Godiva (9 page)

How confounding that something so joyful and meaningful, something that in no way competed with any part of her that belonged to God, should be such a heinous sin.

CHAPTER 9

Coventry

G
odiva had never actively participated in a Land Ceremony, but for the past few years, she had been Bishop Lyfing's guest to observe the custom in the estates outside the burgh gates of Worcester. She supposed the peasants did it every year, but when the growing season was bad—as had been the case, alarmingly, for years upon years now—the farmers believed that a person of high status, and especially a churchman, added gravity and power to the ritual.

T
he night of the Equinox, she wore layers of wool to bed, and told Merewyn to expect the steward in the dead of night. She found she could not sleep, and was already awake and dressed in every green-dyed garment she had with her in Coventry when the steward arrived. She chose green for fertility. Silk undertunic and green hose, woolen tunic girdled with a green-beaded belt and lots of gold embroidery, then an overtunic of green leather; then a cloth-of-gold veil to add a touch of majesty. She wished she had a mirror-glass. She felt bulky under all those layers but hoped she looked at least a little elegant for the farmers.

When the summons came, Leofric almost stayed asleep, but her excitement finally roused him. He pulled his heaviest woolen tunic over his shirt, belted it, put a looser leather tunic over that, and then took the waiting cloak from the sleepy-eyed chamberlain. A lantern and a rush light together lit their way into the hall, out of the hall, through the courtyard to the gate, where they were met by Avery and the dozen or so farmers they had seen before. There was much bowing and expressions of gratitude, which Leofric waved away gruffly.

They walked all together in the darkness. The day had been sunny, then clouds had rolled in from the west in time to trap the solar gain, so it was not as frigid as Godiva had feared. They reached the market square, and then, turning off one of the paths, they traveled around behind the monastery to Coffa's Tree. It made sense, thought Godiva, that they would gather here.

The farmers, with their wives and children and aging parents, had spent all night, and likely the day before, in preparation for this moment. A trestle table had been set out under the tree, dim-lit with lanterns. A plough waited beside the table, harnessed to a sleepy-looking ox. As if an elaborate dinner feast were to be assembled, the table was lined with neat, small piles of fist-size objects, each of which Avery showed her, to demonstrate how ably they had prepared.

“Here is the earth,” he said, pointing to four small pieces of sod. These had come, she knew, from the four corners of the farmland that was about to be blessed. Beside the turf were four jugs—“holy water, honey, oil, and all the milks,” recited Avery. “All the milks” meant milk from each kind of livestock, or at least the sheep and cow. She wondered if one could milk a sow, and then decided it was too early in the morning to worry about it.

Avery now walked her down the table, showing her chunks taken out of different trees, to represent each kind of tree but oak, which was exempt; the aspen, unlike the ash, birch, hawthorn, and other shards of wood, was neatly cut and fastened to make a cross. Next along the table was the most unruly pile, a heap of stems of every known plant on the property to be blessed, from what was grown to what was gathered. These included wilting daffodils, primroses, celandines, violets, and hazel flowers.

“It is well done,” she said, sensing his desire to please her. He smiled with satisfaction, and led her back to the head of the table.

Four weary girls each picked up one piece of turf and turned it upside down in their hands. Avery was about to coax Godiva, but she politely brushed him away, remembering this part of the ceremony from when Lyfing had led it.

She took the smallest jug, which held the holy water, and put her hand into it. As Avery held the lantern close, and all the farmers and their families craned to see, Godiva carefully dripped three drops of holy water on each piece of turf, and over each piece she recited, “Grow and multiply, and make the earth replete with harvest.
Pater Nostrum
. . .” The congregation joined her for the rest of the prayer.

That was her first role in the ritual, and she felt a thrill, even for that small gesture. The farmers and their wives gathered into aprons and sacks all of the flora on the table, as a few of the men carefully picked up the jugs of milk, honey, and oil, and led by the girls holding the pieces of sod, the entire group moved toward the stone walls of the monastery, where a waiting monk silently let them in through the narrow post-door. Inside the compound, they herded themselves into the church.

At this point, Bishop Lyfing would typically have taken on his more conventional priestly role to sing four masses over the turf (still upside down, so that the damp muck would not spoil the altar). With the local mass-priest performing this, Godiva struggled to stay awake in the chill dark. Finally the priest—whose name she ought to know, and did, when she was more alert—placed a token of the four saints upon the arms of the aspen cross. He picked up the sod, and lay each piece upon an arm of this cross. The congregation stirred themselves again and all of a voice they chanted “
Crescite
” over and over, before segueing again to the
Pater Nostrum
.

And now again Godiva had a role to play. This one she did not know well enough, and Avery stepped up to her, kissed her hand with his dry lips, gestured her to face east, and held up a piece of battered vellum and a lantern with enough light for her to read the charm:

“I stand facing eastward, for I've favors to beg,” she began, chanting in a monotone as she remembered Lyfing chanting. Her chest resonated with the depth of her tone, but her voice was nothing near as sonorous as his. She wished she sounded more like Edgiva, at least. “I ask the great and glorious Lord, I ask heaven's holy guardians, I ask the earth below and the heaven above, and the holy, righteous Mother Mary, and the hallowed halls of Valhalla, that I might be worthy, by God's grace, of fulfilling this charm, and cause the crops to start growing. With my faith, may I make the surface of the earth beautiful with bounty.”

At a gesture from Avery, she turned around her own right shoulder in a circle three times, and then lay herself upon the cold stone before the altar with her arms outstretched so that her body formed a cross. At this point, the priest began to recite in Latin—which meant nothing to any of the congregants—the Litany and then the Sanctus, then the Benedicite and the Magnificat, and by now her body was shivering from the cold radiating from the stones, even through the silk and wool and leather, and despite her best intentions, she was less concerned about the harvest than about sensation returning to the tip of her nose.

Finally she heard the congregation begin to recite, yet again, the
Pater Nostrum,
and gratefully she joined her voice with theirs. She wondered if Edgiva participated in such a ritual at Leominster, or if it fell only to the priests and monks.

Leofric, involving himself for the first time, helped her to her feet and wrapped his own cloak round her; hers was chilled through and he could see the misery on her face. He gave her a paternal smile of approval as the priest commended the pieces of sod to Christ and the holy virgin and the holy rood, and to the honor and benefit of Earl Leofric and his subjects.

Then the priest and the people and the earl and his lady moved all together back out to Coffa's Tree, where it was much colder than it had been hours earlier. By now it was dawn and turning very quickly into full morning.

Avery gently gestured for Godiva to stand behind the plough and take the reins, and again he held up a battered piece of parchment; there was enough light from impending sunrise that she could read this.

“Earth-Mother, may the Almighty Eternal Lord grant you thriving, growing fields, that increase and strengthen, with tall stems and good crops, the broad barley and the wheat. May God Eternal and all his saints in heaven grant that the crops of this land be protected from all our foes, from all the ills of the world, from drought, from sorcery. May God who created this world assure that there be no man nor woman so skilled of tongue that they are able to undo this spell I set.”

Avery smacked the ox on the rump and clicked his tongue at it; the animal began to pull the plough. Godiva, remembering the closing verse from watching Lyfing, shouted out, “Mother Earth, mother of men, we greet you! And pray you may grow all our crops in God's protecting arms, filling your fields for the health of mankind.”

Avery nodded, took control of the plough from her, drove the ox a few more paces, and then stopped to turn his attention back to the ritual.

A woman stepped forward with a loaf of bread and two small jugs. She placed the loaf of bread in the furrow the countess had just ploughed, and over it poured milk from one of the jugs and holy water from the other. To Godiva's surprise, the words that completed the charm rose up in her as if she had known them since childhood:

“Oh, you field, full of food for us, brightly seeding, you shall be blessed. May the god who created this soil bless us with the gift of its fertility, so that each grain shall bloom into corn. Grow in the name of the Father, and blessed be.”

T
wo hours later she was finally warm and dry, and best of all, inside her own chamber; she felt both fulfilled and depleted, elated and withdrawn.

“A beautiful ceremony,” she said to Leofric. He was nursing her. He had ordered a fire-warmed shift be ready when they arrived home; he had taken off her chilled clothes and pulled the warm ones over her head, kissing her collarbone and breasts and belly as he did so. Then there were warmed blankets that he had wrapped around her like swaddling clothes, and he kissed her forehead and rubbed her chilled fingers between his large warm palms. He was proud of her, she could tell, although he would not say so. “If mass felt more like that, I would be far more enthusiastic about going every morning. Easter Sunday shall be such a come-down after a dawn like this!”

Leofric allowed himself a small smile. “I think Lyfing would be quite delighted to hear he has such an apt pupil. Although let us not mention it to any other bishop. I was surprised how much of that litany you knew.”

“So was I,” she said. “Although I am grateful I was not expected to know the priest's parts; I have forgotten much of my Latin. Leofric, do let's write Lyfing and tell him. Perhaps if he is well enough he could join us here for Easter. Think what
that
would do for the spirit of the villagers and farmers! And we could talk to him about Edgiva's—”

“Lyfing is not a young man, Godiva, and his health is diminishing. Let us not burden him with extra duties when he can hardly carry out the ones he has now.”

Godiva gave him a look. “You should at least speak to
him,
of all men, about the heregeld, how to best resist it. Let us see if he can come to Easter, or perhaps we can join him in Worcester if he is not well enough to travel. Let's write to him tomorrow so we may sort it out in time.”

“As the lady of the fields wishes,” said Leofric, with a troubled smile.

Now he would have nightmares about the razing of Worcester, she knew. She should not have mentioned it. “When the king gives an order, you must obey it,” she said.

“Do not make that argument,” he said warningly. “That is no excuse for what happened. It has not always been that way. The Great Council had been very powerful under Harold and Canute. Harthacnut's rule was tyranny and we should have resisted him. All three of us. If we had all three refused to attack the town—”

“He would have had all three of you assassinated, Leofric; he was that kind of man. Edward is no saint, but thank heavens, he is not the despot that his brother was.”

“Amen,” said Leofric. He gave her a tired smile and rested a hand on her swaddled leg. “Yes, let us write to Lyfing tomorrow. It would do my heart good to have an actual friend in residence. Write Alfgar, too, and see if you can make him change his mind about his Easter plans.”

“Of course I shan't. Let him try his hand with this lady-friend, Leofric. I like the look in his eye when he speaks of her. A pity Edgiva is too far away to send for in time, though,” said Godiva.

“Perhaps she can go to Hereford and celebrate with Sweyn,” Leofric suggested drily.

Leominster

S
he had celebrated Matins for as long as she had memory, and loved how it seemed authentically to sanctify the start of the day. Yet now, in the aftermath of her great sin, it felt an alien artifice, and she seemed to view herself as from a great distance, sleepwalking through her duties and responsibilities as she herself hovered, waiting for a response from Bishop Lyfing to her plea for audience. Somehow she forced herself to rise to consciousness, and remain there, when at each Matins bells, Audry would enter her room with a candle, tap her feet, and reverentially chant, “Lord, ope my lips.” Without any expression Edgiva would fling down her blanket, climb out of bed in her long-sleeved shift, her stockings, and her undecorated girdle; fasten on her scapular, her cowl, her dark wimple and veil, pulling the veil down to meet her eyebrows; tie on her crucifix.