The Swan-Daughter (The Daughters of Hastings)

by Carol McGrath

  Alan pushed his head into the shelter. ‘We must disembark first, Gunnhild. Since we are now lord and lady you will smile for them all, no matter how you feel. We shall lead a procession of sailors to the Church of St Matthew and give thanks for our deliverance. Afterwards we ride to Bayeux. I have business there.’ He saw her look of dismay and frowned. ‘It is a two and a half day’s ride into Brittany.’ His tone was brusque. As Ann adjusted Gunnhild’s mantle about her shoulders, she said, ‘Poor lady, he is a soldier and unaccustomed to a woman’s needs.’

  Gunnhild ignored Ann’s words and instead turned away from her, throwing a frown in the woman’s direction first. She was a princess after all, her great father’s daughter, so she raised her head, gritted her teeth and followed Alan on to the deck.

  6

  Bayeux, April 1076

  But he [King Edward] also at a later date, sent to him Harold, the greatest of all earls in his realm in wealth, honour and power that he should swear fealty to the Duke concerning his crown and, according to the Christian custom pledge it with oaths.

  The Gesta Normannorum Ducum of William of Jumieges, ed. and trans. by Elizabeth

  M. C. Van Houts, 1997

  Gunnhild awakened out of a deep sleep and leaned against her feather pillows. She stretched her arms above her head, remembering where she was but still not quite believing it. Their bed was soft and comfortable with its own curtains and a luxurious coverlet embroidered with vivid green tendrils, yellow flowers and brown birds.

  Gently drawing aside the bed curtains, Ann peered in and whispered that she had brought soft rolls and fresh milk so that Gunnhild could break her fast. Gunnhild glanced around. Their chamber was spacious. Braziers glowed in each of its four corners, the windows were closely shuttered and candles glowed in tall holders.

  Ann set the wooden tray on a side table. ‘You must rise, my lady, and make haste. Count Alan’s soldiers are gathering in the courtyard.’ Hearing the note of insistence in Ann’s voice, she hurriedly swung her legs over the edge of the high bed and slid onto the tiled floor.

  ‘Here is your clean linen. You have a quarter hour to ready yourself.’ Ann laid out her shift and gown, pointed emphatically to the marked time candle that flickered on the corner chest and proceeded to busy herself brushing down Gunnhild’s mantle.

  Only when she had eaten every crumb did Gunnhild pull on her shift and undergown and reach for her green overdress. When she had tied her belt over the silk folds, Ann made her sit still as she combed out her hair and plaited it into two long thick braids. ‘You had best wear this too,’ she said and lifted the Godwin headband from a stool and handed Gunnhild a fresh veil from her bundle. ‘Count Alan sent into the town for a horse for you to ride today. It is a long way to Mont St Michel.’ She clicked her tongue against her teeth in her usual disapproving habit. ‘He expects you to ride all the way south after only a day’s rest.’

  ‘I wonder what nature of animal he has found for me.’

  Ann softened. ‘I am sure the beast will be gentle-natured. My lord Alan knows horses.’

  Gunnhild thought of her aching thighs after their previous night’s coupling. Alan was a considerate lover but after they had made love he left her alone and went down into the hall to sleep amongst his men. She would have liked him to stay but he had shaken his head and said, ‘My men need me. They expect my company. After all I must keep them from losing all they earn through dice games and drinking competitions, unless, of course, I join them and take all. Gunnhild, I am a soldier first, a merchant second, and now that I am a husband I must divide myself three ways. You must learn to share me.’

  She sighed, lifted her bag and stuffed her used linen inside and handed it over to Ann. By the time the cathedral bells had rung for Sext, Ann had thrown her freshly brushed cloak about her shoulders and, now ready, she climbed down the stairs into the hall and hurried out into the courtyard. Alan was mustering his men by the stable block near the gate house. Gunnhild crossed the swathe to the mounting block and waited patiently for him, determined not to show fear of a horse to any man, even though she had not ridden her own mount in a dozen years.

  As she waited she contemplated the great motte that loomed up above her, the tall stone tower on the top and the flying bridge that led up to it, sloped at a gentle angle to make it easy for horsemen to ride up from the bailey and enter the keep’s courtyard. Alan had held a conference up there in the tower with Bishop Odo and other Norman lords. He told her on his return to the bailey hall where they lodged that he had asked Bishop Odo, the King’s half-brother, to write to the King on his behalf concerning their marriage. Odo, he said, would hope to achieve something for himself out of it. He was always happy to upstage his brother, Robert of Mortain, if he could add to his own considerable wealth.

  Alan had informed her the night before that the keep up on the motte hill contained stores and sleeping chambers and a great hall, saying, ‘When you live in my castle of Richmond, you will find it has a great keep, fortified and strongly built of stone and for good reason. In the north we need to be protected. It will withstand sieges, so if the rebellions start up again the rebels will not even try to attack me. You and our sons will be safe when I am away fighting or on business with my wool and salt merchants.’

  Our sons, she thought to herself. What about our daughter? Aloud she had said, ‘And so the old timber palaces of great lime-washed walls painted with birds and beasts will fall into disrepair and vanish as the seasons pass.’

  ‘That is change for the better.’

  She shrugged and frowned. ‘Maybe, but they were beautiful.’ She recollected the smell of pine and the warmth of their hall at Reredfelle and had distracted herself by looking out of the window at a small robin pecking about the soil in the bailey hall’s garden.

  Now she waited patiently for Alan by the mounting block thinking that the bailey was in fact a village with filled stables and workshops, cobbled yards and houses with tiled roofs. Yesterday they had ridden out of it and through streets which surrounded the new cathedral, radiating out from the castle walls down towards the river. They had attended Vespers in the church and as they entered she had asked, ‘My lord, have you heard of Bishop Odo’s tapestry?’

  ‘I have heard talk of it. What do you know of it, Gunnhild?’

  ‘We embroidered panels for it at Wilton.’

  He stopped short, almost causing her to trip as she walked beside him, her hand on his sleeve. He narrowed his eyes and snapped at her, ‘I have heard stories about that tapestry from a visitor to Canterbury. So tell me please, what precisely does that embroidery show?’ There was suspicion in his voice, as if she was plotting subversion by even knowing about its existence.

  She removed her hand and replied in a tone as cutting as sharpened quills, ‘My lord, the tapestry tells the story of my father’s defeat and the theft of his throne.’ Determined not to betray any weakness she took a breath, met his concerned gaze and continued even-voiced, ‘The embroidery tells that my father promised away my Uncle Edward’s throne to King William in that castle up there, over holy relics gathered from all over Normandy. Was it true, my lord?’

  Alan drew her into a side chapel. His tone was gentler than before as he said, ‘I saw your father take an oath to the King in the church here. He made it over two caskets that I do not believe held such a great number of relics, if any at all. He made an oath to be Duke William’s man, to owe him fealty. Earl Harold was England’s greatest earl and as such your father controlled King Edward’s policy. It was not an oath that spoke of kingship. Yet, we followed the Duke to England because many years before your Uncle Edward promised that my cousin would inherit the throne of England. That promise was the talk of King William’s court for years.’

  Gunnhild felt tears sting the back of her eyes. He took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. ‘This all happened a long time ago, more than ten years past, before the battle at Senlac. Do not allow these things to come between us now, Gu
nnhild. It is the past. What is done is done. We are the future. As for Bishop Odo’s embroidery, they say he intends it for this cathedral so that people can see how his brother came to be king of England but I have heard a rumour that it is no ordinary tapestry.’ He paused and lowered his voice further. ‘I hear that your English have embroidered it with wiles. Earl Waltheof of Northumbria was in Canterbury once and saw them working on it. He claimed that if you look closely you will see hidden stories.’

  Two grey-cloaked monks passed close to where they were standing in the shelter of the Madonna’s chapel. She shuddered as if air that was already chill had become bitter. If the cathedral’s ghosts or its monks heard her speak of the embroidery’s true messages it might bring about the tapestry’s destruction, so she waited until the monks moved out through the great door and then she confessed to him, ‘Yes, there are secrets concealed in its panels, in the borders, but I cannot explain them as I did not work on them. I know of one and there are others. There is the image of a fox and crow repeated three times when my father and Duke William appear. The fox steals the cheese so, my lord, who stole the kingdom, my father or the duke?’

  ‘So Waltheof spoke truth.’

  ‘I think Aunt Edith knew more and I know she had helped decide the tapestry’s design but she never discussed any of the secrets, except it was she who told me about the fox and the crow.’

  ‘Then it is best they remain secret,’ he said and led her from the church.

  For a moment she pondered those secrets. What she knew was that the tapestry borders contained sympathy for her people and for her father. She heard that when her father, King Harold, was setting off for Normandy from their hall at Bosham, on the tapestry he wore a moustache as he always had in life and he held his hunting hawk, Elidor, on his wrist. This hawk travelled everywhere with her father. Aunt Edith said he told everyone he was going over to Normandy on a mission, a secret mission to bring his nephew, Hakon, home. Also he hoped to get his brother, Uncle Wulnolf, freed. He had no quarrel with Duke William, but, many years earlier, Hakon and Uncle Wulnolf had been taken hostage by Duke William to ensure that their family did not get above themselves and that the Godwins did not stand between him and King Edward.

  Aunt Edith had suppressed a laugh. She had pointed to the border below the scene and had said in a whisper, ‘Look at the wolf and the crow, Gunnhild. Now who do you think is which?’ Gunnhild remembered how her own eyes had widened as she realised that Aunt Edith had cared deeply for her brother, King Harold, and that, in truth, she had perhaps been suspicious of Duke William rather than unquestioningly sympathetic. Aunt Edith had smiled at Gunnhild’s moment of realisation and put her finger to her lips as Gunnhild had opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it closed. But Gunnhild knew that Aunt Edith meant that King William was the wolf, even though cleverly it depended on who was looking.

  She was startled from her reverie by a shout. ‘Gunnhild, Gunnhild.’ Alan came striding towards her from the direction of the stables leading a grey mare by its reins. Bells jingled as he walked the horse forward. Dazzled by the beautiful creature approaching her, she forgot her puzzling thoughts.

  ‘Here he is,’ Ann complained from behind her. ‘And with that beast.’

  ‘Be quiet, Ann. It is a horse, not a monster, and a beautiful one by the looks of it.’

  Alan led the animal up to her. It pawed the ground as if in a greeting. Alan said, ‘You are ready, Gunnhild. We have a long day’s ride ahead.’ He turned to Ann. ‘Hubert is waiting for you over there.’ He waved in the direction of the stables and took the linen sack with its scant possessions off her. He secured the bundle behind the mare’s saddle. Ann took heed of him and obediently hurried off to find Hubert, weaving her way through barking dogs, stamping horses, grooms and soldiers. Alan said to Gunnhild. ‘Can you ride this horse?’

  ‘I can try.’

  ‘Don’t hesitate, never show fear and always let the mare know who is in charge. Take these. I think they will fit you well.’ He slipped his hand into his mantle and withdrew a pair of soft leather gloves. She was delighted and pulled them on, holding her gloved hands forward for him to admire.

  He ignored her proffered hands. ‘Climb on to the mare’s back.’

  ‘Does she have a name?’ she said quickly pulling back her hands.

  Alan turned to the groom who said without hesitation, ‘Ombre, Shadow in the English tongue.’

  She crooned into Shadow’s ears and stroked the mare’s nose. Shadow bent her head to nuzzle her. ‘You know you are mine, Shadow,’ she said and turned back to Alan. ‘She is mine to keep, isn’t she?’

  ‘I have paid good gold for her. Up into the saddle now, Gunnhild, there is no time to waste. Show us you are a lord’s wife and not a nun who is transported everywhere in a wagon.’

  The words rankled. Gunnhild immediately placed her foot in a waiting groom’s open hands and hoisted herself into the saddle. She took her time arranging her skirts so that they spread out to fall to the top of her boots. Fortunate, she thought, that Aunt Edith’s dress has so much material that it billows about my legs. The undergown beneath was comfortably loose. Their groom helped Alan to set Gunnhild’s mantle over the back of the mare so that it fell around her. She took hold of her reins and deftly turned Shadow around.

  The memory of riding as a child returned effortlessly. Her mother had taught her to ride. As the groom led her into the yard she felt a lump lodge in her throat for the loss of Elditha. She recollected how her mother had promised that she would not always be at Wilton, that Gunnhild would come home often to Reredfelle. But it was not to be. War was cruel. They had all suffered. Her mother was forbidden to see her and she was forbidden to write to Elditha. Was it the same for her sister Thea who was now in Kiev? She had hardly known her elder sister who had been so much in their grandmother’s household. She bowed her head to hide the tears of sorrow that escaped and slid down her cheeks. Wiping her face with her mantle, pushing back the past, she forced herself to focus on now.

  With the groom walking by her side, Gunnhild easily gained confidence. A flick of the groom’s switch and Shadow began to trot. She found her rhythm as the groom watched her circle the bailey and return to Count Alan’s side. This is freedom, she thought, as she mastered Shadow. For such a future, she had escaped Wilton, had married without any permission and crossed a stormy sea to Normandy with nothing but trust in a stranger’s love and the clothes she stood up in. If Christina could see her now trotting forward to the head of a column with her husband by her side and only days passed since she had run away, what would she say?

  It occurred to her that she should write to Wilton as Alan had written to the King. She must explain why her calling was not the cloister. She would write to the abbess of Wilton once they reached the abbey at Mont St Michel because there should be monks there who sent messages throughout Christendom; she must send hers before she was considered an ingrate to the abbey and, hopefully, they would grant her grace and forgiveness.

  Frowning, she trotted out of the castle gate by Alan’s side, under the archway with carved dragon heads just like the one that hung over the doorway into the bailey hall and which Alan said also adorned the great doorway into the keep. They stopped at the cathedral and dismounted.

  ‘Only a quarter hour, Gunnhild,’ her husband said as he ordered all of his men into the nave. ‘We must pray for God’s guidance and for a safe journey.’

  She heard a lark singing in the beech trees by the cathedral wall. No, it was a cuckoo mimicking a lark. I swear to the Virgin, she thought to herself as they entered the cathedral, my husband is even more devout than Aunt Edith ever was.

  She sank on to her knees before the altar. As the priests blessed their journey she found she was dreaming of its end in a tall castle by the sea, one with pinnacles, a bed chamber that she would make fit for a Godwin princess, an ante-chamber where she would use inks and vellum to make her own books, and a great hall where they would celebrate feast d
ays. She would have a herb garden as beautiful as the one her mother had loved on her estate at Reredfelle.

  They stopped overnight at Coutances and then at two other manors belonging to Count Alan on the route south and west. It gave him the opportunity to introduce Gunnhild to his stewards, enquire about the manors’ safety in case of attacks from the border with Maine to the south-west, and to check on the yearly planting.

  On the final part of the journey, marshes loomed ahead, mist-shrouded and ominous. Slowly they moved in twos along the narrow pathways that threaded through the swampland. Gradually the mist burned away. In the distance Mont St Michel rose up high above the tidal flats, soaring into the heavens. She drew breath as she saw it. It was a magical place set upon what appeared to be a craggy rock lost in water that looked smooth as silk. The tide would soon retreat from the island allowing access to it. Alan had said that they would pass a few nights at the monastery and would continue to Dol after he had sent out messengers to announce their arrival. It would not do to ride into that fortress with armed men. He did not want a fight with Ralph de Gael.

  ‘Why are we riding to Dol rather than to your father’s castle at Dinan?’ she asked.

  He thrust his red beard down towards her. ‘Gunnhild, you are innocent of what has happened out in the world.’ He hesitated before continuing, ‘Last year there was a rebellion. It was led by two of our Breton earls, Earl Roger of Hereford and Ralph de Gael and by the English Earl, Waltheof. They wanted to seize the kingdom and place Earl Waltheof on the throne. The other two would rule with him as his dukes.’

  ‘But Earl Waltheof is married to Judith, King William’s niece. Would he be so disloyal?’ she said.

  ‘So you know that at least,’ Alan said. ‘But he lost favour with the King because he attended Ralph de Gael’s bride ale at Exning. When he was in his cups he agreed to their rebellion, then regretted it later and confessed all to Archbishop Lanfranc.’

  ‘And it was over?’