The Briton and the Dane: Timeline

by Mary Ann Bernal

  “Is there evidence that Raulf supports King Harald?”

  “Not yet, but he has also aligned himself with Verrill, our king’s Norman cousin.”

  “A double agent,” Gwyneth thought.

  “What you do not yet know, my lady, is that the king has sent a squadron of seasoned men to defend the citadel should the need arise. There are two factions, Verrill and Norris who leads Harold Godwinson’s relations.”

  “The king has yet to name his successor,” Gwyneth interrupted, “which is why there are men from both camps housed within these walls, conceivably sent here to keep the army from interfering in affairs of state.”

  “Possibly,” Aedre replied. “A sizeable army could place a king on the throne.”

  Gwyneth nodded, remembering the historical account of The Wars of the Roses when Richard Neville had earned the title of kingmaker. The houses of York and Lancaster had been destroyed in the process, which ushered in the Tudor dynasty. So much of the landscape that had been her passion would change radically when Henry VIII made himself Supreme Head of the Church. At least she had been given a chance to visit the beautiful abbeys and churches as they once were, and she missed her camera and her watch that also took incredible pictures despite its size.

  “My lady, have I upset you?” Aedre asked, bringing Gwyneth out of her reverie.

  “My thoughts wandered. I am sorry. Pray, continue.”

  “We fear for Brother Damian’s life since there has been no word, and I am afraid that he is dead. If Rheda knew we suspected her, rest assured we would suffer Brother Damian’s fate.”

  “The entire garrison cannot be traitors,” Gwyneth said, hoping to allay Aedre’s concerns. “And I cannot see the men pledging their swords to a Norseman. Surely, people still remember King Alfred’s efforts to keep Wessex free from Danish rule.”

  “The Normans are not welcomed, either.”

  “We must strengthen Norris’ position here. Most of the men support King Edward, do they not?”

  “The men follow their leader, whatever their beliefs.”

  “Then, we have to make sure Harold Godwinson’s faction is well equipped if challenged. I do not doubt their prowess, but it has been a while since they have fought on the battlefield. They are in need of training. I shall speak to Erik.”

  “What of Raulf? He is privy to all that happens within these walls. And once Verrill observes that Norris’ warriors are on the field, he will make sure his men are also prepared.”

  “Verrill and Norris would unite in a common cause, would they not?” Gwyneth asked. “I do not think either of them would kneel to the Norwegian king.”

  ***

  Storm clouds covered the moon as Erik returned to his quarters. He entered the bedchamber quietly, not wishing to disturb Gwyneth. He walked towards the window and latched the shutter, anticipating heavy rains, a normal occurrence so close to the sea. As he sat on the bed, Gwyneth pulled him towards her, kissing his lips as their fingers entwined.

  “I am sorry it is so late; there were pressing matters,” Erik whispered in her ear.

  “I have spoken to Aedre.”

  Erik sat on his elbows, listening to Gwyneth as she recounted their conversation. He was not surprised by the revelation since Wynstan had apprised him of all that had transpired. He grinned when she mentioned her proposal, subduing his laughter when she appeared slighted by his lack of enthusiasm.

  “Gwyneth, do you honestly believe that seasoned warriors do not practice their skills daily? Do the soldiers of your time spend their days drinking in excess and bedding women?”

  “No, their days are planned, and they are battle ready,” Gwyneth replied as she felt the heat rising in her cheeks. “I did not mean...”

  “I know what you meant,” Erik interrupted, his passion rising.

  Gwyneth responded to her husband’s caresses, their gentle rhythm a melody of love’s sweet song. There was no urgency as they culminated nature’s release, a building crescendo exploding in ecstasy, cementing the bond between them. They rested in each other’s arms as a soft rain began to fall, the gentle tapping lulling them to sleep, a brief interlude from the trials of daily life and of what was yet to come.

  ***

  Wynstan stood at the top of the hill as Captain Jean Michel’s crew boarded the ship. He noticed Pierre standing at the steering oar beside his captain. If the seafarers had any concerns about Pierre’s dubious offenses, they were instantly eradicated by this one simple gesture. Even though the men suffered from the effects of drinking too much ale, they carried out their duties proficiently, and the vessel glided effortlessly through the windswept waves. Once the Bretons were out of sight, he returned to the citadel and was not surprised when he came upon Father Gerard.

  “They are gone?” Father Gerard asked.

  “It was not soon enough, if you ask me,” Wynstan replied. “We do not need their kind here.”

  “My son, you must be more charitable to our brothers.”

  “Brothers who would put a dagger through our hearts while we slept,” Wynstan reminded him.

  “Following the Lord’s commands when men are at war tests one’s resolve, which is why your sin is forgiven.”

  “It is too early for a debate and Edlynn awaits. Would you share a meal with us?”

  “I cannot. I have been called to the sickrooms. Someone is near death, and he must be shriven.”

  “I pray his passing is peaceful,” Wynstan said, “but you have something to tell me?”

  “Always observant,” Father Gerard replied, “especially since I have purposely sought you out.”

  “Of course, you have. Why else would you spy upon me?”

  “Be respectful or I will have you on your knees reciting the Psalms as penance.”

  Wynstan guffawed so loudly that the guards walking the wall stopped and asked him to identify himself. He did not mind being questioned. Actually, he was pleased that the warriors were taking notice in these perilous times.

  “I have spoken with Gwyneth,” Father Gerard said. “Whatever fate is to befall us all, happens within the next two years. She does not know what is to become of her now that Erik’s heir is safely hidden. She is torn between wishing to remain and returning home.”

  “She does not belong here, Father. What would you have me do?”

  “She will be sent back to her time when the Lord wills it. Until then, we must make sure no harm befalls her.”

  ***

  The citadel bustled with activity as the first rays of the sun brightened the night sky, its warmth drying the dampened ground. Soldiers skirted the puddles as they continued to the training field while birds pecked for worms in the cloistered gardens. The distant abbey’s bells rang faintly as Gwyneth and Erik stirred, awakening from a fitful sleep, the remnants of love’s song embedded in their minds as they rekindled their passion.

  “I must go,” Erik whispered, kissing Gwyneth’s neck, his hands caressing her curvaceous body.

  Reluctantly, Gwyneth released her hold, rising with her husband, not wishing to tempt him by spending the day in the nuptial bed.

  “Is it your wish that Rheda is to serve me again?” Gwyneth asked as she dressed.

  “Yes, and see what you can find out. She might be helpful. Ask her what is being said in the village, and if she has heard from her relations in Mercia. I would know how Earl Edwin fares.”

  “I wish Bryson was here to protect you.”

  “He protects our sons.”

  “I know, it is just that we do not know who is trustworthy. I would never have suspected Raulf’s allegiance, and I had trusted Rheda.”

  “My love,” Erik said, “you are not at fault. You were thrust into a world not of your making, a world different from yours, a world that is still being formed.”

  “Our allies are few. Wynstan, Father Gerard, Brother Gottfried and Aedre.”

  “And Brother Damian.”

  “I fear he no longer lives,” Gwyneth said truthfully.


  “Captain Jean Michel will be delivering cargo to Calais upon his return. He will try to learn the truth, but it is doubtful he will uncover anything. Pierre will also try to discover where in Dunwich is King Harald’s stronghold. If we receive the information timely, there is a chance Brother Damian will be freed.”

  “You are assuming he was taken there, but I think not. Seymour would not venture that far east. No, I do think Brother Damian met his end somewhere in Wessex.”

  “I pray you are wrong and that we shall soon have word,” Erik replied. “Meet me atop the Keep at midday.”

  Gwyneth smiled as she watched Erik leave, etching into her mind every detail of his very being, knowing in her heart she would never forget.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Once more, Gwyneth blended in easily, relishing in her role as Lady of the Burh, even though the term was no longer used. She thought of herself as a Prime Ministerial wife, serving beside her husband and involving herself with the minute administrative detail. The nobility was the upper echelon of society and with privilege, came responsibility. She performed her duties to perfection, which endeared her to those living within the citadel.

  No one suspected that Gwyneth had not been born in the eleventh century, not even Rheda who was living in her household. She had befriended her servant, hoping Rheda would take her into her confidence, especially speaking of her relationship with Raulf. As the months passed without Rheda seeking her counsel, Gwyneth was becoming anxious.

  Again, it was her knowledge of the past that was weighing heavily on her mind. Specific dates were notoriously missing in the chronicles, which listed events by the year. For A.D. 1065, references had been limited to King Edward’s dealings with Wales and York, which resulted in Earl Tostig Godwinson fleeing the country sometime after Michael’s Mass that was celebrated on 29 September. As the Festival of the Wheat Harvest, which had heralded the hostilities, was a few months away, she was considering confiding in her husband, warning him of what was to come. Gwyneth wondered if Erik had been called upon by his king to restore order in the north, whereupon he had met an untimely death. The names of the dead, if they had been recorded at all, were lost to posterity. It was possible that Erik had not been directly involved and that another officer had commanded the men. And if that were the case, then Erik had one more year to live, but where would he die? At York fighting the Norwegian king, or at Hastings on Senlac Hill, fighting Duke William? Could she prevent her husband from commanding the army, thereby saving his life? But his honor would never permit him to betray the king he served, which meant that it was necessary for Gwyneth to hold her tongue.

  Gwyneth paced her bedchamber, ringing her hands as she did so. She wished she had someone to talk to, but altering the past could be devastating, which is what she would be doing. She had heard it all before when she had watched her favorite science fiction program. The Star Trek Paradoxes. There were too many Paradox variables, such as going back in time and accidentally killing one’s grandparent, or even becoming one’s grandparent! A genealogical nightmare. Delving on the premise gave Gwyneth a headache, and she needed an aspirin, but she would settle for an herbal remedy since that was her only option.

  Rheda came into the room just as Gwyneth was fetching her cloak. The woman was quite agitated and out of breath as she spoke.

  “It is Brother Damian ... he has just returned and is in the sickrooms ... Father Gerard has sent for you.”

  Gwyneth was relieved that Brother Damian was alive as she left her chambers. She crossed the courtyard and waved at Erik’s warriors when they acknowledged her presence. She wondered if Erik had also been requested to meet in the sickrooms as she passed the barracks, choosing to walk amongst the soldiers’ quarters, which was the most direct route. Once she reached the healer’s dwelling, she slowed her pace, not wishing to be short-winded when she came upon the holy men.

  The door was wide open when Gwyneth arrived. She noticed that the beds were empty, a good sign in her mind, as she walked through the vacant main area and into the backroom.

  “It is Gwyneth,” she said as she knocked on the door before entering.

  Brother Damian was lying on the table as the healer was cutting away infected skin. The leg was red and swollen, and a yellowish liquid seeped from the wound. Brother Damian did not cry out as Father Gerard held him down firmly. She could not help but look at the condition of the healer’s hands and thanked God they were not dirty. Brother Damian was sweating profusely, his sounds muted each time he bit down on the leather strap. He kept clenching his hands, digging his fingers into his palms, which bled. Gwyneth lost count of the number of times the knife sliced the flesh, but she admired Brother Damian’s courage, withstanding the pain that would have been minimized if he had been given anesthesia. She shook her head, berating herself for such thoughts. Nevertheless, she could not change who she was, nor would she if she could. She finally admitted to herself that she was out of place in this Anglo-Saxon country, the predecessor of her beloved England. Maybe, it was because Erik’s life would soon end after having fulfilled a destiny chartered before she had been born. But what was her destiny? To die beside the man she truly loved? One thing was certain, she could never live in this era without him.

  “Gwyneth,” the healer said, interrupting her thoughts. “Fetch me the poultice.”

  Gwyneth did as she was told, standing beside the healer as he applied the thick paste, which was soothing. She glanced at Father Gerard who was wiping Brother Damian’s face with a wet cloth. She turned her head upon hearing soft footsteps and smiled when she recognized Erik. She nodded her head in acknowledgement since a public display of affection was not a normal occurrence. She remained in the background as Erik waited for the healer to finish wrapping the wound.

  “I shall prepare something to make him sleep, which will also help with the pain. He may remain here or return to his cell. The choice is his,” the healer said as he left.

  “Praise God, you are safe,” Erik said, clutching Brother Damian’s hand.

  “I was attacked by robbers not far from Winchester and was left for dead. I was found by a hermit who has cared for me these many months. I would have returned sooner, if not for my leg, which still festers.”

  “Mend in my household,” Erik replied. “Gwyneth’s skills are admirable.”

  “Yes, please,” Gwyneth interrupted, “if Father Gerard is agreeable.”

  “I agree,” Father Gerard said. “Comfort is lacking in our cells.”

  “We can obtain a litter, should you wish,” Erik told him.

  “I prefer to walk,” Brother Damian said, sitting up.

  The healer handed Gwyneth a pouch, giving her instructions as to the herb’s proper use. He would also need to change the bindings daily and arranged for a time when he might visit. The healer was not pleased that Brother Damian preferred to walk, but he said nothing as they left.

  Rheda had been watching from the window, giving orders to prepare a room for Brother Damian when she saw the holy man hobbling towards Erik’s private quarters. She greeted them at the door, which had not surprised Gwyneth. The woman was everywhere, it seemed, like a specter, appearing and disappearing through concealed doors.

  The room was located near the gardens, and sunlight filtered through two open windows. The coverings were soft as Brother Damian laid upon the bed, placing his head on the feathered pillow while Rheda prepared the potion.

  “Thank you, Rheda,” Gwyneth said after she gave Brother Damian the remedial mixture.

  “I shall return in an hour, if that pleases you, my lady,” Rheda replied.

  No words were exchanged until Rheda’s footsteps faded along the hallway. Gwyneth sat on a cushioned chair near the fire, listening attentively to what was being said, and how Brother Damian’s findings would affect Erik’s fate.

  “There is no plot to displace King Edward,” Brother Damian began, wishing to finish before the affects of the drug took hold. “The problem li
es with the succession. If those coveting the crown are not named heir, then there will be challenges from many fronts. The most serious is King Harald and Duke William. Both have agents seeking allies in this country. The more men supporting a contender, the better his chances to remain on the throne. I have witnessed Seymour meeting with dubious men, more likely brigands, in my opinion. It would seem the disgruntled are more likely to support whoever pays the most. They are an annoyance and nothing more. While I cannot prove my thoughts, it is my belief that Seymour reports back to King Edward.”

  “How can that be?” Gwyneth interrupted. “What of Rheda’s secret meetings with Seymour? And Raulf? And what of the seal Aedre recognized on the communiqué?”

  “I cannot say,” Brother Damian continued. “Rheda’s allegiance might be to King Harald, but what if she was truly loyal to King Edward, and she was trying to discern the identities of traitors living amongst us?”

  “And Raulf,” Erik said. “He favors the Norman Verrill.”

  “Who happens to be the king’s relation,” Brother Damian reminded him.

  “Are you saying our suspicions are not sound?” Gwyneth asked.

  “I am saying, my lady, that we cannot make accusations without evidence. It is possible that King Edward devised this plan to avoid open warfare by naming an heir his subjects would support.”

  Gwyneth did not know how to respond. Her knowledge of the past was not helpful because documentation was lacking. She could hypothesize, but as in any experiment, there must be proof to substantiate the theory.

  “We cannot take any of them, Seymour, Rheda, or Raulf, into our confidence, because if we are wrong...” Erik replied.

  “Aedre and I have befriended Rheda, but she has yet to shed light on her comings and goings. She still does not suspect that we are privy to her secrets. What if we should come upon her and Raulf? They meet in the tunnels overlooking the cliffs. Seymour also meets there. We could deceive Rheda, giving her false information to pass on; urgent information. She would arrange the meeting,” Gwyneth said. “Erik, you could write a dispatch and leave it on the desk in our chambers. She would never question the validity of your orders.”