The Betrothed Sister (4 page)

Gytha caught her breath and said, ‘God bless you, Godwin, you and Edmund both.' She took Hilda's arm and turning around paused. Thea felt her grandmother's gaze on her from her head to her booted toe. ‘Adjust your head covering, girl. We can see those flame-coloured curls and we should not.'

Thea could not resist a smile as she set her fillet to right and drew the hood of her mantle over her veil. When her grandmother said such things to her she knew that the countess was still every bit as indomitable as she had been during the siege at Exeter eight months earlier. Grandmother Gytha was determined to battle on through life undefeated by difficulties and she would never reveal her true age, just that she was of the royal house of Denmark and had come to England to unite with Earl Godwin during the reign of the great Canute.
But she must be at least in her mid-sixty years
. As Thea followed her grandmother back along the jetty, she could not help wondering what trials still lay ahead of them all.

4

Mizzle that had begun to slide from the overcast sky became a cold drenching rain as the women and children reached the monastery at St Omer, most of them travelling in an ancient, rattling long wagon pulled by two nags. They had only been able to purchase three decent horses in addition to the wagon and its ambling beasts. Thea and Gytha rode on two of these. Padar took the third. Thea felt chill to the bone after they had dismounted. They waited for what felt like an age in drenching rain for grooms to appear at the abbey entrance.

Padar pulled on a bell rope three times before a monk came to manoeuvre the massive outer doors open with much creaking, allowing them to lead the horses and cart into a bleak and very muddy yard. A silent band of servants appeared through the streaming rain. Without a word, they helped the women and children from the wagon and led the horses away to a barn.

‘Bah, the Benedictines,' Gytha complained. ‘They don't waste their words.'

The equally silent monk pushed another groaning door open into the monastery. Once inside he spoke at last, telling them to wait in the hall. A meagre fire flickered in a raised central hearth, but despite it the room was dim and damply cold. Thea's first impression was that this place felt as austere as Niflheim, a kingdom that skalds sang of, one that was bitterly cold and harsh. Surely they would not have to wait long before they continued to more comfortable shelter in the grand palace of Bruges?

Soon, she heard an army of footsteps advancing steadily towards them from beyond the hall. A severe-faced sister appeared through an inner doorway, followed by another and then another. After a moment during which the lead nun surveyed the bedraggled party, she said. ‘I am Abbess Constance, my lady Countess. We have been expecting news of your arrival all summer. You sent us no forward warning. Now that you are here we are unprepared since you take us by surprise.' A pause followed. Gytha frowned and waited. The abbess continued, ‘But, none the less, we have certain arrangements in place to welcome you here.' There was no expected deference to Countess Gytha, and, though clearly, she knew who the countess was, there were no warm welcoming words.

Thea and Hilda hovered behind Padar and her grandmother with the others and their band of clinging children, all shivering uncontrollably in the chilled air, wet through and frozen to the bone. Thea wondered what was to come next. She had not long to wait.

Gytha drew herself up straight and held the abbess's eye with a direct look. ‘We do not intend to inconvenience you for long, Abbess Constance. Count Baldwin will be sending an escort for us to travel forward to his court in Bruges.' She nodded towards Padar. ‘Our messenger will be on his way to him in the morning at first light, rain, wind or hail.'

Padar bowed. ‘Lady Abbess, if we can avail ourselves of one of your monks to guide me there…'

‘No need. Count Baldwin has sent me instructions.' She seemed to soften a little as she said in a kinder tone. ‘Well, you are here at last, so come this way, Countess, and I shall explain his plans for you in the privacy of my chambers. My nuns will show the women and children the hall where they shall sleep tonight.'

Gytha gave her a formidable look. ‘What needs to be said can be spoken in front of my ladies, and now.'

‘Well then, if you insist.' Abbess Constance's voice softened further as she surveyed the drenched party of women and children. ‘Your exile will be here, where you will all become lay sisters. The children can be educated by our monks until they are of an age to either take orders or go out into the world to households chosen by Count Baldwin in his boundless generosity to your family and your noblewomen.'

Gytha opened her mouth to protest and Thea felt as if a stone had settled in her breast when the abbess raised a hand to silence her grandmother.

‘No, it is the count's wish that as part of his protection you rest here indefinitely and that whatever goods you bring with you are to revert to the abbey as payment for your keep. My lady Countess, at your great age you may wish to take the veil.' She smiled thinly. She reached out and touched Gytha's arm. ‘It is none of my doing, Countess. We hope you will join our order.' Her voice contained a sense of pity for the women as if she felt their disappointment. ‘We shall welcome you.'

‘That is
not
our plan. If this is all the count can offer us then I refuse. We shall continue to Denmark and my nephew's court.' The countess turned briskly and looked searchingly about her shocked ladies and children. Her eyes lit on Thea. ‘Those who wish to remain in this abbey may do so, of course, but, you see, Abbess Constance, I have my granddaughter's future to consider. We ask for just a few nights' shelter so that the children can rest and my ladies can see for themselves exactly what Count Baldwin is offering them.'

I certainly have no desire to stay here.
Thea glanced from the cold-faced nuns to her grandmother.

‘As you wish, my lady Countess; but consider this carefully, we have much to offer you at St Omer – a library, a herb garden, great kitchens, weaving rooms, embroidery, contemplation and peace. Naturally, our lay nuns may have their own private chambers which they make most comfortable.'

But it is cold.
Thea glanced down. She was standing in a puddle of water. She looked at the children who were clinging to their mothers' mantles. They were dripping water too.
Would this discussion ever end? Would they ever be warm again?

‘More comfortable than this hall, I dare hope,' Gytha retorted.

The abbess inclined her head, giving a shadowy hint of a smile as she said, ‘Indeed, the evening is chill. Follow me. You can dry out in the guest dormitory. The servant man can rest here in the hall. I shall arrange bedding and food for him tonight. Tomorrow he must go back to wherever it is he has hailed from.' With those harsh words, Padar was dismissed and the disconsolate group of women had no choice but to trail after the abbess and her nuns out of the hall.

They processed through a lime-washed covered corridor to a guest dormitory where cots were ranged in formation along a wall with very small, high-set windows and little light. A weak flickering fire burned in a corner, this time set into the wall at the end of the room.

The abbess opened her hands and lifted her palms in a sweeping gesture. ‘Until you decide your future, this great room is yours. Sister Ann will come for you so you may sup with us in the refectory. Our day here ends with Compline, which every visitor attends but we shall not disturb your rest for early morning Matins.' With those words she inclined her head again and moved away. Momentarily turning back, she added, ‘Tomorrow, I shall take you on a tour of our nunnery. It might help you decide.' She smiled. ‘It is not such a bitter existence as life can be in the world. The worldly life is harsh.' With those words she swept away, escorted by her band of nuns.

The countess sank down onto the nearest bench, groaned and leaned against the wall. ‘Apparently, Abbess Constance has given you all a choice. Choose well, my ladies.'

‘Let us see tomorrow, Mother. It will be better by daylight,' Hilda said, taking charge. ‘Come to the fire such as it is. That this is certainly no welcoming house is surely so. Tomorrow we can return to the shipwright's hall.' With that, she gently took Gytha's arm and pointed to the cot beside the hearth. ‘Rest there, Mother, and get warm. I shall see to the children and their mothers and decide who sleeps where tonight before Sister Ann returns for us. Supper may be better than we think.'

Thea thought how kind her aunt was. She settled her grandmother on the bed, helped her remove her drenched overgown, found a dry shift in her satchel pulled it over Grandmother's head and covered her with blankets from the other cots. She glanced around the chamber as Grandmother fell into an exhausted doze. Despite the impoverished fire it was clean, airy and contained a peaceful atmosphere. With sudden realisation, she thought again. This may be where Hilda will want to end her journey.
Not me though and not my grandmother
.

Padar waited patiently in the hall, seated on the bench as close to the fire as he could get. After some time, an elderly servant hobbled through another door with a basket of logs and threw a couple on the fire.

‘Chill night,' Padar said as he opened his hands to the meagre blaze. The servant nodded and began to retreat with her basket. ‘No, don't take them away.' He drew out a purse from his belt and offered her a few coins. She grabbed the coins, clutched them tightly and set the log basket to rest on the floor with a thump. ‘My family will be grateful,' she mumbled in the Flemish tongue. ‘The sisters must not know. They'll have the coins off me.'

‘What kind of sisters are they?' he enquired, also speaking in Flemish.

‘They are kind enough and too often on their knees, but there are others such as your ladies who will be made comfortable as long as they have silver in their purses and devotion in their hearts. The nuns are friendly enough when you get to know them.'

‘That is a comfort.'

The servant shuffled off before he could ask when he could expect his supper. As if reading his mind, she turned around to face him. ‘I'll bring you a bowl of broth in the Compline hour.' With that she disappeared through the doorway. Padar waited a while, threw another log on the fire and, wondering what lay beyond the hall, he crossed to the door the servant had exited and pushed it open.

He was in a courtyard where various tile-roofed buildings stood in a rough square. At various stages, steps ascended to second floors belonging to the various buildings. Smoke hung about the first of these and rain splashed onto the tiles above it. He could smell fish cooking. Carp. Perhaps it was fresh carp from their fishpond. His stomach complained. He would like carp, or was it pike? Whichever, no matter, and if the servant could be bribed to give him logs for the fire, perhaps she could bring him a plate of fried fish with his soup.

As he stood within the shadow of the doorway, a hot tasty dish on his mind, he saw the Godwin ladies walk along the cloistered walkway towards an arched door at the end of the yard. He longed to call out but instead drew back into the shelter of his doorway. The children were bunched together. All five of them looked miserable with their heads hung low and their small hands grasping their cloaks tightly around them. Lady Hilda led the band toward what he assumed was the refectory. The countess and Lady Thea were not amongst them.

He waited as they vanished through the doorway. Thea may have stayed back with Countess Gytha. The countess had looked care-worn. Perhaps she would rest tonight and tomorrow return to the port. They could be away from Flanders and sailing to the royal court of Denmark by evening. After all, King Sweyn Estrithson was Countess Gytha's own blood, her nephew. If she had any sense, that was where she would go, and Thea too.

The next morning, accompanied by Lady Margaret and Lady Hilda, Countess Gytha made her way into the hall. She had taken her supper in the dormitory and after it she had slept long, thankful not to attend Matins in a freezing church. Apparently the skald had slept in comfort, judging by the lingering warmth in the receiving hall. Her sharp eyes noticed the large basket of logs sitting by the hearth.

She leaned over her stick, studied Padar for a moment and said, ‘We've seen the abbey and the library here. It is not as bad as we thought it would be. The nuns are not unkind. Abbess Constance assures me they will provide well for my ladies, though I am not persuaded to remain here. Those ladies who have relatives in Flanders will rest at the abbey with the smaller of our children until they are fetched away to better halls. Abbess Constance is in agreement.' She sighed before adding, ‘My daughter, Hilda, and her maid wish to take orders. What a decision, Padar, but so be it.' She glanced over at her daughter. ‘She says that St Omer is as good as any other abbey, better than some, and close to the coast should I ever need to return to them. Bah! Their goods will be received into the abbey's care in return for the abbess's goodwill.' She contemplated the crackling fire. ‘And plenty of wood in their chambers for the fire.' She nodded. ‘Indeed, that is one of my conditions. My ladies must not want for good food, their own chambers and warmth. Lady Megan wishes to stay too. Her sister, Gudrun, who is younger, fourteen summers old, only a year younger than my granddaughter, will accompany us to Denmark as Lady Thea's handmaiden. The boys will remain in the abbey until they can join their mothers' new households. Lady Margaret will accompany us to Denmark.'

Lady Margaret smiled and nodded. Countess Gytha drew breath and folded her hands over the eagle head of her stick. ‘So as you see, we are four, Padar, and we shall depart this place tomorrow.' She smiled. ‘You, Padar, may have another night here by the hearth.'

A bell rang with a low clanging from the tall abbey tower. Padar waited until it ceased ringing, before replying, ‘Countess, permit me to return to the port today and make my lords aware of your decision. With a guard and the cart I can bring the Lady Hilda's goods to her, and the chests belonging to the other women. After that we can leave.' He flexed his fingers and closed his hand. ‘It will be the day after tomorrow.'