Godiva (17 page)

“Five men, armed.”

“Shall we start at sunup? Surely you would like a rest—”

“I am here on such great urgency, we should go at once. We need only reach Bromyard tonight.”

Edgiva thought about it, then nodded. “You and your men need a meal, and dinner is soon served. Let us eat and then be off.” She looked around the room with a poignant expression. She picked up the little diary, looped it by its lanyard onto her belt, straightened the simple wooden crucifix that hung on the wall, and, eyes still swollen from weeping, nodded a farewell to the room.

They went outside and down the stairs, where Audry was pacing in agitation. She stopped and looked up as they descended. “I will talk to her, and then to Maire,” Edgiva whispered. “Please go to the stables and tell them to prepare my mare, then meet me in the chapter house. Then a meal, and then the road.”

They parted at the bottom of the stairs. Audry gave Godiva a suspicious look, as if she'd committed some crime that accounted for the Mother Superior's bloodshot eyes. But Edgiva began to speak with forced cheer to Audry, and Godiva herself hurried toward the outer courtyard.

She was reeling. Her heart was pounding, her stomach was fluttering, a thrill was running up and down her spine, bringing chills between her shoulder blades. She needed guidance from Edgiva about her own dilemma, but how that paled compared to Edgiva's!

She reached the outer courtyard, where her men were playing Nine Men's Morris with a lay brother from the stables. Hurriedly, almost breathless, she instructed the man to saddle the mare for journeying, and then to tell the kitchens to bring food out to her men; she told her men to prepare to ride out this afternoon as far as Bromyard. Then she rushed back into the sisters' compound, trying to think clearly as her mind raced.

Would Leofric not be threatened by this child?

More urgently: would Edward?

There was a rumor—Godwin's surely—that King Edward refused to sleep with his wife, Edith, because he did not wish to make Godwin grandfather to the next ruler of England. Edward hated Godwin. He did not much like Earl Leofric, but he truly despised Earl Godwin.

But if a Godwin grandchild were to suddenly appear in Hereford, with claims of kinship to Edward, that might spur Edward's own impulse to breed. To out-Godwin Godwin, as it were.

. . . If that were even the reason for Edith's lack of fecundity, which Godiva doubted.

She mulled feverishly as she rushed back through the cloister. Leofric had the calmest head of any man she knew; he would counsel Edgiva wisely, much more wisely than she herself could. He did not trust Sweyn, but he would not speak ill-advisedly to a woman he had such regard for as Edgiva.

She had reached the chapter house.

“Bless me, Mother,” she said as she entered the dim room. The chapter house was deceptively well insulated: the moment she closed the door behind her, all the ambient outside noise of breeze and busyness vanished completely. Inside was pure and restful calm.

From the shadows, the murmur of Edgiva's voice rose louder to say “
Benedicite
” in reply, and then returned to the quiet, reassuring murmur. Edgiva was talking to two sisters. One would be Maire, Edgiva's prioress, which meant the other must be Rheda, who was Maire's immediate subordinate.

Edgiva had composed herself remarkably well. She kept her back to the door, so her face was shadowed and the sisters could not see she had been crying. Her voice was low and gentle, but firm. Godiva heard a rapid litany of familiar words—
lambs, sowing, alms, Compline, betony, larkspur, Vespers, St. Winewald's feast, going down the community
—but was too preoccupied to pay attention.

“Shall we to dinner, then?” Edgiva concluded serenely after finishing her lengthy instructions. She sounded as if nothing in the world could have disturbed her. The cluster of women began to exit.

The moment the door opened, the moment light and sound intruded, as they started blinking in the sunlight, they realized the compound was in a sudden disturbance. Voices screamed out in alarm from the direction of the western gate; sisters were running from all directions toward the church, shouting or teary, white faced, red faced, holding up their tunics against tripping, as if the devil ran his fingers down their necks.

“What—” Edgiva began, and stopped in confusion.

Sister Audry came running from the direction of the outer yard, skirts flying about her, veil whipping back, a crow against a field of azure sky. She was crossing herself repeatedly as she ran. “Mother! Mother!” she screamed. “We are under attack! There is an army at our gates, come right from Wales!”

CHAPTER 18

W
hat?” Edgiva repeated.

“Leofric warned of this.” Godiva shuddered. “Sweyn lately went into Wales to fight with Gwynedd against Deheubarth. Leofric feared the fighting would move beyond Offa's Dyke.”

“I cannot believe that in the middle of a battle they would adjourn to come east and sack an abbey,” Edgiva said crossly, as if annoyed at the warriors' tactical incompetence. Her calm was remarkable, especially in contrast to the upset over her own fortunes. She took Audry by the shoulder to calm her. “Daughter, go into the church and tell them—”

“They know!” the acolyte yelled as the bells of the squat church tower began to toll.

“The town is undefended, and this is so sudden,” Edgiva said, frowning. “Are they already upon us, or merely seen—”

“They're here, they're there, they are outside the gate, they are ready to attack!” the younger sister said, nearly in a tantrum, her right hand convulsively repeating a frenetic perversion of crossing herself. “The townsfolk are already in the church! They came as soon as they heard the horses from the west!”

“I have armed men here,” Godiva said, as much to comfort Audry as to inform Edgiva and her prioress. “They can at least protect the gate. For now.” There were only five. “How large a force is out there?”

“I don't know!” Audry said, growing more hysterical. Edgiva was stroking her shoulder, trying to calm her. It was not working.

“Audry, listen to me,” said Edgiva with gentle firmness. She closed her left hand around Audry's right one to stop the sister's hysterical gesturing. “Check the kitchens for Deaf Adam, and then go to the church. Tell everyone we have an armed guard at the gate and they must wait calmly inside the church until I come to them with news.” To Sister Maire, who looked as if she had been charmed into a gaping statue: “Sister, I have deputized you. Go in to the monks and make sure they are all come to the church.” She turned to Godiva as the two sisters ran off. “We'll to the gate and speak with your men how best to defend. And we must get a messenger out the back gate, to . . . Hereford is the closest. Sweyn's steward will get word to the king.”

“And to Leofric,” Godiva said, feeling faint.

“We are safe in here,” Edgiva assured her with complete confidence. “The Welsh attacked before and never breached the defenses of the minster. I fear what they will do to the village, though. Come.”

There was something invigorating in a danger mitigated by calm reassurance. They clasped hands and ran past the refectory, the cloister, the church, down the walkway lined with workshops, and finally reached the gate. Without hesitating, Edgiva shoved it open and they went through to the small outer court.

The Mercian men were lounging against the wooden wall, looking bored. Druce, the leader, was standing under the porter's roof at the smaller entrance, but his sword was sheathed and he seemed at leisure. They gave the two breathless women quizzical looks.

“Bless me, Mother,” said one of the younger ones.

“
Benedicite,
” Edgiva said, on reflex. “Tell us the worst.”

The men all looked at each other, amused. “There is no worst, Mother,” said Druce. “The porter was wrong to get so distressed. We never thought anyone inside would take him seriously. There's no cause for those bells. It's just Sweyn Godwinson returning from the Welsh wars. He sent most of his army right to Hereford with the prisoners—”

“So they were victorious!” Godiva nearly shouted with relief.

“Of course, milady,” said Druce—a Hereford man by birth. “Hereford men are the ones you want if you must fight the Welsh; we know their tactics and we best them at 'em.”

Godiva turned to Edgiva, expecting her to share the relief. But Edgiva looked pale as cream.

“Sweyn Godwinson is out there?” she asked in a strained voice.

“Yes, Mother, and asking for you,” said Druce. “Wants you to go out to him. Says it's why he's come.”

“Mother Mary,” said Edgiva and Godiva at the same moment, and then the abbess slumped against Godiva and fainted.

One of the housecarls leapt toward them to take her weight before she hit the ground. “What ails the mother?” he asked.

Godiva felt a wave of a nausea. “I have done this. He's here because I summoned him.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “My runner must have gone into Wales and found him and given him the message . . . oh, what a mess.”

Edgiva stirred, blinked, tried to sit up. “Why is he out there?” she demanded weakly, her low voice barely audible above the din of the alarm bells from the tower.

“Can you stand?” Godiva asked. Edgiva nodded and gently pushed the man away from her. She took Godiva's arm and raised herself up, very pale.

“Farther off, all of you,” Godiva said to the housecarls. To Edgiva she whispered, mouth right to her ear, “I promise to explain this, but at this moment you must trust me. Sweyn is out there, he has come to claim you, and that is my fault.”

Edgiva gave her a look of confusion mixed with horror. Mostly confusion. Godiva knew that would change as she realized what had been done.

“If you still wish it, I will get you to Coventry. I will tell Sweyn to leave, and I will get you to Coventry. If that is what you wish to do. Tell me.”

Edgiva just stared helplessly at Godiva, as if she had awoken from a dream and was still confused about her surroundings.

A pounding on the other side of the gate, louder even than the bells clanging.

“His lordship demands the abbess's presence outside the walls this moment or he will be compelled to break down the gates!” shouted a voice with a Hereford accent from the other side.

Edgiva stared at the gate, suddenly terrified.

“I will manage this,” Godiva said, with an increasing level of doubt that she could do so. She gestured to Druce. “Mother is in shock. Do exactly as I say. Her horse is saddled and ours still are as well. Bring them here immediately. Go!”

The men ran through the stable gate.

Cursing her own foolishness, Godiva moved to the porter's entrance. She drew the bolt, walked through, alone, and stood before the walls. She had never felt so vulnerable and exposed.

Sweyn and half a dozen of his housecarls, all heavily armed, in leather armor, on horseback. She saw him open his mouth to call out as she appeared; then he paused in confusion when he realized this was not Edgiva after all.

“Lady Countess?”

“You must leave at once, Sweyn.”

The blood was high in him; he was ecstatic, there would be no reasoning with him. “I am here to claim her!” he announced, loud as the alarm bells. “Just as you told me to!”

“Be quiet,” Godiva said sternly. “That will not help you now. Get off your horse, come down here to me, and listen.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“I must explain to you privately or there will be a terrible outrage.”

“What outrage?” he demanded.

“I will not shout it out over the bells. You must not be here now.”

“You are the one who told me to come!” he shouted, irritated.

“I know that,” she shouted back as the wind whipped her drab skirts around her. “Things are more complicated than I knew. I beg you, go on to Hereford and I vow to you I will explain as soon as I possibly can.”

“This is my day of glory!” he shouted, pounding his chest. Oh, no. Was he drunk? “I have triumphed over evil, I have taken prisoners and won fat ransoms, I have secured the borders for my people, I have earned my place in the songs men sing around winter hearths, and by all the saints and Woden's sword, now I come to claim my woman!”

So. He was drunk.

“Claim her in a fortnight,” Godiva said. “At the moment she is indisposed.”

“I shall not depart without her!” he shouted back, defiantly. “What make you
here
anyhow?”

“I came for her assistance. We have an illness in Coventry and she is the only one with power to cure it. She must come to Coventry with me and then I will send her to you in Hereford after that.”

He glared at her. He was not drunk, in fact—not on ale or wine, at least. This was the high raging blood that followed victory in battle; she recognized it from both Leofric and Alfgar. “God's wounds, I have been burning with desire to see her since your messenger arrived yesterday, I have not slept and I have hardly eaten—”

“And how has it affected your drinking?”

“I will bring her to Hereford now, by Woden! Let me have her or I'll scream out to all the monks and sisters what she and I have done together—”

“Oh, heavens, Sweyn, you cannot do that to her,” Godiva said, alarmed. “Or to yourself. Carnal knowledge of a nun is as severe a crime as manslaughter.”

“Then bring her out here!” he demanded. “Do not tell me to wait, when you're the one told me to come! I would look foolish now, slouching home without my woman, because another woman told me no. I am the lord Earl Sweyn Godwinson of Hereford and I shall not be denied!”

Now she was not at all sure she wanted Edgiva to go with him—ever. She wished the bells would stop clanging, they were high and tinny and the sound was hammering into her skull. “Go home to Hereford, Sweyn,” she said. “Return here moderately when you are in your senses and can present your suit as befits you both.”

“I am here now, let me have her now,” he shouted back. “You are turning this into a battle of wills, lady, and I will not back down to you.”

“I have men on the other side of this gate,” she warned him. “As many as you have.”

His eyes widened. “Are we to make this a battle for an abbess?”

A bad tactic on her part. “Of course not,” she said hurriedly. “But they will defend her—and me—if you are ungentle with us. Also”—and here she waved meaningfully at his housecarls—“as much as your men are sworn to you, I cannot think they would willingly raise a violent hand to a countess or an abbess.”

The men all looked away. Sweyn and she stared at each other for more than a few moments. She did not bat her eyelashes.

“Go back to Hereford,” Godiva said. For the first time ever in their history, she was grimly serious.

“Not without Edgiva.”

Behind the gate, in the brief respite between the bell clangs, she heard confused noises. This was getting very messy.

“Listen to me,” she said, desperate to make him cooperate. “It is necessary that Edgiva go to Coventry immediately. But I will ride with you to Hereford, and on the road there I will explain to your satisfaction—”

“Nothing will be to my satisfaction until Edgiva is in bed with me!” he roared, the calm exploded.

“That is not going to happen while you are crazed,” she snapped. “Lest it be accounted rape. Is it not better that you receive her from some place other than the abbey anyhow? Will there not be less upset if she comes to you from another manor house, rather than your taking her from her own abbey? Think about that, if you are reasonable enough.” She gazed at him levelly, without the winsome smile or suggestive eyes that she had ever used before to disarm him. “If you take her from the abbey, you shall be excommunicated and Edward will seize all your lands.”

That brought him up short.

He pursed his lips. “You'll go with me to Hereford and explain plainly why I must wait to have her, and then I will collect her in Coventry.”

She did not want to ride with him to Hereford, even with Druce beside her; she wanted to simply send him on his way. But she did not trust him to
stay
away.

“I will tell you everything, and then you and I will plan what happens next.”

A moment of silence. “Very well,” he said at last. He patted his horse's neck. “Hop up here then, let's go.”

“I have my own horse, thank you,” she said. “On the other side of the gate. Give me a moment and I will fetch it.”

“We are galloping to Hereford,” he warned.

“You want to kill your horses?”

“The first mile or two. I doubt you can keep up.”

“I love a good gallop,” she said, and turned back to the port-house.

Everyone in the yard was mounted, including Edgiva, who looked distinctly green. Within the inner walls, the population must still be cowering in the church. Godiva wished the bells would stop, they jangled her nerves. Her shoulders tensed with every clang.

Edgiva was breathing too hard; she was making herself dizzy all over again from it. “Can you ride?” Godiva asked her. She nodded.

“Listen to me,” Godiva said to the group. “We will exit this gate now. Everyone save Druce and me will instantly skirt north around the abbey and then head east for Bromyard. Travel slowly, the abbess is not well. After Bromyard, head to Worcester and wait there at the house where we lodged before. Do not let anyone know you are in the town. Let Mother Edgiva set the pace. Druce, you and I will ride with Sweyn to Hereford, and then turn north for Worcester. We will all meet in Worcester and then travel on to Coventry together. Let nobody know with whom you travel.”