In the Heart of the Garden

by Leah Fleming

Sadness and silence shrouded the homesteads with the last of the winter snows, blanketing the forest in a blinding whiteness. Reluctantly Baggi studied the dark-haired girl and the flaxen boy. Even he had to admit to himself that they were the spitten of Ranwulf and Wyn. It brought tears to his eyes to see Fritha believing so utterly that her lost children had been returned to her by kindly spirits. She was even calling them by the old names though he knew it was wrong to do so.

  ‘Give them fresh names, woman. This is a second chance for all of us, perhaps. New names for new bairns, eh?’ He found himself smiling into the blinking blue eyes of his son.

  ‘Then he must carry your name but we’ll call him Wulf. This one is a gift from the Gods and we’ll call her Godgifu, or Gifu for short. What do you think?’ The thaw was beginning at Fritha’s well.

  When the pathways were clearer and the spring floods over, Baggi and Fritha took the twins to the wooden church at the Long Hall for a priest’s blessing with holy water, just to be doubly sure that they would thrive. Fritha yearned to ask Lull and Beorn to their little feast but they were stranded in their new homestead, fast in for weeks in the snow and wet. She had asked the priest if he thought her bairns cursed but to her surprise he’d smiled and said the Saviour of mankind had twins among his kinfolk, sturdy henchmen in Galilee, wherever that was. If the Saviour did not turn them away then Lull and her kind were wrong.

  The priest did, however, whisper that perhaps an excess of zeal on Baggi’s part had caused this wonder. They must never copulate when the moon blood was high. It turned hair red and disturbed the order of things. His seed must be rich indeed.

  This news put a skip in Fritha’s step. The air was lightening, spring was round the corner, but as the time drew close to the season of their first coming to Frithaswell she wept again for Wyn and Ran. Then the joy of two babes at her breast eased the pain in her heart. All things passed and so would this but the memory of her loss would remain with her ’til her last breath.

  Strange Harvest

  ‘I’ll never marry an old man now that I have seen Godfrid. He has captured my heart,’ Lady Ludmilla had vowed to her parents, stamping her foot. Her mother just sighed and shook her head.

  ‘Whoever marries for love alone? Do you think I felt such passion for your father when we were wed? That may come later if you are favoured… bedding down together, getting used to each other’s ways and moods. Love is only the silliness in a minstrel’s tale. How can men do battle work with such a weakness biting their heels, child? Now settle down and accept what is best for you.’

  But Ludmilla was not going to let the handsome Godfrid, her warrior, slip through the net she was spinning for him. At every opportunity she sought him alone, shamelessly using Edgar as her chaperone. It was not difficult to persuade the thane that she was his heart’s desire, sending him off quickly to beg for her hand as her rescuer and champion.

  Wulfrun coughed and spluttered that there were difficulties, but as this knight had saved both his son and his daughter then surely something might be arranged to free Ludmilla from her trothing pledge.

  ‘We’ll have to soothe Thane Guthrie’s pride with silver and of course you must return his betrothal gift. That golden armlet is a rare prize, crafted in the time of the great King Alfred. He told me it was highly valued among his kin.’

  Only then did Ludmilla realise that it had not been on her wrist for weeks or even months. She could not recall the last time it had glistened in the sunshine or sparkled on the silken edge of her long sleeve. Her heart thudded. If the armlet were lost, how could she give back word and return the thane’s token? She would never be free now to warm the bride bed of her hero.

  With heavy heart she found herself riding once more through the great forest, treading the serpent’s paths again, bogged down in mud and mire. The snows had melted fast, leaving the tracks flooded and hard to find. She made to turn back but Osbald Halfdane urged her on though both of them knew it would be like finding a bone needle in a hay stook.

  ‘If you leave it much longer the spring growth will cover over the bare ground and the jewel will be buried forever then.’ Osbald was in no mood to pander to his stubborn charge. If she wanted to release herself from her pledge she would have to find the armlet.

  Ludmilla’s riding knights rode with them over mud and swamp, back along the track north to the exact spot where the two of them had escaped the Dane raiders, at last finding the swollen stream and grove of trees lining the bank near Baggi’s clearing. It looked so different in the chill air, dark bare branches laced overhead, a covering of rotting leaves on the red earth. There they met one peasant and his wife who greeted them with fear, not recognising the lady in the midst of the fierce horsemen. Ludmilla was wrapped against the chill in a thick blue wool overmantle edged with fur, a warm hood masking her face. This time the party was well prepared with staves and a wicker basket of loaves, cold meat and cheeses. Baggi bent low and asked the purpose of their visit in such rough weather.

  Ludmilla reminded him of their meeting and described the jewel she had lost somewhere close by. If these peasants had stolen and sold it, she was sure they would have left this hovel by now to overwinter in the warmth of some township. The poor family looked honest enough and she gazed in amazement at the sight of two babies wrapped in skin pouches tied against the woman’s chest. Ludmilla asked her if she recalled whether there had been a golden armlet on her sleeve when she’d come to their homestead. Fritha smiled and nodded. Not one minute of that visit had she forgotten. Lull and she loved to dwell on every detail round the hearth before their quarrel. The terrible raiders, the night in the pit, the arrival of the fine lady and her rescue by Thane Godfrid… who could forget such an eventful day?

  ‘So you did see an armlet on my sleeve?’ Ludmilla was impatient to be moving on.

  ‘Aye, a beautiful ring of gold with red stones, the colour of corn poppies as I recall. Yes, we seed it there.’ Fritha pointed to her wrist. ‘And the twisted ring, a shoulder clasp with a dragon’s head…’

  ‘Yes, yes… I have those still. It’s the armlet which is lost and must be found, do you hear?’

  Fritha bowed low and answered. ‘We’ve found no jewel, my lady, but we’ll search our fields and tracks for you when we turn the soil over and broadcast the seed. My eyes are still sharp and always bent to the earth. We’ll do our best.’

  ‘See to it then!’ The lady nodded briskly and turned her horse to hide her frustration. She had so hoped it would be just lying there waiting to be found. Damn the thing! She had been so besotted with the fine features of her lord, the surprise of his timely arrival and relief that Edgar was safe, that she recalled little of her visit here. Now they must proceed slowly on foot to the Long Hall, searching in the mud. It was a hopeless task.

  Osbald thanked the couple curtly. He did not trust forest peasants, who were too proud and independent for his liking. This lot seemed harmless, winter thin and starved enough not to have sold a rare jewel. They were sadly in need of a spring wash. It must be hard to live in such a dreary place. He was glad the High Lord of heaven, in His mercy, had seen him born to churls and not peasants.

  The slow trek back to Long Hall yielded no joy and Ludmilla confessed her despair to her lord.

  ‘Perhaps the robber Danes found it and it is now over the Trent. But we will be wed, fear not,’ he soothed her. ‘Thane Guthrie is a reasonable man. He’ll take a fair weight of gold for it. These things happen… Fret not over such a bauble.’

  ‘I wish it were a mere bauble, Godfrid. Oh, it’s all my fault! I cared nothing for the old man and so was careless with his jewel. Father has no more gold to spare on my behalf. He says I have drained his coffers enough,’ sighed Ludmilla.

  ‘There’ll be a way, surely?’ answered her love, patting her arm, knowing his own money chest was empty and his purse light. If these were the sad facts perhaps he too would have to look elsewhere and find some rich widow to warm his cold bed.

  *
>
  As the spring fields turned to green in the clearing, the fresh growth unfurled. Wulf put on a little weight but Gifu the greedy, plump and eager at the breast, stole what Fritha could offer and demanded extra sops. Wulf’s skin was scaly and raw. His mother marvelled the mite survived at all. She gave him fresh milk from the goat in a little pouch which he could suck and soon his limbs fleshed out and he breathed easier, beginning to take more interest in the world beyond her teat, much to Fritha’s relief.

  Since the lady’s visit she was always poking in her kale patch or along the edges of fields, just in case, but found nothing. What it must be like to live so careless of gold and precious stones, to wear expensive blue-dyed wool in the mud and ride a fine horse! It was a world she could barely imagine. Though it did not seem to have made the wench contented with her lot for her eyes were restless and afeared, Fritha remembered.

  She herself may not have many possessions but she felt so blessed to have a strong man’s aid and two bonny bairns. It was a pity that the harsh words of last winter had never been forgotten. Beorn and Baggi must still work together in the fields but the old joking banter had gone. Tasks were shared in silence whenever she was around. Sometimes she caught sight of Lull digging over her patch in the far distance with little Hilde now toddling behind her, still tied with a wrist thong.

  It was good to have the hearth to herself but sometimes she felt weariness overwhelm her. How Lull would have enjoyed seeing the lady again! And there was no one with whom to share her worries over Wulf. He did not gurgle or prattle or smile half as much as Wyn or Ran or Gifu. Baggi was right to give him a fresh name. He was nothing like her lost son. He was special in a strange way. Her heart was stone heavy at the thought and from all the tasks she must undertake to keep them fed and watered; much worse than tending sheep, goats and hens which filled the homestead. Now they had ducks and some geese which gave big eggs and feathers, but they were such messy creatures and it was hard to scrape up their droppings for the precious dung heap.

  Baggi and Beorn had a plan to dam the stream and channel it into a big pond; a pool for ducks and for catching fish. It was going to take them all the spare summer hours to dig out and edge the water. She wondered what Lull thought of this bright idea. As if on cue she saw her sister-in-law approach, carrying her child and a bucket towards the well. Lull nodded coolly, trying not to look her in the face, but little Hilde, once set down, scampered across to chase the ducks, falling flat on her face and howling hard. She was at that meddlesome age, no longer a baby but not yet a child, and needed some watching.

  ‘Keep out of the water, Hilde!’ Lull called, and Fritha lifted up Gifu to see what was going on. The toddler wanted to reach up, to play and touch. She was too young to sense the coolness in the air between the mothers. Fritha tried to fill the silence.

  ‘We had another visit from yon lady from the Great Hall. Would you believe she was searching for a lost jewel? I thought the knights would beat us and take us away. I think they believed we’d stolen it from her. However will she find her bangle in all this mud? But I said we’d keep an eye out.’

  ‘You did right… Come away, Hilde, don’t pester. And keep off them boulders, they’re slippery…’ shouted Lull, seeing her child hovering by the spring, stretching her hands to the water. A splash sent them both rushing to the bairn who lay soaked and kicking in the water. Fritha grabbed at her tunic and fished the little body out quickly. Hilde was coughing and spluttering but unhurt. Shocked and protesting, she clutched a tangle of weed in her hand.

  ‘Come, bring her to the fire and dry her off, Lull.’

  ‘Thanks… she’s such a handful. I don’t know how you manage with two of them, I really don’t.’ Lull smiled and cuddled her daughter with relief.

  ‘You just do. Gifu is easy though poor Wulf is still weak. But then, boys often are,’ answered Fritha, smiling back.

  ‘They are so like you.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘The girl especially, so dark… Gifu, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye, Godgifu… God’s gift, double seed.’

  ‘Fritha?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘This has gone on too long. It has been a bad winter with no one to chase away the nightglooms. I’ve missed our hearthtalk and your help winding the wool. Perhaps we were all overwrought and hasty, too easily vexed?’ Lull bent her head and fell silent.

  ‘Harsh words are so easy to say and hard to forget,’ Fritha said finally. ‘It’s good to have my own hearth and pot, but you are welcome to call anytime. Two pairs of hands make any chore seem easier, don’t you think? Besides, I have missed your company.’

  Lull pressed her hand briefly then glanced at Hilde. ‘What’s that child chewing on now? Spit it out!’ Hilde was biting on the weeds in her hand, mouthing at something covered in mud. ‘Put that down!’ Lull snatched away the object and the child howled again.

  She looked more closely at the dirty thing, fingering its smooth surface, feeling the hollowness. She brushed it on her top skirt, rubbing away weed. It was a perfect circle. Fritha gasped when she saw it.

  ‘Lull! See, the armlet… Hilde has found us the lady’s jewel! She must have dropped it in the water. See how it’s gold studded with stones. No wonder the Lady was eager to find it again. Look how the jewels are set into the gold, like fine metal wire. The pattern’s so delicate. Baggi, Beorn! Come quickly and see what the child has found in the spring… treasure from the holy well… again!’

  The women smiled warmly at each other for the first time in many moons.

  *

  Fritha took her bucket to the spring, touching the prayer strips reverently as they fluttered in the breeze. First she squatted down to sprinkle herself with a blessing of water in thanksgiving. Their swift return of the armlet to Long Hall had brought great joy to its owner and proof of their loyalty to Thane Godfrid’s hall. Osbald Halfdane returned with a bolt of fine cloth, enough to make two over tunics for the women and a shift for Hilde. There were also carved bone rings for the babes to chew on and an invitation to the feasting when the wedding took place.

  How Fritha pinched her arm to believe she was awake and not asleep then! There they were, sitting at the feast boards in the Long Hall while the harp was playing and the minstrel singing the old Lays of Beowulf, the battle hero. Above her, woollen hangings wafted from the smoky rafters where smoke coiled up to the roof hole. Hounds were yapping noisily but their babes slept safely in a corner. The boards were full of fine glazed earthenware flagons, the like of which neither woman had ever touched before. They were belly-stuffed with roasted meat and fine mead, honey cakes and thick bread. Their horn beakers were kept brimming as honoured guests at the wedding feast. Baggi’s cheeks were as red as hot stones and Beorn loosened his belt before swallowing the last dregs of his beer.

  On the high table sat the lord and his new lady, wearing the morning after gift of amber beads as a token of her bedworthiness. Ludmilla was wearing a fine gown of cornflower blue, worked and embroidered with gold lacework, silk sleeves edged in deepest scarlet as bright as a summer meadow. Her veil was like a cobweb of gauzy silk around which she wore a circlet of fresh flowers. Thane Godfrid was roaring drunk with a pink flush on him like a shiny apple. He wore a tunic of darkest brown like tree bark. It was edged with braid, as shiny as his fiery hair, and Fritha giggled to remember the priest’s warning about lustful excess leading to a red-haired baby.

  The wedding feast had lasted many days; first came the great thanes and kin from the shire hundreds, then the lower kin, and lastly the foresters and tenants. Each group was feasted according to rank and custom.

  For days before the feast Lull and Fritha just stared at the gifts they’d received, afraid to soil them or touch anything in case it vanished in a puff of smoke. Then they rinsed their fingers and gently felt over the cloth, trying to imagine what would happen if they did this or that. Could they squeeze something else out of the length? They could hardly bear to take the sha
rpened knife to it but the thought of the feast and going there naked drove them on to make the first cut. Of one thing they were both certain: the cloth must be dyed a bright colour. No oatmeal, sludge or muddy hue but something to brighten their lives forever, the colour of the peony globe or the corn poppy, buttercup yellow or bright leaf green. There was so much colour to choose from in the green woods as the may blossom covered the field edges.

  At last they would have something to brighten the drabness. It was time to test out last year’s dried onion skins with a piece of madder root. Now the metal pot which had fed them all winter must be cleaned out and dried in the sun, filled with spring water and clean hot stones, brought to the boil to soak the cloth, turning it to the richest golden orange. The cloth was then hung out and dried straight on some branches together with a line of dead crows flapping beside it to keep off birds and their droppings.

  In the heat of the sun, the cloth dried a little streakily but was soon ready for sewing. Fritha could not wait for the feast day to show off her new finery and her leather belt carved with animals. She rinsed her body in the spring, scrubbing from her face all the winter’s grime and oiling her braids to make them shine. She plaited a few flowers into them also. Then over her head she slipped the tunic, drinking in its newness. She covered her head with the last bit of unbleached linen fixed with two bone clasps. For once she felt like a marigold, shining so brightly that all the bees would surely buzz to her scent.

  As she stood by the well she could see the men hard at work in their field strips, full of peas and corn. Lull was gathering furze and her own blessed children were sitting safely amongst the rows of leek shoots, kale wort and onions. The walls of the new hut were sturdy and the fresh thatching secure. All around was green growth, bright peony heads, flowers and herbs for the picking; all her own work visibly rewarded. They would survive and their children after them in this place of sunshine and shadows. From scrubby heathland to ploughed fields with a strong liege lord to protect them. Surely nothing would destroy a homestead built at such terrible cost?