The Swan-Daughter (The Daughters of Hastings)

by Carol McGrath

  ‘Such scenes cost the earth and, in any case, are fanciful. They may belong to a bed chamber but they are an inappropriate waste of money here in the hall where the business of governing is done. I grant you permission to have it lime-washed. That should suffice, my dear.’

  ‘And the bed chamber too?’

  His tone grew terse, almost resentful at the thought of any improvement, as if he considered her a scold. ‘That will be done in time.’ He laid down his cup and called for a woman to clear all away. He stepped off the dais, moved through the hall and spoke with the women who had just finished scrubbing the floorboards. When he returned he said, ‘Now, if you are finished eating, let me show you my falconry. Perhaps you would like to choose a bird for yourself.’

  Momentarily she forgot the dingy castle, the miserable yard and the sorry church that should have been opened for Easter and every other day, too. The prospect of a falcon was the best thing that had happened for her since they had arrived at Castle Fréhel. If only Harold, her father, was alive and could see her with her own hunting bird. He had loved these birds and often moved between his manors with falcons and hounds that wore decorated collars and musical bells; but then, she reflected as she walked with Alan along the muddy, winding pathway down into the bailey, what would her father think of her marriage to his enemy? Oh my father, she thought sadly, times are much changed.

  First, Alan gave her a tour of the bailey. As they entered the church, she saw how lovely it was, even if cobwebs clung everywhere and it was dusty. Her eye was drawn to a high, small oriole window of painted glass depicting the Virgin and her child. Above the figure of the Virgin were two angels, one blowing a trumpet, another holding scales. She took an inward breath. These angels heralded the coming of the great judgement. She had seen such images on manuscripts in the scriptorium at Wilton. The coloured glass threw painted shadows on the tiled floor by their feet. A sweeper bowed deference to them both and Alan signalled to him to continue his work. ‘He is making the chapel ready for Easter Day masses,’ he said to Gunnhild.

  ‘What happened to the priest who served here?’ she asked.

  ‘Father Alfonse was very old. He died a year past. They buried him in the cemetery. The seneschal that I put in charge a year ago never sent for another. Most people here have, of late, neglected the Christian way. That will change. There are many saints in Brittany and these people will remember to observe their special days with prayer and reverence. Believe me, I intend to root out sinful ways and destroy the perpetrators.’

  ‘And the castle’s seneschal?’

  ‘He has been the first to go. I sent him away this morning. I have no need of such a neglectful man. Hubert will be in charge of the soldiers. Hubert and Ann will have the use of the hall down here and the bedchambers behind it. Since they are betrothed in the eyes of God, they may co-habit. When the new priest arrives from St Malo he will marry them.’

  ‘You have made so many changes quickly,’ she remarked, amazed at how much order he had instilled at Castle Fréhel within the space of a morning.

  They crossed themselves before the altar and he said, ‘I expect the priest to arrive tonight or at least in time for Nones tomorrow. This afternoon the church must be cleansed of dust and vermin.’ He traced a finger along a wall ledge and held up a filmy cobweb. He grimaced and wiped it on his cloak, indicating that his sharp eyes would miss little. ‘I have ordered the cooks to prepare an Easter feast though heaven only knows what they can provide. There will be fish and more fish, simple but suiting, though I hear there may be a lamb slaughtered for us, too.’

  Gunnhild longed for meat. ‘I am hungry at the thought of it,’ she said as she followed him from the chapel.

  They passed the hall which was to be Hubert and Ann’s dwelling place. Hubert was there, leaning on a broom. ‘I have ordered new grasses to be spread in here, my lord.’

  ‘Hubert, keep the key to this hall whilst we remain at Fréhel. My wife will have charge of all the other keys to stores and domestic buildings. And send the sweepers into the church. There was only one evident.’

  When Hubert hurried off to do his bidding, Alan turned to her and said, ‘When I return to Normandy to meet with the King, Hubert will remain to protect you. You will be in no danger. Now, follow me. We shall look at my birds and I shall show you yet another place, one I think you will like.’

  Gunnhild hoped she would find something to like in this desolate place. She glanced up at the four square watchtowers that rose at each corner of the palisade. Already the soldiers above appeared more alert than they had on the previous night. Aloud she said, ‘My lord, when will you leave?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘One reason we departed Dol so quickly is because Earl Ralph is planning to harry Normandy’s borders. He let slip, albeit when he was in his cups, that he had support from the Angevin court and from the King of France himself. He has been part of a wider conspiracy to destroy our King, so I have sent a messenger to my father in Dinan and another to the King’s council in Rouen.’ He cupped her chin in his hands and looked into her face. ‘I will have to go to the King when he returns to Normandy but it may not be for another few months.’

  ‘Let me travel with you, Alan. I am your wife.’

  ‘Until King William extends his blessing to us, you cannot travel with me to Rouen, but we shall weather the storm.’ He threw opened a barn door. ‘Now let us see these birds.’

  Birds roosted on perches inside wooden cages, a half dozen of them, all looking healthy and well cared for.

  ‘Better than the humans here,’ she said to Alan, as he allowed her to choose one for herself.

  They carefully pulled on leather gloves, Alan taking her small hands in his and then encasing her left hand into the hard protective glove. The boy, Enmon, who cared for the birds withdrew the creatures one by one from their cages and set them, hooded and chained, onto perches. ‘How do I choose?’ she asked, looking up at Alan.

  ‘A goshawk would serve you well. Choose one of those two goshawks.’ Alan pointed at the creatures, one by one, as the boy showed them off to Gunnhild.

  She chose one with small sharp eyes that met her own as if the creature understood her new mistress, and then she asked the bird’s name. Enmon released the goshawk and took her on to his wrist. He said in Norman French ‘You have chosen Nighthawk, my favourite of them all. It is a fine choice, my lady.’

  She took Nighthawk onto her own wrist then, keeping the goshawk on its attached chain.

  Alan was looking over his favourite sacret with great care. ‘I swear she remembers me,’ he said to Enmon as he took the bird on to his wrist. The bird puffed up and seemed proud to be on his master’s arm once more. ‘You have taken good care of them.’ Alan showed the sacret off to Gunnhild, ‘I called her Lady Matilda after the queen. I shall teach you how to hawk. Do you think you would like that?’

  ‘I would like it very much.’ Gunnhild said, enjoying the feel of Nighthawk on her leather-gloved hand. She thrust up her chin. ‘With Nighthawk on my wrist I may better you in the woods, my lord. Hawking is in my blood.’

  ‘Ah, Gunnhild, I like your competitive spirit but don’t count your geese yet. And now, let me show you somewhere else.’

  He led her through a gateway set into the palisade, not the main gates into Fréhel but one on the seaward side of the small fortress. It had two watchtowers. Once they passed through these they were on a pathway edged with gorses and sea grasses. Alan led her to a set of stone steps carved into the cliff beyond. ‘Take my hand. I do not want to lose you so soon.’ He offered her help to descend into a sandy cove that lay at the base of the cliff fall. The steps were steep but Gunnhild had no trouble gathering her skirts into a bunch and clambering down without his help.

  ‘You are as agile as a Breton pony,’ he said as she jumped deftly onto the sand.

  She breathed in the air. It tasted of salt and smelled of gorse and wild flowers. ‘It is heaven itself,’ she breathed. ‘I shall come her
e when you are gone and I need to find solitude.’

  They walked along the beach. When they reached the cliff at the other end, he drew her behind a group of small rocks. She hesitated. There were rocks and little pools that she wished to explore.

  ‘Explore them another time,’ he said, pulling her down onto a patch of soft sand. He kissed her hard. ‘I have a better idea for today,’ he said. ‘Though it is Easter Saturday, I think the Lord will forgive us.’

  She found herself melting into his embrace, her eyes slowly closing as his mouth possessed hers in a possessive kiss. Feeling an urgency that matched his own, she sank down with him onto a patch of silvery sand. Out of sight of the watchtowers he made her his own again and afterwards when they rose and swept the sand from each other he said, ‘Gunnhild, I never gave you a morning gift but, today, I want you to consider Castle Fréhel as my gift to you. After all, you may already be carrying my heir. We must return to Castle Richmond, but if anything happens to me, come back here. Fréhel is your dower. It will be a place of safety.’

  A shadow crossed the sun and she shivered, momentarily chilled. She was not sure that this was a gift she wanted, nor was she sure that if anything happened to her husband that she wished to raise children here. The castle felt less threatening by morning light but she wondered if she could ever subdue the Breton servants who dwelled here. None the less, she managed to smile and say, ‘My lord, you are too generous.’ After all, he had just made love to her as if he was in love with her. Although he never said the words: ‘I love you,’ she met his amber eyes thinking how fortunate she was.

  9

  Beltane, May 1076

  By the time they climbed back up the castle hill and entered the keep, the chambers had been swept and the mattress on their bed aired and beaten with switches, filled with foul-smelling flea-bane.

  She begged him to purchase a new mattress. Eventually he said, ‘Maybe, Gunnhild, we do need a new one to make my heirs.’ He was frowning at her as he said it, as if he really considered a new mattress to be an extravagance.

  Brother Geoffrey arrived that very evening to serve at Fréhel until another priest could be found. He was slim and of middling height, had kindly blue eyes, a ring of sandy-coloured hair around his tonsure, a pleasant smile and a soft way of speaking. He conversed in English as well as Breton and Norman French. When he told her he had met her mother in Canterbury and that she was in good health, Gunnhild felt happy and relieved. She decided that she and the priest would get along well. In Wilton no one, not even Aunt Edith, had ever spoken of Elditha.

  On Easter Sunday, Alan and Gunnhild observed all three masses, Prime in the morning, Sext at noon and Vespers in the late afternoon. Father Geoffrey sent the falconer’s boy to ring the chapel bell. He sent out a warning that all castle servants who could be spared must attend Nones at midday and the others must attend Vespers. Alan insisted that his soldiers attend at least one.

  As she entered the chapel for the noon service, Gunnhild noticed several sullen faces amongst her servants. She sighed. It would be a challenging task to turn them away from their heathenish practices. At Vespers, as the sun came into the west behind the oriole window, Gunnhild found herself day-dreaming. She smiled up at the Lady Mary and wondered if soon she would ripen with Count Alan’s child. Her eyes wandered about the congregation. There were children present. Not far away from where she stood, she noticed a boy with bright red hair. Beside him a small girl with fat yellow plaits was clinging to her mother’s hands. Gunnhild stared at their parents. The father was burly and bearded, possibly a field labourer, though his mantle was of green wool, like a huntsman would wear. He stood patiently as the priest intoned endless pater-nosters, as if absorbed by the ceremony.

  The children’s mother must have sensed that she was observed because she turned sideways and held Gunnhild’s stare with one of her own, boldly countering look for look, locking Gunnhild’s eyes with her own. Gunnhild saw they were a hard, ice-blue but still refused to look away. Who was this woman who regarded her with such insolence? She will blame me, Gunnhild thought, for the changes Alan is placing around the castle. The little boy, who must had been about five years old, twisted his neck around and smiled at her. He had soft brown eyes, red hair, fine features and a knowing wise look on his countenance. How did that peasant woman give birth to such a lovely child?

  Later, as they were feasting, Count Alan remarked to the priest, ‘Thank the lord they did not neglect the fields last September. The grain stores are full.’ He lifted a wheaten cake and grunted at the mutton that lay on his bread trencher swimming in a sauce of cinnamon and berries. ‘They can bake a decent cake here.’ He turned from the priest to Gunnhild. ‘But they need to know who is in charge, Gunnhild.’

  ‘So you tell me often enough, Alan,’ Gunnhild retorted, her voice anxious. Gone was his gentleness of the day before. He is all efficiency now, even with me his wife.

  Brother Geoffrey smiled sympathetically. He further endeared himself to her when he offered to help her tame them. ‘They will respond to Christian ways and firmness and I can help with one, you with the other, my child.’

  Gunnhild wanted to ask Alan about the family she had seen in the church, but just as she opened her mouth to speak, one of Alan’s men took up a harp and began to sing an old Breton song. She glanced about the benches. The family was not in the hall for the Easter feast and by the time she had returned to their chamber to undress for bed she had forgotten about them.

  Gunnhild felt her new life had truly begun when she became the keeper of keys to all of their private chambers: the stillroom, the strong room within the keep and the room above her own that was to be transformed into her solar. She was in charge of the kitchen, the kiln-house for drying grain, the cow byre and a private privy, a room set into the keep’s walls beyond their chamber and which protruded out over a midden.

  In the weeks that followed Easter, carts came to Fréhel with provisions, a great new feather mattress which Alan had grudgingly ordered; stools and benches for her chamber and solar; in addition to these comforts he had sent for two embroidery frames, bales of material and two seamstresses from Rouen to make her new clothing. He complained all the time that the cost was too much and she was not to expect anything else. ‘They are from a merchant who owes me money. I said I would take part of his debt in kind and he should throw in his seamstresses. Gunnhild, you must be clothed as the Lady of Penthiévre ought to be. Just do not expect more.’ With those words he departed for the hall, leaving her to examine the bales of cloth.

  Ann and Hubert were to marry on the Feast of Beltane on the fifth day of May. Count Alan said grudgingly that it would be a gesture to this ancient celebration that was so loved in Brittany. The day would include Christian practices since they could unite a Christian wedding supper with the Beltane feast.

  A few days after the seamstresses arrived, Gunnhild stood by the solar window. She held up a swathe of pale blue linen so that sunbeams slanted on to it and said, ‘Ann, this is for your wedding gown.’ She reached for silver braid. ‘And this can edge a pair of flowing sleeves. The rest can be worked into a girdle.’

  ‘My lady, I cannot, it is too fine.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Gunnhild lowered her voice. ‘You have helped me with the servants, with the dairy, with the still room. I would never have known how to run this household without your help. And, yes, I know, I still have much to learn.’ She laughed. ‘At least I have no need of an ash switch. They obey me now, thanks to your guidance.’

  ‘My lady, that is all due to your firm way, though perhaps the fact that you are taller than most of them and can look down on them helps, too.’ Ann smiled, her dark eyes twinkling with happiness at Gunnhild’s praise.

  ‘No, I think you know that without your help I would have failed here and disappointed my husband. He does not tolerate waste. He is unwilling to allow improvements such as a kitchen,’ Gunnhild pointed to the bolt of pale blue linen, ‘yet he permits us fine cloth.
’

  Ann laughed. ‘Your lord, my lady, is a wealthy man. He has trading interests that surpasses those of the kings in the east or the merchants of the silk roads. These fabrics –’ she fingered the blue linen, ‘– he has kept stored away in warehouses in Rouen to resell. Your husband organises trade.’

  Gunnhild had not known that. There were things that Ann revealed in their conversations within the territory of the solar that she must have gleaned from Hubert, though it would not become her status as Alan’s wife to discuss him with her servant. ‘Well then,’ she said aloud, loath to allow Ann to see just how little she really knew about her husband, ‘since he does not begrudge me cloth, you shall have this linen for a new gown.’ Gunnhild called the seamstress over to them. ‘You will measure Mistress Ann for a dress fit for a marriage. Bring me over the crimson silk.’

  Gunnhild had been pleased when Count Alan had come into the solar a few days before with the bolt of silk, insisting that she had it made into an overgown and cloak. He was specific in his instructions. It should be decorated with gold embroidery. She would wear the new gown for the wedding feast.

  The little seamstress lifted the bolt of crimson silk and bustled back over the rushes to Gunnhild. Gunnhild told her to leave it on the table beside them and return to her work.

  ‘So you see, Ann,’ she said, pointing at the crimson silk, ‘I have already chosen my dress.’ She lifted the fine blue linen. ‘This blue will illuminate the dark gleam in your eyes.’ She went over to a box on a small table by the window. Unlocking it, she said, ‘My lord gave me three necklaces when that merchant from Friesland rode into our courtyard last week. I want you to have this one as a wedding gift.’ She pulled out a string of pearls. ‘I do not need it.’