The Betrothed Sister (11 page)

Thea had no time to think again about Padar and Gudrun. That afternoon they worked in the dairy, hanging sharp-smelling cheeses to drip over vats. When their day ended and darkness brought an end to their work they processed into the tall wooden chapel where she shivered through a candlelit Vespers. Supper followed. She glanced about the candlelit hall, remembering Padar's smiles for Gudrun, searching deep into the shadows, seeking him. He was not present this time so she said to Lady Ingar, ‘Where is Padar tonight, my lady?'

‘Oh, Padar, well, my dear, the skald has been called back to Roskilde. He took an early supper and galloped away from us for the coast.'

‘He is
my
skald. He has gone without a word to me.'

‘He will return soon,' was all that Lady Ingar said. ‘There was no time to explain anything to you and besides, I gather that his mission is secret. Your three house coerls remain. You are well protected here.'

Thea glanced over at her protectors, all three men deep in conversation with Jarl Niels. She wondered if they too had to earn their supper. There was a frown on Jarl Niels' face. She caught him looking over at Lady Ingar and signalling for her to join him in the private chamber behind the hall. A little later, as plums were served, both master and mistress took their leave of the company and disappeared through the leather curtain that divided the back chambers from the manor hall. As Thea supped on her plums and thick cream, she wondered if the secret conversation between Jarl Niels and his wife had anything to do with Padar's departure.

‘Come with us, Thea,' Mary said to Thea after the empty dish of stewed plums had been removed from the table. ‘We shall embroider for an hour before we go to our rest.'

Thea followed Mary and the other women into an alcove, far from the central hearth but warmed by its own brazier. Mary pulled forward an embroidery frame that Thea had only given a cursory glance at before. The frame before her was such a feast for the eyes, she forgot all about Jarl Niels' abrupt departure at supper.

She peered closely at it, bending her head, gently touching the threads. Shapes were marked out in charcoal for them to work on. A part of the work was completed already. She made out the central picture first, a tree that sprouted many branches and oak leaves and to either side two ships in full sail, both with miniature warriors aboard them. The ships faced each other across the tree. There were crosses on the ship masks and one of the vessels seemed to possess a dragon figurehead at both its prow and stern. The other was simpler with an anchor balanced at the stern. At the prow stood a strange creature that she thought must be a griffin. Her eyes followed the embroidery to its borders where she now saw a patterned band and below that a series of interlocking oak leaves.

‘It is the story of Olaf Haraldson and his brother Harald of Norway, Queen Elizaveta's first husband. We are embroidering it for the queen's chapel at Schleswig – a gift.'

‘Harald of Norway was another thief after my father's kingdom,' Thea said crossly.

‘He did not win this time either.' Mary laughed and pointed to the ships. ‘This is the story of Olaf's sailing race. You see they raced their ships to Trondheim to win the crown of Norway. They were half-brothers. Olaf,' she indicated a figure with a bow, ‘won the race and so swiftly that he was able to take part in the church service, reaching the church before the arrow that he shot from that bow during the voyage had arrived.'

‘Impossible,' Thea said.

‘We think God smiled on Olaf who was a well-respected king and a good Christian. Look, Thea, at the way we show the waves. The ships look as if they really move. Many now say Olaf should be a saint.'

‘And the tree?'

‘The tree of life. We do not displease the fates.'

‘Which bit do you wish to work on Thea?' Elizabeth said brightly.

‘Not the dragon prow. I am working on that,' Princess Gunnhild squawked up.

‘I am happy to work on the waves,' Thea said dreamily. ‘I like the sense of moving forward with the tide.'

‘Good, let us sort out needles and wool for you. And, you, Gudrun, run into the main hall and fetch us a sconce to see by. These tallow candles won't provide enough light.'

Once Gudrun returned and the sconce was secured in a wall bracket, they settled on sewing stools to stitch. Waves, oak leaves and dragons, the anchor and a great billowing sail all took on life from the women's nimble fingers. Thea forgot Padar. She forgot everyone as she drew her needle with its woollen thread in and out through ink-coloured waves, until she remembered other warships that had crossed the narrow seas carrying the duke who was intent on stealing her father's kingdom. She glanced up at the tiny arrow set in Olaf's bowstring and cursed the thief King of England and all his kin.

It was not until she was contentedly tucked up beneath her fur covers that night that she wondered again where Padar had gone and how Ingar and Niels had glanced over at her as they retired from the hall after supper.

What did it all mean? She turned onto her side and curled up as if she were a small creature like a kitten and fell asleep pondering the mystery. Her last thought was that maybe Padar's disappearance was connected to her future, though she could not fathom how or why it was a secret. If it was not a secret there would be more explanation and fewer furtive glances between Niels and Ingar when she had asked for him.

9

Novgorod, Russia, Winter 1068-1069

There was snow in the heavens. Breathing in the crisp air after a week at sea, Padar huddled into his sealskin cloak and followed the king's messenger from the ship and along the wharf. He had no idea what King Sweyn wanted with him, though he suspected that this summons concerned Lady Thea.

His thoughts, as he walked, turned to the girl for whom he was beginning to have feelings, and whom he had left behind in Søderup. ‘Pray God I can return soon,' he muttered as he trailed through cold streets behind the king's man.

He had never felt such interest in a girl before. When he had first spoken with Gudrun a year ago in Exeter she had seemed wise beyond her years, one who thought before she spoke and who weighed her words carefully. In another world she would be betrothed or married already, but her future had disappeared with her father's death at Hastings and her mother's demise from a broken heart soon afterwards. Now that Gudrun was growing into a woman he found that he had an affection for her and he did not know what to do about it.

As he walked through fluttering flakes of virgin snow, a wisp of hope began to surface. There had been women before. They had passed into his life and out again as fast as a candle burned down, a short time snatched and easily forgotten. There had never been time in his life before for love. His had been a life of service to the Godwin family, but now that his life was changing, he was changing too. If Lady Thea travelled to Russian lands to marry one of their princes, since he had promised Countess Gytha that he would look after her granddaughter's interests, it made sense that he planted roots in that distant land too and, of course, if Lady Thea travelled to Russia her handmaiden would accompany her.

Almost thirty years old and he was in love, and he wondered at it.
Gudrun with her little swelling breasts, her golden hair and eyes that were such a deep blue that they looked like the sea on a summer's day. St Olav's whiskers, I could be her father. She is only fifteen to my twenty-nine summers.
He drew the hood of his cloak over his head and hurried after the messenger.
Her father was a thane and she has nothing now. If times were settled, if I had a trade, I would ask for her. I have nothing. I am just a poet, a warrior and a spy, unless of a sudden, riches fall from the sky and that is unlikely.
He sighed as he walked on the wooden walkways through the merchant quarter and past the silent cathedral to the king's house.

The king's man left him at the palace entrance. Just inside the hall, Padar shook snow from his mantle and stamped slush from his boots. He glanced around the king's receiving hall to where groups of Sweyn's house coerls stood in knots, talking quietly. Since the little pox had stolen lives, a worried hush had descended on the palace. They seemed subdued rather than boisterous as they often were. Pungent smoke, herb-infused wafts of it that was intended to stave off the pox, floated towards the rafters.

As his eyes became accustomed to the hall's dim rush light his attention was drawn to a pair of bearded men seated over a game of strategy in an alcove close to the raised dais. He peered through smoke that was curling from braziers towards holes in the rafters. Both men seemed familiar. His eyes searched through the spirals of smoke into the alcove again and this time recognised the two men hunched over a Hnefatafl board. One was Merleswein, once the most important Dane in York; he could not forget the man's disdainful laugh, and heard it now. Sitting on a stool opposite the arrogant thane was Bjorn, a burly bodyguard. What were they doing here?

Padar had held his suspicions about what was happening in England's north close to his heart for weeks. Tales had filtered through to Denmark all through that autumn that William was targeting the northern shires, determined to build more castles and stop rebellions. If York had fallen foul of King William, as was rumoured, then these men were exiles. If so, then he wanted to know the how, when and why of it.

He strolled over to the pair. For a heartbeat he paused before speaking. They were the sort of men that even Padar did not want to encounter unannounced in one of York's narrow lanes. You did not want to be at the other end of one of their double-edged seaxes. However another glance, to his relief, assured him that today the pair did not carry swords. He coughed to attract their attention without risking physical contact. Who knows how they would react to a hand on the shoulder?

Merleswein looked up, his eyes boring into him. Recognition crossed his dark countenance. He leapt up and clapped Padar's back. ‘Infernal smoke,' he grunted gruffly. Padar coughed again, this time because he could not help it. The Dane laughed. ‘So, Padar, what brings you here? Not in Ireland with the Godwin boys?'

Padar cleared his throat. ‘I was about to ask the same of you, Merleswein. Not in York?'

‘York is angry, my friend. King William's men have levied a new geld on the city and that bastard, Robert of Commines, his governor, has permitted their mercenaries' pillage on those who refuse the tax.' He spat onto the floor tiles. ‘York wants another king, not the Norman bastard. They are talking about young Edgar.'

‘Edgar?' Padar repeated. It took only a moment for him to grasp the state of play here, what these men were really up to. Sweyn had always had half an eye on England. He had always considered himself part of the English royal family. King Sweyn was not only a nephew of Countess Gytha but he was also a relative of the fearsome Danish king, Canute, who had conquered England more than half a century before. He would look for the best chance and seize it.

‘That fine young Aetheling is in Scotland and been there since last summer. He has had enough of William the Bastard's charity. He has run away from the Norman court, got his mother and sisters out too. He wants his crown. The people of York want a leader.'

‘And you choose that youth rather than a son of Harold Godwin? The people of York want peace. They need to trade. That boy won't bring them peace.'

‘That
boy
as you call him is a young man of seventeen summers near enough and, moreover, he is a descendant of Alfred. We need such a one at the head of our army.'

‘Your army,' Padar was now perplexed. Where was this army coming from, Scotland or Denmark; perhaps from both? Clear as torchlight, Padar saw the depth of Sweyn's cunning. Edgar's mother, Agatha, was, in fact, Queen Elizaveta's sister. He frowned at this significance. Edgar, the prince returned from Hungary, related to the Russian princes, had accepted William of Normandy as his king and had sworn allegiance after that October battle in 1066. Last Padar had heard of the young prince was that Edgar had been in Normandy with King William. Now he was planning to lead an army and take the throne from William.

‘Does King Sweyn intend to help him?' He broached this crucial question carefully. His voice was calmer than he felt. He had a suspicion that Sweyn was about to embark on an act of betrayal.

Merleswein nodded. ‘The lords of the North, Gospatrick, Waltheof, Edwin and Earl Morcar have all pledged their allegiance to the boy. They want their lands back.'

‘What about Godwin?'

‘What about Godwin Haroldson? If he joins us he will get his Wessex lands back. Without us he is useless. England's woods are crawling with the dispossessed, thanes without land, the hungry and the poor. There are those who call themselves the silvatii, men of the forest, and they
will
fight back. My friend, think on this, if we can get help from the sea there is more chance of destroying our enemies.' Merleswein grinned, showing teeth set like stout white rocks into his gums. He caught Padar's arm. ‘You should join us, Padar. You may be small in stature but you are sharp and quick. I remember your ability with the sword, with the arrow, never mind your agile mind. And you were always a trustworthy scout.'

‘Once upon a life,' Padar said. He shook off Merleswein's grip. ‘Now my life is pledged to watch over Princess Thea. What does Sweyn get out of this pact?'

‘Interests in the Danelaw, the Eastern part of England once ruled over by the Danish Viking earls. Though they became English they followed their own customs and laws and for the sake of peace the kings left them to it. They feel a Danish king like Sweyn might help them out. The Normans are moving north and we don't like it.'

‘I understand Danelaw,' Padar said. ‘I own Danish blood and I have been on King Harold's business often enough up in the north when he was our beloved earl and then our noble king. So what is Sweyn after?'