1066 Turned Upside Down Read online

  Gytha snorted as a groom helped her down from Juno. ‘Make sure it is warmed with a brazier and that there is a chamber close by for my maids.’

  ‘Of course, Lady Countess. All is ready, just as your messengers requested,’ he purred, his bishop’s cloak sweeping low about his portly figure as he bowed.

  Gytha said, ‘It is right that the best chamber should be made ready for the king, my son. Make sure it is aired and has every comfort for him and his queen.’

  The bishop replied graciously, ‘Of course, nothing has been spared, Countess.’ He bowed low again.

  His obsequious manner irritated Thea. He was compensating for the fact that his mother had been foreign, Norman, and that these days the tide favoured all that was truly English. Refusing the groom’s help, she slid down effortlessly from her palfrey. A stable boy raced forward, removed her valuable jewel-studded saddle and gave it into the keeping of Gytha’s servants. The groom led both horses away.

  Countess Gytha leaned on her stick and, ignoring the bishop, testily commanded, ‘Lead on, Brother Hubert.’

  An hour later, their grimed travel garb exchanged for more suitable indoor attire, Thea was sorting out Gytha’s embroidery threads. A clatter of horses’ hooves passed through the gates and into the courtyard that lay below the chamber and she flew to the window to push back the shutters. Lady Margaret, the Countess’s senior lady, and their little maid Grete, followed her and they all peered down at the elegantly clad cavalcade that was pouring through the abbey gates and into the yard.

  ‘My father, oh, and Uncle Leofwine is there too!’ Thea called over her shoulder to the countess. Added, with less enthusiasm, ‘And Lady Aldgyth.’

  ‘Queen Aldgyth,’ Lady Margaret reprimanded, pointing to the gleaming gold-and-jewelled coronet that secured Lady Aldgyth’s fluttering silk veil in place.

  Thea snapped a retort. ‘Never a queen. Only my mother is his queen.’

  Gytha rose from her place beside the brazier and, using her eagle-headed stick, tapped her way to the window. ‘Do not say that to your father, my girl. You will guard your tongue. Remember, you cannot change what is. Fetch me my cloak, Margaret, I’ll greet them both.’

  ‘How could he marry that woman?’ Thea cried with angry passion. Before her grandmother could answer, she snatched up her cloak, flew from the chamber and hurried down the wooden stairs into the yard to greet her father; all efforts at decorum forgotten. Once she had pushed her way through the crowd of retainers and past the fawning Bishop Erwald, she ignored the lady standing by her father’s side and threw herself at him. ‘Father!’ she exclaimed, ‘you are here.’

  ‘Thea! So you are here too – how well met! Where is your grandmother?’

  ‘She is coming, Father.’

  Harold glanced at the lady by his side, a woman who was no longer a plain-clad noble widow but regally dressed in rich ruby colours, her sleeves embroidered with tiny gold dragons. ‘My daughter, Theodora Gytha,’ he said.

  ‘I know who she is,’ the woman said quietly, ‘but, should a royal daughter be greeting her father before such a great company as if she were a common serving girl?’

  Thea drew back. She clenched her fists by her side. ‘My lady, I am not common nor a servant. I do, however love and cherish my father and I wish to speak with him. Alone.’

  ‘Come now, Thea, at dinner we shall have much conversation. Your stepmother is correct, you must behave like a princess. Look, here comes your grandmother now! I must greet her, and then my wife and I will rest a while.’

  Feeling her cheeks redden to the colour of her hair at the reprimand, Thea bowed her head and backed away into the gathered crowd. No one noticed her, everyone was too busy fussing around her father and his new wife – Thea could not bear to name her as queen; after all, she was not anointed and crowned as Aunt Edith had been when she had married Uncle Edward. She watched as her father was ushered by the bishop and her grandmother towards the apartments appointed for him and his retinue. She heard the bishop’s fawning voice say, ‘My lord, may we send refreshments? The next meal will not be served for a while yet.’

  Thea was certain that she saw a blond-headed young thane following the royal party withindoors, but he had not seen her. Petulant, she glanced at the great candle clock that burned time away by the main hall’s entrance, then, instead of returning to their chamber she hurried to the kitchen buildings that stood apart from all the other wooden buildings in case of the spread of fire.

  A servant ran past her and banged with his fist on the kitchen door. The cook came to the doorway. He was not the usual burly, red-faced and kindly Brother Lawrence Thea had known from previous visits. This cook was tall and thin with his hair cropped short at the back of his neck in Norman fashion.

  The servant spoke breathlessly. ‘The king would like a dish of spiced pears in wine, and a plate of wafers. Meantime, a jug of hippocras and two cups, if you please.’

  The cook peered out of the doorway past the boy, glancing around the still bustling courtyard, almost as if he were looking for someone. Thea slipped out of sight behind a pile of empty wine barrels. Disappearing inside the cook reappeared a moment later with a jug and two cups as requested.

  ‘Take this to our Lord King,’ he stated, ‘return for the pears.’

  Thea waited until the servant had scurried off. Stepping out from her hiding place she brazenly banged on the kitchen door. The same cook appeared.

  ‘I am Theodora Gytha, the king’s daughter. Where is Master Lawrence? I wish to speak with him.’

  The cook looked her up and down as if he did not believe her. ‘He does not work here now. He has been transferred to St Benet’s.’ The new cook had a slight accent Thea could not quite place.

  ‘That is the monastery my mother endows,’ she remarked and added, ‘I was looking forward to his honeycakes.’ Not waiting for a reply, she added, ‘Well, I am visiting my mare. I want a treat for her.’ She did not wait to be invited in, but pushed her way past the thin man who stood gaping at her, his eyes hooded and unrevealing. She marched through the kitchen ignoring the servants who were preparing vegetables, salads, and broiling fish in a copper pan over the open fire. The scent of herbs and poaching pears wafted a delicious fragrance that rose in a steaming curl from a pot on a brazier. Thea looked about her, not recognising any of the kitchen servants. Moreover, they all wore their hair in the Norman manner, cut short at the back. She hurried over to a tray of fresh-made bread and seizing a small loaf, sped back to the open door, where the new cook glared at her as she pushed past.

  ‘Surely you have servants to fetch and carry for you?’ he called after her.

  ‘I prefer to care for Lady myself,’ she retorted.

  Thea found a suitable saddle and bridle and harnessed Lady as the horse contentedly munched hay. Thankful that the stable boys were too busy with the king’s horses to notice her, Thea led the mare from the stables, mounted, and arranging her woollen gown so that it fell with some modesty over her legs, she trotted past a few more riders entering through the abbey gateway, her hood drawn close about her face.

  ‘Keep to the side! Allow way for King Harold’s thanes!’ someone called after her.

  Thea raised an arm in acknowledgement, then patting Lady’s neck she trotted out of the gates and, kicking into a canter, went along the Roman road until she discovered a pathway that led into the woods. She was pleased to be amongst trees without attendants, spring sunshine caressing her back, and bird song all around. No one cared about her and, after all, who would miss her for an hour or two? Grandmother Gytha would be with the king and his wife. She was a traitor, not only to Thea and her sister, packed off to Wilton Abbey for her education, but to her brothers who had been sent to the Irish court, and to her mother, the most beautiful of all mothers, Elditha of the long swan-like neck. Thinking mutinous thoughts, Thea cantered on through the woods, avoiding overhangin
g branches, quieting her thoughts with the scent of fresh grass, primroses, and dandelions clustered over banks and alongside ditches. Slowing to a walk, she glimpsed a pale blue spring sky, decorated with small clouds that drifted above the new-budded beech trees like puffs of white smoke. She met no one else as she rode along the winding deer tracks, but coming to a fast-flowing river, she realised that the shadows had lengthened and there was now a chill in the air, making the wood feel less friendly. She turned Lady around and following her mare’s hoof prints, headed back to the bishop’s grand palace.

  As Thea trotted through the abbey gates the Vespers bell was ringing. If she hurried she could still attend the service. Handing Lady to a stable boy, giving sharp orders to rub her down and not to feed her too many oats, she made her way up wooden stairs to the chamber she was to share with her grandmother. She would clean her dusty boots, change her stockings and throw on her best cloak. Her gown smelt a little of horse sweat, but no one would notice. Grandmother would already be seated at the front of the abbey church. Thea planned to slip in quietly and pretend that she had been with Lady in the stables, or maybe she could say she had fallen asleep in one of the side chapels? It would only be half a lie, and after all, did it matter whether the peace of the woods, or prayer to Our Lady had quietened her unsettling anger?

  Grandmother, however, was not at Vespers. She stood erect in the middle of the chamber, her face the colour of bleached linen. The countesses’ maids, equally pale-faced and weeping gathered around her. Gytha stamped her stick into the floor rushes, scattering camomile and wisps of straw. ‘Where have you been, child? Gadding about the abbey gardens, no doubt, wasting your time in idleness as your father lies ill in his chamber.’

  Thea swallowed. How could this be? She had seen him only a few hours ago and had felt his strong embrace. Before she could speak, her Grandmother seized her by her arms and shook her. ‘You must learn to curb this wilful disobedience, child, or no man shall want you as wife, even if your father is the king. Even if he does survive this dreadful illness which has overcome him!’ Gytha took several breaths to calm herself, grasped Thea’s wrist. ‘You had better come with me.’ She turned to Lady Margaret. ‘Go with my ladies to church, say that I am resting. Pray for my son’s recovery but tell no one that he is unwell.’

  Lady Margaret inclined her head and, turning to the flock of women, said, ‘Dry your eyes. Fetch your mantles.’

  When Thea saw her father lying on a couch, his breath rasping, sweat beaded on his brow, his countenance pale, with Bishop Erwald by his side and Lady Aldgyth seated at his feet, she thought of how Aunt Edith had prayed at Uncle Edward’s feet during his final hours at Christmastide. She remembered the atmosphere in the palace the night that her father was chosen by England’s noblemen to be king. How odd that now her father might be dying and her stepmother sat warming his cold feet in her lap. Her father opened his eyes and seeing her, weakly beckoned her to his side. She leaned closer to catch his words.

  ‘Your mother,’ he whispered, ‘if I die, tell her I have always loved her. If I die this night, Godwin must return from Ireland to take my place.’

  As her father sank back onto his pillow, Thea looked from her father to his wife, to Bishop Erwald, and from him to her grandmother. ‘He thinks he will die. He wants Godwin home. What has happened?’ Her voice broke, choked with tears.

  ‘We do not know,’ Bishop Erwald said. ‘He has difficulty breathing. We have sent for the apothecary, and the king’s brother.’

  Gytha sat wearily at a table, pushing dirty dishes aside. Frowning, she sniffed at one, at a small slice of pear left uneaten. ‘Almonds,’ she said sharply with a flash of understanding. ‘Were almonds in the sauce? They are poison to him. The cooks know it. You know it, Bishop.’ She pointed again to the empty dish on the table.

  Aldgyth glanced up. ‘I was unaware of this malignant thing with almonds!’

  ‘You should have been told,’ Gytha snapped, ‘though Brother Lawrence knows that almonds can harm my son.’

  ‘There is a new cook here,’ Thea declared. ‘All within the kitchens are different from when last we were here. I saw them when I went to fetch a treat for Lady.’

  Gytha frowned at the bishop. ‘Is this so?’

  Bishop Erwald paled and began to stutter. ‘We, we were sent a new cook just recently, from Bishop Lanfranc’s employ. He has served in Rome; has prepared dishes for the Pope himself. It was an honour to receive him and his servants. Brother Lawrence has gone to St Benet’s.’

  Thea was confused. She studied Bishop Erwald’s countenance. Why had he employed a cook who had been in Lanfranc’s employ? Lanfranc was a known Norman supporter. He had the ear and the trust of Duke William himself.

  Her grandmother must have harboured the same thoughts, for she rose abruptly to her feet and swept the used dishes to the floor. ‘A cook in Lanfranc’s employ? Madness! Treachery!’

  Bishop Erwald stammered, ‘The…the apothecary will be here soon…’

  As he spoke, Brother Simon, the abbey’s apothecary, swept into the chamber, with Harold’s brother, Leofwine, close at heel. Attention shifted hopefully to the little monk as he hurried to the king’s side. Countess Gytha explained about the almonds.

  ‘We must make him vomit,’ the monk said after smelling Harold’s breath and listening to his breathing. ‘We must purge his body thoroughly.’ Within moments he had given the king salt water to drink, lifted him and held a receptacle for him to vomit into.

  Aldgyth rose and peered into the bowl. ‘It is not enough.’ She turned to the apothecary. ‘If you have powder of the honeybee, that might work. My first husband required it for one of his children by a mistress. Soak it on a sponge with vinegar and make him suck on the mixture.’

  ‘We can try. Send for my assistant to fetch what is needed from my herbal, Bishop.’

  The bishop, clearly annoyed at being so ordered, but also embarrassed by his cook’s innocent mistake – if indeed it was innocent – hastened out of the chamber, calling for someone to fetch Brother Simon’s assistant. With nothing he could do to help, Leofwine also took his leave. ‘We must ensure calm is kept,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘This has been a poor day’s work done here.’

  Thea watched as the monk and Aldgyth together assisted her father to vomit again, and again. Exhausted, he lay back, shivering despite the chamber’s great warmth.

  ‘What will happen to the crown if he dies?’ Gytha murmured. ‘The hornets will swarm again.’

  ‘We must send for Godwin. That is my father’s wish,’ Thea announced firmly.

  The countess looked tired, and old. ‘The Witan may choose another earl since Godwin is not yet a warrior. And, he is in Ireland.’

  ‘Then, send for him. A dying king’s wish must not be ignored.’

  ‘He is not yet dying,’ Brother Simon said with firmness. ‘I will bleed him to reduce the fever. There is no need to send for his son.’

  Aldgyth raised her hand imperiously. ‘Bleeding will weaken him. Wait until we see if the honeybee purgative works.’

  Harold’s breathing was becoming more laboured and shallow. He was shivering, his limbs as cold as ice, but his flesh was sweating as they piled furs and covers around him. Thea sat quiet to one side in fervent prayer, and Gytha pursing her lips, complained that the bishop must be in the orchard collecting bees to powder, he was so long in returning.

  ‘Or announcing that Harold is in mortal danger,’ snapped Aldgyth, as she wiped her groaning husband’s brow and held his cold hand.

  The king was hovering between the world of the living and the dead, Brother Simon opened his satchel to fetch out his knife and bleeding cups. Breathless, the bishop hurried through the door, ushering Brother Simon’s assistant before him. ‘We could not find the powdered honeybee,’ the boy explained, anxious, ‘I discovered it in the wrong place.’

  ‘Here,’ the
bishop added, giving items to Brother Simon. ‘Vinegar and a sponge.’

  ‘Small sips only for now,’ Aldgyth said, as Brother Simon handed her the mixed potion, clearly intending to administer the concoction to her husband herself. ‘And more later, when two notches of the candle have burned down.’ She tossed Bishop Erwald a stony-hard glance. ‘I shall care for the king myself, with my lord’s mother and daughter and Brother Simon. You are not required, go, attend your duties. And take away those other things which you brought with you. They, also, are not needed.’ She indicated a silver bowl of holy water and the last rights requisites that belonged to death’s ritual.

  Thea was impressed at how her stepmother had taken efficient control. She knelt where Lady Aldgyth had sat by her father’s feet and prayed silently to Theodora, her name-day saint. If Lady Aldgyth can save my father’s life, I shall never complain about her ever again.

  Countess Gytha held her son’s hand as Aldgyth and the apothecary helped Harold to vomit again. Aldgyth lifted his head, stroked back his damp hair and wiped his forehead with a damp cloth. She calmly, but insistently, encouraged him to live. Into the quiet of the night the three women sat by the king’s side until, at last, his breathing eased. Compline and the hour of nine had passed, with the abbey’s sconces lit in the courtyard and corridors, his fever broke. Harold drifted into sleep, and the crisis was over.

  The bishop returned an hour before Matins, his relief at the king’s comfort evident.

  ‘I want all dishes served from henceforth tasted by one of my lord’s men,’ Gytha ordered, ignoring the bishop’s apparent relief.

  ‘I fear your order comes too late,’ a voice said from the doorway. Thea’s uncle, Leofwine, stepped from the shadows. ‘I personally ensured the self-same request, but there was no deliberate poison intended, bar that for one victim alone.’