Moyra Caldecott (23 page)

She was shown at once to the guest hut and was given cold, hard boiled gulls eggs and fresh rye bread to eat while a novice went in search of Bishop Wilfrid.

‘He is probably in the library,’ she was told.

When she had rested and eaten she wandered out and looked around her at the church, built of sturdy oak beams and thatched with reeds. The monks’ quarters were huts, part drystone, part thatch and turf. She smiled to think of the elegant Wilfrid living for so many years under these primitive conditions.

Wilfrid came to her at last, his eyes alight with the pleasure of seeing her. He took both her hands in his, looking down into her eyes with such an expression in his that she lowered hers, the blood rising to her cheeks. She had hoped after the long separation they could meet without her heart pounding and her mind floundering in confusion. But it was not to be. She pulled her hands away quickly and drew back, turning slightly from him so that when she spoke he could not see her face.

‘I have come to ask your advice,’ she said in a low voice he could scarcely catch, ‘not so much as a friend this time, but as bishop.’

He pulled himself together and tried to mask his feelings. ‘Shall we walk in the sun, my lady, or shall we sit indoors?’ he asked formally.

‘Oh, let’s walk in the sun!’ she cried, and for a moment she lifted her face to his and he caught the joy she felt in being with him. This time he turned away from her.

They walked on the little path that wound around the island, flowers and soft grasses nodding at their feet, the sky immensely domed above them. They did not talk again until they could trust themselves, then Etheldreda told him what had happened and what she had decided. He listened, although he already knew of the incident with Egfrid. If she had not returned when she did, he would have gone to Whitby at Egfrid’s request to fetch her back.

‘Egfrid’s request?’ she cried in astonishment when he at last told her this.

‘Yes. He called me back from Lichfield as soon as you fled. He seemed to think I would have some influence over you.’ He looked at her sideways when he said this, a slight, light smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

Her eyes shadowed and she did not respond to his amusement. It troubled her to think that Egfrid wanted her back so badly he was even prepared to call on Wilfrid’s help.

Wilfrid and she talked and walked a long time. It was decided that Wilfrid would visit the monastery of Coldingham and request the abbess there, Egfrid’s aunt Ebba, to take Etheldreda in as novice, preparatory to her taking the full and formal vows of a nun. Being his aunt, Egfrid might well be persuaded to accede to this arrangement where he would have opposed another. Wilfrid himself, who seemed now to have gained something of the king’s trust and friendship, would use all his persuasive powers.

Much comforted, Etheldreda returned to Bamburgh castle to await the return of Egfrid.

Since she had been away the lady Eormenburh’s influence had increased at court. Her husband had been despatched to Lindsey to keep order, and she had moved quite openly into the king’s private chambers.

She greeted Etheldreda with cold disdain as though she were the queen and Etheldreda the wife of a minor earl. She had even been entertaining foreign guests as though she were the mistress of the castle.

Etheldreda found herself trembling with the effort to control her anger after their encounter and went to the chapel to pray for patience and good sense.

When she emerged she was met by a delegation of women who begged her to dismiss Eormenburh from the court. They told tales of the wantonness and corruption of those around her, and of her own arrogance and foolishness. ‘The king listens to every word she says, and she harms everything she touches.’

‘I can’t send her away,’ she said. ‘She is the king’s friend. Besides, I myself will be leaving soon.’ At this such a wail of protest went up she was quite startled. She tried to explain to the women why she had to go but they wept and pleaded with her, describing in vivid detail what they feared would happen to the kingdom if it were left in the hands of the king and Eormenburh.

At last they left her alone, confused and anxious again. What they had said was probably true. If she left, Eormenburh would take her place in the state as she had in her husband’s bed. The country would then be defenceless against the king’s vagaries of mood, and ill-considered judgements. She wrestled with her conscience and finally knew that she had to stay, at least a while longer, to work out if she could how to unseat Eormenburh from the king’s affections, and to arrange the affairs of the country in such a way that her presence would no longer be essential.

When Egfrid returned she said nothing of leaving for Coldingham, but knelt at his feet and asked forgiveness for all the pain she had caused him.

Eormenburh, instantly suspicious of this new approach, made a point of telling Egfrid that the first thing the queen had done on her return from Whitby was to go to Lindisfarne to see Bishop Wilfrid. She herself desired the handsome bishop’s attentions and, having been coldly rejected by him, she was determined to destroy both him and Etheldreda if she found the opportunity. It was clear to her that, in spite of everything Etheldreda had done to him, Egfrid still desired his wife. If she could only catch her with Wilfrid in a compromising situation she would have revenge on both of them at the same time, and ensure Egfrid’s dependence on herself.

Over the next few months Egfrid was torn between the two women. He had never been good at judging character and seeing through rogues. The friends he chose to spend his time with were worldly wise, having no love for him, but only desire for what he could give them. Eormenburh manipulated the king and his companions brilliantly, and he never suspected it.

Etheldreda thought now of nothing but how she could help him to take proper control of his kingdom and his own destiny, trying desperately to undo the harm her indifference to him over the years appeared to have done. She spoke against Eormenburh, but only with careful tact, knowing that the woman’s hold was strong and could easily become stronger if she herself lost her tenuous hold on him.

The court at this time found the king’s moods almost intolerable. He swung from mildness of temper and reliance on Etheldreda, to sudden rages when he suspected every word she spoke, and every gesture she made. At times he hated Wilfrid, and at others he would call him and give him lavish presents of land and treasure.

Wilfrid now ruled the Church from Lindsey to the land of the Picts, and his position seemed invulnerable.

Eormenburh bided her time like a spider in its web.

One day, suddenly, Ovin returned.

When Etheldreda heard the news she dropped everything she was doing and ran down to the stables to greet him.

‘Ovin! My friend!’ she cried, tears in her eyes, taking both his work-roughened hands in hers. ‘I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you’ve come back!’ Just the sight of him reminded her of happier days when it had seemed so simple to live as she desired, and when good had followed easily from good intentions.

His face shone at her words with embarrassed pleasure, and she could see by his eyes that his affection for her was still as strong as it had always been.

‘I heard of Bishop Chad’s death. I am sorry for your loss, my friend, but I am sure he will be happy to be close to our Lord at last.’

Ovin nodded.

‘I heard angels, my lady. There is no doubt that he is happy.’

‘Ovin! Angels? Tell me about it!’

‘It must have been angels, my lady.’

‘Tell me!’ she cried eagerly. Oh how she needed to hear something of the real world again. She had grown so weary of the shadow-play those around her mistook for life.

‘I was digging in the garden. Bishop Chad was alone in his oratory, his brothers in the church, when I heard the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard coming down from the sky. It seemed to come from the south-west, hover over the oratory for a while and then enter it… filling it… so that the whole building seemed to be shaking with it.’
[21]

Etheldreda’s eyes were wide with interest.

‘Did you see anything?’ she breathed.

He shook his head.

‘It was music. I saw nothing.’

‘How long did it last?’

‘I don’t know. I seemed to stand there for ages listening to it, afraid to move, thinking it would go away if I moved.’

‘What happened then?’

‘It rose to a peak, and I tell you my lady tears just poured from my eyes it was so beautiful!’ Ovin’s face shone.

‘And then?’

‘And then it gradually withdrew, rising to the sky and finally fading away.’

Etheldreda shivered with the pleasure of knowing that such things were possible.

It seemed that, when it was gone, Chad opened the window and clapped his hands as he often did to call Ovin to him. His face was joyful and excited. He instructed Ovin to fetch seven of the monks and bring them to him. When they were before him he announced that he had received a message from angelic spirits that he was soon to die. He wanted to instruct them in all they needed to know to carry on his work, and to strengthen them in their faith.

He died as had been foretold, but Ovin, having heard the music, felt no pain at his passing, only gladness that what he believed had been proven true. He told Etheldreda he had then felt a strong urge to come to her and tell her of his experience, feeling that in some way it would be particularly important to her at this time.

‘My friend, you don’t know how important your story is to me!’ she said with feeling. ‘I truly needed it.’

Chapter 21

Coldingham AD 672

One day in April, not long after Ovin’s return to her and the story he brought of Bishop Chad’s death, Etheldreda took advantage of the fact that Egfrid had for several days been calm and pleasant to everyone, and apparently cool to Eormenburh, to seek private audience with him and tell him that she wanted, more than anything on earth, to go to his aunt at Coldingham and take the veil as a nun.

‘I find, my lord, this life at court drives me further and further from what I know to be my true life. I spend my days on sand-castles washed down by every passing wave, while the Kingdom of Heaven which stands forever is ignored by me. When I married you, you were no more than a child. Your parents arranged the marriage for political reasons and for political reasons I have stayed. But now that you are a man you no longer need what I can give.’

Egfrid drew his right leg up onto his chair and put his chin upon his knee, looking at her with brooding eyes. He said nothing. She could almost hear her heart beating in the silence.

‘Have I your permission, my lord?’ she said at last, in a low and pleading voice.

He still did not reply.

‘Because we have never consummated this marriage, you will be able to marry again, my lord.’ She talked rapidly, nervously. ‘You could take a princess of a royal house to wife who will bring with her at once a dowry and an alliance that would be beneficial to your kingdom.’

‘And who…’ he said with a dangerous edge to his voice as though he were holding himself in check very carefully, ‘would you suggest?’

She hesitated, sensing the danger, but knowing that she couldn’t leave the subject yet.

‘It would be your choice, of course, my lord, but Northumbria needs to strengthen links with the southern kingdoms to balance Wulfhere’s hold. I hear that my friend Cenwahl of the West Saxons has a beautiful and intelligent daughter who would be an asset to the throne and to your bed.’

‘Eormenburh my cousin is a cousin of the King of Kent. Would she not make an admirable wife?’ The bitterness was only very thinly disguised now.

Etheldreda flushed.

‘She is already married, my lord,’ she said quietly.

His face darkened, and he stood up suddenly, towering over her.

‘And so am I, my lady! So am I.’

‘But only in name, sir.’

‘That is not of my choosing.’

‘Nor of mine, my lord. It was God’s choice.’

‘Did God come down and speak to you? Did he say “Etheldreda, you may not lie with a man, not even your husband”?’

‘How it happened is of no moment now, my lord. It is enough that I vowed my life to His service in chastity. I have so far kept only part of my vow. I had thought I could serve Him and still be queen, but lately I have found more evil comes from my presence here than good… and the time has come for me to serve Him every moment of the day and night in the way I feel is right for me.’

‘I will not let you go,’ he suddenly snapped. His eyes bored into her fiercely.

‘I can’t help you any more. My presence here disturbs your peace of mind. Cenwahl’s daughter–’ She broke off, seeing his expression.

He pushed a heavy chair out of his way and strode about the room, clenching and unclenching his hands, cracking his knuckles.

‘Why do you hate me?’ he muttered. ‘Other women fight to share my bed. Only you reject me!’

‘I don’t hate you, sir,’ she cried quickly. ‘If I could make you happy, I would have no greater pleasure. But I can’t give you what you want. And what I can give, you scorn.’

‘Have you no love for me after all these years?’ he turned to her and she was moved by the suffering in his eyes.

‘Yes, my lord, as sister to brother.’

His face clouded over and he kicked the leg of the table.

‘Go then!’ he shouted furiously, his face darkening again. ‘I want no sister’s love from you!’

She slipped out of the room at once, trembling, her heart pounding, as unhappy as he, but determined to make the break now while something like permission was still ringing in her ears. She would speak to Wilfrid and perhaps he would be able to persuade the king to marry Cenwahl’s daughter.

Without waiting to gather her belongings she rushed to the stables and started to prepare her horse, telling the stable lad to run at once and bring Ovin to her. ‘If I am not here when you get back,’ she called, ‘tell him to ride fast and meet me on the road going north. I will wait at the first crossroads. Give no one but Ovin this message.’