Adalmode looked up towards a commotion in the doorway. Please God, don’t let me have to deal with him just yet. But it was his mother instead. The maidservants were parting and bowing before her like rushes before a new river cleaving its path.
‘Clean this mess up, quickly,’ Emma commanded the midwife with her usual lack of softness. ‘You have not eaten properly during this pregnancy,’ she told Adalmode. ‘You cannot fast and at the same time give the Duke an heir as is your duty.’ She stopped short of accusing Adalmode of deliberately causing the miscarriage. ‘Or perhaps you are simply too old for childbearing.’
Part of Adalmode wanted to argue, but she was exhausted and weakened and instead she turned her face away, refusing any discussion. In a few days time when she had recovered her strength, she could return to her ongoing battle with her mother-in-law. Adalmode had left the running of the ducal household itself to Emma, along with all matters ecclesiastical, but she had insisted firmly from the first day that she, as the new Duchess, would manage all civic matters, along with her husband. Adalmode had years of experience as first Guy’s, and then Audebert’s chatelaine. Guillaume had looked trepidatious at first at Adalmode’s defiance of his mother, but then seeing that Adalmode did not mean to give way, he bolstered her position, at last able to claim some of his authority himself from his mother. Emma, for her part, was aging and knew that she must cede something to her son’s new wife, and so they had found an uneasy compromise.
Next week was the anniversary of Audebert’s death and Adalmode was determined that she would be recovered enough to ride to Charroux. Nothing would stop her – not Guillaume and not his mother. She determined that she would persuade Guillaume that he needed to go on another pilgrimage, that her failures to give him an heir were the fault of his crimes, his actions had induced such grief in her that she was barren, and she would suggest that he repudiate her. Then she could return to Guy and Bernard in Limoges, even if it meant declaring herself a house-nun, and she was sure from her kind letters that Aina would make her welcome.
Adalmode recovered quickly and was able to take her seat again in the hall with Guillaume to receive the messages of the day. ‘I am glad to see you recovered,’ she told him politely.
‘Oh! And also you,’ he stumbled, looking with concern at the paleness of her face. ‘Yet, we must hope that you will do better next time with your marriage debt to me,’ he said, not looking at her now. ‘I had hoped you would carry that child. My mother tells me it was a boy.’
Adalmode suppressed her anger at his callousness and her disgust at the knowledge that her poor body must take him again and again until she produced an heir. She gripped her hand tightly around her fist beneath the table.
‘Grim news from Anjou,’ Guillaume told her.
Adalmode looked at him with interest and saw him scowl. She knew that he resented her continuing concerns with anything that was not him or his: her interest in Audebert’s compatriot, Fulk, in her brother Guy, in Guy’s son Ademar who they were fostering here in Poitiers.
‘Count Fulk’s wife, Elisabeth of Vendôme, has committed treason against her husband. She attacked his holdings in Bourges in league with her father, Bouchard and Eudes of Blois.’
Would she have undertaken such a drastic betrayal if it had been a happy marriage, Adalmode wondered.
‘Fulk has burnt Elisabeth at the stake,’ Guillaume continued in a neutral tone, studying Adalmode’s face, ‘and he has declared their eleven-year-old daughter Adela illegitimate.’
Adalmode blanched. Burnt her and disowned her daughter. Since Audebert’s death Fulk had hardened. He was a successful ruler and commander, but any mercy seemed shocked out of him.
‘Fulk is already in negotiations for a new wife who might bear him an heir,’ Guillaume said meaningfully.
Adalmode ignored Guillaume’s implication and resolved that she would write to Fulk, asking him on Audebert’s memory, to send his disinherited daughter, Adela, to her. Along with Guy’s son, Ademar, her household could at least be filled with other people’s children. She was torn between the strong desire to leave Guillaume or to remain in the world where she could do more good for her son, her brother and others that she cared for.
If it had not been for Adalmode’s recent intercessions over the matter of Brantôme for instance, Guy would have suffered a great deal more difficulty. Guy had been at war with Boson of La Marche, disputing the rights to Brantôme. Adalmode accompanied Guy to the battle camp to act as his eyes, since his wife Aina was encumbered with their small sons. Guy suffered a minor wound in the fighting but he had prevailed. She was pleased to watch Boson surrender to her brother and Guy took Bishop Grimoard of Angoulême, who had supported Boson in arms attacking Brosse, as a hostage, against future behaviour. Brosse had been their mother’s holding and indisputably belonged to Guy but the Bishop had attempted to annexe it. Guy imprisoned the Bishop in the dungeon at Montignac where Audebert spent four years of his life. It had all gone well for Guy until her husband, Guillaume decided to join the dispute, siding with Boson and besieging Guy’s castle of La Brosse and the monastery of Le Sault.
Then complaints by other clerics had been made against Guy to the Pope, protesting the Bishop’s incarceration. Guy had been summoned to Rome and found guilty in his actions against the Bishop and obliged to do penance and free Grimoard in exchange for his oldest son Ademar as a hostage. Since Adalmode had already agreed to take Ademar as her foster-son, and had reassured Guy and Aina that he would be treated well in Poitiers, this was neither here nor there. A pact of forced friendship was made between Guy and Grimoard and Guy would go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, accompanied by his brother Hilduin in a few months time. Guy had needed Adalmode’s intercessions in these events and she held on in her unhappiness with her husband for the sake of those she loved.
At the beginning of this year Guillaume had called another Peace Council in Poitiers and hosting the occasion had kept Adalmode busy. Bishops Siguinus of Bordeaux, Gilbert of Poitiers, Islo of Saintes and twelve Abbots with their saints’ relics had come. In addition to the peace they had condemned priests cohabitating with women and taking remuneration for penance. All Guillaume’s vassal lords attended, the lords of Aulnay, Châtellerault, Maillezais, Thouars, Lastours, Lusignan, Parthenay and Vivonne and swore oaths to uphold the peace. Her brother Guy did not attend from Limoges because he was still on the way back from Rome with Hilduin, where he wrote to her, they met with the new Pope Sylvester.
At the Aquitaine Peace Council the purported End of Time was on everyone’s lips and religious fervour gripped both the clergy and many lay people. Abbo of Fleury detected an error in Bede’s calculations of the End of Time, claiming it would be 1004, but others claimed it was 1033 on the basis that it would be a thousand years after the Passion of Christ, rather than the Nativity. Adalmode and Guillaume heard the story that at Pentecost, Emperor Otto had opened Charlemagne’s tomb and found the body of the great king uncorrupted, seated in his armour on a great throne. ‘Many have taken this as a sign of much significance,’ Guillaume told Adalmode earnestly.
If it was the End of Time she considered, she could join Audebert, and if not, an end at least would come soon enough for them all.
34
Kelda Ey
1001
When the news came to Aina on Kelda Ey it was bleak. Olafr had lost the battle at Svold and all his ships, including The Orm, were captured by Jarl Erikr. Norway had dropped from Olafr’s hand. He would not be taken alive and had leapt overboard to his death. There was no news of Thorgils, but Aina knew it was unlikely he would have survived Olafr. He would have fought to the end to defend him. When Aina heard out what news there was she sat unmoving on Thorgils’ throne in the long hall on Kelda Ey for six days and nights.
‘Aina, you cannot continue like this,’ Ragnhild told her gently. ‘You will take ill. You are ill. Look at you: pale as snow, thin as a whip. You must decide what we should do now. Shall we put on black mourn
ing and make a pyre and service for Thorgils, proclaim Ulf our new Jarl?’ Ulf was eight but confident. He could step into Thorgils’ shoes with Aina’s support.
‘Not yet,’ Aina said, and sat for three days more, taking only bread and a little wine to sustain her and thinking all the while through her memories of her husband, longing for Sigrid to be there and comfort her, to grieve together. Not yet, she said, every time Ragnhild, Morag, or her son tried to remonstrate with her.
On the tenth day a messenger came over the sea from Dinbych-y-psygod in a small boat and Aina had him brought to her. She wanted to run down to the beach herself to hear it from his lips there on the sand where she had lost Sigrid also, there where Thorgils had laboured so long and often on the boats. She wanted to be able to fall with her face in the sand when the news cut into her mind like the sharpest chisel, but she could not rise from the carved chair on the dais, his chair. She had eaten and drunk so little for so long, there was no power left in her legs and arms. She could not raise herself. So Ulf brought the messenger into her and he knelt now before her. ‘Speak quickly and true,’ she said.
‘Lady, Lord Thorgils commands me to tell you he is arrived safely at the court of Powys and will return to you here as soon as he is able.’
Aina tried to speak but found her mouth and tongue would not obey her will. She gaped at the messenger.
‘He lives?’ asked Ulf in disbelief.
The messenger looked around him in surprise, only belatedly aware of the import of this news on his audience. Understanding now, he looked back brightly to the ill-looking lady sitting before him.
‘Jarl Thorgils lives Lady, for sure! He sent me with this letter to you with his own hand and seal.’
Ulf took the letter and carried it to his mother. She read it quickly and it told her no more than the messenger already had himself, and yet she saw that it was indeed Thorgils’ seal. He told her only that he was uninjured and would be with her soon. Aina let out a great cry and fell against her son sobbing.
‘Come, mother,’ Ulf said gently, wreathed with smiles at this news of his father. ‘You need to be looking yourself when he arrives. Father will not want to see you so wan and unwell. Fetch food and wine for my mother and this excellent messenger here!’ he called out to the waiting people who thronged the hall, pushing and shoving at each other to get closer to the front and know for sure the news of their Jarl.
Aina took many days to recover from her grieving but she was looking better, in her finest clothes, as she stood on the beach watching the ship approach. Not The Orm. That was gone with Olafr, but another small ship that her husband must have loaned or bought on his way home. Aina heard the groans and shrieks of dismay of several women behind her when they saw that Thorgils jumped down from the ship alone. None of the warriors he had set sail with stood on the beach alongside him. Reunited with Thorgils, Aina did not know whether to cry, kiss, or hit him in her relief and fear for him, and he laughed at her confusion, whilst also looking anxiously at how thin and pale her face looked against the abundance of wine-dark hair.
As soon as Thorgils was refreshed and a feast was preparing about them, Aina would have the telling of Thorgils’ story but he made her wait until the meal was before them and all the household were seated in anticipation. Amidst the eating and drinking Thorgils began the tale: ‘I found Olafr at the head of a breidr floti, a broad fleet, on his huge new ship, The Long Serpent, south off the mouth of the Svoldr. As I approached I admired how high the ship sat in the water, how her stems were loaded with gold decoration and fine carvings, and her sides slung with many fine war-moons – the warriors’ shields, how such a display would intimidate the enemy; but I also worried that such a large ship was not so nimble to maneuver, not so flexible in the water. I stood on the front deck of The Orm and drew my ship up alongside until I could see Olafr there, looking down on me. He said nothing.’
Thorgils paused and every face in the hall was turned to him expectantly. Would Olafr reject Thorgils’ remorse and send him away? A thin black cat with mange marring its fur took advantage of the still hush to venture to leap onto the table in front of Ulf and lick at a half-finished dish. ‘Off!’ Aina flapped her hand and the cat leapt back down, racing for the doorway before the hounds could raise themselves to go after her.
‘I opened my mouth and spoke to my friend,’ Thorgils pronounced. ‘“Olafr, my drottinn, my lord, I come to deliver you back your ship, the little Orm, if you will have it, and your drengir here upon it.” There was silence and Olafr continued to look down on me and then he turned his gaze one at a time upon each of the men who had sailed with him since he was a boy and finally looked back to me. If his mood was still unforgiving, these men would pay as well as I.’
There were groans and cries from the people in the hall and especially from the widows and lovers of the men who had not returned with Thorgils.
‘Then he took us by surprise, leaping down into The Orm and into my overwhelmed embrace. “Thorgils!” Olafr cried. “You do not desert me in my greatest battle! My heimpegi, Thorgils, always my closest friend and my greatest warrior and helmsmen. I will take back The Orm and I will take back Thorgils and Toki and Gormr and all of you.”’ Toki and Gormr’s widows smiled at Thorgils through their tears. ‘He swept his arms around to include all the crew in his gesture and then each of us approached him one by one to receive his renewed kiss of friendship. I was shocked to see, close up, how Olafr had aged in the few years of our separation. His long blond curls were whitening and thinning at the back of his head. There were lines on his handsome face.
“It is hard to be a king, Thorgils,” he told me. “When I was just a leader of our small war-band, now that was fun.” The old Olafr flashed briefly in his face.
“Why do you stand battle here?” I asked him.
“It was the advice of Jarl Sigvaldi Strut-Haraldsson.”
“That bent-nosed Jomsviking! You trust him!”’
Thorgils’ listeners exploded with laughter at his assessment and Thorgils paused, waiting for the laughter to die down, swigging from his goblet and setting it down on the table with a bang, for their resumed attention and hush.
‘“No, perhaps not,” Olafr told me.
As we rounded the headland we saw a vast fleet before us. The ships of Jarl Eirikr, King Sveinn and the Swedes greatly outnumbered Olafr’s ships. “The bastard! He has lured us into a trap, Olafr!”
Olafr nodded his head and I saw a muscle work briefly in his jaw. He drew his sword and set his face to the enemy. Leif and I exchanged glances. Outnumbered in this way we should have turned and fought another day, but Olafr never ran from a fight and his enemies had connived to take advantage of that virtue.’
Aina watched the people in the hall bow their heads. They knew what was coming.
Thorgils continued: ‘We rowed to bring the ships close to the enemy, broadside on, side by side, clashing shields on the shield rails, they were trying to encircle and isolate The Long Serpent. We lashed the ships together to provide a fighting platform, tying the stems of the three ships. The enemy boarded, hundreds attacking and coming over the sides howling, trying to empty the ships. Olafr shouted to us that each of us should fall one across the other rather than give way, and so that is what we did.’
Thorgils paused solemnly and look a long draught from his drinking horn and then spoke rapidly: ‘We slashed with swords, chopped with axes, shot with arrows, parried with shields, tried to kill and not to be killed, reddening our weapons and piling up enemy corpses for the delectation of the three beasts of battle. We were forced to retreat the length of the ship, stumbling over the thwarts, with many a well-loved warrior sinking under the blades. Whilst we had weapons we fought on. The drengir fell one by one on the deck – Leif, Toki, Skogi, all.’
Aina’s heart ached as she thought of those men that she knew well and listened to the soft weeping of their women.
‘The dead lay tightly packed and the planks were slippery with their l
ife’s blood. Some men went over the sides, dead or wounded. My arms were greatly wearied and I could no longer lift my weapon with any speed. I saw an enemy warrior raise his hammer axe before my eyes and knew nothing more.’
Again Thorgils paused to stab his knife into the meat before him, take it from the knife and chew. Again the people in the hall waited.
Eventually Thorgils had eaten enough and washed it down with enough wine that he could continue. ‘But that axe-blow only stunned me and when I came to, corpses lay across and on top of me and I could no longer hear the screams and shouts of battle. I began to push the dead limbs away that I might emerge and was in time to see Olafr standing on the rim of the ship, his red cloak whipping out behind out like a sail just filling with the wind, and I watched in anguish as he jumped overboard.’
The listeners gasped at the image of golden Olafr leaping from the ship. ‘He could not survive, weighed down with the silver of his great armour. I swallowed the shout that was on my lips, for I saw through the tangle of limbs still piled on me that Jarl Erikr was stepping aboard The Long Serpent. The enemy had carried the battle and Olafr jumped because he thought he was the last man standing. I pulled the corpses back around me and closed my eyes. Olafr’s sixty ships including The Crane, The Orm and The Long Serpent were all lost, floating empty and bloody. King Svein, Erik the son of Jarl Hakon, and the Swedish king, had joined forces against Olafr, and Sigvaldi, chief of the Jomsvikings had betrayed him.’
Viking Hostage Page 36