First I have to give a convincing performance as Aina of Ségur to the Duke of Normandy and his household so that he will confirm the handover of the hostage and pay Olafr his pounds of silver. Then I need to find a way to convince Aina’s mother to support my deception. I have no ideas on this for the moment, but trust that something will come to me or at least that Melisende will see it is the best way to protect her daughter and her unborn grandchild. Aina has written a passionate letter to her mother, explaining our actions and asking her to help me. The small rolled letter is hidden inside the hem of my cloak. Then I will have to convince Guy that I am Aina, and avoid his sister, Adalmode. Would Guy know the difference I wonder. How would it be to marry him, to be his wife, if things should get that far. My wonderings on that second subject are not entirely unpleasant, but then my face falls, as I remember I will have to live a lie my whole life or until Thorgils comes to get me. I will have to lie in my every dealings with people, including my most intimate dealings with my husband. If it gets that far, is the refrain in my head.
Duke Richard sits alongside Gunnora and their sons and daughters, Richard the heir, Emma and Matilda, Robert who is Archbishop of Rouen and their youngest son, Mauger. The whole court teems with their kin. Gunnora’s brother Herfast, the Duke’s brother Rodolf, and the Duke’s very many illegitimate sons all hold important positions in the household. I feel alone and vulnerable amidst this horde.
A cleric, Dean Dudo is seated next to me and tells me he is visiting from the Vermandois court. Whispering close to my ear, he recounts the story of how the Duke first took Gunnora as his concubine. ‘Night had fallen whilst he was out hunting and he took refuge in the home of one of his foresters. Conquered by the needling frailty of pleasure-seeking humanity he lusted for the man’s wife, Sainsfrida. But Sainsfrida wished to be faithful to her husband so, in the darkness of the night she sent her unwed sister, Gunnora, to the Duke’s bed in her place.’ Seeing my interest in his tale, Father Dudo explains he is writing a history of the Duke’s family. ‘Duke Richard was first married to the sister of Hugh Capet, Emma, but she is long dead in childbed and gave him no living heir, so for the sake of the succession, the Duke married Gunnora and legitimized their children.’
I nod and let him continue. The less I say the less opportunity for error.
‘As you see, the Duke is blessed in his wife. She was the most beautiful of all Norman maidens and now as Duchess she is the most circumspect concerning public and civil affairs. She is well versed in the talents of feminine artistry, discreetly strong in richly fertile eloquence and profusely endowed with the treasure of a capacious memory. She is descended from the domineering Danish race,’ he says, nodding towards her, ‘prudent in her deliberations, devout, gentle, diligent and wise in every matter.’
I hope that his rosy portrait of the Duchess has some truth, as I suspect she will play a significant role in deciding whether or not to accept me and pay the ransom. The Duke is nicknamed The Fearless and this is a household where the master is respected by all around him.
‘A mountain would sooner withdraw or depart than the Duke’s words be fruitless,’ Dean Dudo tells me, passing a small silver bowl of salt to me. ‘You do not need to fear now, Lady Aina. Whatever the Duke promises he will abide, true. Whatever he offers will endure, unbroken.’
Richard’s oldest son is also enormously tall. Every time one of them stands up I find myself having to lift my chin higher than expected to follow the progress of their heads on their shoulders, thrust up so high they are on legs that seem impossibly long. This tallness, Dean Dudo says, was inherited from their ancestor Rollo who came from Norway and won the kingdom of Normandy in France from King Charles the Simple. Among the French the rumour is that the Nordmanni of Normandy are converted to Christianity but I see more evidence of continuing pagan practices around me than I see Christian worship. It is said that Rollo sacrificed one hundred Christians when he was on his death-bed to appease Odinn for his disloyalty in praying occasionally to the Franks’ Christ-god.
For now my masquerade is progressing well. My clothes are fine enough and everyone knows the pagani who held me hostage would have taken my jewels before returning me. I keep my serpent brooch carefully hidden inside the fold of my belt. Duchess Gunnora was expecting a red-headed girl and so I seem to do. The Duchess speaks with me of Ségur, of Lady Melisende and of Guy and is satisfied that I am indeed Aina. She whispers to me: had I been violated, and I tell her no, I am still a virgin.
The Duchess has me taken to her chamber and tells her two maids to strip me. ‘It will be alright, dear,’ she reassures me, seeing how embarrassed I am. The maids first remove my headdress and admire my hair. They unlace my gown and pull it down and ask me to step out of the encumbering layers of cloth, folding it carefully and laying it on the bed. I stand in my shift and hope they might stop there but they pull the shift from me and I am naked whilst the Duchess looks me over.
One of the maids seems to have no control of her mouth. ‘She has orange hair round her privates,’ she says. ‘She’s brown and spotty and white.’
‘Tut, Birgitta! You speak rudely. Please take no notice, Lady Aina,’ the Duchess tells me. ‘Birgitta is not altogether right in the head but she works hard.’ I look down at myself and the girl is right that my face, neck and arms are brown and freckled from the sun on the island and the sea voyage, whilst the skin of my belly and thighs are as white as a nun’s wimple.
‘Your red hair is glorious, Lady Aina,’ Gunnora says. ‘I heard it was so.’
‘Tis lovely, lovely hair,’ Birgitta grins at me, standing a little too close for my comfort. As the maids redress me, Birgitta giggles all the while like a small child, and I have to make an effort to stay my fingers from helping the maids with their task, since I am a lady now.
We return to the Duke sitting in the hall, and the Duchess tells him in a loud voice that everyone in the hall can hear: ‘Her breasts are well-sized, but the girl has borne no child. You can see that from the pinkness of her nipples.’ The Duke nods, and I drop my eyes, feeling the intense heat of my face.
They ask me about my kidnappers. ‘Did Olafr Tryggvason offer you no rudeness,’ asks the Duke in a sceptical voice, one eyebrow raised.
‘No sire,’ I say not having to feign how abashed I am. ‘He kissed me goodbye once with too much liberty, and I thought at first he might take me to his bed, but for the most part I was treated with respect and honoured.’
‘My son, Richard, will convey you to your husband tomorrow, Lady Aina, with an escort of my best men,’ the Duke says.
‘Thank you, my Lord. I will be overjoyed to see my mother and Lord Guy after all this time.’
‘I’ll authorize the shipment of the Viscount’s silver to Olafr’s man, Jarl Thorgils, who is waiting off-shore,’ the Duke tells the Duchess, and I feel an emptiness through to my core at his words.
I lie down on the best soft bed in the castle, staring at the canopy above my head and thinking I will never be able to sleep, but I wake the following morning – the beginning of my new life as Aina – having slept soundly for hours and hours. I realise that by now, Thorgils is gone and Aina is far away.
21
Bellac
991
Adalmode sat on the top step leading down to the courtyard to observe the training. Watching her husband and his men was a far cry from her early experiences of anxiously witnessing Guy’s inept fumblings as a boy at Montignac. Audebert and his household milites presented a well-drilled unit, expert in all their weapons, expert as individuals and as a combined force acting as one to orders. It was a pleasure to watch such competence, but a fear as well. Landless men flocked to Audebert’s courts, seeking his service as he moved between Périgueux, Bellac and Roccamolten. There were strong rumours of war and where there was war such men could prosper. The news from the north was that Fulk of Anjou’s castle building progressed well and he achieved small military successes against both Blois and Poitiers.
A peddlar came yesterday and brought them news of the northern court. Bishop Adalbero of Laon had betrayed the Carolingian Charles of Lorraine to King Hugh Capet. Charles was imprisoned now with his three-year-old son. Many lords were grieved at King Hugh’s treatment of Charles, who was the last living branch of the line of Charlemagne. Duke Guillaume in Aquitaine briefly took arms against King Hugh in protest but he had been easily defeated and forced to make peace. Hugh’s son, Robert was rumoured to be desirous of repudiating his wife Rozala and marrying his cousin Berthe but his father opposed it. These events seemed distant from them and yet Adalmode knew their ripples could reach to touch both Audebert and Guy. Fulk was closer to the politicking in the north and whatever impacted on Fulk was likely to impact also on Audebert. She envisaged them all like a line of precariously balanced dominoes.
That night Adalmode watched Audebert undressing before coming to her bed. She focussed her gaze on his mouth. It was a large mouth with a thick bottom lip and a pronounced bow in the top lip. If she could somehow close his startling eyes out of her view, all of his features offered her some interest: his mouth, his long straight nose slightly bulbed at its end, the black hair that feathered at his neck rising above his collar. But his eyes always dominated his face and one’s view of him. Only when his eyes were shut was it really possible to see the rest of him. He sat on the edge of the bed to unlace his boots. In her thin nightgown she knelt up behind him as close as her large belly allowed and put her hands over his eyes. She turned his head towards her and lent around to study him as he laughed at her. The dimple in one cheek when he laughed was still there. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Nothing. Nothing. Just looking at you.’ She took her hands away and watched him fold his clothes and place everything neatly in order on the chest. He was always ordered, everything in its place.
‘So Fulk is gearing up for war, building more castles,’ she said.
He nodded but did not look at her.
‘It’s not your fight, Audebert.’
Now he did cease his concentrated preparations for bed and looked into her eyes. ‘Yes it is.’
‘You just need a fight, any fight.’
‘Perhaps you are right.’ He looked down again winding his sword belt around his sword.
‘Am I to wait all these years to marry you then and be widowed?’
‘Have more confidence in me, Adalmode, do!’ he laughed, flipping the quilt to one side and climbing in beside her, silencing her with a kiss, curving his hand on the rise of her stomach.
She often tried to speak with him about his imprisonment, about its effects on him now but it was a subject he spoke of with great reluctance, only tolerating the topic for a short time before breaking off. Both his parents died whilst he was in the dungeon, robbing him of the opportunity to be received back by them, to be reassured they did not believe him guilty of Helie’s crime. So much of his life had been taken from him. The sense of the stolen years of his imprisonment, when his life was on hold, was buried deep but still there. She felt it all the time. He would never simply return to normality. The huge cost in physical suffering had been assuaged, replaced in time by the luxuries and health of his life now, but the emotional trauma scarred his mind and his heart, and could sing in his sinews at any time and at any unexpected trigger. It was there in his vast sense of injustice, in his need to be always moving, never confined in a small space, in his need for vengeance, but against who? Helie whose crime had put him in the pit and who had abandoned him there, was dead. Her father Gerard who had put him in the pit and kept him there was dead. The old Duke of Aquitaine, Guillaume IV who had ordered his captivity and refused his father’s entreaties for mercy had entered a monastery and was likely to die soon. Audebert needed an enemy, he needed to escape whatever situation he was in. He needed, always, out.
22
Limoges
991
My ride with Richard, the Duke’s son, and his men, took four days. We stopped at monastery guest houses or the homes of ally lords along the way. We rose daily at dawn and our horses swished quietly through wet grass. From high hills we watched the morning mists wreathing the valleys, slowly dissipating to reveal rivers, and woods laced with laburnum. ‘They say a squirrel could cross the country by swinging from branch to branch and never have to touch the ground,’ Richard told me. As the sun climbed the sky, the ochre rocks began to reverberate with heat. We rode past the dark wrinkled trunks of chestnut groves and on a mountain summit looked down on an abyss of air. Our horses rocked carefully from knee to knee down the steep paths and occasionally one hoof would slide on loose stones, causing the horse to have to save itself, and the rider’s heart to thump at the risk of tumbling over the edge. In the valley we had to wait for shepherds passing up country with their flocks. A goat stood on its hind legs to chew at the tender lower leaves of a beech tree and was prodded on with the goatherd’s long stick.
Now as we approach the city of Limoges there is a dust cloud on the road ahead of us and soon we see that a great procession of people has come out to meet us, carrying tall wands, festooned with flowers and little bells. Guy and his household are riding at the head of the crowd. He reins his horse alongside mine. He is a tall, thin man with brown hair and brown eyes, richly dressed in dark brown brocade and grey fur. The planes of his face are sharply angled. It is a face that looks as if it has collided together rather than being softly sculpted, yet I find myself interested by it, tracing its unlikely tilts and slants.
‘Lady Aina!’ he exclaims. ‘Welcome home at last!’ His glance slides over me but does not linger. I murmur my thanks in a quiet voice. Have I passed this test?
Riding through the city gates, all the church bells are pealing for my return and people come out of shops and houses to wave and cheer at us. ‘Felicitations on your marriage, Viscount!’ one woman yells from the crowd and he smiles in her direction. ‘Godspeed Viscount! Viscountess!’ There are kindly shouts all around us and it seems Guy is well-liked by his citizenry. They are pleased to see his betrothed wife returned to him at last. I feel glad and sick at the same time, a monstrous imposter.
We clatter into the courtyard of the Motte where Richard hands me from my horse and up the steps and ceremoniously transfers my hand to Guy’s. I will be discovered now for sure. Guy kisses me formally on my cheeks three times. He is a little taller than I am and I am taller than Aina, so beneath my skirts I bend my knees slightly to mask any difference he might perceive. ‘Thank you for your deliverance of me Lord Guy,’ I murmur.
‘You must be very tired from your ride,’ he says. ‘My sister Adalmode wanted to be here to greet you but she is in the travails of birth now at Bellac.’ I hear the anxiety he feels for her in his voice.
‘She is wed to Lord Audebert, then?’ I ask, remembering their desperate passion in the dark in Brioude.
‘Yes,’ Guy says and there is warm affection for his sister in his tone whenever he speaks of her. ‘My younger sister Calva is here to take care of you, before our wedding.’
‘Thank you.’ I keep the relief from my face. Calva has never met me. She will not know that I am a great liar.
‘I fear we are a small wedding party. My mother too was unable to come to Limoges. She is unwell and my other sisters are caring for her. Archimbaud of Comborn and his wife, Lady Sulplice, have agreed to stand witnesses for us.’
‘Never mind it, my lord,’ I t
ell him, again relieved that I do not know Archimbaud and his wife. ‘The main parties are here finally.’
He laughs and I realise that he too is feeling nervous. ‘My mother?’ I ask.
‘She will be here on the morrow. You must be very anxious to see her and I know she is coming with all haste to clasp you in her arms in joy. I thought we would wed tomorrow? When she is arrived and you are rested?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ What would Aina do now I am thinking – but then realise with a suppressed smile, that Aina would probably do something she ought not to do, and it would be best not to follow that model too closely! I turn to Richard. ‘Thank you for your great kindness in conveying me here safely. Will you stay for the wedding my lord?’
‘Indeed, I will,’ he tells us. Guy’s steward is waiting to make arrangements for Richard’s horses and to give refreshments to the road-weary men.
In the hall I sit with Guy and take a glass of wine to clear the dust from my throat. He is smiling but his expression seems vague and disconnected. Perhaps he is starting to doubt me. I cannot look him full in the face. He asks me: ‘No Sigrid?’
My heart leaps at his words as at first I misunderstand his meaning and then slowly calming myself, I say: ‘No she decided to stay with her countrymen. I miss her terribly.’ I feel the truth threaded through my lies, thinking of Aina and hoping she is well with her swelling belly without me.
‘Of course, you do,’ Guy says, briefly placing wide brown fingers across the back of my hand, but then he quickly lifts his hand away, as if he is unsure how I might welcome it. ‘We must find you a new maid but I know Sigrid was more than that to you. Perhaps I might fill a little of the gulf of lost friendship you are feeling?’
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