Threads of Treason (Anglo-Norman mysteries)

by Mary Bale

  ‘We have someone on board we cannot trust. I packed the food myself and it has been tampered with.’

  ‘Perhaps they were just hungry?’

  ‘Nothing has been eaten,’ said Abbess Eleanor. ‘I placed seals on the pots myself, and they have been broken.’

  ‘We must tell our guards.’

  ‘I fear it was one of them that did it, child.’

  ‘But if we do not they could be…’ Therese didn’t dare say the word, “poisoned”.

  Before either of them could say anything a blast of wind caught their cover and a shout went up, ‘Man over-board!’ The corner of the sheet flipped over revealing a group of men stooped over the stern of the boat, but the knight who was stationed there was not among them. The men were looking into the black sea.

  ‘We have no hope of finding Sir Brian in this storm,’ the boatman told Abbess Eleanor. ‘It is set to get worse. We must make haste for the English coast. It is not far now.’

  Therese pulled at Abbess Eleanor’s sleeve and said, ‘Do you think Sir Brian ate anything?’ Any sense of feeling safe was draining away with the loss of one of their protectors.

  The Abbess nodded in acceptance of the idea, but said, ‘I doubt if he had, but I will ask. In addition, I will instruct the food to be put overboard. We must take every precaution.’ She made her way over to the remaining knight and the boatman at the rudder. Abbess Eleanor held what she could to keep her purchase with the rolling sea beneath her. Therese heard the boatman’s voice raised against the wind and sea in reply: he would carry out her instructions. She saw his head dip towards the Abbess and say more in a way others would not be able to hear. She replied in a like fashion. They spoke thus for some moments before he returned to his duties.

  Watching her return, Therese pondered the possibility that the missing knight could have been pushed overboard by a traitor still on the boat. These thoughts spilled out into words as the Abbess sat back next to Therese and pulled the cover over them.

  ‘I have already asked, Sister Therese. The sea is rough, no one saw anything. They are sure it was an accident and that is almost as bad, because the boatmen think such a thing is a bad omen. So, I have set them to praying as they work. It will keep their minds off such nonsense.’

  Having settled herself, Abbess Eleanor turned to Therese in the darkness cast by their makeshift tent and said, ‘I am going to tell you a story. This is a true story and it may protect you in England if anything happens to me. Now listen, child.’

  Therese reached out and touched Abbess Eleanor’s hand, ‘I’m not afraid,’ she said. The Abbess gripped her hand in turn; her long sleeve slipped back showing a heavy ring. Therese recognised it as belonging to Bishop Odon.

  ‘You ought to be scared,’ said the Abbess tilting her head so she spoke directly into her ear. ‘You were born into a land of fire and death. You are an Anglo-Saxon. You were born in the summer of 1066.’

  Therese frowned and said nothing. To argue her Frenchness with her superior would be impudent; to cry would be weak; to exclaim that she always knew she was different and belonged elsewhere would be ungrateful.

  ‘When,’ continued Abbess Eleanor, ‘William Duke of Normandy crossed the channel to conquer that usurper of England’s crown, Harold, one of the ships landed at Romney away from William’s fleet at Pevensey Bay. The people of Romney killed all our brave men aboard that vessel. When the Battle of Hastings took place Bishop Odon fought alongside his half-brother, William. The Pope himself had sent his backing for the enterprise.’

  ‘Our Duke defeated Harold and became King of England,’ said Therese proudly.

  ‘Please listen, my dear. The people of Romney had to pay for what they’d done to the ship that landed there. King William laid waste to the village.’ The Abbess stopped.

  ‘Go on, please,’ said Therese. She sensed some difficulty for the older woman in what she had to say. ‘I want to hear the truth.’

  ‘At Romney Bishop Odon found a baby girl hidden when all else was dead and burnt. The baby was you, Sister Therese. He hid you inside his robes and sent you back to me in Normandy for safekeeping. I have brought you up as he asked; now he is returning you to your homeland.’

  The story was so strange, Therese hardly attached it to herself. ‘But that is not why we are going to England, Abbess. I do not need an escort of knights. Bishop Odon said something about looking after a great embroidery for his brother.’

  ‘The reality of your story will take time to settle on you. And you must understand that we cannot look after the embroidery, Sister. Two nuns and a few guards would not be enough to protect it, even without a traitor among us. No, I have been sent to find out who is behind the difficulties at the priory where the last panel is being made. I only tell you this so you know what you are up against if anything happens to me.’

  Therese gripped Abbess Eleanor’s hands. ‘Do not fear, Abbess. I will finish your work if you are unable to do so yourself.’

  ‘No, you must not, Sister. I am telling you this so you will leave well alone and declare your Saxon blood if you fall into danger. Now, the sea is getting rougher. You will need to hang on. With God’s help we should not be far from the English shore.’

  With that Therese realised she was soaked and cold. She wanted to consider her new history, but could not as it took all her energies to hang on to the boat. The sea heaved and the boat was kicked by the waves; sometimes it gave to them; other times it rode them; and sometimes it seemed to fight them. The boatmen yelled at each other and Therese felt her thrill of life shift to wanting to live just a while longer. God, she thought, would not mind waiting for her. She curled up in the bottom of the boat until the movement and shouting subsided. She wasn’t sure if they’d reached safety even when she felt the boat scrape on sand. In the dark she could not tell if she’d reached the land of her birth.

  Abbess Eleanor was holding her shoulders and pulling her upright. “We are here,’ she said. ‘I have spoken to our remaining knight, Sir Gilbert. He will be coming with us to Canterbury. I will dismiss the others. I cannot trust them.’

  ‘But we need more than one knight to guard us, Abbess?’

  ‘I cannot take the risk, Sister Therese. We have our own investigations to make, and we must not be prevented from completing them. It is the only way I can be sure we will not have a traitor with us.’ With the sea behind her the Abbess seemed to have regained her sober authority.

  ‘Yes, Abbess.’ Therese tried to sound as if she understood, but she remembered clearly the Bishop’s instructions to help the Abbess. And this woman was her superior in every way.

  ‘We will go on to Canterbury through the night. Lympne Castle is not far from here I am told. They will provide us with dry clothes and a cart, and a wagoner to drive us.’

  Therese didn’t doubt Abbess Eleanor’s ability to do as she said and indeed she soon found herself seated next to her on a cart headed for Canterbury driven by a wagoner with Sir Gilbert riding next to them. She fell to praying. It comforted her to pass the beads of her rosary through her fingers as she recited her Ave Marias. The Abbess did not seem to be praying. She sat very upright staring at the stars in the clearing sky.

  ‘I feared this, Sister Therese,’ she said. ‘I begged Bishop Odon to leave you in Normandy. You would have been safe there.’

  ‘But only half-alive,’ said Therese forgetting to grip the bead she was up to firmly. Her fingers slipped. She looked down at her rosary. She would have to start that set of ten again.

  ‘I may have brought you to your death, child.’

  ‘I will say an extra rosary for good measure.’ Therese smiled to herself. She was beginning to sound like Sister Miriam.

  ‘To be sure,’ agreed the Abbess and she returned her attention to the sky.

  Chapter 2

  Normandy

  Odon de Bayeux came out of the chapel. He was energised and comforted by his prayers. Today would be a better day. The rising sun brightened the host o
f painted angels on the wall. The birds captured by the artist flew among the heavenly creatures and Odon fancied they sang with the voices of the birds outside.

  Feet fell on the stone corridor beyond the turning ahead of him. They took him back to his youth, when his mother’s other, elder son was already Duke of Normandy. The young Duke William would run with the same step as that which approached him now. The owner of the steps came around the bend and halted in front of him. Robert. He could see the likeness to his father in his steady eyes and strong limbs, but there was a gentleness about him that was not like his father and a laugh which could only have been inherited from his mother, Queen Mathilde.

  ‘Uncle, you will risk my father’s ire coming here,’ Robert said with a frown. ‘I am already virtually an outcast.’

  ‘I have risked King William’s anger more than once, Robert. But it is always a pleasure to see my nephew.’

  ‘Being my father’s half-brother does not make you untouchable, Uncle. He is just as likely to throw you into prison as a plundering Dane.’

  ‘You have fought him yourself, Robert.’

  ‘Only because he gave me the Dukedom of Normandy but will not let me rule in my own right.’ Robert looked out of the window. ‘You have always fought alongside him.’ He turned to face him. ‘So how many sons have struck their own fathers in battle?’

  ‘He has learnt to give you some distance,’ said Odon.

  ‘Yes, but I have even fought for him in the North of England – as you well know – and still he will not let me rule Normandy.’

  ‘You will. He has promised.’ Odon could see that Robert was turning to his old grievances.

  ‘I might as well not be the eldest son. He will not name me as his successor to the English throne. He is saving that for Rufus. He is always with my father, but I have to spend most of my time here, powerless. Even Henry gets all that he asks for.’

  ‘Stay your hand, Robert. Your little brother Henry is barely more than a child. He is no challenge to you. And you are not at war with your father now. Let this amnesty breathe awhile so peace may have a life.’

  ‘I’ve not come for your advice, Uncle. I have come to advise you. You know my father expects you to be in England.’

  ‘Protecting the South coast from the Danes. I know, I know. Like you I am a caretaker King for a king that makes endless war. And, like you, I grow weary of the demands. I have been a warrior for him, but he also appointed me Bishop and that is where I see my future now.’

  ‘He will not appoint you Archbishop of Canterbury. The monk Lanfranc holds that post.’ There was a teasing glint in Robert’s eye.

  ‘And I do not want it, Robert, no matter how much that old Italian monk vexes me. Bishop of Bayeux is status enough for me. Once I have completed my present task I will settle to the holy life.’

  ‘You have not settled to it before,’ said Robert with a grin.

  ‘Robert, that is no way to address a Bishop,’ smiled Odon.

  ‘The only person who can speak to you thus is my father, the King,’ conceded Robert.

  ‘One day you may have that right, Robert, but not now.’

  Robert looked back out of the window and Odon could not fathom the young man’s thoughts. But he was already more than a young man, twenty-seven. Uncles can so easily forget such things. Odon scolded himself and set to take his leave when Robert caught his arm. There was a sudden loss of loneliness in his hold, as if the same blood coursed through their bodies.

  ‘Edgar the Aethling has aligned himself to me,’ said Robert.

  ‘To have the backing of an Anglo-Saxon with his own rights to the English throne is very dangerous,’ warned Odon.

  ‘You have your own enemies Uncle. I will not tell the King you are here, but you can be sure there will be both Normans and clergy as well as Anglo-Saxons ready to betray you.’

  ‘I will be careful, Robert. You know my loyalties rest with you, but for now trust me, as I trust you to do what is right.’

  ‘There was one last thing, Uncle,’ said Robert. A smile robbed his face of its concern. ‘Mother wants to see you before you leave.’

  * * *

  Queen Mathilde sat at her embroidery caught in the light from her window.

  ‘I must stitch in the good light, Bishop. My eyes are not what they were. My ageing has been worth it though for I have a strong King, fine sons, beautiful daughters and I am Queen of England. How does that sound to you?’

  ‘The Archbishop of Canterbury would caution you against pride, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Archbishop Lanfranc is a holy man,’ said the Queen. ‘And you, brother-in-law, what would you caution me against? The power of my men folk? Do you think my husband too hard on the rabble of England, Odon?’

  ‘I am always in the fullest recognition of King William’s greatness.’ Odon bowed.

  ‘There may be a time, Odon, when rulers will not need to be hard on their enemies to command respect, but that time has not come yet.’ She leaned towards him. ‘Can you imagine being a Duke from the age of eight with everyone trying to take your Dukedom from you. It has made King William a strong and ruthless man.’ Her voice trembled with admiration. ‘Do you think he would still be King if he was not?’

  ‘No, Your Majesty.’ The Bishop bowed to her and knew that she was right.

  She waved her hand as if dismissing all that had just been said. ‘Bishop,’ she said softly, ‘you are concerned about a vast wall-hanging you have commissioned to honour our King, I understand.’

  ‘With respect, Your Majesty, I am surprised you have come to learn of the reasons for my visit.’ Odon felt a shiver of worry cross his shoulders. Secrecy, it was his code, and yet still the Queen could find out so much. If she could find out about his problems, who else might know?

  ‘My nuns hear whispers, how can they not?’

  Odon wrestled with the thought that his own people could gossip so loosely.

  ‘And don’t look like that. It was not your Abbess Eleanor who told me.’

  He straightened his face, but still could not hide his concern.

  ‘Nor was it your little Therese. You dispatched them both to England so quickly no-one could have got a word out of them.’

  ‘What do you know of Therese?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘You will not tell the King about her, will you?’

  ‘Your secret is safe with me. He might think you weak for saving a baby, especially one that should have been slain.’

  ‘No-one in England would call me weak, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Even the mighty Odon cannot guarantee her safety in England.’

  ‘I know that, but I will soon be there myself to protect her.’

  ‘You should have gone with her yourself.’

  ‘England is such hard work. I needed time away.’ Odon helped himself to a seat and sunk down in it. She did not make him move.

  ‘I have not called you here to squabble, my husband’s brother.’ And she smiled. A little light caught her eye and his temper and tiredness melted. ‘I have also come here,’ she continued, ‘to see Robert. The King need not know that either of us have visited his wayward son.’ She raised her eyebrows at him, indicating the trust they now shared. ‘I have a little ruse in mind to protect your embroidery, your great English work.’

  ‘What is that, Your Majesty?’

  ‘You may put it about that I am making it here in Normandy.’ The Queen’s smile broadened to embrace her whole face. Odon smiled in reply, wondering how much she knew of the enterprise.

  ‘Stop fussing, Odon. I do not know where it is and if I did, why would I want any harm to come to this wonderful tribute to my King?’

  Odon was alarmed, as he always was, at how well she read him. Her face beamed, then a chuckle started somewhere deep inside her and rocked her until she openly laughed.

  Odon laughed with her. Recovering slightly, he managed to say, ‘I will start the rumour immediately.’

  ‘And so shall I,’
said Queen Mathilde. And then laughter overtook them both.

  * * *

  Eastern Normandy

  Edgar Aethling put down the letter from his sister, Christina. This would be an appropriate time to visit her in her convent in England beyond Winchester at Wilton and then he would travel around the coast and go on to Dunfermline to see Margaret, the Queen of Scotland. He was delighted with his elder sister’s brood. Children of his own would be out of the question, but his bloodline could still sit on the throne of England with some tact and cunning. He would leave his small eastern corner of Normandy very quietly.

  * * *

  Kent, England

  The Abbess strained her neck as she stood on the wagon seat to view the countryside around her. She addressed the wagoner. ‘We are not taking the right road, Thorkell. I said I wanted to go the most direct route and that is across country, not by way of the coast.’

  Therese knew Abbess Eleanor spoke English, but it was strange to hear her speak it outside the abbey, where she had learnt the language from her.

  ‘That is not the safest way,’ said Thorkell in a strong local accent. ‘We are better to go along to Dover and then up Watling Street. It was the King’s own route when he arrived in England. There are more folk that way.’

  ‘There is a Roman road through the woods to Canterbury. It is part of the Abbey’s land. We will take it.’

  ‘It is more dangerous, Abbess,’ said the Thorkell.

  ‘It is a shorter distance. Sir Gilbert will be with us, we need not fear. Speed is essential.’

  Thorkell shook his head and drove his pair of mules on up the hill away from the coast and the moonlight playing on the sea. Therese turned away from the sea too. The knight set off ahead of the cart to check that the way was clear, but Sir Gilbert’s horse was used to a faster pace and he was soon lost from view. He turned back to check on them from time to time, but he was often out of sight. The wagoner muttered endlessly about the loneliness of the route, how much better a surface the coast road had, and how many more places there were that way for gaining refreshment. Therese heard him mutter, ‘Fools,’ as he stopped the cart at the junction to the Roman road.