by Nerys Jones
Suddenly he sat bolt upright. Godiva! Why was his mother in Winchester? No one had explained that to him. She had no business being here, for this was no pleasure trip or saint’s pilgrimage that Lovric was undertaking. Pleading with the king was men’s business. He looked at his father’s sleeping back. The old fox was hiding something; keeping secrets from him again. And he expected to be trusted? Fury took hold of Alfgar and he struggled to get out of his blankets. Moments later he tiptoed out of the room and went into Agatha’s little cupboard of a sleeping space. He shook her awake and closed his hand over her mouth.
‘I am going,’ he said. ‘When my parents rise, tell them I’ve gone – I’m on my way to Peterborough.’
Agatha bit his hand and wrenched his fingers away. ‘No, I won’t,’ she growled. ‘That’d get me into trouble. Get the porter to tell them. Get off me now. Leave me be.’
In answer Alfgar took her head in both his hands, kissed her hungrily and let her fall back into her bed. Then, in a swirl of dust, he was gone.
Agatha lay where she was, her heart pounding, longing for him to come back, do more and show her what it was like to be unvirtuous, wilful and on fire with life. But then, as ever, came the crushing memory of her mother’s cautions, ringing in her ears and telling her, over and over again: you are only a lady’s maid, Agatha, and very lucky to be that. So no high-jinks for you, my girl, just duties and minding your manners. Remember that. If some lad comes interfering with you, slap his face and curse him. Courting and all that – it’s for the lords and ladies. Ladies like Godiva, thought Agatha, and for a moment she felt bitterly jealous of her beloved mistress, she who had buried one husband and gained a better one, who was admired by handsome young Bret, and was even, it seemed, sought after by the king. Oh, fortunate lady, so rich and fair, so loved and loving, what a joy her life must be! Agatha shed a few tears of self-pity and invoked her guardian angel: ‘Angele dei, qui custos es mei,’ repeating the prayer several times over, until her eyes grew heavy and she sank into the remnants of her night’s sleep.
Five
Late in the morning, much later than she started work at home in Cheylesmore manor, Agatha pushed open the window beside the door to Godiva’s chamber and rubbed her eyes in sleepy disbelief. After weeks of rain and overcast skies in Coventry, the sight of busy, sunlit Winchester dazzled and disturbed her. She started to fret at once. What on earth would her lady wear today, on her first public appearance in this royal burgh? Lovric had said last night that they should stroll around with him next day and take in the strange sights of the town, for it would occupy their minds until they were able to see the king and plead for Harry. Godiva had agreed, though without much enthusiasm, Agatha noticed. Now, with this summery weather, she would feel even less inclined to walk around with Lovric and grow all dusty, hot and bothered. All her good, proper dresses were long-sleeved. At home she wore them only briefly on warm days, but here in Winchester and this inconvenient royal hostelry she would be stuck in them all day long and by afternoon she would smell like a cat. Goddamit, Agatha murmured to herself. If ever her mother heard of that, she would box her ears.
The memory of Bertha scolding and slapping everyone during spring-cleaning sharpened her wits. She must have included something suitable for a day like today. Agatha brightened up and set off to find out where these light clothes might have gone.
Two hours later Godiva stood at the threshold of the hostelry, waiting for Lovric and wondering what to do with the rest of the morning. Thanks to Agatha’s enterprise, she was now arrayed in a sleeveless, narrow, pale-green tunic made of lightest linen lawn, her hair dressed in two golden coils that covered both ears like a pair of iridescent shells, and a necklace of small pearls falling between her breasts. Around her forehead sat a thin silver filet from which hung the flimsiest of white silk veils that fluttered away in the soft breeze, covering nothing at all of her neck and shoulders. A passing monk paused in amazement as the word ‘naked’ formed in his mind, and crossed himself to expunge the image of those two creamy, slender limbs that hung from near the woman’s breasts all the way down to that secret grove where Eve had wrought the destruction of mankind. He crossed himself again and hurried away, unnoticed by Godiva, who was frowning with displeasure at the strong, dazzling sunlight.
The maid was once more a very worried girl. Godiva was in a bad temper this morning and had refused to accept a little silk stole from Agatha, saying that she wouldn’t wear it and was sure to lose it. She seemed oblivious to the impropriety of revealing her bare arms so boldly, though she covered them up all the time on Sundays in St Mary’s, Coventry. Was she showing off? It was a possibility, thought Agatha, for she had Lovric with her and she always made a show of herself for him. Then again, she probably didn’t realize exactly how she looked. There were no large mirrors here, and it was a long time since Godiva had seen herself in this thin dress. Agatha wanted to say something to her, but couldn’t find the words. How do you tell your mistress that she looks like the Fairy Queen? Or the Virgin herself? It was impossible. No, it was up to the earl to have a word with her, and if he didn’t then it was no one else’s business.
But Lovric, who could not understood why monks these days wanted to hide the beauty of women so thoroughly, seemed delighted with Godiva’s appearance when he arrived back at the hostelry after some early business.
‘My love,’ he said, and stroked her bare arm, rather too sensuously in such a public place, thought Agatha, looking away and wondering why the earl’s well-known discretion seemed a bit tattered this morning. ‘Come and stroll in the sunshine with me,’ he continued. ‘Let’s put our troubles aside for a while.’
Godiva just stared at him. She still had not got over her annoyance at Alfgar’s abrupt dawn departure with no farewells.
‘Do come, Eva,’ Lovric persisted.
‘All I want is an audience for you with the king, and for me with the queen,’ she replied. ‘And then I want to go home.’
‘It will be soon. Today or tomorrow. Try to worry less, Eva. Come out and enjoy yourself . . .’
Godiva examined him critically. He seemed a bit flustered, as though his early morning business, whatever it was, had not gone too well. His determination to have some fun seemed forced. But that was his way when he was under pressure. Sulkily she nodded assent to the proposed walk through Winchester, and took his hand.
Well, that’s that, Agatha sighed. At least with Lovric accompanying them everywhere like a big old mountain, no one would dare insult Godiva’s bare arms.
They set off in a tight little knot – Lovric and Godiva arm in arm, and Father Godric and Agatha following behind – huddling together because it was strange to be amongst strangers without a big band of their own armed men protecting them. Lovric still had his insignia and his sword, and people made way for him, knowing him to be a high-ranking lord. Yet even he seemed diminished, like all the other important men in this royal burgh, whose followers had to sleep apart from their leaders and go about unarmed.
In order to feel more like his usual self, Lovric issued a constant flow of orders to look at this, look at that, go here and go there. Thus, without having thought about it, they found themselves quickly in the busiest part of a street that bisected what seemed to be the commercial quarter of the city. Here there was scarcely a monk in sight, but there were lords and ladies, common people, traders with stalls, cooks selling snacks, and entertainers of all sorts, dancing, tumbling, miming and making music. Everywhere they went there was raucous noise and tumult, laughter, shoving and shouting. Lovric forged ahead, making a safe path for the others, and not looking in the least where he was going. Soon they had reached a place where the crowd thickened and stood in one place, staring ahead. Rising above the general din that filled the square there could now be heard a persistent drumming and along with it, in time with it, an unearthly grunting. As they approached, people respectfully made way and then closed behind them, and soon they were caught at the front of a
crowd that was watching, so people said, the very first dancing bear to come to Britain.
It was a terrible sight. The bear, following its instincts, kept trying to raise its head to smell whatever scents came to it on the air, but a ring sat in a hole in its nose, a sore and bleeding hole at which its keeper kept tugging, making the creature bow down unnaturally and submit to his commands. The bear shuffled pitifully, moving its huge legs in time to the beat of a drum being played by an expressionless little girl who sat on the ground nearby. Nothing less like dancing could possibly be imagined, nor was there anything funny in the spectacle, and yet people around them were jigging about and laughing. Someone poked Agatha in the arm and told her the bear had just arrived from the Magyar court, where the king’s kinsman was a prince. It is a Russian bear, said the man, and in Russia there are bears prowling round all the villages. They capture them and make them dance, to teach the peasants to laugh at them instead of fearing them.
‘Come,’ said Lovric. ‘This is Edward’s idea of pleasure. It is what he’d like to do to his earls, I’m sure.’
Gladly all four pushed back towards the rim of stalls that lined the street. For a few minutes they examined the various goods that were on display, and Godiva noticed with disappointment that everything on offer in Winchester was far superior to the goods that arrived at her market in Coventry. The glassware had fewer bubbles and the colours were more varied and intense. The leather was softer and the patterns stamped onto the skins were elaborate and multicoloured. She bought a pair of ordinary shoes quickly, for she knew Lovric would not stand around for long while she hesitated, and then she regretted it, because she could have bought just such a pair for less in her own market. Next she went over to a stall where pieces of carved walrus ivory were on display. Here she chose a small comb for Agatha, as a gift for all her good service and because the girl owned nothing of any value. There were several large and intricately carved combs at the stall that she admired and thought of buying for herself, but hesitated at the price, even when the trader tried to goad her by telling how Queen Edith had bought several of them only yesterday, including some old ones that everyone thought were ‘Roman’. But Godiva refused to be impressed and drifted off towards a jeweller’s stall where several prosperous men and women were examining a display of decorative pins for fastening clothes. Here she chose a delicate silver brooch for holding together light wraps and shawls like the one Agatha had brought along for the walk. She put it on and Agatha was relieved to see that now Godiva’s upper arms, at least, had disappeared modestly beneath an embroidered white silk stole.
Irritated by the constant reminders of how petty and poor her own town seemed compared with the glories of Winchester, Godiva was now as ready as Lovric to leave the market and do something else. As they edged through the last knot of people in the market-place throng, an avenue opened up before them. Down this road in the distance they could see and smell round, shining rumps and tossing manes. It was the horse fair, and from beyond it came the sound of men shouting and animals shrieking.
‘Let’s go there,’ Godiva said. ‘We need new blood-lines amongst the breeding mares at Cheylesmore. And we could bet on the cockfight or the dogs.’
Lovric was all for this, and had just started looking in his coin bag to see how much money he had on him, when someone tugged at his sleeve.
‘My lord,’ said a lanky youth in tattered hose. ‘Ivar Haraldson would have a word.’
Over by a stand selling hot bread stood a very tall man. He turned, and Lovric saw that he was looking once again at the face of his Icelandic friend, Ivar quick-tongue, his companion on many nights beside camp fires on the wilder borders of the Danelaw.
‘Still on the run?’ Lovric laughed as he and Ivar embraced.
‘No. I’ve made my peace with Ragnar, paid him all the blood-money he was due, and even shook the bastard’s hand.’
Ivar smiled, showing his broken soldier-of-fortune teeth, but his slanting blue eyes glinted dangerously. Suddenly he turned towards Godiva, bowed briefly and looked quizzically at Lovric.
‘Your woman?’ he asked. ‘The one you pined for so much? I can see why.’
He kissed her hand with a tenderness that was so at odds with his general roughness that Godiva blushed and felt a lurch in her heart, followed by instant shame. This was the second such blush recently and she hoped that it meant no more than that she was coming to that age when women often felt flushed for no particular reason.
Lovric, with his back turned, saw nothing amiss. ‘Yes, my woman Godiva,’ he replied, turning and putting his arm round her shoulder and pulling her close. ‘Yes, this is who I pined for. But you, man, were pining too – for a girl called Inga and a farm at Hella. Why aren’t you back there with your sheep and goats, in the place you said was paradise?’
Ivar laughed. ‘I was lying. There was no Inga, just an Irish slave called Brigid who will never be mine. As for Hella, I’m not rich enough to buy land there. To tell the truth, I’ve become so good at lying I’ve decided to stay in England where liars can always find a good lord. The pay I get for my stories here is better than what I can make from sheep in Iceland or even Greenland.’
‘Are you a scopman now?’
‘A skald, as we say at home.’
‘Then,’ said Lovric, ‘you are also a bearer of news?’
Ivar shot his old friend a sharp look, for the true meaning of his question was, ‘Do you still spy?’
‘You could say that,’ said Ivar, stepping back a few paces so that Godiva couldn’t hear him. ‘I need a new lord,’ he whispered. ‘Quickly. And I need to get out of this part of Britain. Can you commend me to Alfgar?’
‘So, the word is out, is it, about Alfgar’s movements?’
‘Can you help me?’ Ivar repeated.
‘Does that mean I’m aiding a fugitive again?’
‘Not this time, friend. I have some gambling debts, but not with the sort of men who are within the law.’
‘You’ve kept your old vices,’ said Lovric, ‘and I suppose you’ve kept your old virtues, too.’
He took off a ring he often wore on his middle finger and passed it unobtrusively to Ivar.
‘Show this to my captain, down in the housecarls’ quarters, and get a horse from him. Go to Bristol and lie low. Alfgar will get there soon. Show him the ring, and give him this.’ He passed a purse to Ivar and another for the Icelander to keep himself.
‘But, Lovric, I’d heard Alfgar was off to Peterborough.’
‘He is, but not for long. I’ve sent a messenger after him; from Peterborough he is to go to Bristol, then west to the Welsh coast, and beyond. You’ll go with him.’
‘Those are deep waters, old friend,’ said Ivar, frowning.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not in rebellion, not yet. I’m just making my plans, in case . . .’
‘Does she know what you’re up to?’ Ivar glanced at Godiva.
‘No. No one does. I’m giving out misleading instructions to my men, until the last moment.’
Ivar nodded, looking again at Lovric’s beautiful wife. ‘Be careful with her. She still trusts you.’
‘Yes, but she doesn’t pry. Godiva is sensible . . .’
‘Even so, she could start to feel deceived. And once a woman grows distrustful . . . take care, old friend.’
‘I know my own wife,’ Lovric snapped, ‘and she knows me. She knows I can’t tell her everything – for her safety as well as mine.’
Lovric noticed one or two well-dressed Norman youths nearby, watching them with interest.
‘Walk with us now towards the horse market,’ he said, taking Ivar’s arm and steering him back to his little group. ‘My lady wants to buy a mare, and then she wants to bet on the cockfights and the dogs.’
Ivar bowed again to Godiva, and then, being a common man himself, to Agatha and Father Godric. ‘No,’ he demurred, addressing Godiva. ‘Today is not a good day for going to the old serfs’
town, where the g
aming rings are. They put up a new gallows there last week and they hanged a thief last night. The body is still up, and men are drinking beer and looking for the mandrake root in the soil that has hanged-man’s-seed in it. It’s an unseemly place for womenfolk now. They’ll cut him down at nightfall, so you could go tomorrow, lady, to buy your mare.’
Ivar excused himself and disappeared as quickly as he had come to their attention.
Godiva and Lovric, each preoccupied, turned silently back towards the centre of town, in the direction of the grand cathedral. It was time for a midday meal and they walked towards the hostelry, followed by Agatha and Godric, all of them keeping an eye open for somewhere more aromatic and less austere than the king’s guest quarters, somewhere in which to find undiluted ale, good food and perhaps some fine company as well. Around them dozens of people with accents from all over England, as well as Normans, Danes, some Irish and a few Welsh, were going in and out of inns that seemed to occupy every other frontage on the long street.
They were on the verge of entering a promising establishment that Lovric remembered from his last visit to Winchester, when a beautiful woman, not unlike Godiva in stature and complexion, stepped out of the door, paused before them and seemed about to greet Lovric. On seeing Godiva, however, she turned away.
‘Wait,’ Lovric called after her. ‘Estrith!’
The woman hesitated, but then came back to the door of the inn. ‘The ale in here is watered down,’ she murmured. ‘Let me show you somewhere better.’
She led them round the corner and into an establishment run by servants of Earl Godwin, where Estrith said they would be well fed and well received. She smiled cautiously at Godiva, and then asked Lovric to step outside again to have a word with her. A few moments later he returned without her, and Godiva, annoyed and puzzled that there had been no introductions, raised her eyebrows.