Authors: Joanna Courtney
Her heart juddered and she glanced around the royal compound, buzzing with people. Those still queuing anxiously on the bridge had parted like churned butter as Earl Harold had approached and
she had sailed through on his arm feeling like a true lady. Inside, however, all was a-scramble as servants hastily erected pavilions for late arrivals, their lordly masters fretting to get inside
and change out of travel-stained clothes into their council finery. No one was paying any attention to them. No one would know if she went inside with Earl Harold or, indeed, if she came out.
Only last night, Brodie had told her that when returning from the great hall he’d seen this very pavilion shimmering with a strange light. Edyth had scoffed at him. He was useless at
holding his ale and, besides, he was always making things up to scare her, but suddenly, now, all the stories seemed to pour into her mind and harden into a painful rock of fear.
‘Perhaps,’ she stuttered out, ‘I would be better returning to my own pavilion?’
Harold tipped his head on one side and smiled lightly.
‘If that’s what you would rather. I shall take you there.’
‘No! I mean, no thank you, my lord, I can manage by myself.’
He looked down at her, not cruelly but with a flint-like determination.
‘You know I cannot allow that. We need to talk about what happened to you today and we can either do that over there with your parents,’ he gestured across the compound to her
father’s stocky black, white and gold camp, ‘or here, with my wife.’
Edyth looked again at his pavilion. Was the Lady Svana really inside? She still remembered their brief conversation at the wedding but that had been a special day, a free day; dared she speak to
her here at court? On the other hand, dared she face her parents’ ranting disappointment? And so close to her father’s big moment.
‘I thought so,’ Harold said with a smile. He went up to the door flap, nodding to the serving boy on guard. ‘Morning, Avery.’
‘Good morning, my lord, my lady.’
His bondsman bowed low then whipped back the door flap and Harold ducked inside. Edyth hovered nervously. Would there be pagan images inside? Bones? Runes, maybe? She’d heard tell that you
could curse yourself just by reading them if you did not know what you were doing. She didn’t remember any such horrors at the wedding but, then again, she
could
have been enchanted.
Harold’s head poked out.
‘Come on in, Edyth, and quickly before your father sees you.’
He winked and, stunned, Edyth forced her feet to carry her within. She hardly dared look but when she finally forced her eyes upwards, it was with amazement and relief. The red and gold pavilion
walls were lined with the palest yellow gauze and hung with delicate tapestries of nothing more pagan than flowers and trees. The floor was strewn with furs that felt soft through the thin soles of
her boots and the few furnishings were of simple, light wood.
An oil lamp hung from the centre pole, surrounded by a pale green glass that cast shimmering patterns around the linen room and the oil had clearly been scented with herbs for the air within
smelled fresh and sweet after the more earthy odours of the compound. It was nothing like her own family’s dark pavilion – all heavy tapestries and displays of shields and weaponry
– and Edyth gazed around her in wonder until her eyes fell on her hostess and she suddenly felt giddy with nerves.
Lady Svana had risen from her chair and stood a head taller than Edyth. She wore a flowing robe of spring green, clasped at the waist with a simple band of amber beads, and her hair, the colour
of ripe hazels, was as loose as a maid’s. Edyth dropped into a deep curtsey but Lady Svana clasped her hand, drawing her up and forward in one easy motion. Edyth caught the scent of her
– lavender and meadow grass and rosemary – and drew in a deep breath.
‘Lady Edyth, is it not?’ her hostess said, her voice soft but perfectly mortal. ‘How lovely to meet you properly at last.’
Edyth attempted a smile but it wobbled slightly at the edges.
‘But you look troubled, my dear,’ Svana went on. ‘Come, take a seat with me.’
She gestured Edyth towards a beautiful willow-basket chair padded with a soft sheepskin but Edyth, looking from the near-white wool to her tattered, bark-stained gown, shook her head.
‘I’d better not, my lady.’
‘Why don’t you remove that dress then, if it’s making you so uncomfortable?’
Edyth panicked. Is this where the pagan rituals started? Had she escaped the cooking pot just to be thrown into the fire?
‘Behind here.’ Lady Svana opened out a fretwork screen. ‘You can wear my bedrobe for now and my maid can sew up these little rips whilst we talk.’
Edyth breathed again and glanced at her tattered skirt.
‘Little rips?’
‘Great big holes if you prefer, my dear, but either way the council opens soon and you’ll be in less trouble with your parents if they’re not there. Elaine has very neat
stitching.’
An older lady with grey hair and kindly eyes came forward, nodding confidently. Edyth glanced at the mess of her skirts and pictured Meghan’s fury if she turned up for the most important
event of her father’s political career this way.
‘I wouldn’t want to be a bother,’ she said.
‘No bother, lass,’ Elaine said. ‘I mended many such a tear in my lady’s dresses when she was your age, and most of them without her dear mother’s knowledge. Tree
climbing, was it? Well now, no harm done, hey? If you’ll just . . .’
She indicated the screen and, unwilling to protest further, Edyth slid behind it and removed her dress. It was one of her better ones, made from a rich green wool her mother had bought from a
Flemish trader for a ‘pretty penny’, so she could imagine the fuss if Lady Meghan saw it like this. Meekly she passed it out to Elaine and in return was handed a light robe of soft
lilac. It went on, as far as she could tell, not over the head as normal, but from behind, wrapping around her and tying with a silk cord. It was far too long and she had to bunch it up in her
hands to step forward but it felt wonderful.
‘This is so beautiful,’ she said to Svana as she emerged, her shyness forgotten in the joy of the garment. ‘What’s it made of?’
‘Ottoman silk. Harold brought me it from his last travels. He feels guilty when he’s away a long time so he brings me beautiful gifts to make up for it.’
‘And to be sure she’ll have me back,’ Harold added, clasping her round her slender waist and kissing her. ‘Always I fear she will tire of me.’
‘And never she does,’ Svana retorted softly.
Their eyes met and they smiled at each other. ‘
Love prefers to be free
’ sang the eternal words in Edyth’s head but since the sights she’d seen this morning that
idea didn’t seem quite so simple. All her life her mother had talked of the great husband that, like a fine gift, would one day be hers but now she understood what that entailed – not
just grand halls and beautiful gowns and fine horses but the guttural, exposed ritual of the marriage bed. She shifted uneasily and Svana sprang away from Harold and drew her firmly into the
chair.
‘You still look pale,’ she said. ‘Warm wine should help. Harold!’
Harold nodded and, to Edyth’s amazement, strode to a side table, poured wine from a jug and ambled off with it, presumably to warm it over one of the compound braziers.
‘But . . . but he’s an earl,’ Edyth protested.
‘He’s a man, Edyth. He needs to feel useful.’
Edyth processed this new information. Is that what men needed to feel? Is that what drove them to . . . ?
‘Edyth? Sweetheart? What did you see from your tree?’
Svana was studying her face, not as her mother might for specks of dirt or telltale traces of guilt, but with genuine concern. Still, though, Edyth felt uneasy.
‘Nothing.’
Svana raised one elegant eyebrow.
‘You don’t trust me.’
It was not an accusation but Edyth longed to merit the woman’s kindness and the lure of answers was strong. She glanced around. Harold was still absent, Avery was outside the door, and
Elaine had her grey head down over her needle. They were as alone as it was possible to be at court.
‘There was a man,’ she managed.
‘Any particular man?’
‘Lord Torr.’ She flushed as she said it; even the name sounded wanton now.
‘Oh. Oh, I see.’
‘You do?’
‘I take it he was not alone?’ Edyth shook her head. ‘With a girl perhaps? Were they naked, Edyth?’
She said it so simply that Edyth was surprised into answering directly.
‘Sort of. He had no trews on and his tunic was hitched up and she . . . she . . .’
‘Had her skirts around her waist?’
‘Yes,’ Edyth agreed though her throat felt dry and the word snagged. ‘But she was . . . She was . . .’ She closed her eyes and forced herself to say it,
‘kneeling.’
She fumbled for more words but Svana rescued her.
‘You wish to know, perhaps, if that is normal?’ Edyth nodded mutely but Svana did not seem embarrassed at all. ‘Normal is such a restrictive word, is it not? And the human body
is such a wonderfully unrestrictive thing. A man and a woman can make love in any way they choose.’
‘They can?’
‘Of course, as long as they
do
choose –
both
of them. Never let a man force you to do anything you do not wish, Edyth.’
‘Even if he is my husband?’
‘
Especially
if he is your husband!’
Svana’s tone was playful now and Edyth looked up to see that Harold had re-entered with her wine. She felt heat flood through her body and fumbled for the goblet he held out. For years now
her mother had been impressing on her that a husband was to be obeyed in all things; she would be horrified if she heard such talk. Edyth glanced guiltily to the door but Harold’s laugh drew
her eyes back inside.
‘Don’t let her fill your head with nonsense,’ he said lightly, catching Svana around the waist again as if his hands were drawn to her of their own accord. ‘She’s
eastern – thinks it means she can do as she likes.’
He looked down at his wife and Edyth saw his eyes darken as Lord Torr’s had done in the forest. She felt all her new knowledge and awareness collecting behind her eyes, heavy and itchy,
and put her hands up to try and rub it away. Svana instantly leaned forward.
‘You’re tired, sweetheart?’
‘No!’
‘Confused?’
‘A little.’
‘That’s as it should be. It takes time to become an adult.’
Edyth sipped at her wine.
‘I think the girl was willing.’
‘Then all is well,’ Svana said firmly.
‘Even if they’re not married?’
‘Better to be married.’
‘Like you two?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But you’re not properly married, are you?’
It was something her father had told her a hundred times but her words seemed to hit Svana like arrows.
‘More “properly” than any priest can offer,’ she snapped.
Edyth flinched, horrified, and Harold stepped hastily forward.
‘A handfast marriage binds the hearts, Edyth. That, surely, is worth more than land-contracts and church threats?’
‘Yes,’ she stuttered, looking helplessly past him to Svana, whose supple body was rigid. ‘Yes, yes, I see. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean . .
.’
But just as swiftly as Svana had tensed she recovered, visibly shaking herself free of whatever fury had held her in its clutches.
‘Nay, Edyth,
I
am sorry. Handfast marriages are my people’s custom and I forget that others do not see them as completely as we do. I just ask one thing of you: as you
become a woman, try not to rely on others’ judgements. Do you see?’
Edyth nodded, awkwardly aware that most of her judgements, if such they were, were more her father’s than her own. Earl Alfgar had always been most free with his opinions and she had never
thought to question them but if they could wound a lovely lady like Svana, maybe she should?
‘Don’t fret,’ Svana said, seeing her face. ‘There’s time enough for that too. Ah, Elaine, thank you.’
Edyth turned gratefully to the mended gown and perused it disbelievingly – the rich fabric was nigh-on as good as new. She looked at Elaine’s fingers and back to the gown.
‘Are you magic?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘Nay, lass,’ Elaine laughed. ‘Just well practised.’
Svana placed a gentle hand on Edyth’s arm.
‘There is no magic, you know, Edyth, whatever they say – save, perhaps, the magic we make ourselves. Shall I help you on with the dress?’
‘I can manage, thank you.’
Edyth scrambled behind the screen, senses whirling. She was reluctant to surrender Svana’s luscious robe but out in the compound the creaking abbey bell was sounding to call people to the
council and her mother would be furious at her absence. Her father too. Swiftly, she changed, folding Svana’s slippery gown as carefully as she could.
‘I must go.’
‘Indeed. Thank you so much for coming by.’
Svana made it sound as if this had been nothing more than a polite social call and Edyth was grateful but Harold . . . ? She glanced at him. He wasn’t the tallest of men but he held his
shoulders strongly and seemed to have extra height in his commanding eyes. He was handsome, she supposed. His eyes were a striking midnight blue, his sand-blond hair richly curled, and his arms so
broad and long they looked as if they’d wrap around you twice. What did he look like when he was . . . ? She shook the wanton thought away. She couldn’t go around assessing every man
like this just because of one glimpsed moment.
‘Will you tell my mother?’ she asked nervously.
Harold looked to Svana, and Edyth saw her shake her head. She held her breath.
‘Not this time,’ Harold confirmed, ‘but, Edyth, take care. The tree might throw you harder to the ground next time.’
Remembering Torr’s challenging stare, Edyth knew what he meant and shook her head against the rogue memories now firmly embedded in her mind. Taking her leave of Harold and Svana, she
stepped cautiously outside and immediately caught sight of her father’s black cloak down one of the rough walkways between the pavilions. Heart beating, she ducked out of sight, crossing
round behind a series of smaller tents so that she came out behind him.