Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of the Bruce Chapter 3.2

Norway

Bergen

September 1293

My dear Kirsty,

I am now Queen of Norway. It seems like a dream from which I will awake and find myself once more at home with the family. The service was held in a stone cathedral, its shadowed spaces and painted beams alive with candlelight.

After much consideration, I chose the crimson gown with its tight bodice and flowing lines which you thought looked well on me. Added to this, a silk veil, transparent as gossamer, was held in place by a jewelled crown. To my dismay, my Norse ladies-in-waiting, Thora and Gundred, placed a twisted-silver torque around my neck and many gold chains as well, so much so it was an effort to walk. The practice reflects the Norse love of adornment, functioning not only as a sign of wealth and prestige but as currency as well. The gold was a gift from the king, so I was advised to wear it. Every last piece! At my shoulder, an ermine cloak was fastened by a large oval brooch; its raised surface, embossed with gems.

Outside our apartments, a small wagon carved with swirling creatures and strange bearded faces awaited our presence - a gift from local craftsmen and traders. Attached to the open carriage was a fine black pony with a feathered, red velvet headpiece upon which hung an array of gold coins  glittering in the sun. A groom calmed him until Father and I were seated upon padded benches ready to depart. Townsfolk arrayed in their best clothes cheered as we made our way through the gate in the perimeter walls and around to the church, a short distance in reality, an inestimable journey in terms of change: innocence to knowledge, youth to adulthood.

With Father, handsome in his finery, walking beside me up the long aisle, I hoped to glide along in my soft leather boots, but I bobbed and swayed until I learnt to centre the heavy weights. On cue, angelic choir voices soared into lofty realms. The bishop intoned copious blessings. King Eric seemed as relieved as I when the service was over; it seems he has little time for priests and the like. Unbelievably, the celebrations continued in the Great Hall for the moon's full cycle with much consumption of sweet mead night after night. Our entourage enjoyed the hospitality of the royal court, but I tired of the noise and throng, and longed for the peace of our royal apartments at each day's end. Eric has proved a kindly husband, for which I am grateful. He endeavours to teach me some Norse words, so I might understand what is happening around me. Strangely, they have chosen not to adopt a more formal language like Latin and Norse is the language, both oral and written, of court proceedings.

With your betrothal to Garnait, how goes it between you? Your marriage vows must be soon. Kildrummy is a fine castle, but will you miss the sea, being surrounded so by hills and mountains? It, too, is a long way from home.

Another grand event was my coronation. When Bishop Narve placed the crown upon my head and handed me my sceptre, I saw out of the corner of my eye, Father's eyes glisten and his chest swell with pride. In a quiet sort of way, we have become tolerably close since our journey together. He remains unsure of himself, angered by Grandfather's gruff criticism and weighed down by his burdensome tasks. Sadly, he cannot show his affection for me in public without feeling weakened.

You will all be pleased to know Aiofe has settled somewhat – since she determined we will not be slaughtered in the night by the fierce guards or monsters she envisions lurk in the slick, undulating sea beside our apartments. The fickle, flighty creature puffs herself up and lords it over other servants just because of her long service with me. Bethoc has grown to tolerate Aiofe's brittle nature and outbursts, and remains devoted to my welfare. I have also had assigned to me a skilled seamstress, Eithne, the daughter of Irish thralls and a Gaelic speaker. Eithne and Bethoc have become allies in league together against Aiofe's sharp tongue.

I am fortunate to have made a dear friend. Bishop Narve's sharp wit and intellect belie his age. Having been educated at the universities of Paris and Bologna, he has a breadth of knowledge about the world and a keen legal mind, being both administrator and churchman. The king is not impressed, but I expect Alexander will be. The bishop's quiet strength and deep understanding of the people have been a joy and aid to me. He and Master Weland often play chess together. Their battles of will and wit are entertaining to say the least.

Turnberry seemed a world away until yester eve when my wedding gifts arrived with a German trader. Bethoc and Aiofe unpacked the trunks, filled with so many treasures. We could scarce conceal our delight. I was stunned by the opulence of the gowns, and the fur-lined capes will keep me warm throughout winter. Father exhorted us to contain our excitement but he is well-pleased all arrived in good order. Already, the scarlet bed cover looks impressive in the royal bedchamber. The magnificent silverware holds great value for the king and will be used on occasions of state. I was humbled Father had gone to such expense for my trousseau. When I thanked him, he replied in his usual terse manner that it was not pure extravagance, but essential to establish our credentials as a family more than worthy of this royal connection. He gave a wry smile then for he could see it was not me whom he needed to convince. You know how much he decries ostentation.

It surprised me to see one of Father's clerks, Neil Campbell, on board the trading vessel. He had been sent by Robert to ensure the gifts arrived safely given their great value. If I was hoping for news of home, it was not to be for the taciturn soul, having completed his task, conferred only with Father and Master Weland. The latter is now one of King Eric's trusted royal officials. This pleases Father for the doughty, plain-speaking fellow and his brother are supporters of our family.

Weland was a cleric at Dunkeld Cathedral before his abilities brought him to the attention of King Alexander. After the king's death, the cleric's outspokenness saw him expelled by King Edward's administrators; many churchmen were removed from their positions. Some found their way to France but Weland was welcomed into the realms of Norse diplomacy as a royal councillor. King Eric required someone with his discernment of Scottish affairs whilst a role was found for his brother, Henry, as a courier. Father believes Master Weland will be of great assistance to me, offering guidance in matters of state. Sometimes, our father forgets I have a mind of my own which I fully intend to use. Yester eve, he told me I was far too much like Mother: her obstinacy, the bane of his life. He so rarely talks about her but when he does the sun shines on the past and warms our memories.

After his consultations, Father's clerk sailed with messages of support on behalf of our family for the exiled Scots in Paris. I yearn for news of the family and know much is happening in our troubled land but hear few details. Father tells me he wishes to remain here to consolidate our royal connections. He also seeks to avoid paying homage to Balliol at the ceremony at Stirling when Robert is confirmed as Earl of Carrick. No doubt our brother will need the firm guidance of the Steward and Mar who are to act as his sponsors. I wager the parliament will be fraught with intrigue.

At last, the seas have settled. Festivities have come to an end and guests are departing. Both missives will be sealed with my new wax seal which I keep, along with my writing tools and parchments, in the kist Rob had made. It has pride of place in my solar and reminds me always of home.

Isa