"The lord has eighteen hides of land," the old lady told Wynne. "He is a very wealthy man."
"My husband has a castle and ten times as much land," Wynne replied, but Ealdraed looked disbelieving.
"Look back at the house, lass. Is it not a fine one? And stone too, not timber like so many of our neighbors'," Ealdraed bragged. "Did you see the posts supporting the roof, and the roof beams in the hall? Painted with designs, they are! And three fire pits as well! ‘Tis as snug and safe a house as any could want." She grinned a toothless grin at Wynne. "And see the walls about the manor house? And the iron-bound oaken doors and gates? There's none that could overcome us if they tried." Ealdraed was very proud of Aelfdene.
" 'Tis a fine house," Wynne agreed. "It is much like my girlhood home at Gwernach."
"The lord has a church," Ealdraed informed Wynne. "And a kitchenIbakehouse; and a bell tower to warn the countryside in case of danger!"
A church! "Is there a priest here for the church?" Wynne asked.
"Nay," came the disconcerting reply. "We had one once, but he died of a spring flux of the bowels some years back. There has been none since, and just as well, say I," Ealdraed muttered. "The old ways are strong here, for all the priests' teachings. Even Harold Godwinson keeps a Danish wife. Her children are honored among all, though the king disapproves. He is too saintly a man, King Edward."
"I would not know," replied Wynne. "My king is Gruf-fydd ap Llywelyn. My father was kin to Gruffydd."
"There are the halls the lord had built for his sons," Ealdraed said, ignoring Wynne's remark. "They are timber."
"You do not approve of Eadwine Aethelhard's sons, do you?" Wynne gently queried.
"No, I do not, though I be but a serf and should have no opinions," replied Ealdraed. "Baldhere, the younger, is not a bad sort, though his wife is overproud. Caddaric, however, now there is a wicked 'un." She lowered her voice. "I do not think he will ever get a child on any woman, and just as well!"
"I was told Eadwine Aethelhard had several wives before he fathered his sons," Wynne answered her.
"The lord was betrothed in the cradle and widowed at the age of five," Ealdraed told Wynne. "He was betrothed and widowed again before he was nine. 'Twas then the old master decided to wait until he was more of an age to consummate a marriage. The lord was a father first at seventeen and again at eighteen. After that the lady Mildraed miscarried five other children. Poor lady. She was a good soul. The lord, however, had no trouble getting his two sons on her. It is not so with his son, Caddaric. Now, the poor lady Eadgyth is too frail, as any can see, to bear children, but look you there, Wynne. There are Caddaric's four women now. The tallest one is Berangari. The plump one is Dagian. Aelf is the wench with the long blond braids, and Haesel is the youngest. None is weak or fragile, yet he cannot get children on any of them. Men are wont to blame a woman for their lack of son, but think you those four strong-backed girls incapable of mothering children?"
"Nay," Wynne replied. "They seem fit enough, and you are right that it seems odd none can conceive."
Caddaric's four women, walking together, now came deliberately abreast of Wynne and Ealdraed. The one called Berangari spoke boldly.
"So, Ealdraed, this is the slave woman that our lord Caddaric would have. A wild Welsh girl," she sneered. "And fertile as a cow too, I see. You are fortunate, wench, that the lord took you for himself, else I should have scratched your eyes out myself."
"Have you tried a lotion of arum and bryony for the spots on your face, Berangari," Wynne said sweetly. "If you have none, I shall make it for you. You will not hold Caddaric Aethelmaere's favor with a face as pocked as a worm-eaten apple."
Berangari gasped and her face grew red with her fury. The women accompanying her drew back nervously. "H-H-How dare you speak to me in such a fashion!" the Saxon woman shrieked. "You are a slave! A slave! You have no right to speak to me at all unless I give you my permission! I will go to the lord! I will see that you are beaten!"
Unafraid, Wynne stepped forward so that she was directly in front of Berangari. "You may believe what you like, Berangari, and you may call me whatever you desire. You cannot, however, change the fact that I am not a slave, nor a slave born, nor will I behave in a servile manner. I am Wynne of Gwernach, wife to Madoc, prince of Powys… My blood and that of my child is far better than any here! I will give my respect to Eadwine Aethelhard, for he is the lord of Aelfdene, and a good lord too, I can see. I will give my friendship to those who would have it, but I will not be anyone's slave. If you ever address me again, do it with courtesy, or do it not at all." Then Wynne turned her back on the four women and said to Ealdraed, "What are these light tasks that my lord would have me perform?"
"Wait!" It was Berangari. "Can you really make me a lotion that would remove the spots from my face?"
Wynne turned back to her. "If I could gain admission to the pharmacea here, aye, I could."
"There is no pharmacea at Aelfdene," Berangari said.
"There should be," Wynne replied. "I will speak to Eadwine Aethelhard. Who makes your medicines and salves?"
"There is no one," Berangari replied. "There was an old woman once, but she died."
"Was not the lady Mildraed skilled in these things?"
"The lady Mildraed spent most of her time weaving and resting," Berangari said. "She was frail in her later years."
"And if someone is injured?" Wynne probed.
"Someone binds up their wounds and we hope for the best," Berangari answered.
"This will not do," Wynne told them. "Ealdraed, where is Eadwine Aethelhard? I must speak to him immediately! Light tasks can be accomplished by any hands, but I am a healer, and if there is none here at Aelfdene to heal, then that must be my task."
"The lord is in the fields. It is the day set aside for the gleaners," Ealdraed said.
"Take me to my lord," Wynne said firmly. "There is no time to waste."
Chortling to herself, Ealdraed led Wynne through the open gates of Aelfdene and down the road to the fields. There they found Eadwine Aethelhard, who sat upon his horse watching benevolently as the women and children belonging to his estate carefully gleaned through the mown stalks of previously harvested grain for the remaining kernels of oats, rye, and barley that could be salvaged. Whatever they found was theirs to keep and add to the winter allotment made them by their master. Successful gleaning could mean the difference between a comfortable winter or a lean, hard one.
As they approached him, Wynne studied Eadwine Aethelhard, for she scarce had time the previous night. He was very tall. At least as tall and as big as Einion. He sat his horse easily. The handsome face had a relaxed and pleasant look to it. There were laugh lines about his eyes and mouth. It was a sensuous mouth, big, to match the rest of his body. She remembered the possessive kisses that mouth had pressed upon her the previous night and felt suddenly warm. She forced herself to concentrate solely upon his physical traits. His nose had an almost regal air to it, long and perfectly straight. Her eyes strayed to the hands resting upon his reins. Although large and in keeping with his frame, they were slender hands with long, graceful fingers.
"Good morrow, my lord Eadwine," Wynne greeted him politely as she came to stand by his right stirrup.
The grey-blue eyes were instantly alert, and he looked down at her, smiling. "Good morrow, my wild Welsh girl. Did you sleep well?"
"I did, and I thank you for the rest, my lord, but it has come to my attention that you don't have a healer at Aelfdene. Is this so?" Wynne asked him.
"It is so. Why do you ask? Are you ill?" He was instantly all concern for her.
Wynne shook her head. "I am in excellent health, my lord Eadwine. I ask because I am a healer. While I remain at Aelfdene I would be the manor's healer. Berangari tells me you have no pharmacea, or medicine salves or ointment stored. If a serious sickness were to strike Aelfdene, you would be at a great loss."
Before he might reply, a shriek rent the air and a serf woman set up a gr
eat hue and cry. The thegn turned his horse into the fields, and Wynne hurried behind him to see what the difficulty was. A sobbing woman knelt upon the ground in midfield, clutching a small girl to her bosom.
"What has happened?" demanded Eadwine Aethelhard.
"My child, lord!" the woman wept. "My child has been injured. I cannot stop the bleeding!"
Wynne reached the little cluster of women and children and pushed her way through to kneel by the frightened mother. "I am a healer," she said quietly, her musical voice authoritative and comforting. "Let me see the child's hand."
Fearfully the mother released her hold on her daughter's hand and blood gushed forth, causing her to shriek once more.
"Be silent!" Wynne commanded her fiercely as she reached beneath her skirts and tore a strip from her chemise. "You are but frightening your daughter." She began to carefully and tightly wrap the little girl's hand to stem the flow of the bleeding. "Will you take her to the hall, my lord?" she asked Eadwine Aethelhard. "I must prepare a medicinal paste for this wound." She turned to the mother. "Give your child to the lord, woman, and then follow along."
The thegn took the little girl from her weeping mother and turned his horse toward the manor house. Behind him Wynne and the other women followed.
"Ealdraed, I will need onions, salt, vinegar, rue, and honey, as well as a mortar and pestle," Wynne told the old woman. "Can you find these things for me? And clean cloth cut into strips, and a basin, and a kettle of boiling water as well."
Ealdraed nodded, all business, and said, "Aye, lady! At once." Then she began to run ahead of them on surprisingly agile legs for one of her advanced years.
When they had reached the manor house and entered into the hall, Ealdraed had already marshaled the house serfs into action. They scurried to and fro seeking the items she had asked them to obtain.
"Place the child on the bench by the fire pit," Wynne told Eadwine Aethelhard as he set the child gently down, standing back to watch her. "Comfort your daughter, woman," she told the serf mother. "You will make my job easier for me if you do."
"Will she die?" quavered the frightened woman.
"No, we have stopped the bleeding," Wynne told her quietly. "The salve I make will prevent infection and bad humors from setting into the wound." Wynne moved over to the high board, where Ealdraed was setting out all the ingredients necessary. "Peel the onions," she told a young house serf, "and then cut them fine." She quickly assembled the rest of what she would need.
The hall was quiet as, wide-eyed, the serfs watched Wynne pound the onions into a thick paste, which she then mixed with course, ground salt and a splash of vinegar. "Get me another mortar," she commanded. It was quickly brought to her. Wynne took the leaves of the summer rue plant and ground them into a fine powder. Next she added honey and carefully blended the mixture. When she was satisfied that the rue and the honey were well-mixed, Wynne added it to the onions, salt, and vinegar, combining all the elements of her salve neatly. Satisfied, she asked that the child be brought up to the high board.
Gently she unwrapped her improvised bandage from the little hand, saying as she did so, "I am going to wash your hand, child, and then flush away all the evil humors with a bit of wine. 'Twill sting, but you will be brave, I know." Then Wynne smiled at the small girl and, as carefully as she could, cleansed her injured hand, cooing sympathetically when the little one winced. When the hand was cleaned to her satisfaction, Wynne said, "You were very brave, my dearie. Now I will put my good healing salve on your wound and bandage you with a clean cloth." She worked quickly as she spoke. "Come to me tomorrow morning, and I will check to see how your injury is faring. There," she noted, finishing the bandaging. "You are done. Go back to your mother and tell her that I am well pleased with you."
The little girl ran quickly back to her parent, and the mother approached Wynne as she stepped down from the high board, falling to her knees. "Lady," she said. "I thank you for healing my daughter. May God bless you!" Then scrambling to her feet, she departed the hall with her child, the other serfs following behind her.
"Ealdraed, find me a stone jar and store the rest of that salve. I will need it tomorrow," Wynne told the servant.
"Aye, lady!" came the reply.
"You are indeed a healer," Eadwine Aethelhard said quietly, "and you know how to keep a cool head in a crisis. I think old Ruari Ban has done me a greater favor than he knew. You may have whatever you need to make your medicines, Wynne. There is a small room off the hall that has been used for storage. Ealdraed knows the place. You may have that as your pharmacea, and whatever you want to stock it."
"Thank you, my lord," she answered him coolly.
He turned about and went out again into the fields.
Wynne spent the remainder of the day cleaning out the little room that the thegn had given her for her pharmacea. The house serfs brought her a wooden table and a bench to furnish the room. Wynne, old Ealdraed by her side, sought out jars, bowls, and pitchers for the pharmacea.
"Where did you get the rue?" Wynne asked her companion.
"From the cook," came the reply.
They hurried to the cook house, where Wynne found that the child whose hand she had tended that morning was the cook's granddaughter, and the apple of his eye.
"I've herbs and spices aplenty, lady. Take what you need. I am grateful to have a healer at Aelfdene," he said.
Ealdraed shook her head in wonderment. "That old Heall is usually a bad-tempered creature. I held little hope of your getting what you needed easily."
"I will need far more than these few things," Wynne told her. "We will go out tomorrow, and I will see what I can gather myself. Though it is November, the weather is still fair, and the plants I need have not yet died back."
The dinner hour approached and Ealdraed said, "Come, lady. You must return to the Great Chamber to repair yourself," and when they had entered the room, she brought a basin of water that Wynne might wash her face and hands. Then she began to undo Wynne's thick, heavy braid.
"I have no brush or comb," Wynne said.
"The lord said you were to use those which belonged to lady Mildraed," was the reply, and Ealdraed began to brush out Wynne's long black hair, saying as she did so, "The lord has also had fabric brought from the storeroom, that you may choose several for your gowns. I will help you with the sewing." Then her gnarled old fingers began to rebraid Wynne's hair, cleverly weaving a bit of colored wool into the plait as she worked. When she had finished, she said, "We will return to the hall now. The dinner hour is upon us."
When they reached the hall again, Wynne saw that Eadwine Aethelhard and his family were already seated at the high board. She stood silently at the opposite end of the hall waiting, and finally the thegn, an amused look in his eyes, called to her. "Come, Wynne, and sit by me. Baldhere, give up your place and move down that Wynne may sit next to me."
"You would seat a slave at our table, Father? Have you gone mad?" demanded Caddaric angrily of his parent, his eyes all the while undressing Wynne as she came toward them.
"It is my table, my son," Eadwine Aethelhard said quietly, "and, aye, I would seat Wynne by my side. She has found favor in my eyes."
"By spreading her legs for you?" Caddaric replied insultingly. "Any whore would do that for you, Father."
Before the thegn might answer his son, Wynne said sweetly, "If I had spread my legs for you, Caddaric Aethelmaere, would that have made it all quite different? In future you will speak to me with respect. I have done nothing to merit your disrespect. You will also speak to your father with respect, for he is the lord of Aelfdene, and a good lord." With a swish of her skirts she seated herself at the high board.
"What is happening here?" Caddaric's voice was tight with his inability to wield any authority. "This woman has been here but a day, and you not only seat her at our table, I have heard that you have given her a place of her own. This Welsh witch has ensorceled you, Father!"
The thegn's booming laughter rang out,
filling the hall with his merriment. "Caddaric, Caddaric! Your fears are groundless. As I have previously said, I bought Wynne because for the first time in many years I was stirred by a woman's beauty and I felt desire. If that is bewitchment, then surely all men have succumbed to such bewitchment at one time or another. As for the place your gossips have told you that I gave her, it is the small storeroom at the end of the hall. Wynne is a healer, and this afternoon I saw evidence of her skill when she tended to an injured serf child. We have not had a healer at Aelfdene in many years. I am. grateful for her skill, which will be of value to the manor. A healer needs a place in which to have a pharmacea. Even you, my son, must understand that Wynne's skills may prove useless unless she can prepare and store her medicines, ointments, and lotions."
"I still think you set this slave above her station," grumbled Caddaric.
"And I think, my son, that you presume too much in my hall," his father replied with a warning tone. "Wynne is here because I wish her here. If you cannot treat her with respect, Caddaric, then you will no longer be welcome at my board."
For a time there was an uncomfortable silence. Aeldra Swanneck had a slightly disapproving twitch about her mouth, but she remained silent. Although she hoped that Aelfdene would one day belong to her infant son, Boc, she and Baldhere would eventually inherit her father's manor and leave here. For now this business with the new slave woman did not concern her. Eadgyth Crookback's eyes remained upon her plate, although she but picked at her food. Caddaric had been virtually unapproachable since yesterday when he had first seen the Welsh woman. He had been positively vicious with his four women last night in his frustration over losing the new slave to his father. Eadgyth had never seen him so filled with lust, and the knowledge that the object of his lust was now in his father's bed proved almost too much for him.
Eadgyth Crookback knew her husband well. He was a good warrior but a weak man. When they had wed, she knew that he took her only for her dowry of two and a half hides of land. Her father, no fool, had known his daughter's attraction was in her possessions. He had, in an effort to protect her further, promised that when he died, Eadgyth would inherit an additional two and a half hides of land. This bequest could only be effected if Eadgyth still lived. If she had predeceased him, then everything would go to his eldest son. With an additional two and a half hides of land, Caddaric Aethelmaere could attain the status of thegn in his own right. She knew how desperately he desired to be his own man. As her father was elderly, there was hope that Caddaric would attain his heart's desire sooner than he would inherit from his own father, who was in excellent health.
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