The Betrothed Sister (6 page)

Sweyn said, ‘No need for sorrow today. You are safe here, Aunt Gytha, and look, I have a wagon for your comfort.' He swirled around, fleet of foot for such a large man and pointed to the elaborate cart where the dwarf sat on its driving platform watching their exchange, his small eyes blinking at them. Sweyn's hands flew opened in an elaborate gesture, ‘Come, ladies.'

After he had ushered them towards the cart and helped them and their two women climb on board, he turned to Godwin and Edmund. ‘We spotted the
Wave-Prancer
and the
Sea-Dragon
from the high rooms of my palace. Soon enough messengers rode up from the port to confirm that you were back.' He clapped his great hands together and looked over at some merchants who were clearly half-listening as they finished checking the unloading of barrels. ‘Now let us be gone where we can talk without being overheard by flapping great ears.' He glared at the merchants. How quickly his facial expressions change, thought Thea uneasily.

Godwin hesitated. ‘I need to finish securing the ships first. Padar will escort my mother and sister.' Padar bowed to the king, who slapped him heartily on the back. ‘Good to see you back safely, Padar; you little cat with many lives.'

Padar said, ‘A cat that moves silently if he scents danger.'

Sweyn frowned and muttered, ‘No fool there.' Turning to Godwin, he nodded. ‘As you wish and I shall send carts down from the palace for the weapons and your luggage. I expect the ladies travelled light. We can feed and clothe you all here. My new queen, Elizaveta, will see to that.' With those words, he swung back up onto his stallion.

Padar grabbed his pack from the ground where he had dropped it and climbed up onto the richly decorated royal wagon beside the dwarf. With a crack of a silver-headed whip the little man with the reins manoeuvred the wagon around with ease and they were off.

The air in the women's room was thick with chatter. This room took up the upper floor of the sea-side palace and pleasantly looked out to sea. For two long days Thea had sat quietly close to a window with a table napkin poised on her lap. She was bored with stitching it. Tired of the sewing and the sound of women's constant voices ringing in her ears, she watched out of the window, looking for ships sailing into port, rarely speaking unless spoken to.

Occasionally Gudrun, who had become her obedient shadow, helped her select threads for the napkin that she was embroidering with wool in garish bright colours that the Danes seemed to favour. She longed for the delicacy of silk and the precious silver and gold embroidery threads she had used in England.

In the centre of the group of women sat Ingegerd, a sharp-faced young woman who was Harald Harthrada's daughter and recently both Sweyn's stepdaughter and his daughter-in-law. In the year following her father's death at Stamford Bridge, Ingegerd had married Olaf, one of Sweyn's many sons. Shortly after, her mother, Elizaveta, who was also Harthrada's widow, had married King Sweyn. Elizaveta and Ingegerd had travelled to Denmark from Norway after the defeat at Stamford Bridge. It had long been rumoured that Elizaveta had disliked her Norwegian marriage and was not sorry to be rid of her berzerker husband, King Harald. That bit of tittle-tattle had even reached Exeter. Thea believed it. Elizaveta had been particularly kind and welcoming to the Godwin exiles. Not so her daughter. Thea felt that Ingegerd, who always looked so haughtily at her, would never warm to them. Nor could Thea warm to Ingegerd, but she determined to rise above the slights, and slights there were, but then Thea thought maybe Ingegerd had her reasons.

Ingegerd's father, King Harald of Norway, had given battle to Thea's father at Stamford Bridge while the Normans had landed in the south, in that fateful late summer of 1066. Thea considered it only just that King Harald and her treacherous Uncle Tostig, who had allied with the Norwegian king, had both died in the battle at Stamford Bridge. Between them, they had deliberately weakened the English army by their attempted invasion. Was it because Harald of Norway was planning to carve England up with Duke William of Normandy; for him the Danish north and for Duke William the south? Nobody knew the truth of it, but whatever Harald of Norway was planning when he sailed down the Northern sea road with his war fleet, he was, at least in part, responsible for her father, Harold of England's defeat, his death at Senlac and that of her two noble uncles, Uncle Gyrth and Uncle Leofwine.

Somehow she must dwell in peace with this difficult woman. She must try to put her own ill will behind her. If only Ingegerd would show her a little warmth, perhaps the chilly Danish princesses might also welcome her into their circle. But this cold-hearted daughter of Norway, black-eyed, dark-haired Ingegerd, threw confiding smiles at her sisters-in-law when Thea entered the stuffy, carpeted sewing chamber. As they stitched, she cast polite looks cold as winter frost in Thea's direction, and Thea despaired because she could not penetrate those unsmiling obsidian eyes; eyes that held not a scrap of emotion and clearly wished her ill.

Thea had to sleep in the women's chamber in a curtained-off boxed bed that she shared with Gudrun. The Danish princesses had a whole room to themselves, one that was set apart from the women's work chamber, whereas in the women's room there was little privacy. Thea felt the princesses' maids watching her at night until she pinched out her candle and pulled the coarse linen curtain against their sidelong glances. She suspected that they sniggered behind her back when they lay down on pallets close by.

Although the princesses had maids to wait on them, Thea had to fetch her own washing water and empty her own chamber pot before the Danish princesses arrived each day to sew. Grandmother Gytha, on the other hand, had been allotted her own chamber. She passed her days with Queen Elizaveta in a private antechamber behind the king's hall, comfortably ensconced far away from the tensions of the sewing room.

When she complained to Countess Gytha, Gytha drew her close, stroked her hair with her skeletal fingers and said, ‘Thea, raise your head and ignore them. Wait your time for action with patience. When it arrives you will outshine them all. If you do you must have a degree of humility and elegance. There must be no childish tit for tat. Now smile.'

‘Yes, Grandmother. I promise to behave with decorum. I shall try.' She smiled, though tears filled her eyes as she did.

Thea had never felt so alone. She prayed to St Theodosia daily that her situation might change; even hoping that Sweyn might find her an acceptable husband very soon so she could escape.

After a week of prayer her saint answered her plea. No husband in the offing, but the talk was of their removal to a royal palace at Roskilde. It was apparent that this was where the princesses spent their winters and, since Roskilde was an island, soon they would be making another sea journey. Then, thrilling news reached the sewing chamber. As they prepared to leave, the princesses announced that a visit from the court of Kiev was imminent.

Thea stopped sewing. She looked towards the closed circle as the girls' chatter became even more interesting. Prince Vsevolod, brother to the Grand Prince of Kiev and brother to Queen Elizaveta, sought a wife for his son, fifteen-year-old Prince Vladimir.

‘He is exactly my age, well, probably a few months older,' Thea ventured, attempting to join in the conversation.

The princesses haughtily looked her way. The eldest of them said, ‘She speaks. Well, Thea, he will seek a rich dowry.'

‘I doubt you have a dowry,' Ingegerd said, throwing a supercilious glance in her direction. ‘Any silver your grandmother possesses will go to my father as payment for your brothers' ships. Much good has that done them.'

‘My brothers will reclaim our kingdom,' Thea said, trying hard to swallow her fury. She decided impulsively that she wanted this prince. He was young and he would without doubt be handsome. Elizaveta, who was his aunt, was a very handsome woman. So it went without saying the family were too. Aloud she remarked quietly, ‘It is just a matter of time. My brothers intend to capture the north.'

‘So I hear,' said the Danish princess. ‘But if my father helps them he will expect the crown of England for one of my brothers or maybe for the English Aetheling, Prince Edgar, as my father's under-king. So you see, we have great wealth and shall marry well.'

‘Of course, maybe Prince Edgar would have you to wife, Thea,' the second eldest princess added. ‘He is as penniless as you are. You could live on gruel in the Scottish hills.'

‘Is that so?' Thea said, remembering the gangly prince from Uncle Edward's days, a pasty looking boy with little to say. ‘I have no doubt that the English will not accept a young man with no fighting skills, one with no experience of government and who hardly speaks English, a prince who has lived most of his life in exile.' She made one more careful stitch, looked up and added, ‘My brother would be a competent king, like my father was.'

The princess shrugged. ‘Godwin has experience, does he? I doubt that. Besides, I don't think the Prince Vsevolod of Kiev will want an impoverished exiled princess for his son. He will choose one of
us
.'

Thea bit back her retort. She had been ordered by her grandmother not to speak of their treasure coffers. She had overheard Godwin whisper to Countess Gytha, ‘Our goods, including my sister's third portion, are stored away in a safe building with strong doors, a guard and secure locks.' Padar and Gytha were not alone in their mistrust of King Sweyn.

‘Good,' Gytha had whispered back. ‘I do not know my nephew's mind yet. It is for the best he does not know our wealth. Godwin, bring me a golden cup as a gift for him. There is a ruby-studded chalice in my chest, find it, and a psalter too, the one with St Luke's gospel. Its cover is emerald-studded. You will discover that amongst your father's collection of books on hawking. I shall present it to Bishop Vilhelm when we remove to Roskilde for the winter. Oh, and, Godwin, bring me a jewelled arm bracelet for Queen Elizaveta. Choose that gift well. It is a peace offering. Harold was responsible for the death of her first husband.'

‘She deserves nothing. Her first husband attacked my father's kingdom,' Godwin had retorted, then reconsidered, adding, ‘Grandmother, consider it done.'

Ingegerd was saying, ‘My uncle, Vsevolod of Pereiaslavl, and his two brothers, my other uncles, are the richest princes in Christendom. They will choose appropriately for their sons.' Taking Thea by surprise, she rose from her sewing chair, glided like a swan to the widow seat, lifted Thea's embroidery, and cast a sharp eye over a line of uneven red stitches. Holding it up, she spun around with it for the others to see. They raised four pairs of eyebrows. ‘I think you must unpick that, Thea, my dear,' Ingegerd said, turning back. ‘Your cross-hatching work is wanting.' Thea felt her face colour when Ingegerd dropped the sewing back into her lap and handed her a small pair of silver scissors. ‘Keep them. I have others. You will have need of them here.'

At those words the four Danish princesses smirked. Thea felt her face redden with anger. She bent her head over her needlework but could not resist commenting as she undid her row of embroidery, easing out the stitches carefully with the point of the silver scissors. ‘The prince will never choose shrews for his son's wife. He will consider a woman who is refined and gentle.'

Thea's sarcasm had not missed its mark. The four princesses looked haughtily away as if she was not worth the effort of a comment. They began to discuss the gowns they intended to wear when they were presented to the ambassadors from Kiev.

Thea held her work up and examined her re-worked, now perfect, stitching, turning it over as obviously as she dared, allowing the others to see her neat work. She handed the scissors back to Ingegerd. ‘Thank you, Ingegerd. I have no further need of these today. My grandmother has many that are sharper than yours.' Ingegerd snapped them up and returned them to her belt purse without a word.

Placing her embroidery carefully into the work basket by her chair, Thea raised her head proudly and said to Gudrun, ‘Come, Gudrun, let us seek pleasanter company. We shall go and see if Padar is in the hall. I want him to teach me a new tune for my flute. His music will be sweeter than the air in this chamber.' With those words she had drawn her sword.

Thea swept from the sewing room, adjusting her veil to hide her escaping tresses. She knew that the moment she departed, the princesses would discuss her. She smiled to herself. Her dowry would surprise them but, more importantly, it should please Elizaveta's brother and his son. She longed for a prince such as this one. He was young and surely he would be kind. ‘Vladimir.' She whispered his name to herself as she left the chamber. ‘Prince Vladimir and Princess Gytha.' She used her formal name. It sounded right. As she tripped down the staircase into the hall with Gudrun, she thought of the beautiful Godwin christening gown which Elditha, her mother, had given her when they were departing from Exeter and which she kept wrapped in soft linen in the bone-plated silver box set amongst her own treasures safely at the bottom of her travelling bag. One day it would be used for a prince. ‘Wait and see, my lady Ingegerd. I shall wed my prince.'

6

Roskilde, October 1068

Church bells began to ring, obliterating the sounds of the street, the hawkers selling trinkets and merchants selling spices, eels and bread. The countess rose from her chair and gently closed over the shutters. ‘I have something to say to you, Thea, so listen carefully.' She returned to her chair.

Thea glanced up from her embroidery. She was glad to spend a morning with Grandmother at last rather than in the sewing room. ‘Oh?'

‘Our visitors from Kiev seek a bride. Queen Elizaveta thinks they will select one of her stepdaughters.' Thea took in a deep breath. If only he was to be her prince. The countess lowered her voice. ‘But this marriage is dynastic!' And I am highly connected myself and wealthy.'