The Handfasted Wife

by Carol McGrath

  ‘Heave in that sack of strewing herbs, Brother Matthew, then we are done,’ a monk shouted from the refectory. ‘Sounds like the company have arrived.’ He came out and stepped in front of Padar. ‘God bless our King’s lady.’ Using his sleeve edge, he wiped away a rheumy tear from his eye.

  She called down to him, ‘God bless you.’

  Their guards helped them to dismount. Elditha handed Eglantine’s bridle to the stable lad and took charge of her saddlebag. Ursula carried a larger travelling bag that was fashioned from sheep skins. A guard took it from her and, as cold rain began to spit from the heavens, glancing up at it, he led them towards the prior’s house. Hurrying out of his doorway, the prior ushered the women inside his hall and sent their guards off to sleep in the stable.

  A little later, the priory’s six monks were rounded up to meet the Lady Elditha. Servants rushed from the kitchen to the refectory with great steaming pots of barley and pease pottage, roasted carp and baskets of bread. The fire was built high. Logs crackled. The ride had given Elditha an appetite. Comfortable but nervous, she ate well. As the meal reached its end, the prior leaned over and said, ‘My companions and I will be dead to the world this night between Angelus and Matins, my lady, so Godspeed. Your guide will meet you on the stairway after the bell sounds the Angelus. You must hurry when you hear it. There is but a short time between that and Matins.’

  She inclined her head and thanked him. He looked away but she could see that his kindly eyes had filled with tears.

  When the Angelus bell began to ring, slow, loud and heavy, she signalled to Ursula. They must be ready after the monks returned to their dormitory. For an hour’s space they waited. Then there was silence. No one was about. Silently they lifted their bags and slipped out into the freezing rain that lashed against the outer stairway. Not daring to speak, they stood shivering in their mantles, huddled in the shadowed darkness of the building’s walls.

  Elditha saw him first. He was moving slowly across the yard. She touched Ursula’s arm and pointed. ‘Are you ready?’ she whispered. She took a step onto the stone stairway, set her bag down and raised a hand in greeting as Padar climbed up towards them. ‘Make haste,’ were the only words he spoke to them as he reached for her bag. He gave her his free hand and silently guided them both down the outer staircase and around the back of the church, keeping close to the walls until they reached the stable entrance.

  A boy led three horses out of the stable. He had muffled their footsteps by tying cloths around their feet. There was a snort and then another. She started and looked back at the priory, but after that – apart from the occasional rustling of creatures in the hedging – the quiet was absolute. The boy helped Elditha up onto Eglantine and secured her bundle behind. After Ursula had mounted her mare, Padar led them back round behind the barn, past the kitchen, down a dark lane and out of the gates. He held the reins of his own stallion. The creature moved as quiet as the night itself.

  ‘Our bodyguards?’ she whispered.

  ‘Are now at the bottom of the ditch. To the Devil with the bastards. And before you complain, there was no other way. My boy here will be on his way to Exeter first thing in the morning.’

  ‘You have a way with the horses,’ the lad murmured from his other side. ‘They came with me quietly.’

  ‘I think it is you who has that,’ Padar said and reached for the saddle. With the lad’s help, he hauled himself up onto the stallion’s back, allowing his long robes to fall to either side of his legs. ‘This gear is an accursed hindrance.’

  The youth parted from them among the poplars. Elditha reached into her cloak pocket and drew out one of her cloak pins. It had a silver head carved with runic letters. She reached it down to him. The silver gleamed in his opened hand. ‘When you reach Exeter, show this pin to the Countess Gytha. She knows it well and she will protect you.’ She added so softly it was a whisper, ‘May St Cecilia watch over you.’

  ‘Keep that hidden,’ Padar warned. ‘When we have gone don’t hang about these parts. There’ll be uproar when they find Lady Elditha has disappeared and those bodies in the midden back there. The priory’s cook will get you into the woods.’

  With his backward wave, Padar led the women through the trees and onto the heath beyond. Sleet turned to snow. It drifted onto their cloaks and, as they travelled through the night, Elditha prayed that the snow did not worsen and swallow them up.

  18

  The English groaned aloud for their lost liberty.

  The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis , 12th century, edited and translated by Marjorie Chibnall

  By dawn the snow had become a wetting rain that fell in a sleeting, windy downpour. The downland was exposed. Padar peered ahead into the corners of fields looking for landmarks, confirming where they were, occasionally calling out to them to turn left or right until, before long, they rode into an abandoned hamlet. Huts had been fired, fences destroyed and wild dogs slunk about the lanes, growling and barking at them as they rode through. The church was deserted, its cross leaning forlornly, pointing towards the ruined houses.

  They crossed a low hedge into another large field. ‘We should reach the abbey at Abingdon soon,’ Padar said, slowing his horse and shouting above the rain. ‘Most of the monks there are loyal to us and the abbot should be in London with the Bastard.’ He stopped and caught his breath. ‘The countryside nearer to Oxford will be occupied by soldiers. We can wait at the abbey until we work out how to move west into the hills.’ He pointed back at the destruction they had just left. ‘You can see, the villages are not safe.’

  Elditha looked down and, through the sleet, saw several twisted and naked bodies lying in the ditch. She pulled her hood close and drew her mare closer to Padar. ‘They’ll search west for us.’

  ‘I threw two of your guard into a midden. They’ll look everywhere for me. Still, they’ll have to call out a troop first.’

  Elditha looked at him, alarmed.

  He laughed. ‘Never fear, the prior hates the Norman bastards too. My lady, the river’s not far from here. The abbey lies on the opposite bank.’

  It was still raining when they left the downs for the flat of the valley. The bell of Abingdon’s church rang out its slow, deep tolls. They could hear the river crashing and tumbling through a water mill. For a while they could hardly hear anything else, just water gushing and the bell’s clanging.

  ‘They’re ringing it for early morning services,’ said Elditha, as she pulled her horse up short beyond the mill.

  ‘Padar,’ Ursula called, her words blowing away from her. ‘Is this abbey safe?’

  ‘Yes, the abbey’s infirmary monk will conceal us until the hue and cry has died down.’

  ‘How do you know him?’ Elditha shouted.

  Padar called back, ‘I have played my harp here on feast days. We two became friends.’

  The abbey appeared across the river. Built of stone, it rose up above a high, stout outer wall. Padar rode ahead to the gatehouse. He spoke to the gatekeeper, who waved them through. They crossed a bridge and passed through another gateway into the abbey courtyard. Dismounting, they handed the reins of their horses to stable boys, who appeared through the rain as if from nowhere. Shivering with cold and with sleet stinging their faces, they trudged up the hill to the abbey building.

  Though there was no one out in the abbey’s precinct, echoes of plainsong issued from the great church. A long, two-storey stone building with a huge chimney leaning into its side now faced them, its imposing door looming out of the sleet as they crossed the swath. A bell hung on the outside wall. Padar reached up and pulled the sodden cord that hung from it and its ringing reverberated loudly. They waited. At last the door opened. A tall monk, who looked like a flowing grey line against the bare abbey walls, stood in the doorway. He never spoke but indicated that they should enter into the porch. Padar introduced himself as Brother Matthew from Durham. He asked for Brother Thomas from the infirmary and the monk nodded. The door creaked noi
sily as he pushed it closed behind them. He lifted a rush light from a sconce on the wall, and gestured to them to follow him across the hall.

  He led them to an antechamber situated at the farthest end of the smoke-filled hall, and then glided off again.

  Elditha said, ‘Where has he gone?’

  ‘To find Brother Thomas,’ Padar replied, and pointed her towards a glowing brazier that stood in the centre of the tiny room.

  Elditha and Ursula removed their cloaks, letting them fall onto a crude bench, and stretched their hands towards the glowing charcoal. Moments later, Brother Thomas pushed through the arras. ‘By Christ’s holy bones, what has the wind and rain blown in tonight?’ His small, round presence emanated kindness.

  ‘Thomas,’ Padar said, drawing back his cowl so Brother Thomas would recognise him.

  ‘Mary’s sainted shawl, you! Miracles. God bless us all. The poet is become monk!’ Brother Thomas let out a guffaw.

  Padar embraced his old friend, two little men caught up in a cub-like hug. ‘Thomas, you look well. I haven’t seen you since last spring. We talked much about the world then.’

  ‘The world is changing.’ A frown creased his round face. ‘You make an odd monk, Padar,’ he said. He surveyed the women. ‘And you come with companions?’

  ‘The Lady Elditha, Thomas.’

  The monk scrutinised Elditha. ‘You are the King’s lady?’

  She nodded. ‘And I seek sanctuary here.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘My lady, surely the Abbey of Wilton is best for your purposes and …’

  ‘Not Wilton, it is too dangerous, Brother Thomas. We intend to ride north-west.’ She hesitated. ‘I do not wish to endanger your abbey but …’

  He opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. ‘Sanctuary is granted, Lady Elditha, but be aware that our abbot has followed Archbishop Stigand’s lead. He has given King William his blessing, though I suspect with reluctance.’ He turned to Padar. ‘Does anyone know you are here?’

  ‘Only those who saw us ride through the gates and the monk who greeted us.’

  ‘It will soon be common knowledge that we have guests. Ah, well, they don’t know who.’ He chuckled and looked at the women’s garments, which were dripping puddles of water onto the tiles. ‘Let me think of how to manage things. You must have dry garments and food.’ Brother Thomas bustled over to a chest in the corner, opened the heavy lid and pulled out a linen drying cloth which he handed to Padar. ‘You wait here. Dry yourself with this.’ He lifted a candle holder that held three dripping candles and opened a low door opposite the arras. ‘My lady, follow me.’

  He led Elditha and Ursula along a hushed corridor, past low, bow-shaped doors to a large archway that was situated at what Elditha suspected was the gable end of the building. Through this opening lay a greater oak door studded with ironwork tracery. It was decorated with a carving of the tree of life, in which many differing birds nested and around the bottom of which many beasts appeared to prowl. But there was no time to look more closely. Brother Thomas lifted an iron key from the bunch which hung from his belt, turned it in the lock and pushed open the door. He revealed a magnificent chamber containing a high bed, a table, four winged chairs with cushions, several carved chests and a wall hung with tapestry. He ushered them in. ‘Come,’ he said, pointing to a coffer. He lit a candle from his own candles, handed it to Elditha and opened the chest, allowing the familiar whiff of fennel to escape from it, mingled with a pungent smell she recognised as myrrh.

  The monk dragged out two habits woven in white wool. ‘God will forgive me, I am sure, if you were to accept these.’

  ‘Canons’ robes!’ Ursula exclaimed, touching one.

  ‘The robes are indeed for our canons and this chamber is the abbot’s own. No one will enter here when he is not in residence.’ He chuckled as if he was enjoying a jest. ‘It is one of two which have a chimney, so I’ll light the fire after I return. Change into these.’

  Elditha placed her candle on a chest and laid the garments on the bed. They were clean, the wool was soft and they were dry.

  By the time Thomas returned, shouldering a basket of wood shavings and logs, they had changed into the habits and were draping their own damp gowns over chairs. He built up a fire, struck a flint and held the spark close to the wood shavings. Once the kindling caught and the logs began to blaze, he said, ‘There, it’s drawing up and out of its tunnel.’ He drew a bench to the hearth and collapsed onto it. ‘The infirmary is full to overflowing with those who have suffered since the battle. Our guesthouse is full. I shall explain that two women of noble birth have come in the storm.’ He chuckled again. ‘And that there was nowhere else for them other than the abbot’s own chamber. Abbot Ealdred would wish it, though no doubt if he ever finds out, I shall do penance for that lie.’

  Elditha sat beside him. ‘Thank you, Brother Thomas. And if I could, I would do your penance for you.’

  The monk shook his head. ‘God will forgive, lady. It is a little lie.’

  ‘And so, where is Padar?’

  ‘Seeing to your horses, and I had better stir myself and find you something hot to eat.’

  He hurried off again and returned with a pail of pottage and a basket with soft white bread, meat and cheese. ‘There are bowls in the cupboard. God bless you both.’

  With those words, the little monk disappeared and, for several days after that, they never saw him. Padar slept in an empty cell and it became his task to bring them food and drink. Abingdon, he told them, was a large abbey with a scriptorium, a stone church, cloisters, a refectory and farm buildings.

  ‘The abbot is pragmatic and, like Queen Edith, he has acquiesced,’ she said sadly.

  ‘As well he has for now, since, my lady, it is easier to disappear by remaining here until we know that the Normans are searching for you elsewhere. Even if they suspect who you are, the monks will not betray you,’ he said. He stroked his shaven chin. ‘But we should be away before their abbot returns.’

  Days passed slowly. The abbot’s bedroom led on to a garden. When the sleeting rain stopped and the sun reappeared they walked there. The abbey bell rang regularly for service, allowing them a sense of time’s passage, and although monks shuffled along the corridor beyond their room with regularity, no one disturbed Elditha and Ursula. Other than monks’ footpads, distant murmurings of prayer and the bell’s regular ringing, the abbey was a place of solitude and quiet. They listened to the cockerel that crowed every morning, a robin chirruping as it stalked the garden and magpies chattering on the top of a wall. They listened to the weather, the rain when it came and to the wind’s keening in the trees. As darkness fell, they slept peacefully, cocooned from the tumultuous world beyond the cloister.

  A week after their arrival, they were seated on a stone bench by a sundial. The white cowls of the habits, which they continued to wear over their gowns for warmth as much as concealment, were drawn close around their faces. Padar appeared through a garden door.

  Ursula moved along and he sat on the bench between them.

  ‘Are we leaving?’ Elditha asked.

  ‘I had hoped that we might travel within the week, though a horse dealer near the abbey advises me that there are soldiers marching through every village between Winchester and Oxford.’

  ‘What must we do?’

  ‘I can enter Oxford tonight by river and find my friends. I must send a messenger ahead of us to Deerhurst in Gloucestershire and see what can be arranged by way of a crossing into Ireland. The Godwins still have friends. The Normans have not taken the south-west, though all riders west of Oxford need to be alert. And, since the battle, there are bands of brigands on the roads.’

  ‘Would they dare attack a dead king’s wife?’

  Padar snorted. ‘There are Mercian folk loyal to the Godwins, but there are also those who seek profit and do not hesitate to take hostages from either side. We must use the river. Eglantine, I fear, will remain here in the abbey. I will return soon. If not, then you mus
t ask Brother Thomas for help.’ Ursula looked startled. He repeated, ‘I promise you, I’ll return by Saturday.’

  ‘What if Duke William’s soldiers come here?’ Ursula asked.

  ‘Brother Thomas will hide you.’

  Padar left that night, rowing a small craft upriver to Oxford.

  Later, as they prepared for sleep, Ursula said to Elditha, ‘Do you think that Alain of Brittany will send out troops to find us?’

  Elditha climbed into the abbot’s bed. ‘Ursula, Count Alain will search every abbey and nunnery west of Winchester, so let us pray that they think we have been abducted for someone else’s gain. They will have found the bodies in the midden. Sleep, Ursula, worry cannot help us.’ She blew out the candle. Soon Ursula was snoring softly beside her. As she drifted into sleep, she thought, And Edith too will be furious by now.

  19

  Winchester

  Late February 1067

  Edith watched the sunrise burst over the palace garden in hues of yellows and pinks as she waited for Count Alain. She did not relish the interview ahead. It was she who had permitted Elditha to leave for Wilton. Her Vita Edwardii,– her book, her great work – had been on her mind when Elditha had made her request. Had she not been thinking of that, she might have accompanied Elditha to Wilton herself. She shuddered. Had she travelled that day, she too might have been abducted.

  Watching over Elditha had been too easy after she had agreed to wed Alain of Brittany. The prior of St Swithun’s himself had ridden to her in terrible weather with his tale of murder, bodies in a midden and the abduction of the Lady Elditha and her maid when all his five monks, his cook and a young guest were asleep. They had heard nothing. A new monk had come to them recently from a monastery in the east. They had taken him in, given him charity, and he too had vanished that night. The enemy had stolen my lady and her maid away.