Tim Severin - Sworn Brother

the day Aelfgifu and her entourage set out for London, she could only press my hand in hers and murmur, 'Thorgils, take care of yourself. Remember your days with us. Remember how Edgar. . .' but she did not finish what she had to say because she choked and began to weep.

It had rained for most of our journey south-east as our glum little procession travelled the same road that had taken us to Northampton in the spring. And I had another worry. 'Far from court, far from care,' had been one of Edgar's many proverbs and, as the capital drew nearer, I began for the first time to appreciate the danger of my affair with Aelfgifu. I was still very much in love with her and I longed to see her and hold her. Yet I knew that the risks of discovery in London would be far greater than in our secluded rural world. There was a rumour that Knut was shortly to return from Denmark to England now that the summer campaigning season was over. Naturally Aelfgifu as his queen, or rather as one of his queens, should be on hand to greet him. She had chosen to come to London because Emma, the other wife, was installed in Winchester, which Knut regarded as his English capital. Naturally there was gossipy speculation as to which city, and which wife, he would return to if he did come. As events turned out, he did not return to England that winter, but continued to leave the affairs of the kingdom under the joint control of Earl Thorkel the Tall and Archbishop Wulfstan.

While the staff were unloading the carts at the palace, I approached Aelfgifu's chamberlain and asked if he had any orders for me, only to be told that he had no instructions. I was not on the official list of the queen's retinue. He suggested I should return to my original lodgings at the skalds' house, where he would send for me if I was wanted.

Feeling rejected, I walked through the sodden streets, skirting around the murky puddles in the unpaved roadway and ducking to avoid the dripping run-off from the thatched roofs. When I reached the lodging house, the place was shuttered and locked. I hammered on the door until a neighbour called out to say that the housekeeper was away visiting her family, and expected back that evening. I was soaked by the time she finally returned and let me in. She told me that all the skalds who had regular employment with Knut were still in Denmark. Those, like my absent-minded mentor Herfid who had no official appointment at court, had packed up and drifted away. I asked if I could stay in the lodgings for a few days until my future was clear.

It was a week before Aelfgifu sent a messenger to fetch me and I went with high hopes, remembering my last visit to her rooms in the palace. This time I was shown to an audience room, not to her private chamber. Aelfgifu was seated at a table, sorting through a box of jewellery.

'Thorgils,' she began, and the tone of her voice warned me at once that she was going to be businesslike. This was not a lover's tryst. I noticed, however, that she waited until the messenger who fetched me had left the room before she spoke. 'I have to talk to you about life in London.' She paused, and I could see that she was trying to find a way between her private feelings and her caution. 'London is not like Northampton. This palace has many ears and eyes, and there are those who, from jealousy or ambition, would do anything to damage me.'

'My lady, I would never do anything to put you at risk,' I blurted out.

'I know,' she said, 'but you cannot hide your feelings. Your love is written in your face. That is one thing that I found so appealing when we were in the country. Don't you remember how Edgar would joke about it - he used to say, "Love and a cough cannot be hid". He had so many of those proverbs.' Here she paused wistfully for a moment. 'So, however much you may try to conceal your love, I don't think you would be successful. And if that love was constantly on display before me, I cannot guarantee that I might not respond and reveal all.'

Anguished, I wondered for a moment if she would forbid me to see her ever again, but I had misjudged her.

She went on. 'I have been thinking about how it might be possible for us to meet from time to time - not often, but at least when it is safe to do so.'

My spirits soared. I would do anything to see her. I would trust to her guidance, however much it might hurt me.

Aelfgifu was playing with the contents of the jewellery box, lifting up a necklace or a pendant, letting it slide back through her fingers, then picking up a ring or a brooch and turning it so that the workmanship or the stones caught the light. For a moment she seemed distracted.

'There is a way, but you will have to be most discreet,' she said.

'Please tell me. I'll do whatever you wish,' I replied.

'I've arranged for you to stay with Brithmaer. You don't know him yet, but he is the man who supplies me with most of my jewels. He came to visit me this morning to show me his latest stock, and I told him that in future I preferred to have my own agent staying at his premises, someone who knows my tastes' — she said this without a trace of irony - 'so that when anything interesting comes in from abroad, I will see it without delay.'

'I don't know anything about jewellery, but, of course, I'll do whatever is necessary,' I promised her.

'I've asked Brithmaer to give you some training. You'll have plenty of time to learn. Of course he won't instruct you himself, but one of his craftsmen will. Now go. I will send for you when I judge it to be safe.'

One of Aelfgifu's servants showed me the way to Brithmaer's premises, which was just as well because it was a long walk from the palace to the heart of the city, near the new stone church of St Paul, where the land slopes towards the Thames waterfront. Biverside London reminded me of Dublin, only it was very much bigger. Here was the same stench of fetid foreshore, the same jostle and tangle of muddy lanes leading inland from the wharves, the same dank spread of drab houses. However, London's houses were more substantial, stout timbers replacing Dublin's daub and wattle. The servant took me down a lane leading to the river, and if he had not stopped at the door of the building, I would have mistaken Brithmaer's home for a warehouse, and a very solid one at that.

A small spy hatch opened in answer to our knock. When the servant identified himself, the massive door was opened and, as soon as I was inside, closed firmly behind me. The palace servant was not allowed to enter.

I found myself blinking to adjust to the dimness. I was in an antechamber. The place was dark because the barred windows were small and high up in the walls. The man who had let me in looked more like a rough blacksmith than a fine jeweller and I quickly concluded that he was more of a guard than a doorkeeper. He grunted when I gave him my name and gestured for me to follow him. As I crossed the darkened room, I became aware of a muffled sound. It was an uninterrupted chinking and clinking, a metallic sound, irregular but insistent which seemed to come through rear wall of the room. I could not imagine what was causing it.

There was a small door to one side, which led on to a narrow stairway, and that in turn brought us up to the upper floor of the building. From the outside the house had seemed workmanlike, even grim, but on the upper floor I found accommodation more comfortable than in the palace I had just left. I was shown into what was the first of a series of large, airy rooms. It was clearly a reception room and expensively furnished. The wall hangings were artfully woven in muted golds and greens and I imagined they must have been imported from the Frankish lands. The chairs were plain but valuable and the table was spread with a patterned carpet, a fashion I had never seen before. Sculpted bronze candle holders, even some glass panes in the windows instead of the usual window panes of horn, spoke of wealth and discreet good taste. The sole occupant of the room was seated at the table, an old man quietly eating an apple.