood into which Maud had been spirited less than a week before, Niall reined in his horse and signalled to them to stop, turned in his saddle and called back, ‘Hubert should ride over to Achebe and tell Alan we have Maud safe, and that Lord Uhtred and his ragtag army are holding up at Hallikeld.’

  ‘Lord Niall,’ said Alfred. ‘They are not likely to return to Hallikeld. They will look for shelter elsewhere. They will be expecting Lord Alan soon after this.’

  ‘Go and tell him he has to hunt the bastards down because if he does not, as soon as my lady and her daughter are safely inside Richmond’s walls, I shall.’

  ‘I’ll ride over to Achebe. They made their biggest mistake by following us because now they will have to retrace their ride. With luck, their mounts may tire.’

  Moments later Hubert had turned his horse around towards Achebe and was gone with a backward wave, riding off down the lane. They glimpsed him moving through a barley field, on the periphery of the tree line and after that he was swallowed up by the Achebe woods.

  Count Alan returned to Richmond late that afternoon. He had sent a troop after the rebels but he himself had ridden straight to the castle to see Maud, doubting that his wife and brother could really have so easily found her and carried her safely home. He praised Gunnhild’s part in the rescue, grunted at Niall, and hurried off from the hall again, because a rider had come with news that they had taken up the four weavers.

  The following day, Gunnhild was idly batting rose petals about the tub Maud had used before her. She felt warm and happy except for the ever-present worry that Niall could be wrong about Uhtred and they were close to discovery. Yet, Maud was back in her bed asleep just beyond the heavy tapestry, close and safe and for now that was all that mattered.

  ‘My lady,’ Ann was calling to her softly. ‘My lady, do not fall asleep in the tub. Lord Alan needs you in the hall. You have little time to get ready.’

  ‘He wants me,’ she repeated, guilty anxiety creeping into her voice. ‘What about Maud?’

  ‘Sleep heals. Let her sleep it all off. I shall send the nurse to watch over her. Hurry, my lady. Count Alan has a look of Thor about him.’ Ann sped around her bedchamber gathering up the garments that Gunnhild had discarded on her return, as well as the old gown she had hastily pulled on when Alan had ridden in. Gunnhild splashed flower petals onto the floor tiles as she pulled herself out of the tub. Ann handed over linen cloths with which to dry herself, insisting all the time, ‘Get dressed, my lady, and I’ll call for the maids to clear this all away.’ She took the cloths from Gunnhild and helped her, rubbing fiercely at the hair that Gunnhild had loosened and allowed to fall into the bathwater. ‘That will do. We can plait it round your head and pin the veil on it.’ She rummaged amongst the garments on Gunnhild’s clothing pole.

  ‘Anything will do,’ Gunnhild called from the bench where she was rubbing a salve on her naked feet and between her legs that were chaffed and sore from her wild ride. If Alan had discovered her infidelity then what she wore did not matter. He would lock her in a nunnery and throw away the key.

  ‘Anything will not do. They are holding a court in the hall. Sir Edward and his men have agreed to be judge and jury. Alfred has been dragged into it because Maud was taken on his land.’

  She stopped rubbing the salve into her legs and relaxed her guard. ‘They have brought Lord Uhtred in already?’ she said as she began to furiously brush her hair.

  ‘Lord Uhtred got away. He has powerful friends who will protect him.’

  ‘The Bishop of Durham?’

  ‘Amongst others, according to Hubert. Here, my lady, this overgown will be better.’

  Gunnhild pulled on the garments and Ann laced them and smoothed down her mistress’s overdress. Ann called for maids to take away the water and clear the spilt petals from the floor tiles. She began to plait Gunnhild’s damp hair.

  ‘You know, my lady, you said that there was a boy at the nun’s house when you took Maud from it?’

  ‘What of it?’

  Ann lowered her voice. ‘He is the child of Grettir, the nun, Lord Uhtred’s sister. That boy monk is Bishop Robert’s and Grettir’s love-child. Uhtred of Middleton has friends in high places.’

  Gunnhild twisted round to look straight at Ann. ‘So who exactly has Alan got down below?’

  ‘My lady, be still. They found the weavers in a woodland camp south of Well. Lord Uhtred and his armed band rode away at the very sight of Count Alan’s outriders. He abandoned the weavers. So Count Alan took them but Lord Uhtred vanished. The dogs could not even track him over the rivers or in through the great south woods. He may be near Durham itself by now. Alfred, Alan and Sir Edward’s clerks will all condemn those men today.’

  ‘But it is Uhtred who should be punished. He led, they followed.’

  ’Yes, my lady, they followed and they should not have followed him.’

  Gunnhild came slowly down the stairway, her head high, knowing that she commanded respect. She had ridden out in the night with only three others and she had accomplished what Count Alan had failed to do. As she took her place on her chair in the centre of the dais between Alan and Niall, she heard a murmuring throughout the hall. Sir Edward sat on a bench at the head of his scribblers, seriously clerk-like with their portable desks strapped from their necks. One of them had been charged with the task of recording the trial and that clerk was seated by a trestle that had been moved into place in front of Alan as if it was a safe barrier between him and the anxious-looking crowd gathered below it. Alfred leaned back against the wall. His face was drawn and he was still wearing the mud-splattered garments he had worn yesterday morning. Clearly, she thought, he had endured enough already and needed his family and a day of sleep. Now he had to listen to judgement on his weavers, men who would be difficult to replace. But they took my child, she reminded herself. And what if they, too, know about Niall and me? What if Uhtred has told them the words which he has threatened to speak to Alan?

  The hall was crowded with soldiers, servants, priests and a group of villagers. She was sure that they had walked all the way to Richmond with Count Alan’s soldiers. These were the wives and children of Well’s weavers. Gunnhild glanced to her right. There was an empty space inside a roped-off section of
the hall just by the dais. It was not empty for long because once she had uncomfortably settled into her place Alan shouted, ‘Bring in the scum who stole my daughter.’

  A ripple of voices flowed through the crowd below the dais, as a way parted, and four bloody men were dragged through the hall door into the body of the hall where they were manhandled into the heavily guarded empty place near the dais. Alan called to them that they would face judgment. He boomed out, ‘The devils of hell will thrust flames into your rotting flesh.’

  The outcome had already been decided.

  Sir Edward read out the charges, those of obstructing the King’s survey and kidnapping Lady Maud, daughter of the King’s tenant in chief, Count Alan of Richmond. Gunnhild did not wait a moment longer. She could not. She stood and addressed both Alan and Sir Edward. Leaning forward, turning from one to the other, she exclaimed, ‘My lords, I ask you to spare these men. It is Uhtred of Middleton who influenced them. And the geld tax is heavy. It is an unfair tax.’ She looked straight into Sir Edward’s cold eyes. ‘They did it because of the King’s survey. Have mercy, Sir Edward. Reduce the tax on our villages. My child has not come to harm. She has been returned to us. I ask this one favour of your court. I beg you to forgive the weavers but to seek your revenge on Uhtred of Middleton. It is he who instigated this crime.’

  ‘Sit down, Gunnhild and be silent,’ Alan said through his teeth.

  Gunnhild sank down again. There was a heavy silence. She glanced at the pathetic group of men. Their eyes were desperate. They knew there was to be no mercy.

  Sir Edward looked over at her and said clearly for all below them to hear, ‘A fine speech, my lady, but you see the King must have order in his kingdom. These men’s fate will be an example to anyone else who dares flout the King of England’s authority.’

  He leaned over and spoke with his clerks. Alan glared at Gunnhild. Niall seated to her right looked surprised, as if he did not know how to respond. He shook his head.

  The verdict was quickly reached. Sir Edward rose and addressed Count Alan. ‘These men shall hang by the neck and before they die their innards will be cut out. They will watch as their hearts are torn from their bodies. Their rotting corpses will hang in the village of Well for all there to see that the King’s justice has been done.’

  Alfred hung his head. He did not say a word. Gunnhild felt his anguish and his shame. She stood up again and shouted, ‘No! If they must die, Sir Edward, they die a clean death and they are to be taken down and buried. I will not impose this on our villagers no matter what these men did. They will have mercy.’

  Alan’s face turned thunderous. He pulled Gunnhild back down and said, ‘Silence, you are not judge and jury here, woman.’

  He was about to say more but Sir Edward cut across him. ‘So be it. The King is merciful. They will have a clean death, no mutilation. They must hang for two nights and a day and then their families may bury the corpses.’ He turned to the scribe. ‘Write it down that this is the decision of the King’s court at Richmond on this first day of June of the year of our lord 1086.’ He summoned the priest. ‘Father Christopher, go with them, hear their confessions. They will die before noon on the morrow.’

  The weavers were dragged away weeping because they were not brave men. Gunnhild glared at Alan, ‘I have seen enough. Mark well, I do not intend to ride to the village of Well, so do not expect this of me.’ With those words she rose and, with her head held high, she swept from the dais. Ann dutifully followed in attendance.

  After Compline, Alan swept into their bedchamber. He loomed over her as she sat alone with sewing in her lap, so distressed she could not bear to be in the company of her ladies. He glowered at her. ‘You must attend, Gunnhild, and you will attend. Sir Edward has made this easier for you. You do not have to ride again to the villages. They will die without quartering in the bailey yard. Their bodies will then be carried to the village of Well and strung up in the market place as a warning to all who question the King’s survey. After two days their families will be granted permission to cut them down. They may bury them as they will.’

  Gunnhild rose and, dropping the crumpled veil she was sewing, she spun around to face him. ‘Very well, Alan. I shall attend this killing in the bailey yard, though I have no heart for it.’

  ‘Thank you. See that Elizabeth keeps Maud away from the scene. As dawn opens the sky tomorrow, these men meet death.’ He came closer to her, so close she could feel his breath on her neck. ‘I know it is difficult, but remember, Gunnhild, you are my representative here when I am away. You must be seen to be firm and loyal to the King. No more disloyal outbursts.’

  She never spoke. She fingered her grandmother’s cross and made a silent prayer that these men’s ordeals would be short. He stood close to her, waiting for a response. When none came, he turned to go. Finally, she called to his departing back, ‘So that is decided. What is not clear is when Sir Edward is departing.’

  He turned at the door. ‘He will be gone to York by the week’s end and will return in August to double check his accounting. Interestingly, he has the Bishop of Durham’s Yorkshire estates to account, too. Perhaps he can find Uhtred there and bring him to justice.’

  ‘Kettle, was he involved?’

  ‘No, he was not. He does not seem to have had anything to do with their plot.’

  ‘That is something. So some of the Norsemen remain loyal to us?’

  ‘Most of them are. I have always been fair. If they remain true, that is. But justice must be seen to be done.’ Alan studied her for a moment. He took a step back inside the chamber, crossed over to the sideboard, gestured towards a flask of red wine and lifted two palm cups. Turning to her, holding two empty cups, one in each hand, he said, ‘Share a cup with me, wife. I want things to improve between us. What you did was courageous. You succeeded where I failed. I shall ask for a reduction in the geld tax because of what they have suffered up here in Yorkshire.’

  She reached out for the proffered cup. He poured wine for them both. That night they lay as man and wife, though the experience was one that smacked of duty.

  Part Three

  St Brigit

  (Picture from Wikipedia)

  23

  August 1086

  ‘I cannot agree to this marriage,’ she said quietly.

  Alan paced the antechamber, his expression tight-mouthed. He circled the brazier with its glowing coals and the great oak table where he stopped momentarily to pour a cup of wine and drank it down in one swallow. He crossed to the window embrasure, glanced out at the afternoon downpour and turned back to Gunnhild, who was seated on the bench with the veil she was embroidering in opus anglicanum, delicate raised stitches particular to English embroidery, lying abandoned across her knee.

  ‘You, my lady, must comply. Maud will live in Lincoln after her betrothal to Walter d’Aincourt. Their marriage ceremony is to be held in the new cathedral at Lincoln and within the month. His family will raise her to be a suitable wife to a Norman knight in his father’s household until she is old enough for it to be consummated. That is an end to it. She is unsafe here as events in May proved.’ He lifted the d’Aincourt letter from the table, waved it at her and put it down again. ‘It is arranged. Maud must be able to ride out freely without fear. And she needs to learn wifely duty.’

  ‘She can learn that from her mother. God knows I know more than enough about my wifely duty. She is still frightened of her own shadow. She needs her own mother.’ She picked up her exquisite sewing. ‘What age would she be when it is consummated?’ she added, recognising that she would not win this battle, but perhaps she could set parameters.

  ‘She is ten years on her next name day. If she has her courses by her twelfth I shall make them promise no earlier than thirteen or fourteen. Otherwise not before she has bled for a half year at least.’

  Gunnhild stopped sewing and considered. That was something. Ever since the incident at Well, Maud was closely guarded if they ever rode out of Richmond. Lincoln
was a thriving town. Maud would mix with new people, young people of her own status, and she might even be presented to the King when he stopped there on his way to York. She wondered what sort of family Walter D’Aincourt had behind him. Walter’s aunt was Matilda, Alan’s older sister through her marriage to Walter’s uncle. She was a kind woman. And, Gunnhild mused, Alan did love Maud. He indulged his daughter, bringing her gifts from York, baubles for her jewel casket, silk for gowns and a set of ivory combs for her hair. Although he was often still cold, he had also brought Gunnhild lengths of linen, silk and wool and latterly new brushes and fresh inks. She sighed. After Sir Edward had departed, a tentative truce lay between them. If Alan had suspected that she had been intimate with his brother he never said it. He stayed at Richmond throughout the summer, seeing to trade and to his great estates in Yorkshire and he was kind to them all, until now that was. Yet surely Alan would not send his cherished daughter to an unkind family no matter what this alliance gave him?

  Alan rapped his fingers on a tall side-table, leaning against the wall plaster. ‘Our daughter needs to learn her duty as a woman, and not from a mother who contradicts her husband at every opportunity.’ He paused, allowing the cruel words to fly through the damp air. She opened her mouth to protest but he continued, ‘After the wedding you will travel with her as far as Lincoln, then on to Canterbury. We must be clear about my estates, including Reredfelle. Wilton Abbey has dared to claim them. Reredfelle, for instance, is temporarily in Bishop Odo’s name but he is still in Rouen. He supports the King’s son, Robert Curthose.’ He laughed as he said Robert Curthose. ‘If it is not the bastard bishop, then it is the Abbess of Wilton who is after what is mine by right of our marriage.’