Adalmode skipped past a smiling guard in the passage, one hand balancing her weight and the other clutching the bladder of good wine her mother had sent her to fetch for the exulted visitors to their chambers, the Duchess of Aquitaine and Lady Blanche of Gévaudan. Adalmode gazed in awe at the ladies’ fine clothes and jewellery when they arrived: Emma’s red wool cloak was lined with soft white fleece and her green silk tunic had intricate gold thread running around the hem, cuffs and neck.
Lady Blanche had stroked Adalmode’s cheek, ‘What a beautiful child,’ she said to Rothilde.
Aldamode was entranced by Duchess Emma’s curly brown hair, her slim fingers glittering with heavy rings, gesturing to accompany her ardent speech. She was speaking to her mother of politics, the Pope, inheritances and marriages. When Adalmode handed over the wine, she planned to sit quietly on a stool with her sewing and hope that her mother would not dismiss her from the conversation, or perhaps she could offer to mind the Duchess’ young son. She reached the door of her mother’s chambers, bringing her feet together in the cessation of her rapid skip, placing her palm on the door to push, but then drew her hand back as she heard her name pronounced:.’.. to Adalmode?’ It was the Duchess’ voice. ‘Yes, she has grace and beauty.’
Adalmode’s mother laughed softly in reply to the Duchess’ question, but there was an earnest note in her voice when she spoke. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘There’s only nine years between them. This handsome child will be a handsome man soon enough.’
Adalmode drew back a step from the door in surprise. Baby Guillaume and her! They were talking about betrothing her to the Duchess’ little son. She knew her parents were bound to start thinking of her marriage soon and for the last year she had been examining the sons of visitors, expecting her husband to be one of these young men, but a baby! She hadn’t considered that. She placed her palm on the door again but still hesitated. It would be a good marriage of course. Baby Guillaume was the heir to the throne of Aquitaine but it meant that she would be twenty-four or more before the marriage could take place and her betrothed husband would not be a strong, exciting man but a small child. Adalmode frowned. She would be Duchess of Aquitaine, but she did not like it. What about Audebert? She had imagined him released and envisaged her marriage to him over and over again. She pushed open the door and walked in, handing the wine bladder to her mother and giving her an angry glance at the same time. Her mother looked away guiltily from the ferocity of Adalmode’s green gaze.
The Duchess, it seemed to Adalmode, was looking her up and down, appraising. Adalmode held her arms out to the boy on the Duchess’ knee.
‘Thank you child,’ his mother said, hefting him into her arms.
Adalmode sat glumly on a stool looking at the fat child, who looked as glumly back to her from large, serious brown eyes. She tried to imagine him as a full-grown man but it was impossible. He had a sour, fruity odour. After some time, the nurse rose to take the child from Adalmode but the boy began to wail piteously as he realised he was being removed, holding a chubby hand out to her.
‘He likes you dear,’ said her mother and Adalmode suppressed a scowl. Lady Rothilde turned back to her conversation with the Duchess and Lady Blanche: ‘What is the news here? Is there still a threat from the north?’
Having fed him some sweetmeats, the nurse deposited the fat child – her husband-to-be! – back on Adalmode’s lap.
‘Now that Aquitaine has an heir,’ the Duchess glanced fondly at young Guillaume, ‘our House is secure. My husband’s behaviour, however …’ she said to Rothilde shifting to a more conspiratorial tone.
Adalmode served the ladies wine, knowing that this visit was a good sign and perhaps her brother’s ploys were about to pay off after all.
‘My, how he likes you,’ Duchess Emma said as her son attached himself to Adalmode’s skirts and would not let go, even though he was hampering her movements with the wine jug, hanging onto the fragile fabric of her gown with fat little hands. Unable to shake him off without physically injuring him, Adalmode sat down near her mother instead, causing him to sit on the floor beside her, still clutching the fabric of her gown in his fist, his eyes turned adoringly upon her.
‘This Doctor Madelme is a man of obscure parentage and such as he should not be elevated to become counsellors of princes,’ Emma said with disgust to Rothilde, who agreed emphatically. Emma said nothing of her husband’s open affection for Viscountess Aldearde.
‘What do you think of this mooted marriage between your brother and the heiress of Ségur?’ Blanche asked Adalmode, but without waiting for her reply, continued, ‘My own brother is overbearing. He allowed me no choice in my husband you know and married me off when I was much younger than you are now.’
‘Oh,’ said Adalmode, but again there was no real chance to engage with either of Blanche’s opening conversational gambits, before she launched into several more.
‘What do you think of Raymond, the Count of Toulouse? This is the first time I’ve met him and he seems a very fine man don’t you think? Have you heard of this scandal of the Queen?’ she barely paused for Adalmode and Rothilde to respond by shaking their heads. ‘Her brother-in-law, Duke Charles, has accused her of adultery with Bishop Adalbero of Laon.’
Rothilde expressed shock at the news.
‘These scandals do not touch us here,’ said Emma with tight lips, ‘for the French King does not rule in Aquitaine.’ Her implication was plain: that she and her husband ruled in Aquitaine.
‘I hear that King Lothaire’s only son, Louis, is a simpleton,’ stated Blanche, but again, before Rothilde could think how to respond, Blanche rushed on: ‘Tell me Lady Rothilde do you have any more beautiful daughters at home? I have two sons.’
Rothilde looked more comfortable now, on ground that she could cope with. ‘Why yes, Lady Blanche, I have three more daughters besides Adalmode here, who is my eldest …’
Adalmode looked into the supplicant eyes of the small, fat heir to Aquitaine who had managed to squirm his way up her leg and onto her lap, where he was twirling his chubby finger round a hank of her hair which he had dislodged rather roughly from her headdress. She pondered on the three women she had encountered here: Duchess Emma, the powerful wife working in alliance with her equally powerful brother to control her husband; Lady Aldearde, the loved concubine, her honour sold by her brother; and Countess Blanche traded by her brother as a child to an elderly husband. She wondered, if Guy’s plea was successful, how would she ever learn to cope with such noble conversations and company.
In the evening Adalmode gave Guy an account of the ladies’ visitation and he rolled on the bed laughing at her portrait, concurring with her opinion that it was a very good sign. ‘If the Duchess has any sway over her husband …’
‘I’m sure of that,’ interrupted Adalmode.
‘Then I think he may grant our request,’ finished Guy.
‘Have you listened to her?’ Adalmode said. ‘The Duchess commands anything in her path – the sea, the air, certainly any mere men.’
Guy laughed and agreed with her assessment.
‘And will the Duke release Audebert of La Marche at this Assembly?’ Adalmode asked.
Guy, knowing his sister’s fondness for the prisoner, explained gently: ‘When he was alive Count Boso of La Marche was here at the Assembly every year making a plea for the release of Helie and Audebert, but now that he has died and Helie has escaped and is on his way to Rome seeking expiation for his sin, no one is here pleading for Audebert.’
Adalmode looked aghast. ‘But if Audebert is reliant on Helie for his release, I think he will die there in that hole in Montignac.’
Guy shrugged but seeing the miserable look on his sister’s face thought better of it. ‘If father’s wish for restoration to Limoges is granted, then he will probably release Audebert.’
Adalmode face brightened. ‘Really?’
‘Well if Duke Guillaume wishes it so, yes, why not? What does anybody have to gain by keeping
him captive now?’
The next morning Adalmode resumed her heavy jewellery, met with the inspection and approbation of her father, and followed him and Guy into the hall to hear the decision on their plea, but there was no sign of Duke Guillaume. Instead Duchess Emma sat next to her husband’s empty throne, with her son perched on a stool at her feet. There were nobles and many other people present as usual but in lesser numbers. Adalmode’s heart sank. After all Guy’s efforts this did not auger a positive outcome.
‘My husband is unwell,’ said the Duchess and indeed the noise of his carousings had resounded throughout the palace the night before. ‘However I will stand in his stead and complete the business before this mallus, this court of justice. On the matter of Limoges,’ she paused at length to wait for Gerard, Guy and Adalmode to step forward, ‘my husband and I decree that, being inspired by divine clemency and the love we bear our vassal, Gerard, the Viscounty of Limoges and all its honours shall be returned to you and your heirs henceforth, on condition that the marriage with Aina of Ségur is contracted as proposed.’
She paused to hear the delighted thanks of Gerard and Guy and inclined her head graciously to them and to Adalmode, whilst little Guillaume held his arms out towards Adalmode and she bent to kiss him, searching for a clean spot on his sticky cheek.
‘You and your son will swear your allegiances before us tomorrow on the holy relics and we will have a notice drawn up, read out to the court, and subscribed by us, yourselves and several witnesses.’
Guy and Adalmode led their dazed father from the room and took him up to their mother’s room to explain the sudden and wondrous change in their fortunes. Gerard and Rothilde wept and clasped each other, and Adalmode wept too with the relief of it. Please, she wished earnestly, looking at her father’s happy face, please let Audebert out.
The following day, Duke Guillaume reappeared, his face slack and grey, his eyes red-rimmed and glazed. He presided over the transfer of power in Limoges from Ademar of Ségur to Adalmode’s father, symbolized by the ritual exchange of a staff painted in the colours of the city. When this ceremony was completed they witnessed the formal trothing of Guy to Ademar’s ten-year-old daughter Aina, who looked so disgusted with the situation and with the sapphire ring that Guy placed on her little finger, that Adalmode was grateful her brother was unable to see the expressions of his promised bride.
7
Ségur
Winter 975
I look up from the loom, startled as the door bangs hard against the wall, slammed back as Aina hurtles into the room.
‘I know it will be tonight!’ she declares. Even in the gloom of twilight I can see the excitement glowing on her pale face and in her wide grey eyes. She tugs her head veil off, leaving her mass of dark red hair dishevelled. Since her tenth birthday we had known that her parents would soon decide about her betrothal. As she is Ademar’s only child and heiress, lords from Normandy, Brittany and Barcelona had offered for her, because of the wealth her father amassed from his trading fleet and his custodianship of Limoges, and her father had been considering those offers.
Aina had me assist her in casting book lots to tell which lord would be her future husband. We had to fast and pray for twenty-four hours. I prayed to Freyja that Aina’s marriage wishes might be granted, and perhaps that the goddess might see fit one day to give me a good Norse husband too. Then Aina lined up three copies of the bible in front of us and opened each one randomly. ‘Hmm …’ She studied the passages revealed.
‘Who told you about this method of divining?’ I asked. ‘It seems more pagan than Christian.’
‘The cook and don’t be silly, it’s the Bible. Sshh! I’m thinking here.’
I looked at the passages which seemed to me to say nothing at all pertaining to Aina’s future husband.
‘Barcelona!’ she pronounced, turning to me, her face alight.
‘How do you make that out?’ I frowned.
‘It’s obvious, Sigrid,’ Aina sighed at me as if I were a half-wit.
But then Aina had been appalled to find herself betrothed to Guy at the Duke’s Easter Assembly. ‘Just Guy of Limoges!’ she exclaimed afterwards in the privacy of the chamber with me.
I looked at my mistress alarmed. ‘Lord Guy seems to be a good, kind man, Aina … You might like him.’
‘Yes, but him as my husband, Sigrid! That’s not going to happen. He lives five minutes away!’ said Aina, as if this were a gross offence.
At the Assembly the betrothal took place so quickly that Aina had no time to protest, but ever since she has protested a great deal. ‘Father, I do not wish to marry Guy of Limoges,’ she told him as we sat one morning in the hall.
Ademar looked up from his tablet in surprise and set down his stylus. ‘Aina?’
Aina looked at me perplexed. I could see that she did not know how to go on.
‘Tell me why, Aina,’ her father said gently.
‘I hoped to marry further afield,’ she said. ‘Those other offers you have received for me – perhaps one of those would be better and I believe that Guy would not mind too much you know. I am just a child to him. I would see something of the world. I am your daughter, after all. I long for the wind and the salt of a voyage.’
‘And haven’t Sigrid’s stories of the dangers lurking there warned you off travel,’ said Ademar, his face turning serious.
Aina was silent for a while, thinking perhaps of my stories of murder and slavery. ‘I don’t think Guy is right for me,’ she said eventually, clearly irritated at her inability to articulate what she longs for.
‘Aina,’ Ademar said and I heard the firmness in the voice of her usually indulgent father, and knew that the conversation would soon be over, ‘I believe that Guy is right for you. Give it time and you will see that too.’
‘Yes, father,’ she said, hanging her head so that he would not see the extreme disappointment washing over her face.
Ademar looked at the shiny red top of his daughter’s head and at her tall, willowy figure in her rich green gown. She had been cossetted by his wealth. She had no idea of the dangers that lurked outside the walls of Ségur. ‘If I had been blest with more children,’ he said, ‘with a son, then your future might have been different. You might have had more choice of your husband but I need you to do my bidding in this child.’
‘Yes father,’ said Aina, ‘but please won’t you at least consider the possibility of breaking this betrothal and arranging another that I would like more?’
Ademar could resist his loved daughter very little. He knew he should not give her hope but her grey eyes looked back at him so earnestly. ‘I will consider it, Aina, but the Duke has commanded it. I have given my word and you have given your troth. I will not likely change my mind, or your chart, on this.’
‘No, father,’ said Aina, trying to keep the intensity of hope out of her voice and face. ‘I will wait for your consideration.’
With Aina it was always the way that no matter how unrealistic what she wished for might be, nevertheless she believed with a passion that it would happen. Being sensible is over-rated she liked to tell me.
‘Consider those three women we saw at the Poitiers court,’ I said to her, ‘Duchess Emma – the powerful wife, Aldearde of Aulnay – the loved mistress of the Duke, and Blanche of Anjou, the Count’s sister married off to an old man. Which of these three would you like to be?’
‘Aldearde!’ she responded immediately, raising her eyebrows provocatively at me, knowing that I had meant her to answer Emma.
I scowled. ‘But this Aldearde has no power, no rights!’ I tried to point out to Aina that her father could not go back on the agreement made before the Duke, that her betrothal was to do with the politics of the men and not with her feelings or even her father’s affection for her, but she took not the slightest notice of my advice and instead grew in her own mind the very, very slender hope her father had unfortunately planted there.
‘For sure, it’s tonight. I heard him say as mu
ch.’
‘What did you hear exactly?’ I ask in a measured voice, deliberately trying to slow down the conversation and bring it to reasonableness.
‘He was talking over his shoulder to Mama, as he came out of their chamber. He said, “It’s settled then. I will tell her tonight and I believe she will be happy with …” and then,’ Aina rolls her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, ‘he heard my skirts rustle and turned and saw me there. “Papa,” I said innocently. “Darling Aina,” he said, “I didn’t see you there. Run along and don’t be late for supper.”’ Aina pauses and looks expectantly at me. ‘Well, what do you think?’
I look down at my hands holding the weaving batten in my lap, weighing the evidence and then nod slowly. ‘Yes that sounds likely then,’ I pronounce.
‘Come on, Sigrid!’ Aina bursts out impatiently. ‘Of course that’s what it is. He says I will be pleased. Where do you think I will go?’ She pauses only briefly to allow me to respond. My mouth has merely opened, before she hurries on, ‘Normandy do you think? Brittany then? But I still think Barcelona.’
‘Well my lady, I don’t know …’ I begin.
‘Imagine, Sigrid, I could be on a ship, sailing the sea, like you did! I could learn a new language like you.’ Aina is breathless with delight and expectation but I swallow hard at the grim memories her words evoke.
‘I hope that you will not have to leave everything and everyone you love,’ I say.
‘Oh Sigrid, I’m sorry.’ Aina flops down on the cushioned chest at the foot of her bed, deflated, annoyed with herself for such selfish tactlessness. She leans back against the high mattress and furs piled behind her. ‘How thoughtless of me. It’s not the same at all, I know. How could I?’
I know that my mistress’ remorse is genuine, but it is fleeting, quickly displaced by excitement at her marriage prospects. I watch the emotions fly across her face and bite my lip. ‘Don’t guess, Aina, don’t wish so hard,’ I caution. ‘Wait and see. All this thinking and hoping. You will make yourself disappointed.’
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