The Betrothed Sister (28 page)

Early in December a first fall of snow, between Nones and Vespers, drove Thea and Katya from the herb garden into the communal hall. Snowflakes drifted against the windows and through the door into the long room the moment they opened it. Inside a blast of heat that burst from a large wood-burning stove felt welcoming and the scent of pine resin created a sense that Christmas and St Basil's Feast Day were drawing closer.

The other women glanced up from their sewing and smiled. One nodded. ‘Not a day for the soil! Better in than out. Come and sit with us, Princess Gita. We are sewing feast-day gifts for the orphans, belts and purses.' She patted the bench and threw some little sticks into the stove. They burst into flame and crackled.

Katya blew on her fingers and fetched their sewing bags from a shelf.

‘Tis a day for the hearth.' Thea found them a place close to the stove.

She had no sooner threaded her needle than Mother Sophia bustled into the hall. For a moment, Thea watched the Mother flap around the convent's lay guests commenting on a colour, correcting a stitch here and praising a composition there.

When Mother Sophia reached their bench, in what seemed a quick turn of the hour glass, she passed a finger over Thea's embroidery, remarking, ‘My child, you have made more progress with your study of religion and writing than you have with this embroidery. Still, there is a long winter of time before us.' She turned to Katya and touched the maid's shoulder.

‘Now there really is no need to jump, Katya. You are the reason I am here. I have news for you. Your father has come to visit you. Put your work away and go to my receiving chamber, now.' Mother Sophia was smiling as if she were a cat who had invaded the monastery dairy and supped up all the cream. ‘He is waiting for you.'

Thea glanced up and sighed. If only someone from her past life would visit her, Edmund or Godwin, Padar or Gudrun, or even Earl Connor. It had been months since Padar and Gudrun had departed for Flanders. Mother Sophia moved on to a window alcove where several nuns were weaving on a horizontal loom passing their shuttles back and forwards, working the foot peddle with rhythmic thumps.

Katya packed away her gift belt. ‘My father, Dimitri, I have not seen him since we left Denmark! He will have so much news,' she said breathlessly to Thea.

Thea caught Katya's arm before she followed the nun. ‘Ask your father if he has seen my brothers. And Padar, too; their paths may have crossed.'

Katya sped off, unlatching the door into the hall and causing a chill draught to blast into the room. Thea bent her head and tried to concentrate on the pollarded trees she was stitching into her rushnyk. When it is spring I shall see you again, my prince, she thought to herself as she stitched another stunted tree onto her cloth. Would April ever arrive?

Thea flew from the window seat at the sound of Katya's tread on the stair. The girl opened the door and backed into the room. Thea ran to help her. ‘What have you there?'

‘A box of letters; my father has been to Flanders trading. He saw Padar and Gudrun. He was in Denmark too and met with your brother Edmund. He spoke with them all!' She laid the box on the wolfskin bedcover. ‘These letters are for you, from everyone who loves you and wishes you well. There is even one from your grandmother, all the way from St Omer.'

‘Why did your father not give these to me? Why to you?' Thea asked.

Katya said simply, ‘Because they are secret. Mother Sophia might read them first.'

Thea thought about that for a moment. ‘Why would she?'

‘Mother Sophia might not be loyal to your interests. My father says it is best to be cautious.' Katya pointed to the casket, a plain wooden box with a lock. ‘Here is the key.'

Thea bent down and inserted the key into the small lock. It fitted perfectly.

‘My lady, would you like to read them alone? I can attend Vespers and say that you are indisposed. Mother Sophia is so pleased today that she will not notice your absence.'

‘Why is Mother Sophia pleased?'

‘My father has donated two hundred grivas to the convent and he has given her five bolts of undyed but very fine linen from Flanders for night shifts for the poor.'

‘That is generous of your father. Well then, you attend Vespers and say that I am resting.'

Katya was not listening. Thea looked away from the box. Katya was peering out through the shutters, pushing the slates apart with her fingers. ‘My lady, look, my father is walking in the garden with Mother Sophia,' she said, turning to Thea.

Thea desperately wanted to open the letters but for a moment she stood beside her maid, looking through the window shutters at a tall man who appeared through the slates as if in broken lines. He looked stark outlined against the snow in a dark bearskin mantle and his brown furred cap. He was leaning towards Mother Sophia. If he was suspicious of the nun's loyalty he did not show it. They walked close together as if they were old friends. The merchant took Sophia's elbow and guided her along the wooden walkways that led between the two bare cherry trees bordering the herb beds. ‘They are clearly friends?' she said to Katya, observing how the pair stood for a moment conversing near the gate.

‘In his world, friends can easily become enemies. My father trusts no one. That is the way he survives, without giving his trust away, because he is trusted with the secrets of others. No one knows the secrets he carries, certainly not Mother Sophia.' After the merchant had reached the latch gate, he vanished into the courtyard.

‘You must miss your family?'

Katya lingered by the shutters watching the last small flounce of her father's bearskin cloak disappear. ‘We all miss our families, though we can pray for their good health and their happiness. My father is great fun. He is a sort of magician himself.'

‘What sort of magic?'

‘Oh, this and that. He is always experimenting with a recipe for dragon fire.'

‘Greek fire. That sounds dangerous. No one knows that secret,' Thea said, thinking of how Gudrun was punished for owning a brooch with strange markings.

‘Well, he clearly has not destroyed himself yet.'

Mother Sophia returned along the walkway. For a moment she looked up and Thea drew back. Katya allowed the slates to fall back into place and dropped the leather curtain over the shuttered window. Thea watched Katya hurry about lighting rush candles in the chamber. After she placed a lamp for Thea to read by on the table, she bowed to her mistress and said, ‘Well then, I had best get to Vespers. You may not even be missed.'

Thea pulled a dry cloak from a peg by the doorway, and placed it around the girl's shoulders. ‘They might even think you are me.'

‘It is no sin not to attend Vespers.'

‘Then let us hope no one comes looking for me.'

The casket was made of bleached pinewood with no decoration apart from a fine interlocking border of shells around its edges. Yet, the pale wood seemed to gleam invitingly in the lamp's glow.

Thea unlocked the box, opened the lid and slipped her hand inside. She felt something hard and circular. Using her finger and thumb she carefully withdrew the object. It was a small ring. She peered closer at it lying in her palm. This ring was a link to the three years she had spent with Grandmother Gytha. The amber stone in its centre glowed warmly and the silver setting gleamed. She turned it over and over, remembering it fondly, intrigued by it. She slipped it on the middle finger of her left hand. It fitted perfectly. It was not a large ring because her grandfather Earl Godwin had worn it on his little finger, but it was large enough for Grandmother Gytha to wear it on the middle finger of her left hand. She would wear it on that finger too.

Why has Grandmother Gytha sent me her favourite amber ring?
Thea removed it from her finger and laid it on the nearest birch tablet. She drew three letters from the casket.

Trembling with excitement, she arranged the letters in the order in which she would read them. First, there was a letter from Grandmother Gytha, folded and sealed with her dragon seal. Next there was a letter with a seal she did not recognise. She scrutinised it. The seal appeared to show a small trading vessel.
It is more modest than King Sweyn's seal.
Finally, there was a third letter sealed with a blob of yellow wax bearing the imprint of a coin, possibly a dirham, pressed into it.
Padar, it is his.

She opened Gytha's letter first, unfolding it carefully. Laying it out on the table, she bent over it, anxious to hear her grandmother's voice speak to her. She read it slowly.

Thea, my granddaughter, by the Grace of God in this summer of 1071, I send you greetings. There is not much time left. What is time but a chimera marked with great happiness and much sorrow. My life has been long and I shall depart it content in the knowledge that you are soon to make a great marriage. You will conduct yourself honourably and enter your new life with pride and honour.

It was a surprise when one who links our past to our present arrived this summer at St Omer, after a long journey from the north. With great joy, I say that I am pleased that the skald has married at last, and with our own little golden Gudrun. May the Virgin look over them and bring them safely back to your lands.

Your mother, Elditha, resides comfortably in Canterbury. My daughter Edith and your sister Gunnhild are at Wilton. Godwin has decided to remain in Ireland until he regains his kingdom. He was betrayed by Sweyn who has now granted ships and support to the Aetheling Edgar. Sweyn is not to be trusted and, by the Norns, he will never get a portion of England. He has backed the wrong prince. May the sisters who weave our lives confound his fate. Edmund is a merchant princeling, I hear. That is well since he must earn a living.

As my life reaches the end of its spinning, my great sadness is that my youngest son Wulfoth and your little brother Ulf remain hostages in the Norman court at Falaise. May the saint of travellers, Christopher, protect them and bring them home safely to their own land.

I send you my blessing and my ring. Remember me in your prayers and in your thoughts. And, my child, I have a final request. Name your first male child Harold, for no other name will do for the grandson of my greatest son.

Gytha, Countess of Wessex

When she came to the end of Grandmother Gytha's letter, Thea's heart was heavy for she loved her grandmother. Swallowing her sobs, she laid out her second letter. Glancing through it she saw it was from her brother, Edmund.

My sister, may God protect you in the foreign land where you now dwell. I hope to travel to Rus lands in the springtime with Earl Connor who has lived some months since in Roskilde. We have wool for Constantinople and many objects of great value to sell in the Byzantine markets. I have another mission in Kiev of which, at this time, I may not speak but which we may discuss when we meet again.

Edmund, son of Harold, once King of the English

Outside darkness had gathered. Thea could hear voices carrying through the corridors and up the stairways of Holy Trinity. Soon the refectory bell would ring for the final meal of the day, a supper of bread, kvass and honey. She must hurry. She broke the small seal on Padar's letter. It had been scribed several days after Gytha had written to her.

The Norns have woven the end threads of Countess Gytha's life. She has gone to the angels some days since. She requested that I write to you after her death and that I send her letter to you. Both letters will travel with us to Denmark where we shall find one whom we can trust to carry them safely to the Convent of the Holy Trinity.

Your Aunt Hilda attended her mother's passing. The great Countess Gytha was buried here on Saturday with great ceremony. May her soul rest in peace.

At her request, I enclose her favourite silver ring. She asked me to say that other jewels will, in the fullness of time, travel to England as a dowry for your sister, Gunnhild.

The Countess Gytha of Wessex will dwell in our prayers and thoughts always. Perhaps it is reassuring that your Aunt Hilda has taken vows, as has the countess's dedicated companion, Lady Margaret. They remain for what time on this earth is theirs, in the Abbey of St Omer.

Lady Thea, may I intrude on your sadness at these grave tidings with our news? It is a joy to us that Gudrun is with child. We shall return to the Rus lands in the spring. I shall establish new business interests in Kiev where I hope for Prince Vsevolod's goodwill and kindness.

May Christ and his Holy Angels protect you, my lady.

I remain your servant, Padar

Thea's heart felt as if a stone had lodged in it. She did not know how she could attend supper but she must. It was good news that Padar and Gudrun were safe and that her companion was with child and that soon they would travel to Kiev. They linked her past to her present and she had wondered if she would ever see either of them again.

She folded the letters back into the box, locked it and slipped the key onto the silver chain from which the cunning woman's tiny swan dropped between her breasts. She did not return the amber ring to the pine box. Instead, she slipped Gytha's ring into her jewel box. She placed the pine box amongst others that included the bone-plated casket which her mother had given her long ago and which contained the Godwin christening gown.

The air stilled. She felt a strange peace descend. She wiped away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. It felt as if Grandmother Gytha was in the chamber, flesh and bone, breathing life into everything around her. And it was as if Grandmother Gytha's spirit was hovering with her own, guiding her and protecting her. Plucking her sable-trimmed mantle from the clothing pole, she slipped it about her shoulders. Softly closing her chamber door, she descended the stairway to the refectory.

As Thea ate her supper that evening in the monastery's customary silence, half an ear tuned to the sister who was reading, she felt as if shaken by an imagined jolt; what was Edmund planning? Her grandmother was dead and her heart was breaking because of it, yet she could not speak of this here. She desperately wanted to connect with her past tonight. She could write a letter to Elditha. There was just a whisper of a chance that one day it would reach her. She would also send Gudrun her greetings and suggest that her dearest friend return to Russia in time for her wedding to Prince Vladimir in the Great Cathedral of St Sophia in Kiev.