‘Is that Aina?’ said Guy, looking up to a window where a woman stood with tendrils of red hair flying in the breeze.
‘I think it’s her maid,’ Adalmode said.
Guy groaned, his face flushing at his remembered error in Brioude.
I watch as Lord Guy rides into Ségur with his brother, sister and a retinue of twenty knights. At the last Easter Assembly in Poitiers Lord Ademar’s sickness gained on him fast, his roundness fell from him and he looked like a skeleton in his bed. The Duke’s Italian physician recommended a treatment of doves’ dung applied to the soles of his feet, but within a few days Aina’s beloved father and my kind master died. Melisende went to the Duke and Duchess to take our leave and in the Great Hall of Poitiers I felt the eyes of the court upon us and heard the gossiping begin: ‘Sick for a long time … betrothed to Limoges … Northwoman … slave.’ I held my head up and ignored them.
Ademar gave me my freedom when I reached my 21st birthday, despite my continuing refusal of Christian baptism. ‘We never thought of you as a slave, Sigrid,’ he said, ‘and we never could. I understand that you want to adhere to the beliefs of your father, but I hope in time to you will come to love Christ.’ He gave me a gift of furs and cloth to mark my freeing. I always wear my silver serpent brooch at my shoulder, fastening my cloak and I hang my keys and thimble from it, and still, around my neck beneath my clothing, is my iron Thor’s hammer, the mark of both my slavery and my former life before I came to Ségur.
Lord Ademar’s shroud was tied at the top of his head and at the neck to keep it in place and his body was roped to the cart for his last journey home from Poitiers to Ségur. Now there is nothing for it: Aina must marry Guy, and I must prepare to leave this place that I have loved. Perhaps the move to Limoges is the signal for me to leave, to find my way back to Norway, to find my brothers, but I am torn now between hankering for a home I can barely remember and my great love for Aina, who will need me in her disappointment.
I run down the stairs to the kitchen to rejoin the work of preparing for the feast. I am skinning a hare when my name is called. Hurriedly I wipe my hands and stand up to face Melisende expectantly. ‘I need you in the solar,’ she says and I follow her out and back up the staircase.
In Melisende’s chamber Aina is standing in a near-transparent white shift with a flimsy white cloth draped around her shoulders, bunching in piles at her feet.
‘Hold this end, Sigrid, and help me,’ Melisende says. ‘We need to pin it firmly to her head like this. We want Lord Guy to only catch the merest glimpse of his magical future wife.’
Despite the sulky mood that Aina has sustained since Guy’s arrival, she laughs at her mother’s description. Aina is twenty-three and has grown into a beautiful woman, tall and slender. Her skin flushes easily. Her hair hangs in a long shiny chestnut waterfall, loose down her back underneath the veil which Lady Melisende is pinning in place arranged around a thin gold circlet. The fine opaque cloth cascades from Aina’s head to her feet, silkily caressing her curves. The outline of her thinly-clad body is vaguely visible through this white outer covering. When her daughter is suitably arranged, Melisende and I pull our own veils over our faces, and she signals to the servant to admit Guy. I can feel Aina’s nervousness emanating from her.
Guy and his sister come into the chamber, accompanied by their priest who will bless the impending marriage. Through the thick veil Aina is looking at the tall, awkward man in front of her.
‘Lord Guy,’ Melisende says and they bow formally to each other, ‘May I present to you my daughter Aina, soon to be your wife.’
He stands a few feet in front of the quivering mass of textile.
‘Lady Aina,’ he says, bowing, and she inclines her head.
The look on Guy’s face is hard to comprehend. His expression seems perhaps contemptuous, his eyes screwed up and lines engraving his forehead. Despite her coverings I realise that Aina must be feeling exposed. I suddenly remember the shame of being purveyed by buyers at the slave market. Aina is a bed-slave in a way. I see her shoulders trembling and the toes of her slippers trilling up and down on the tiles, her breath coming fast through the veil covering her face. Guy clears his throat and Aina startles at the sound. He seems uncertain what to do but eventually steps close and fumbles for her hand, giving her a small box as a gift, whilst the priest intones his blessing.
Guy steps back from Aina. ‘Excellent,’ he says, nods, turns, and strides from the room. Melisende kisses the top of her daughter’s veiled head and follows Guy, Adalmode and the priest from the room.
‘Sigrid, I am humiliated!’ Aina bursts out as soon as the footsteps can no longer be heard on the stairs, slamming the gift box down hard on a small table that rocks in response to her emotion.
I throw back my veil and give an eloquent sympathetic look to my friend. ‘What is it?’ I ask, pointing at the gift.
Aina tugs the fine fabric from her face and head, as if it were cobwebs encumbering her, and steps out of it. ‘I care not. This is like a shroud.’
‘Shall I open the box for you?’
‘No.’
I shrug and when it is clear she does not wish to speak further, I hurry back down to the kitchen to tell everybody about the scene I have just participated in.
‘Could you see much of her?’ Guy asked Adalmode.
‘She was heavily veiled so not really,’ she said. ‘But she has red hair, beautiful red hair,’ seeing Guy screw up his nose, ‘the colour of a chestnut, shiny and the deepest of reds. It extended beyond the bottom of her veil so I saw that. She has long white fingers.’
‘Yes I saw that myself,’ he said, having had to peer quite closely to make sure he was putting the box into her hands, with his gift of a green emerald necklace that would look fine with the colour of her hair. He had heard her breathing rapidly. ‘Did you see the colour of her eyes?’
‘No. But I saw that she was slim and tall and graceful.’
‘Grey, I think, as I remember from our betrothal when she was a child,’ said Guy, disappointed that this was all he knew of his future wife.
Adalmode strummed the lute for Aina and Sigrid, singing a lyric from Al-Andalus and watching the pleasure on their faces. Aina’s cheeks and throat were pink, framed by the heavy red of her hair. Her movements and speech were quick and emphatic. The Norse maid, in comparison was calm, serene even, her graceful neck bent always over her sewing. The maid’s skin was ruddy and her hair was a lighter shade of red than Aina’s. Adalmode had spent all day in Aina’s chamber, sewing, listening, contributing to the conversation. At first they were wary of her but as the day wore on they grew accustomed to her presence and forgot that she might have her own reasons for the visit.
Aina talked guilelessly of her desire to travel, to see exotic places, and she boasted of Sigrid’s adventurous early life. ‘But now,’ she said, ‘Sigrid’s sewing never leaves her hands without reason.’
Adalmode watched the indulgent way in which the maid received her mistress’ description of her. She had the measure of them now. Sigrid was cautious and devoted to Aina. Adalmode knew that as soon as the words, ‘my brother’ crossed her lips they would draw back so she decided to try a different tack and see what information that might elicit for Guy.
‘I am in love with a man who would show me adventure,’ she said, ‘but my father has refused him my hand many times.’
Aina lent forward and her eyes grew round. Sigrid’s incessant needle stilled and she looked up.
‘Who is he?’ asked Aina.
‘Audebert, Count of La Marche and Périgord,’ said Adalmode proudly, but as she said his name she began to regret her ploy, that she should bring her pain out into the open before them.
‘I have heard of him,’ said Aina. ‘He is reputed to be a great warrior.’
‘He did not commit the crime against Canon Benedict,’ Adalmode stated defensively. ‘It was his brother’s act.’
‘Of course,’ said Aina.
‘He h
as offered for me over and over again, but my father refuses. Audebert says he will marry no one but me.’
Aina looked even more excited and Sigrid was studying Adalmode’s face with interest.
‘But why does your father refuse? ‘asked Aina.
‘Two reasons. There is bad blood between my father and the La Marche household, since my father used his capture of Helie and Audebert to regain the favour of the Duke of Aquitaine and his viscount’s throne with it.’
‘What was his brother’s crime against the Canon?’ asked Sigrid.
Adalmode tutted. Of what significance was that now, but she told the story nevertheless. ‘Soon after the time when the Counts of Poitou and Toulouse and Duke Capet were all warring for control of Aquitaine, Helie, the son of the Count of La Marche took a warband into the lands of the Count of Poitou, looting in the monasteries left ruined and devastated by the Norse invaders. Excuse me,’ she said rapidly to Sigrid, remembering that she was Norse.
‘It is simply truth,’ Sigrid responded.
Adalmode watched the way that Aina lent forward on the edge of her seat at her story, her hands clasped and her mouth slightly open, showing how interested she was. If her brother could win this passionate woman’s heart it would be a great prize, but she was doubtful. She continued, ‘By chance they came across the priest who was kin to the Count of Poitou and had an armed escort. Mistaking them at first for a warband like their own, they slew the escort and then Helie, discovering who his captive was, panicked, and blinded the Canon, thinking to save himself from recognition and accusation.’
Aina gasped.
‘That was stupid,’ said Sigrid.
‘Yes. It was a heinous act that gave impetus to the Peace of God Council. My father and my brother Guy hunted down Helie of La Marche for his crime and took him captive, and Audebert with him. My father held them captive for a long time in the dungeon of Montignac stronghold and I grew to know and love Audebert in that time of his misery.’ She paused to allow this image to sink in and watched the passionate empathy burning on Aina’s face.
‘Could you help him?’ asked Aina. Every child had looked down into a dungeon and shuddered at the thought of spending even one night there, let alone years.
‘He said I helped him by visiting him and talking with him. I gave him blankets, food and wine when I could, a manuscript once or twice. Despite being in that awful, hopeless situation for so long he was kind to me and asked me about the small problems of my life – my lessons, my new gowns, the bullying and jesting I endured from my younger brothers, problems that were as nothing to his.’ Adalmode’s eyes filled with tears and Sigrid lent forward and clasped her hand.
‘He is out now,’ Sigrid said, ‘and this grief is over.’
Adalmode felt comforted by her solidity and her evident understanding of the suffering Audebert had endured. She struggled to remember that she was telling this story not for her own relief but to help her decipher Aina’s character for Guy.
‘What is the second reason?’ asked Sigrid.
‘My father intends to betroth me to the son of the Duke of Aquitaine,’ Adalmode said morosely.
‘But this is also an excellent marriage,’ Aina said.
‘Yes, I suppose it is, but Aina I love Audebert and he loves me, whilst Guillaume is still a mewling boy – nine years my junior. I would have a man,’ she said defiantly and watched Sigrid mirror her own resistant pose.
Aina did not shift her pose. ‘Either marriage will bring you wealth, power, position,’ she said and Adalmode knew now that Aina did not love another man and did not know love. ‘Aquitaine more so,’ Aina continued, thinking it through, ‘and they will both be fighting men,’ she said brightening at this thought, but then slumping deflated again, ‘whilst you will sit at home sewing and making babies either way.’
Adalmode stayed long enough to allow Aina and Sigrid to make their comforting comments on her dilemma and then took her leave and hurried back to Guy to share her insights. ‘So.’ She pulled him to sit down close to her. ‘I’ve spent the whole day cooing and sewing with your bride.’
‘Thank you Addy,’ he smiled. ‘Does she hate me?’
‘She said nothing of you but don’t despair.’ She watched the droop of his expression. ‘I can tell you this about her: she longs for excitement and adventure; she wants to see something of the world; the thought of merely childbearing and homemaking does not make her content. You must let her see how you would involve her in your politicking and rule and how that could be exciting. Tell her you will take her on pilgrimages every year, to Jerusalem and Santiago, everywhere.’
Guy grimaced. ‘But I don’t want to do that! ‘he protested. The challenge of coping with travelling was unappealing: getting on and off boats and horses, negotiating unknown environments. Aside from combat, this was Guy’s worst nightmare.
‘You don’t have to actually do it,’ said Adalmode pragmatically, ‘just tell her you will. She doesn’t love another man so there is no reason why you shouldn’t win her heart.’
Guy smiled vaguely at his sister. ‘You love me but how can I win Aina’s love when I can barely see her features to engage her in conversation?’
‘Don’t neglect the Norse maid,’ said Adalmode. ‘She is astute and greatly loved and relied on by Aina.’
‘Perhaps she will discern the problem with my vision.’
‘Perhaps, but she is not cruel. If you can win her admiration she will bring her mistress with her to you.’
‘Thank you Addy as always,’ said Guy, buckling his belt and preparing mentally for another social ordeal.
From the window Adalmode watched Aina and Sigrid walking in the enclosed orchard below. She saw the vivid colour of the girls’ heads beneath their veils, contrasting with the surrounding greens and blooms. She saw how Aina constantly broke away and ran ahead, whilst Sigrid paced evenly, bending now and then to cut a bloom for her basket.
12
Saint Michel en l’Herm
June 988
Aina has been sulking for days. I keep my head down and sew. Guy and Adalmode left two days ago. The marriage must take place now. There is nothing to be done and best to be stoic, surely. Aina slams shut the book she has been reading. ‘I can’t stand it!,’ she says for the tenth time this morning.
‘Aina, there is no point,’ I begin.
‘But I can’t bear it, I will go mad if that is all. If my horizon is the five miles from here to Ségur. Where’s that map that Father Dominic showed to us last year do you know?’
Minutes after consulting the map, Aina is leading me down to talk with her mother in the hall. ‘Mother, I wish to ask a favour of you in preparation for my wedding.’
‘A new gown?’ Lady Melisende asks, looking up with a smile.
‘No. I wish to go to the monastery of Saint Michel en l’Herm.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘To pray for fertility and blessings on my marriage. Can I do that? The monastery and the feast day of the Apostles – it would be auspicious. I must get a male heir,’ says Aina slyly, knowing full well that her mother feels her own failure to do that keenly. I look at Aina in surprise – at the proposal, and at her use of this leverage. She is desperate for some last few days of freedom.
‘Very well,’ her mother says slowly. ‘Sigrid and Father Dominic will accompany you and a detail of guards. I will go ahead to Limoges and wait for you there.’
‘Thank you Mother,’ Aina says demurely, and turns to beam a secret gleeful expression at me.
Aina and I move around the castle making sure every candle has been blown out and every fire and oven is cold, putting away precious tapestries and carefully folding clothes, closing up parchments and objects in chests to protect them, making sure the spigot is tightly shut off, and the wooden shutters pulled and barred at each window. I think about the rituals of coming and going and imagine us returning and reversing all our actions – throwing open shutters, hanging sheets and quilts from the windo
w to air, but realise that we will not be returning, at least not for some time, and when we do, Aina will be Guy’s wife. I have tried to point out to her that the Limoges household and the tensions and competitions between Guy and Adalmode’s many siblings (seven brothers and four sisters in all) will surely present her with an interesting challenge, but she remains disappointed in her marriage.
Our summer ride to Niort is pleasant and we break our journey, staying a night at the Abbey Guesthouse, and then travelling on to the island Abbey of Saint Michel en l’Herm, planning to arrive the day before the feast of the Apostles towards the end of June. Saint Michel en l’Herm is not exactly an island, but rather a piece of land between two rivers and a marsh. From the top of a small hill we look down on the monastery and out towards the sea beyond the marsh. ‘Oh Sigrid how wonderful it would be to set out on that blue swell.’
‘It’s not so wonderful,’ I say. ‘A lot of people puke. Quite a few more fall overboard and drown. Or there’s a big storm and the ship breaks in half and everyone drowns.’
Aina tuts and smiles at my pessimism. Despite my words, I too am longing to set sail on that enticing ocean. It is the first view of the sea I have had for many years, since Ségur is far inland. We take deep breaths of the salty air and watch clouds scudding fast, competing with their shadows on the waves. The longing I feel is physical, in my hands, my stomach, my knees, my feet. Every part of me wants to be swaying on a longship, holding a rope, squinting at the sun and wind.
We set our horses downhill towards the salt flats, where rivers and streams wend and glitter. Aina points out to me the bent back of a monk on a donkey ahead of us, crossing the marshes. One of the streams we cross is in spate, brown and muddy from recent rain. The water is full of swift debris: branches ripped from trees, mats of vegetation making small moving islands. As the horses start to ford we are surprised to find how deep and cold the water is for this time of year. The small pack pony flounders and begins to panic, thrashing and whinnying in the water. Two of our leather bags come loose from the pony’s pommel and float in the current, bobbing away from us.
Viking Hostage Page 15