The men in the hall shouted angrily and the women wept louder. Thorgils eyes brimmed with tears and Aina’s stroked his arm, gentling his grief. ‘Tell us the rest of the tale, husband. How did you come to return back to us?’
Thorgils nodded and resumed. ‘After some time the corpses were lifted from me and I heard splashes as they were thrown and rolled overboard. Then I was limp in the arms of the enemy and tried not to gasp as I hit the cold water. I swam down, with the pale arms and faces of my companions waving around me. While I could hold my breath, I looked for Olafr’s red cloak but could see little in the murk. I dropped my own armour on the sea floor and watching the shadow of the ship above me, I rose slowly into that shadow. I could hear the enemy shouting above, celebrating their win, boasting their victory. Corpses floated past. I grabbed onto a tangle of dead arms and legs, closed my eyes again, and waited for the tide to take me into the shore.
I felt my toes hit gravel and cautiously opened my eyes, avoiding looking too closely at the dead faces I swam with. The yellow sand of the beach was before me and I saw there were hundreds of corpses swilling back and forth in the red surf and at the edge grey wolves slavered and fought over their rich feast, pulling bodies out of the water, tearing at bellies. Ravens gathered shrieking in the trees and eagles sat on the faces of men and pecked at their eyes.’
Aina glanced around at the murmurs of distress and saw that Ulf’s face showed him enthralled by the images of Thorgils’ tale.
‘I stood quickly and ran for the trees, before one of those beasts should try to make a meal of me and I heard no shouts from the boats behind me. As I ran stealthily through the woods, I saw at some distance, a group of men and women poorly dressed, making their way down to the shore, intending to share the corpse plunder with the beasts. I sorrowed for all my friends and Olafr who had fallen there. The Orm gone and all the drengir gone. Olafr, the hawk-minded, the benchmate of his drengir, the deed-strong, the flight-shunning, Olafr was gone into the depths.’ Thorgils leapt to his feet, raising his goblet. ‘Olafr!’
Benches scrapped, swords clanged, dogs howled as they failed to move out of the way quickly enough as every man, woman and child in the place, leapt up, their own beakers raised, roaring, ‘Olafr!’
Thorgils subsided and all fell back to their seats again and each picked over the meal before them in silence, until Thorgils spoke again. ‘My golden friend is drear-cheeked now. I was covered in sand and blood and stopped to wash my wounds in a small waterfall. I found a hole under an earthbank and crept in, pulling a bush to conceal me, for I was dead tired and needing sleep. When I woke, darkness had fallen and I moved on until I came to a hamlet and a tavern where I offered myself as an armed guard to any merchant going on the Swan Road and I came home that way.’
Alone later in their chamber, Thorgils told Aina: ‘Olafr told me quietly when we stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for the battle to begin that he had lost his way as king without me.’
‘It was good that you went and were with him, Thorgils.’
‘He said he had to rule by force alone when he should have remembered how well he ruled by consensus, with the unwavering love of his men before he was king, when he and I rode the sea together in little Orm.’
Aina looked silently and gratefully into Thorgils’ face until he spoke again: ‘In valour Olafr was a lion, but in wit and resource he was a squirrel on the ground. Still,’ he added doubtfully, ‘he was a wondrous swimmer.’
Aina wrote to Sigrid to tell her of Thorgils’ survival and Olafr’s heroic death and added at the end of her letter:
The centre where kings play cannot hold it seems, Sigrid, and all is change there, but the edge can, and Thorgils, Ulf, and I thrive on our island at the edge of the world.
You didn’t want or plan to Sigrid, but despite yourself you too have lived bravely, travelled widely and accumulated wealth as a good Norse heroine should. You are a secret Viking. The only part you are missing is fame – no one can speak your true name and your heroism and adventures are unsung.
Thorgils tried to forget how his shoulder companions were in earth’s grip, grave-grasped. He told the skalds he did not want to hear tales of Svold for one full year, and yet after that year had passed he was still heavy with friend-loss and it was a long time before his hall was filled again with cheerful uproar and throngnoise, forgetful of the quiet dead.
35
Poitiers
1003
Guy came to visit Adalmode and his son, Ademar, on his return from the Holy Land, and his visit made her life more bearable for a while. After the required public welcoming and feasting in the hall, she finally had her brother to herself in her chamber and could really speak with him. Looking around her, as Guy embraced Ademar for as long as the boy would allow, Adalmode thought again how the lavishness of her chamber – hung with yellow silk, red and green tapestries, loaded with furs and cushions – felt like somebody else’s room. None of it was her choice. It was all Guillaume. Still Guy could not see any of its details and made no remark on his surroundings. He bounced on the bed next to her, and took her hand, smiling.
‘Things do not stay still,’ she said, ‘with a new Emperor in the east, Henry II, and a new Pope, John XVII.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, everything changes.’
‘How did you find things in Limoges? Is there change there? How are Aina and Bernard?’
‘No, little change in Limoges, everything is well. They are both very well and Aina sends her apologies not to be here but she is much occupied with our three other sons. Bernard is growing into a fine boy, Adalmode.’
She smiled warmly, sitting close where he could see something of her face. ‘And how is your marriage, Guy? You thought Aina was not inclined to the match during your long betrothal.’
‘Yes, that’s true. I’d entirely forgotten that,’ Guy said, a look of surprise on his face, ‘because, Adalmode, I am entirely happy. We are happy I believe. Aina is understanding and helpful about my eyesight too. I couldn’t be happier.’
‘I am very glad for you, Guy.’
‘You deserve to be happy too, sister,’ Guy said frowning and lowering his voice. ‘Are things no better between you and the Duke?’
‘No,’ she said brightly putting a mock cheerful expression on her face. ‘They can’t be and they won’t be Guy. I loved Audebert with a love far deeper than the pit he was imprisoned in at Montignac and no man could follow on from that. Least of all Guillaume. Simply, I do not like him nor ever will.’ She took Guy’s hand. She could see his distress at her words, knowing he had been party to forcing her to the marriage. ‘But I am not without consolations. I have you. I have Bernard. I dearly love your son Ademar. And I am a good Duchess I believe. I am not entirely unhappy Guy.’
Guy told her he met Fulk of Anjou in Jerusalem. ‘He travelled there to atone for burning his first wife Elisabeth.’
‘Little good that did her,’ Adalmode said, her expression grim.
‘And King Robert has had to put aside his wife, Berthe.’
Adalmode raised her eyebrows in query.
The King has been under great pressure from the Church,’ Guy told her, ‘because of the close kinship between them. So Berthe is repudiated now and Robert has married Blanche of Anjou’s fifteen-year-old daughter Constance of Provence.’
Adalmode raised her eyebrows again. ‘Constance, Blanche’s daughter! I was at her birth in Brioude.’
Guy nodded. ‘This is a peace offering to Fulk from the King, since Constance is Fulk’s niece.’
‘The Angevins continue closely aligned with the Frank throne one way or another. It’s not right that clerics should involve themselves in these ways in our business, forcing the King to repudiate his wife.’
Guy said nothing in response and Adalmode saw he did not wish to discuss this topic of consanguinity further, since it touched so closely on his own marriage. ‘The Norman Duke Richard has arranged the marriage of his sister Emma to the English King Athelred
whose kingdom is much plagued by Vikings,’ said Guy.
‘Oh here too!’ exclaimed Adalmode. ‘I knew there was something else I meant to tell you!’
‘Vikings here?’ asked Guy. ‘When was this?’
‘Earlier this year they came to Saint Michel en l’Herm again, where Aina was taken.’
‘What happened?’
‘When news came of their landing, my husband mounted a defence of his lands,’ said Adalmode, her tone heavy with sarcasm. Her brother took a gulp of wine, knowing that he was in for a good story.
‘The Vikings dug concealed pits in front of the Abbey where they were feasting and Guillaume rode his horses straight into the trap.’ Adalmode allowed herself a brief smile at her husband’s ineptitude and Guy snorted.
‘What happened?’
‘He narrowly escaped with his life whilst many of his entourage were captured. He had to pay exorbitant ransoms to get them back.’
Adalmode enjoyed giving Guy her frank assessment of her husband’s court. ‘It is full of pomp. He preens about his meetings with the Pope, the Emperor, King Canute, that come of his annual pilgrimages and mentions their names in connection with his at every opportunity. He is well regarded by Bishops to whom he is generous, but he is not so well regarded by his own local lords such as Hugh of Lusignan, Radulf of Thouars and William of Parthenay, not to mention his neighbour, Fulk of Anjou. All pay him lip-service as the great Duke, recognising him as suzerain, easily manipulating his vanity, and paying him little attention in their deeds.’
Guillaume heaved a sigh of relief that he disguised as a sigh of distressed emotion, as his mother’s last breath left her mouth and the priest commended her soul to God. Guillaume tried not to think about how God might react to that. ‘Protect the Abbey of Maillezais Guillaume, in eternal memory of me,’ she had whispered to him. There had been so little Christian kindness in his mother, and she had committed so many crimes against others, but he could not waste time to think about the suffering she would undoubtedly be going through in her transition into the afterlife, perhaps in Hell. He would pay for prayers to be said for her, of course, that was his filial duty, but he doubted that a million prayers would help her and he had too many other things to think of and do now that she was gone.
The news that Boson of La Marche had died arrived last week. The messenger reported the claim that he had been poisoned by his wife. The woman was waiting in the hall below now, for Guillaume’s judgement. He needed to take action over the inheritance of La Marche and Périgord. He already knew what he would do. He had planned it from the start. Perhaps if Adalmode had been kinder to him, if she had tried harder to give him an heir, he would have changed his mind and kept his promise but no she needed to be taught a lesson and he needed to protect his own interests. Never again would he be threatened by a Count of La Marche, as he had been threatened by Audebert and shamefully made to run for his life from his own city, a laughing stock.
Adalmode was waiting in the hall for him, smiling ecstatically into the face of her son, who she was seeing for the first time since her marriage. Bernard was twelve and already favouring Audebert dramatically – it was like looking at the man himself as a boy on the verge of manhood. Guillaume tried to ignore the knot of fear in his stomach that he experienced at the sight of the boy. Also in the hall were Boson’s wife and two sons. He would show them all justice. He would show them all that he was Duke. The three most favoured friends in his entourage were also there, as instructed, Cadelon of Aulnay, Boso of Châtellerault, and Raoul of Thouars, and their presence bolstered him up for what he must do.
Boson’s sons rose at his entrance and he gestured for them to take their seats. Boson’s wife stood but did not look up, keeping her head down. Her sons sat apart from her whereas Adalmode was hanging onto Bernard’s hand, as if he were a small child. The boy stared boldly at Guillaume who found himself having to avoid his blue eyes that reminded him so of Audebert.
‘I come with the sad news that my mother has just in this last hour died and gone to meet her Maker,’ Guillaume said and all in the hall crossed themselves and murmured commiserations, although none, Guillaume knew, had ever liked her.
‘Shall we postpone this hearing, then, my lord?’ Adalmode asked. ‘Prepare for your mother’s vigil and burial?’
‘No,’ Guillaume said quickly. ‘That is all going on, but we shall see to this business nevertheless. Countess Cecilia, it has come to our notice that you have been accused of maliciously and criminally murdering your husband, Count Boson of La Marche and Périgord, with poison. Do you deny this charge?’
The dejected woman shook her head and her two sons shifted further away from her on the trestle.
‘Speak,’ Guillaume said, ‘you need to speak.’
‘No,’ she said, swallowing and looking up now, looking to Adalmode and speaking in her direction. ‘I did kill him and I repent that it was a sin, but the man was cruel and unkind to me all my life. He took mistresses and flaunted them in my face. He beat me.’
Guillaume watched the sons drop their heads and stare blankly at the floor. Yes the woman was clearly speaking truth and he knew from Adalmode that Boson had troubled her too.
‘Whatever his crimes to you, you had no right to take his life,’ he said.
‘I know my lord and I am greatly sorry for my sin.’
Guillaume paused at length. It was necessary to introduce some theatricality into these situations, to give his words their proper weight. ‘You will be confined in the nunnery at Maillezais and the nuns will work with you to bring you to absolution if they can.’
‘Thank you lord.’
‘She should burn for the murder of my father,’ the eldest son burst out.
Guillaume quelled this disruption to his dignity with a cold stare and the boy hung his head again. A tear trickled down the face of his mother and Guillaume saw that Adalmode was looking with pity on the woman. She had such a vast lake of kindness available for anyone but him. Had he not done penance enough to earn her love by now. Why could she not pity and love him.
‘Lady Cecilia’s fate will be as I have decreed and there will be no further debate on the matter.’
The boy did not look up and Guillaume settled further into his throne with satisfaction, placing his arms along its broad wooden struts, wrapping his hands around the balled claws. His feet touched the ground when he sat back thus in this chair, but only just, he thought with irritation, sitting a little forward again in case anyone should notice that he was having to reach down with the toe of his boot.
‘There is the matter of the disposition of the counties of La Marche and Périgord,’ he said.
‘My son, Bernard, is the heir to the Counties,’ Adalmode stated in a loud, clear voice and Guillaume squirmed irritated on the chair.
‘You will be silent,’ he said, turning to her fiercely. ‘I am the Duke and I will say what the disposition of these vassal counties are.’
‘The Count of La Marche and Périgord gave you no fealty, nor any other man,’ Adalmode said.
‘If you are not silent, Lady Adalmode,’ Guillaume said coolly, ‘I will have you removed to your chambers.’ He glanced towards Cadelon, Boso and Raoul, implying that they would physically do the removing if he commanded it. He saw Adalmode’s mouth set in a straight line and she gripped her son’s hand with both of her own. She did not want to be removed from him.
‘It is my decision that Bernard will inherit his father’s county of La Marche,’ Adalmode opened her mouth but Guillaume quelled her with an angry look, ‘and the county of Périgord I give into the hands of young Helie, the son of Boson who was my faithful vassal, before he was so direly murdered by his wife.’
Boson’s sons and Lady Cecilia looked up in surprise. Guillaume waited with satisfaction. Adalmode would object and he would enjoy her dismay. He looked at Bernard while he waited for her response, and was alarmed to see the expression on the boy’s face. There was no fear or subservience there. His expr
ession had hardened into cool dislike. Before Adalmode could gather herself to address him, the boy himself spoke: ‘Both counties belong to me. They are my rightful inheritance from my father. My uncle Boson was merely Regent during my minority. I ask them both of you now, Duke Guillaume.’ His voice clenched on the word ask, implying a demand rather than a request.
‘I have made my decision,’ Guillaume said. ‘Further since you are still a minor, Count Bernard, I am sending you to Bellac with two guardians who will take care of you and your inheritance: Lord Humbert and Father Pierre will accompany you.’
‘He needs no such guardians,’ Adalmode found her voice and Guillaume felt a shiver at his neck at the ice in it. ‘I will stand as Regent for him and go with him to Bellac.’
Guillaume shifted in his chair to face her directly. ‘No you will not. Your place is here with me.’
‘You renege on the agreement brokered by my brother and Fulk of Anjou at the time of our wedding,’ she stated. He watched a pulse throbbing in her neck and thought how he would like to place his fingertips there, or better his mouth, and feel her passionate blood beneath his lips.
‘A lord should not stand in the way of a man obtaining the honour which had been in his kin’s possession,’ Bernard said boldly to Guillaume and he saw how Adalmode looked proudly at him. ‘My father possessed La Marche and Périgord and much more besides,’ he asserted, hinting at the fact that Audebert had briefly possessed Poitiers, Tours, Gençay and most of Aquitaine too. ‘These two counties are both rightfully mine and I state a claim for all of my father’s lands.’
‘My decisions here are final and absolute,’ Guillaume said rising. If he allowed this discussion to go on he would start to lose ground. He should have had the boy murdered along with his father, he thought regretfully and then his own son, if he ever had one, could have inherited both counties. He looked coldly at Adalmode. Her beauty still moved him and he would never let her leave him, but he knew now that she would never love him.
Viking Hostage Page 37