The Betrothed Sister (29 page)

By candlelight she scratched out her letters on birch wood. She wrote deep into the night until her fingers were too cold to write another word.

Her letter to Elditha was short. She scribed,

My Lady Mother, by the grace of the Lady Mary, Queen of Heaven, I pray that you are in good health and in a place of safety as surely the nunnery at Canterbury remains. I am to be married to Prince Vladimir of Kiev. If we have a son we shall call him Harold for my father. May God and his Holy Angels protect you and may the Holy Spirit be with you. Although our lives have separated as lightening splits a tree in a storm, you dwell forever in my heart.

Your loving daughter, Thea.

To Gudrun and Padar she wrote that she hoped they would reach Kiev by Eastertide. She laid down her stylus and felt her eyes gather tears. I wanted a prince and a home, Grandmother, but in truth my home was with you, she said softly, thinking that perhaps her grandmother's soul would catch hold of her words.

She knew that she would forever hold her grandmother's memory in her heart.

The candle had burned down to a stump. Daylight was a long way off yet and she could hear the bells ring for Matins. In the morning she would insist that before the winter ice gathered the abbey priest would send her letters by Dimitri's ship to their destination.

23

April 1072

Gudrun stood by Padar's shoulder, peering over the long narrow stretch of parchment he had pinned with stones onto the table. Below them, she could hear the clanking of pots, trestles dragged into place in the inn's common room and the distant babble of men and women speaking in various tongues: Russian, Slavic, Polish, German, Norse, English and French. A cradle nestled in the corner of their bedchamber where Edith, their baby, slept peacefully.

Edith was a happy baby, born in St Omer, and loved by all the women of the monastery, who had been delighted to see Padar again when he had trailed in through the abbey gates, exhausted from a long overland journey from Novgorod. The women of St Omer were even happier that he had married Gudrun and their happiness at Edith's birth was only marred by the Countess Gytha's death.

Gudrun and Padar set out one early spring day filled with scudding clouds and a good southerly wind. Their ship slowly lagged northwards hugging land as near as they dared until they reached a small port near Hamburg. There, their vessel turned south-east, sailing along the wide snaking Vistula River through Poland. A short overland journey brought them to Lublin where there was a great market where Padar hoped to purchase salt and alum. From Lublin they planned to travel overland to Kiev with four packhorses, a comfortable wagon, the faithful boys from Novgorod and a substantial guard of thirty Danes.

They would reach Kiev in time for the wedding, which they had heard from Katya's father would take place after Easter. Padar had unfolded this map, provided by Earl Connor, to help them find their way from Lublin east to the Russian capital. He tapped the section that showed Lublin to be a town with a fortress and a market, then sliding his finger down the parchment close to a small river and what seemed to Gudrun to be mountain slopes painted with scree. After that, the trail seemed to pass through miniature fields of rye and barley, into woodland and on towards Kiev, which was marked by the Church of St Sophia.

Gudrun scrutinised the map. Here and there churches were named in mysterious letters. Villages were marked but unnamed. Only groups of small houses and churches were witness to the existence of humankind. There were no great towns between Lublin and Kiev, not on this route. On the edges of the map the mapmaker had inked-in not only crows, ravens and hawks but also tall, thin-legged storks, deer, beavers, boar, a grey wolf and a lynx. Gudrun hoped they did not encounter danger. She prayed that wolves, lynxes and great boars stayed in the depths of the forests.

‘How can this guide us?' she asked touching the parchment, a frown creasing her forehead above her nose, just below her veil. ‘There is no sense of distance.'

‘You are right. It is only a list to help us. Tomorrow I shall hire a guide in the Thursday market, one who speaks Norse and Rus.'

‘One we can trust?' Gudrun asked with doubt creeping into her voice. She had heard from her maid that the region was full of bandits.

‘That is a risk we take.' Padar rolled the scroll back into its long wooden case.

Footsteps clattered up the stairs. Their maid, Lette, moved the curtain aside. The scent of frying bacon competed with that of baking bread. She peeped in. ‘My lady, Mistress Katerina has sent me for you and the master to come and eat dinner. I think it is pork meat again.'

‘Go, Lette,' Gudrun said. ‘We shall follow in a moment.'

Padar had found Lette in Lund, chained to others. She was a slave and he had purchased her, freeing the girl before they had set sail on the Vistula. Gudrun had insisted and knew that she was right to insist. Lette had been a devoted companion to her mistress, happy because she was travelling through lands she knew, since Lette had been born in a village not far from Lublin.

When they arrived in Lublin Gudrun asked her servant, ‘Do you wish to return to your village? Have you people there?'

‘No, mistress, no. Bandits killed my father. They took all the women and children from my village as slaves. May I stay?'

‘I am glad to have you, Lette.' Gudrun hugged her maid and was relieved that she did not have to look for a new servant.

Padar tossed his satchel across his shoulder. ‘Come, Gudrun.' He smiled at his wife. ‘We have been fortunate here. Dinner smells good. And at least Mistress Katerina keeps a clean house. I have not been bitten by too many fleas.' He lifted the door latch. ‘We have sacks of salt stored away for the journey, but after dinner, I have one last task or two before setting out for Kiev.'

‘What task?'

‘Just a trip to the market place, to purchase alum, and find us a trustworthy guide.'

‘We shall all be pleased to reach Kiev, Padar.'

‘And we are not far away now.' Padar let the latch fall again. He hugged her. She hugged him back. The baby gurgled. She unpeeled his arms. Swooping up the drowsy Edith, Gudrun tucked her into a linen sling which she arranged so the baby was nestling against her breast. When he lifted the latch again, she stepped after him down the stairs to the inn's common chamber, happy in the knowledge that they would soon be in Kiev.

Two days later their cavalcade had reached the borderlands between Poland and Russia. Lette called out, ‘I see shadows up in the rocks above us, mistress. I don't like it.' She lowered her voice and said nervously, ‘This pass is perfect for a bandit attack.'

Gudrun followed her maid's upward look. ‘There is nothing there,' she said as she scanned the horizon. She had been enjoying her reverie. The baby was asleep and Gudrun was drowsily dreaming of a steamy bath, attended by a Turk – she could not bring herself to ever use the word slave – to scrape the dirt off her flea-ridden, dust-covered limbs. Lette was just overly nervous.

‘There is, I tell you. And we are lost.'

One of Padar's boys, Bryn, was driving their wagon. He flicked his stick anxiously at the two mules yoked to it as their wagons rattled along a stony track that twisted along a river path. Gudrun shook her head. Lette was nervous and now Bryn, who liked the maid, was making her worse by whipping the mules forward. So far the map was helpful. And, just as the map had been, their guide had so far been reliable. They were not lost, just travelling through a desolate territory. She patted Lette's knee and said as much.

As she looked up again, Gudrun noticed how the rocky heights merged with the sky, becoming a mountain range that stretched far beyond the visible horizon.

‘Really, there is nothing there, Lette. Only rocks and sky.'

The boy scanned the rocks. ‘I see nothing.' He added, ‘But that guide, mistress, up front with Padar …'

‘What about him?'

‘I don't trust him.'

Lette nodded. ‘See, Bryn believes me.'

‘It is not the guide's fault if there is someone up there,' Gudrun said, hoping she was right and the guide trustworthy.

Padar had ridden ahead with the guide. Around half of his fighting men rode with them. These swordsmen and archers had accompanied them from Denmark hoping to sell their skill at the court of Prince Vsevolod. They had weapons, seaxes, swords and shields. Padar knew most of them to be strong fighters who could dismount and throw up a formidable shield wall anywhere in most circumstances, but this was formidable territory, and he hoped as he rode with a fast-flowing river to his left that they were not in any danger here.

Padar glanced back past his mercenaries to see Gudrun seated beside Bryn chattering and holding Edith in her sling. His eyes scanned the wagon. It looked safe. It bumped along but the wheels were strong, important in terrain where the ground was rough and rutted. He glanced at Gudrun again. She was now staring at an outcrop of boulders. Lette too, appeared to be watching the mountains and pointing. Bryn flicked the mules with his whip. Their upward gaze made him feel uneasy. He, too, looked up as they continued forward. There was nothing untoward up above the ravine. Yet, the rocks above were without doubt concealing. They needed to get over the river soon, before darkness fell like a trap. They needed a ford.

‘The ford?' he said to his guide.

‘Not far, by sunset,' the man said.

‘I hope that is so. It is the third hour already.'

‘Soon, master.'

None the less, as he trotted along, keeping close to his guide, Padar was thinking,
I hope we get through this stretch safely and do ford that river soon
. His hand instinctively slid down to his scabbard and to his sword, Gabriel.

A rear guard led by Gunor, the same warrior who had come with them to Denmark from Flatholm, followed the wagon. Also following the wagon were their five pack animals laden with sacks of precious salt and alum destined for Kiev's marketplace. The final half-dozen Danes rode at the rear.

Padar trotted back a little to check that the baggage train was secure, hoping now that the sacks were not leaking as the mules bumped along the rocky path. He nodded to Gunor. Gunor raised his hand to acknowledge Padar as he rode by. Padar thought that nothing looked amiss.

‘There is no one there,' Gudrun said to Lette a little later, as she shaded her eyes again and scanned the rocks above. ‘Do you see any creature or person, Gunor?' she remarked to the Dane who had ridden up on her left.

Gunor edged his mount forward in front of the wagon and scrutinised the heights above. Stepping his stallion back, he said quietly, ‘No, but it feels too silent. I don't like it. There isn't even birdsong.'

‘There's a bird.' The boy jerked his reins. As he looked up, one of the mules neighed. Two long, lean Danish hounds, guard dogs, that always stayed close, raced in front of Gunor, and set up their barking. A hawk had taken wing and was careering across the sky just above them. It circled, dipped into the scree-covered foothills, then rose again and disappeared behind a rocky outcrop.

‘I shall send one of the men forward to warn Padar,' Gunor said, his hand already on his sword hilt. ‘The dogs sensed something other than a hawk. Could be shepherds.'

Lette said, anxiety creeping into her voice. ‘If they were only shepherds they would show themselves.'

‘Maybe, they are frightened of
us
. We are well-armed. Mutton for dinner would be very tasty,' Gunor said with a grin on his face. ‘Don't you think so, little Lette?' he teased.

‘No.' Lette looked away. Gunor rode forward for a while.

As they travelled on, trying to gather speed, the third hour after midday became the fourth, then the fifth and the sun grew lower in the sky; the rushing river raced close by on the one side and the mountains climbed towards the sky on the other. There was no sign of a ford.

Padar sent a message back that they must strike camp by twilight, but no one wanted to be trapped here between the river and the mountains. As the sky darkened, an inexplicable sense of unease began to travel down their line as fast as fire streaking through forest clearings. Padar sent scouts ahead to find a ford. They returned saying that there was no safe place to cross the gushing river. When he asked the guide, the man shrugged and pointed on along the track. ‘Soon, soon,' was all he said, as he, too, appeared to watch the rocky scree as it stretched above.

The cavalcade moved forward methodically and silent. A rider appeared up above on the scree and vanished. More appeared and they disappeared too. These others were armed with bows. Gudrun passed Edith over to Lette. ‘Those are no shepherds. Take Baby Edith behind and stay out of sight. I can fire arrows if need be. Padar's second bow and sheaf is behind the kettles. Get it and place it right behind me within my reach.' Lette hesitated. ‘Go, do it, do it. Edith is asleep. Put her in the cradle and stay with her,' she found herself hissing at Lette.

Bryn twisted around, jerking the reins again. ‘I can fire an arrow too, mistress.'

Gudrun considered that it was very likely and maybe this boy had a better aim than she. He had come to Novgorod with his father after the Great Battle. Rhys, his father, rode up front with Padar. ‘I am sure you can, Bryn,' she said, thinking that there were more bows and arrows on their pack horses. If they were attacked they could hold firm. She was sure they could. ‘You can have your own bow. If we need them, Bryn, we can get more weapons from the pack ponies.'

Just after Lette had scrambled back into the wagon bed with the sleeping baby, Gudrun heard the soft thump of Padar's bow being placed behind her. Reaching behind, she felt it reassuringly leaning against the wagon's frame just behind her back. She glanced forward and saw Padar turning his horse back towards them. ‘Hold steady, Bryn. Padar is coming back. He has seen something.'