The Betrothed Sister

by Carol McGrath

  Doctors flocked to the palace with cups, poultices and herbs. The ambassador recovered within a few weeks but he would carry terrible scars on his face and body. The two elder princesses slowly recovered but it looked as if they, too, might wear disfiguring scars for the rest of their lives.

  A month passed and, before winter set in, trapping them in Denmark, the Kiev delegation made ready to depart, with their gifts, but with no promises of a betrothal for any of the princesses. Unable to let them away without a word on the subject, King Sweyn, who remained healthy since he had once had the pox many years before and wore the scars to prove it, held counsels with the two remaining Rus ambassadors and Countess Gytha. Countess Gytha wanted decisions and she wanted them before those who could make them died. The small delegation announced that they would return from Russia with a decision when the spring sailing season opened up the Baltic Sea.

  Shortly after a final meeting, they packed up bag, baggage, and servants and sailed away. The ill Rus ambassador and his five servants who had also taken the pox sailed from Roskilde in a separate ship along with their own doctor, herbal remedies that included comfrey and coriander to keep the fever under control, and an old crone who was rumoured to cure the disease with spells and witchcraft.

  Thea sickened on the day they departed. She felt hot and cold all at once. She ached. Her back was exceptionally painful and she vomited up her dinner. When the tell-tale small reddish spots appeared on her mouth and her tongue she knew she was ill with the disease. Gytha put her to bed and prayed. She summoned doctors to Thea’s chamber daily and tended her herself. She wrapped her granddaughter in coloured cloths and draped them about her bed to keep the light from her skin. Gudrun, who fortunately did not sicken, placed aromatic bouquets about Thea’s chamber and bathed her mistress’s skin with infusions of comfrey and liquorice.

  ‘I am dying, Grandmother,’ Thea said. ‘I am dying and all has gone bad.’ She said nothing more for days. She dreamed though. She dreamed of a wedding to a dark-headed prince who turned into a glossy jackdaw and looked down on her with pity. She looked down at her wedding gown and it was soaked with blood. When her fever lessened she felt as weak as a baby chick and as helpless as a newly birthed kitten.

  Countess Gytha came to Thea’s chamber to find Thea improving. She recounted what had taken place while Thea had been ill. ‘“Thea is not so ill,”’ I said to my nephew. She will have no scars. Her face is clear of spots.’

  Thea heard her grandmother recount how she had told King Sweyn that she wished to return to St Omer. Gytha patted Thea’s arm. ‘I said to him, that assuming they are spared the devil’s pox, my grandsons intend sailing back to King Dairmaid’s court in Dublinia.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I told him all this.’

  Thea’s heard her voice crack. She did not want everyone to leave her again. ‘What did he say? I wish you would stay with me here, Grandmother.’

  The countess said, ‘Listen, Thea. That was not the sum of it all.’

  ‘Oh,’ Thea managed.

  Gytha told her quietly how Sweyn had grunted at her, ‘”What are you suggesting, Aunt?”

  ‘“Either my grandsons can take Thea with them to Dublinia or you must send her to a place of safety until she is wed with the Russian prince.”’

  Thea raised herself up. ‘Is it decided? Am I to marry the prince? What if I am scarred from the pox? I want a looking plate now. Am I scarred?’

  Gytha carried the silvered glass over to Thea. ‘See, no, you are not scarred, my child. Listen to the rest of it, Thea.’

  ‘The rest?’

  Gytha laughed as she took the polished surface away from Thea. ‘Sweyn’s nose reddened, his face grew more ruddy than usual. If his eyes had been eating knives they would have pierced me through, my granddaughter. “What have you told the ambassadors, Countess?” he asked me. “I know you had meetings with them behind my back. You gave them gifts, I hear.”’ I told him that I had informed the ambassadors of your dowry but only because they enquired.’

  ‘What did he say to that?’ Thea croaked, now feeling utterly exhausted by her grandmother’s visit.

  ‘He said, ‘“What dowry?”’ and stroked his white-streaked beard. He asked, “Why have you not told me of this dowry? You mean that I am not expected to provide for my niece?” I told him that I had never concealed my wealth, only its value. King Sweyn then frowned, “Which consists of?” I said, “Gold, silver, jewels and tapestries, all of greater value than the Russian Prince Vladimir could ever expect to see in a lifetime.”

  ‘“That I doubt,” Elizaveta then said. ‘‘Let me remind you that my family are extremely wealthy.”’

  ‘“So am I,” I said.

  ‘“So, then, with such wealth, more than I am prepared to provide, perhaps the Rus prince will ask for Thea after all?” Sweyn steepled his hands. “Well, well. Who would have thought that it was Thea’s dowry that you stored in that warehouse. My son, Eric, does not have a wife. He is comely enough … Would he not be a better prospect for your granddaughter?”’

  Thea started. ‘No, Grandmother. Perish the thought.’

  Gytha snorted before she replied, ‘I told him that the boy is only nine years old and not likely to inherit a throne. I told him that you have the possibility of the Kiev prince when you recover. And recover you have. I said to them, “In return for your support I shall give you my support. If you wish to be united with us, you might ask for my grandson Godwin for your youngest daughter, Guttorm. He likes her.”

  ‘“So Godwin for Guttorm,” he said. “What exactly do you propose?”’

  ‘“A wedding in summer next,” I said.

  ‘“If you have enough silver to set him up with his own hall and if he swears loyalty to the royal house of Denmark, then it is an acceptable proposal.”

  ‘“This I can do. Moreover, when my grandsons recover their lands in England they will repay you generously for your kindness to us.”

  ‘Queen Elizaveta spoke up. “I think, Countess, when she can travel we can send Thea to my husband’s farm at Søderup. She will learn to play more songs, become accomplished on the harp and there she will become expert in embroidery and household skills. If the ambassadors from Prince Vsevolod return for Thea, I shall give her betrothal my blessing. When my stepdaughters recover there will be other husbands for them. The Grand Prince of Kiev, my eldest brother, Prince Iziaslav, may soon seek a wife for one of his sons. There are two brothers nearer the throne of Kiev than Vsevolod and his son.”

  ‘King Sweyn said in response, ‘Yes, my dear, you are right. There are the German princes. There are many, many other princes and princesses besides the only son of your youngest brother, Elizaveta.”

  ‘“It is decided then.” Elizaveta folded her hands in her lap. “When she has recovered Gunnhild can accompany Thea to Søderup. Gunnhild is only twelve years old and has much to learn. There are women on the farm who will care for our princesses and teach them much. As for Kiev, we shall leave the choice to Vsevolod for now.”’

  ‘Grandmother, you are leaving me and it is not quite decided.’

  ‘I think it is very much decided. You will marry the Prince of Kiev. I am sure of it. I shall return to St Omer. And you shall go to Søderup and completely recover your health, my granddaughter.’

  Thea sank back into her pillows. Gytha was resolute and when she was so firm, no one quarrelled with her decisions.

  After Grandmother tucked her back in bed and she found herself drifting uneasily towards a weary doze, Thea’s last thoughts were, Poor Godwin. He was to be granted a hard bargain in return.

  Gradually, slowly, Thea recovered her strength, and both Gytha and Thea felt saddened that the two older princesses of Denmark had not been so fortunate. They remained in darkened chambers, still very unwell. Elizaveta said it could be worse, much, much worse, since there were not so many marks on their faces as to suggest their removal to a nunnery. They would still make great marriages.

  Edmund climbed the s
taircase thinking. ‘What now?’ He wanted to be away from this court. It was a miracle that Godwin and he, himself, had not caught the pox. They needed to sail south and soon. Gytha and Queen Elizaveta sat in the countess’s receiving chamber with Godwin, and King Sweyn. ‘Ah, here you are, Edmund. Have a cup of French wine.’

  Edmund declined. Sweyn waited until a servant had filled his own cup with honeyed wine and had discreetly slipped from the chamber before opening a discussion.

  The king popped a sugary sweetmeat in his mouth, chewed, swallowed and turned from Edmund to Godwin. ‘Your sister has been very fortunate to have recovered her beauty, more fortunate than Helene and Ragnhild.’ He leaned forward, setting his cup on a dragon-footed side-table. ‘Until the ambassadors from Kiev return to us Lady Thea can rest on my farm. It is a place with women who are skilled in everything she must learn if she is to marry well.’

  Godwin said, ‘So, Uncle, you agree that she will become wife to Vladimir of Kiev?’ Supporting his brother, Edmund nodded.

  Sweyn shrugged and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling beams. ‘We can all hope for the match. I shall do my best,’ he said. He smiled at Godwin and Edmund and looked jovial, as if this had been his intention all along. Gytha pursed her mouth. Edmund was sure it was not. However, apparently Sweyn would support her now if he might bring Godwin further into his sphere of influence. Poor Godwin, thought Edmund. Thankfully not me.’

  Godwin looked at the cross hanging on his cousin’s tunic. ‘You swear on the cross that you wear about your neck, lord King, that you will protect her and help her to this marriage with the Rus prince.’

  For a moment Sweyn’s smile vanished. Edmund thought he would not swear to it. The king was a religious man despite all his cunning. If he swore on the cross it would be binding.

  At last King Sweyn spoke, ‘I do.’ He lifted the jewelled cross that hung from his neck. ‘This was given to me by Pope Gregory when I was in Rome many years ago.’ He bowed his head, kissed it and swore to protect Thea. Godwin nodded. Edmund smiled as Gytha let out a sigh of relief. ‘We can hope for the Prince of Kiev,’ he said.

  Sweyn lifted the cup of wine, sipped a little and said with a bit of a gleam in his eye, ‘Godwin, you do not possess a wife. I hear that you are fond of my daughter Guttorm. Her mother was my concubine and I promise you a dowry for her if you will take her to wife. She is fourteen, old enough to wed. What say you?’

  Gytha bit her lip and turned away.

  Edmund wondered what Godwin would say now that Sweyn asked him directly. It was good for him to be connected to the Danish royal family and the marriage link would strengthen their position. Sweyn would continue his support for their cause. Surely Godwin must see it.

  ‘I have lands to recover before I think of a wife. Yet, I like her well enough. Maybe I could come to love her,’ Godwin replied.

  ‘Then it is settled. Elizaveta will speak to her.’ He reached over and patted his wife’s knee. ‘If you are to wed her when you return in the spring from King Dairmaid’s court at Dublinia then you must first make me a promise.’

  ‘Which is?’ Godwin said cautiously.

  ‘Loyalty, just that.’

  Godwin knelt and said, ‘King Sweyn, your grace, uncle, cousin, you have that already.’

  ‘I must be sure of it whether you win back your English lands or no. Your Godwin treasure can buy you a farm in Gotland, an estate as well as men and ships. Here, swear on the cross, as have I.’ Sweyn pulled his gold chain over his head and pushed the jewelled cross into Godwin’s hands. Godwin swore loyalty to Sweyn. Edmund noted that his brother did not actually swear to marry the Danish princess.

  ‘And now you, Edmund.’ Edmund hesitated, but he, too, followed his older brother’s lead. He swore to be loyal to the King of Denmark, his uncle and cousin.

  He had best keep his promise.

  Before the supper hour, Edmund watched as Gytha wrote a message to be sent to the Patriarch of St Sophia in Kiev. She used the dragon seal that had belonged to the royal house of Wessex to secure her letter. Giving it to Godwin, Gytha said, ‘This must go to Kiev with a gift, a great gift. Have you someone with whom we can entrust with this task?’

  He leaned forward from his stool. ‘I do, Grandmother Gytha, I have a ship travelling to the Vistula. It will be the last chance this season before the ice comes. From there my merchant travels south by Kiev to Constantinople. It is a long journey but if all goes well he will be there by Christmastide. What is the gift?’

  ‘It is a finger bone of St Nicholas encased in gold and crystal. Christmas will be timely. Are you trading, Godwin? You have never talked about it.’

  ‘Edmund and I have bought a ship with a merchant of Norwich who had the good sense to move his valuables to Denmark before he fought at Hastings. He survived the battle and escaped to his Dane relatives as soon as he was able to take ship from England. The merchant is a landless exile, much like us.’ Godwin sighed after he spoke of exile.

  ‘And you purchased this with …’

  ‘Ah, I was going to tell you, Grandmother. I used silver coin, a little of our treasure. There is still much, much, much more, safe in my friend’s warehouse, well-guarded by my own people. Thea’s dowry is intact.’

  ‘Well then, a sound position.’ Grandmother put her seal away in its velvet purse. ‘Two good ships and a share in another. What will your merchant bring back for trade?’

  ‘Spices, olive oil and silks.’

  ‘Do you trust this merchant?’

  ‘My father trusted him. He nearly gave his life at Senlac for our family. He forfeited his lands in Norfolk when he fought that day. If he fails me my house coerls will kill him. He will protect your letter and the reliquary. Warriors travel with him.’ Godwin tucked Gytha’s letter deep into his satchel. He glanced up. ‘Come, Edmund. We have a task to do for our grandmother.’

  ‘Grandmother, the reliquary will reach its destination,’ Edmund said in a gentle tone. He stood, kissed her rough cheek and took his leave.

  Thea complained ceaselessly. Although she was recovering, she felt despair not joy. ‘This red robe, I have no need of it now, Grandmother. It caused me to have terrible dreams.’ She had not forgotten her dream of a blood-infused wedding gown and the prince who looked like a jackdaw and who smiled down on her with pity in his brown eyes.

  Countess Gytha leaned over and propped her up with pillows. She gave her beer to drink. ‘Drink this. It will speed your recovery, Thea.’

  Thea grimaced. The beer was laced with bitter herbs. She swallowed and spluttered, ‘It is foul.’ Gytha handed her a napkin to wipe her mouth.

  Her grandmother had told her that Godwin had agreed to marry Guttorm, one of the detested princesses. How could he? And she was to travel with the fourth princess, Gunnhild, to Søderup, wherever that was. At least Gunnhild was the youngest of them and, away from Ingegerd’s influence, she might be almost tolerable. Padar and Gudrun were to travel with her too.

  As she had lain ill, others had planned her life.

  ‘And when do you depart for St Omer, Grandmother? Will I ever see you again? Will you ever return to us?’ She began to weep. Everyone she trusted except for Padar and Gudrun intended leaving her here with the Danes.

  Gytha said gently, ‘You and I, my precious, have been together since the great battle. Now I must think of my future as well as yours. You will marry soon, if not the Prince of Kiev then another great prince. Your uncle promises to protect your future. He swore on his cross. When you marry, you will travel far into a distant land. I am too old for such travel. If Sweyn fails us, I shall return for you. I promise.’

  Thea had to accept that. It was her wyrd, her fate, that she must make a great marriage. Since the ominous dream she was not so sure that she wanted Prince Vladimir after all. She wiped her tears away with her napkin. ‘When will you set out?’

  Gytha took her in her arms and embraced her. ‘Soon, my sweet girl; not before you depart for Søderup.’ She drew back and Thea s
aw concern in her grandmother’s pale eyes and on her brow. I must be brave for her sake. ‘I think you may be able to travel within two weeks,’ Gytha said quietly. ‘Lady Margaret and I must sail for Flanders before December grips us with cold and storms. You will not be without your brothers for long. Godwin and Edmund will return in the spring.’

  ‘It will be a sorrowful winter-tide without you, Grandmother.’

  ‘You will be in my prayers and thoughts every day, little pearl.’

  ‘And you in mine, Grandmother, for ever.’ Tears threatened again. She swallowed them back, and for the remainder of the afternoon they talked about how Padar would teach her more stories and songs, and of how he would watch over her as once he had watched over her mother, Elditha. The mother I lost, Thea thought, raising the linen cloth to dab at her eyes again, and now I am to lose my grandmother too.

  8

  Søderup, December 1068

  At the beginning of December, on a frosty morning with spider webs clinging to hedgerows, Thea sailed from Roskilde. It took a whole two days to travel back in the direction she had come from a month earlier.

  King Sweyn’s manor was situated on an inlet north of Schleswig where there nestled a special harbour for the king’s ships. After they disembarked they travelled through the bitterly cold countryside in a covered cart. Thea was swaddled in a fur cloak. Princess Gunnhild complained constantly that her father should have given her a fur mantle as well.

  ‘You don’t even look ill,’ she said nastily to Thea.

  ‘I wish I did not feel so tired all the time. You were fortunate to escape this pox.’ Thea turned to Gudrun, ‘And you too, Gudrun.’

  She archly turned away when Gunnhild, still muttering complaint, burrowed deeper into her cloak, a rich mantle which Thea noted was, in fact, warmly lined with sheep’s wool.

  The clip-clop of a horse drew up beside them. Padar peered in through the wagon’s curtain. ‘Is all well here?’ He glanced at the Danish princess, who scowled back at him.

  ‘Oh, has the milk curdled, Princess Gunnhild?’