‘Who says? Alan?’
‘Her beauty was renowned. I caught a glimpse her myself as a young soldier when they brought her to the camp at Hastings. Her skin was white and once I saw her hair I think I was half in love with her. It was thick and the colour of corn.’ He reached up and touched Gunnhild’s hair where it escaped from the veil that covered it. ‘Golden like your own.’ He looked at her with longing. ‘How I would love to unpin your hair now and watch it fall.’ He playfully tugged her veil. She moved away from him.
‘I think it not the right time, Niall.’ She glanced about her. The cloisters were deep with shadows. A sundial stood in a square of moonlight. An archway opposite stood empty. Yet she sensed movement, as if someone was watching from it. She blinked and caught Niall’s sleeve. What she had thought to be a cloak had moved into the archway’s hollow. ‘Just look over there,’ she whispered. ‘I am sure somebody is waiting in the shadows.’
Niall followed her glance, looked hard for a moment, turned back to her and said, ‘If there was, he has gone. And, there was nothing for him to see; just two fellow-travellers on their way to prayer with their maid close behind them.’ He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Never fear, sweeting, nobody knows.’
She let go of his hand-clasp. Except God, and perhaps Christina who thinks she knows and would put such knowledge to use if she thought she might gain from it.
The following day she rode out to St Augustine’s priory, recently rebuilt after a fire had destroyed its buildings. The new priory gleamed white amongst placid meadows. The two women handed their horses’ reins to a stable lad and crossed a green swathe to the receiving hall. There they were greeted by Prioress Elizabeth who gave Hilde over to two nuns who would show her over the buildings whilst Gunnhild spoke with her mother. Gunnhild followed the quiet Prioress through the cloisters and left her by the door into the apartment where Elditha was dwelling in considerable comfort. With trepidation bubbling Gunnhild knocked. A voice called out, ‘Enter’. Prioress Elizabeth touched her arm and said softly, ‘I shall return later, my child.’ She could hear the nun’s departing tread as she hurried back through the cloister.
She stood in the doorway unable to speak. Her heart foundered until her mother turned from a desk by a long window and stepped forward to greet her. She was as tall as Gunnhild had remembered, her hair concealed by a wimple and her face serene. She reached out her hands to Gunnhild and said, ‘I have been anticipating this for days, ever since the messenger came to say you were on your way south to visit me. And yesterday when the Bishop’s messenger came to say you had arrived, well, I need not tell you, sleep eluded me last night.’
She came closer, her hands outstretched, all the time gazing at Gunnhild’s face. ‘Welcome, daughter.’ Elditha reached out and clasped Gunnhild to her breast. She held her back and studied her. For a moment they stared at each other without words. Although so many years had passed, Gunnhild was surprised at how familiar her mother seemed. Her eyes were the same green with flecks of hazel and though she wore a close-fitting wimple of starched linen, a little of her grey hair escaped onto her cheek. Elditha’s dress was a nun’s plain overgown of wool with loosely hanging sleeves. Pleats of snowy linen peeped below them at the wrist. A silver belt cinched her small waist and from it hung scissors, a thimble and a bunch of keys. They let go another long embrace and for a moment Gunnhild looked away. Her mother’s chamber was light and smelled of late autumn roses. There was a wide bed with green linen curtains, decorated with a border of gold. A harp lay on a side table in a corner. She must still play it. Gunnhild looked at her mother again, a tall, serene lady who, now past fifty, was still handsome.
‘Let us walk to my bee hives,’ Elditha said. ‘You are grown up, Gunnhild, and I hardly know what to say to you. And that gown, do I recognise it perhaps?’ She tapped her chin with a finger. ‘Ah, I believe it belonged to your Aunt Edith? Come, if we walk in the sunshine we can relax with each other’s company and you can tell me about life in the north. ’
‘This gown did belong to Queen Edith, Mother. I inherited it and now I wear it for special occasions such as today.’ She absently touched the small leather satchel by her hip. It contained the land document and a gift for Elditha. But these could wait.
‘You are a beauty, Gunnhild.’ Elditha touched her daughter’s face and as she did a frown crossed her brow. She turned away from her daughter and lifted the latch of a door that opened into another cloister. Gunnhild followed her out into a garden.
‘Well, tell me, how has this marriage treated you, Gunnhild?’ Elditha said as she opened a low gate to a herb garden.
So that explained her mother’s unease. It must be the marriage to Count Alan .
Gunnhild breathed in the scents of thyme and lavender. Dare she tell the truth to the woman who had rejected Count Alan many years before? She breathed the scent of lavender again and then found words. Now that she was with her mother she could not hold back. Once she began, her story began to pour out as they walked, her satchel swinging softly by her hips. She hardly noticed that they had already passed through the garden and had reached a pleasant apple orchard. Gunnhild stopped speaking. She had only spoken of her leave-taking of Wilton. There was so much more to explain.
Elditha indicated a bench by a pile of woven skeps and Gunnhild spread the skirt of her gown and sank onto it. ‘We have privacy here,’ Elditha remarked. ‘There are many wagging tongues in this place. Tell me the rest …’
Gunnhild told her about the happiness of her early days, Brittany and their return to Richmond with a small daughter, how after that terrible labour all those years ago she had never conceived again. She told her about the winter of measles and the deaths, of the winters of famine and the visit of Sir Edward earlier that summer. She then recounted how they had rescued Maud and how she had been betrothed, married at nine years old and sent to her husband’s family in Lincoln. Yes, thankfully, Maud was going to be happy there. She finally said that Count Alan was rarely with her but that his brother helped her with her care of Castle Richmond. When she saw that Elditha was frowning at this part of her story she could not resist saying, ‘I heard that Count Alan wanted to marry you, my lady mother.’
Elditha’s frown turned into a smile. ‘That is an old story. He was hardly older than your brothers. And, of course, he was responsible for the destruction of Reredfelle.’
‘I thought King William was responsible.’
‘They were both responsible and I cannot forgive them.’ Elditha folded her hands and said, ‘Now, daughter, have you come with a request?’ Gunnhild inhaled a long breath. The question hung in the air.
She clasped her hands together and said, ‘Mother, Alan asked me to show you a land document that he has had drawn up.’ She opened her satchel and drew out a tight scroll from which a seal dangled. When she handed it over, Elditha broke the seal, opened it, laid it on her knee and began to read it slowly.
She glanced up. ‘Gunnhild, this refers to my Kent properties. It includes Reredfelle. Many of these estates will go to Wilton Abbey. Some belong to the crown, others to this convent and the monks’ church of St Augustine.’ She smiled. ‘They could never be your lands anyway because by Norman law all that goes to you becomes your husband’s possessions.’ She reached over and placed a hand on Gunnhild’s hand. ‘They are disputed estates, but some of them must go to Wilton because one day, my daughter, you may seek sanctuary there.’
‘I could never return to Wilton, my lady mother.’
‘I hope then that that day does not come, but it is wise to be pragmatic. I have your interests at heart, and your father’s family have always had their daughters educated in Wilton. We have long given Wilton our support. I cannot and will not allow Count Alan to purloin the Wessex properties. So, my dearest daughter, this must be an end to a gathering of Wessex lands.’ She handed Gunnhild back the scroll. ‘Take it to him and tell him I say no. In any case, a petition from me will make no difference to the outcome. Alan
may be a cousin to the King but I believe that the matter has been decided by Archbishop Lanfranc.’
Gunnhild nodded. ‘It will not please him. I have done my duty by him and clarified the matter with you. I have no desire to take land from Wilton or from St Augustine. In fact, it pleases me to think he will not get his way on the matter.’ She smiled and tucked the charter into her satchel.
Elditha rose. ‘Now let us take a look at my bees. After that we can return to my chamber to eat honey cakes and take a cup of wine together.’ Gathering her dark skirts she rose from the bench, slipped her arm through Gunnhild’s and walked her around the bee hives. For a moment, as Gunnhild peered into a skep seeking the queen amongst the bevy of singing bees, she understood why her mother was enchanted by this peaceful orchard, by the minutiae of nature. She keenly felt the presence of the mother for whom she suddenly felt an overpowering love. Yet, it was mingled with the sadness of loss. As she discovered the queen bee at rest amongst the labouring bees, she wondered if she would ever meet her mother again this side of heaven.
When they returned to the abbey building and were sitting companionably with cups of honeyed wine and small sweet cakes, Elditha spoke about Gunnhild’s brothers and sisters. ‘I wish it had all been different. I am old now and I accept everything has changed out in the world, except one thing. I cannot believe your brother Ulf is a squire at Robert Curthose’s court and still a prisoner. I suppose I must be grateful that this Robert who wars with his own father has befriended our Ulf.’
‘My sister?’ Gunnhild asked. ‘She is well?’
‘She is wed to the Prince of Kiev. If I were not approaching my dotage I would travel across Europe to see her. She has children of her own. She called her first son Harold for her father.’ With these words Elditha’s eyes appeared to cloud over. Gunnhild reached out to her, ‘Mother, perhaps you still can visit your grandchildren.’
‘I think it unlikely.’ Elditha wiped away her tears with her hand. ‘It seems I have all but lost my children, all of you, whom I love so much, and though I may not see you, you all dwell within my heart. Remember this, Gunnhild, in case we never meet again. You are part of me. You will always be so. I have prayed for you daily since you were nine years old and will continue to do so every day that remains to me.’ There was a gentle rapping on the door. ‘Come in,’ Elditha called. The Abbess Elizabeth pushed it open and stepped inside. ‘My lady, Anselm of Bec has come to see you.’ She glanced at Gunnhild. ‘But should I send him away?’
Elditha said, ‘Send him in, Prioress. He must meet my daughter.’
Gunnhild, knowing her allotted time was drawing to a close, laid her cup down and lifted her satchel from the floor. She withdrew a book from it. ‘It is for you, Mother, a book of St Cecilia.’
Elditha took it to the table and opened it. She gasped as she saw the perfect calligraphy and exquisite drawings – St Cecilia with her harp, and the creatures peeping out from roses, cornflowers and daisies that danced along the margins. She carefully turned over a page. There was her saint again, this time kneeling in prayer with a golden halo placed above her head. With a delicate touch, Elditha traced the gold leaf on the miniature hovering circle.
Abbess Elizabeth came to the table where the book lay opened. A tall elderly man in a simple monk’s robe slipped in behind her and stood silently at Elditha’s elbow. The man looked down on the beautiful drawings and illuminations, and delicately drew back the tiny scraps of linen that protected many of them. ‘This is a work of great beauty,’ he sighed as he turned the pages carefully again and lifted another fragile curtain to see the illustrations. ‘Where did you come by such a precious thing?’ He addressed her and as he did, seemed to look into her soul. In his countenance she saw wisdom so profound and intelligence so sharp she immediately felt at ease.
‘I made it, Abbot Anselm,’ she said simply. ‘I was allowed to work in the scriptorium when I lived at Wilton Abbey. I drew and I wrote. I preferred the drawing of letters to embroidery. I work on vellum when I can. Mostly I use parchment.’
‘You have a great talent. It is Wilton’s loss that you saw a different calling, daughter.’
Elditha sighed. ‘She brings this precious gift for me, Anselm.’ She touched Gunnhild’s arm. ‘It is too valuable, Gunnhild.’
‘It took me many years, but, yes, my mother, it is for you, my gift to my mother who has suffered so much.’
‘And who has found peace.’ Elditha closed the curtain covering the last page and then the book. Looking up she said, ‘It will give me such pleasure to look on this when you are gone.’ She clasped Gunnhild close to her and whispered, ‘My sweet child, now I must speak with my old friend, Abbot Anselm, today, before he journeys on to Wilton.’
Knowing their meeting had come to its end, Gunnhild lifted her satchel and followed Abbess Elizabeth to the door. For a few hours it had been as if time had paused, as if she was a small girl once again, pouring out her heart to her mother as she had done in her childhood. She glanced back and saw her mother watching after her. ‘Come again, daughter,’ Elditha called softly.
‘Before we depart Canterbury, I shall come to say goodbye.’ She took one final look at her mother’s pretty chamber, her small altar, a painted Madonna hanging above it, the carved table, shuttered windows and her bed covered with green linen curtains embroidered with gold.
Gunnhild collected Hilde from the refectory where she was chattering with a group of novices over a cup of elderberry cordial. She patted her satchel as, accompanied by the jingling of their bridle bells, she rode out of the courtyard reflecting that she did not care a fig for Count Alan’s disappointment when he discovered her latest failure.
Alan had not returned from Brittany when they rode into Richmond after a slow, uneventful journey up the Great North Road. Gunnhild spent October at Richmond preserving fruit in jars, which she sealed with wax stoppers, pickling onions in vinegar, clearing her herb garden and gathering apples in the orchard which she carefully laid by in straw to see them through the winter. She missed Maud but kept busy, passing her evenings writing her new book dedicated to St Brigit, her own name-day saint.
As the month passed and Alan sent no word of his return, Niall slipped through the castle after the midnight bell rang and discreetly shared Gunnhild’s bed. He disappeared back to his gatehouse before dawn. If Ann and Hilde or any others close to Gunnhild harboured the suspicion that Niall visited her chamber under cover of darkness none spoke of it.
Count Alan clattered over the bridge and through the gatehouse entrance on a November morning of clinging spider webs and swirling mists. He discovered Gunnhild in the still room supervising the making of beer, an apron wrapped about her gown and her hair escaping her close linen work wimple.
He never embraced her, nor did he greet her with any semblance of affection. He had not ridden straight to Richmond from York but had stopped to spend the night in Alfred’s Hall at Well. ‘Wife, I must speak with you in private,’ he said to her, his brow darkening. There was anger in his face.
She sent her maids away and told them to return to finish the brewing after they had changed the linen on his bed, dusted and prepared a bath tub for him. Turning back to Alan, she said, ‘We are private here.’ She poured him a cup of beer. ‘Drink. Then say what you have to say.’ She pushed the cup over the table to him, refilled a jug and sat it beside his cup.
He gulped down the beer and wiped the froth from his mouth remarking, ‘It is good beer.’ He paused. ‘Uhtred of Middleton has been allowed to return to his estates. He remains as under-tenant on my estates. The King has pardoned him for his attempted abduction of Maud when the bastard should have been punished. Robert of Durham had a hand in that decision.’ Alan set his cup down on the table and pointed a gauntleted hand at her. ‘And you, Gunnhild, you have not helped matters. You were sent to Canterbury and your mother refuses her help. The King has granted her Wessex lands to Wilton, to St Augustine in Canterbury and to that greedy bishop, his half-brothe
r Odo, who has begged the king’s forgiveness. He is another bastard who has managed to get your mother’s lands, our lands.’
Gunnhild wiped her hands on her apron. ‘They are not my mother’s lands to grant away. The King owns everything. They were never “our lands”, Alan.’
‘Mind this,’ he said. ‘The King gives lands and castles into the care of his barons. I am one of his most important tenants in chief in England. With the numbers of soldiers William is billeting on my castles in the north and on my houses elsewhere I need rent from all the land I can get to feed them.’ He glared. ‘I should never have trusted you or your mother, Gunnhild. You did not represent our case.’
She raised her left eyebrow. ‘Our case, my lord? Surely you mean your case. In this world I am nothing, at least not in your world. Must I remind you I am a woman with little power? Now, if you are finished I think you should go and cool your temper in the bath tub. I have work here.’
He did not move but instead poured himself another cup. In a more reasoned voice he said, ‘You do have your own property, Gunnhild. You have a dower castle in Brittany. And I can vouch for it being a very comfortable castle too.’
Gunnhild sank onto the bench opposite him. ‘You have been there?’
Alan grunted, ‘I did not stay in Dinan.’
‘And Agenhart?’
‘A girl. She gave birth to a girl. I took Agenhart to Castle Fréhel to recover from a difficult birth.’
Gunnhild bit her lip and swallowed her furious retort. Agenhart had stayed in her castle, had used her bedchamber, eaten in her hall. She did not ask how they had named the child. She could not bring herself to complain and for good reason, except to say with bitterness for all that was lost between them, ‘Are they still living in Fréhel Castle, Alan? If so I do not want her there.’
‘No, they are back in Dinan. Agenhart has her own property in the town. She has maids and cooks and skilled silk workers.’ He looked up from his beer cup. ‘She has her own cloth business in Dinan, you know. She brings silk cocoons in from Spain. My merchants sell her fabrics for her.’
The Swan-Daughter (The Daughters of Hastings) Page 30