A Moment in Time

by Bertrice Small

  Her pains were coming quickly now, and the feeling of strong pressure was completely unbearable. She could not help herself, and with a great groan she pushed down once, twice, and a third time. For a dizzying moment she was free of pain. Then the agony and the straining began again. She was quite powerless to stop it now, for the birth was imminent. Unable to contain herself, Wynne cried out aloud, pushing down again as she did so. She found herself panting wildly. She could actually feel the child being born, but now she suddenly wondered if she could indeed birth Madoc's son without help. A shriek was torn forth from her again, and then, to her relief, she heard familiar footsteps upon the staircase.

  Eadwine Aethelhard practically leapt into the Great Chamber and, hurrying to her side, knelt down, his hands sliding beneath the birthing chair. "The child is half born, my wild Welsh girl," he said.

  "I don't want you here," she gasped unreasonably as another spasm gripped her vitals and she bore down once more. "I… I want Madoc!" Still, she was glad to see him, even if she couldn't admit it.

  "Push again, and once again," he calmly instructed her, ignoring her sham anger.

  "I hate you!" she cried out to him, but obeyed. Suddenly she realized that her travail was nearly over. From beneath the chair, she heard a small whimper which was almost immediately followed by a tiny bellow of outrage. Gasping and still overcome with small pains as she expelled the afterbirthing, Wynne watched in amazement as Eadwine tenderly cleaned the child off. Expertly he put the tiny gown on the infant, gently fit the tiny cap on the tiny head, swaddled it most efficiently, and handed it to her.

  "You have a fine son, my wild Welsh girl!" he said approvingly. "What is his name to be?"

  Wynne looked down at her son and tears sprang into her eyes. How much like Madoc he was, she thought sadly. They had planned to call a son Anwyl after that long-ago child from another time and another place; but she knew the circumstances of this baby's birth would not allow her to call him Anwyl. Someday they would be free, but she never wanted to forget Brys of Cai's wickedness, and so looking up at Eadwine Aethelhard, she replied softly, "His name is Arvel ap Madoc. Arvel means wept over, for this son of Madoc, the prince of Powys, is far from his heritage, and is to be wept over by all until he can be restored to it. By his mother, who has brought him into this slavery; and by his father, who has so longed for his coming and has lost him before he even knew him." She handed the baby back to the thegn. "Take him, my lord, and place him gently in his cradle while I attend myself."

  "If you will wed with me, Wynne," Eadwine Aethelhard said, laying the infant in his cot, "I will raise your child as if he were my very own child."

  "He will not be considered a slave?" she asked as she cleaned herself free of the traces of Arvel's birth. The heir to Powys-Wenwynwyn must not be a slave!

  "Nay! From this moment of his birth he is free, and so I will affirm to all, my wild Welsh girl!" declared Eadwine Aethelhard passionately.

  Wynne drew forth a clean chemise from her chest and put it on, adding her old garment to the pile of bloodied laundry. Slowly she crawled into their bed space. She was aching and suddenly very tired. "I am not certain that it is right, my lord, but I will be your wife," she promised, "if a priest, knowing of my history, will marry us."

  He nodded. "We have no priest at Aelfdene now, and although I have applied to the diocese at Worcester for one, they have not yet granted us this blessing. Until such time as a priest is sent to us, Wynne, you will live with me openly as my wife. I will make it publicly known to all that I intend to wed with you; that you are to be treated with honor as the mistress of this manor; that all of your children are my children. There is nothing unusual in such an arrangement for a second marriage among our people. Rest now, my wild Welsh girl. You have done well this day. I will send Ealdraed to watch over Arvel, and you need have no fears for his safety." He bent down and kissed her gently, his crisp beard tickling her cheek. Then he left her.

  She had done the right thing, Wynne thought sleepily. Arvel would never be a slave, no matter what happened. She would see that Eadwine fulfilled all his promises to her. As mistress of Aelfdene she would have even greater respect than she now had as Wynne, the healer. She was feeling giddy with happiness and filled with relief at having come through the perils of childbirth unscathed; of having a beautiful and apparently healthy son. Despite the rain, spring was here. Madoc would find them. It was the winter that had undoubtedly impeded his search. Now that spring was here, he would find them. Certainly before her six-week healing period was over, but if not before then, surely soon thereafter. Even if Eadwine was able to enforce his husbandly rights over her, it was a well-known fact that nursing women did not conceive. Everything would be all right. Madoc would soon find them and, in the meantime, her new status would protect her son.

  And, indeed, Eadwine Aethelhard was true to his word. Several days after Arvel's birth he escorted Wynne into the hall. She was wearing a cream-colored tunic dress of brocatelle which had been embroidered with dainty gold thread butterflies. Beneath it was an under tunic of bright yellow silk. Eadwine had gifted her with it the day after Arvel's arrival, having instructed that it be secretly made for her. Upon her right shoulder Wynne had pinned a round gold brooch decorated with green agates. Another gift from this new husband she seemed to have acquired.

  Eadwine Aethelhard had assembled his entire family, his servants, his freed men, and as many of his serfs as he could crowd into the hall. Wynne had to admit to herself that he was certainly a most attractive man in his scarlet kirtle. To celebrate the festive occasion, he had even perfumed his rich brown beard, and his brown hair curled gracefully just above his broad shoulders. Aye, he was a very handsome man with a commanding presence.

  He led her to a high-backed chair that had been set before the dais at the end of the hall. Wynne sat as she knew she was expected to, and Eadwine Aethelhard stood by her side. "Today," he said, "I have freed this woman and her son from the bonds of slavery." He bent and unlocked the delicate gold slave collar from about her neck and put it in her lap. "It is yours to do what you will, my wild Welsh girl."

  "I will send it to St. Frideswide's nunnery and ask that masses be said for the soul of your sons' mother, the lady Mildraed," Wynne told the assemblage.

  A murmur of approval greeted her words, but Caddaric Aethelmaere glowered at Wynne, and she could feel his deep hatred.

  "Today I have freed this woman and her son from slavery," Eadwine Aethelhard repeated, "and now I declare before all that I have taken her for my wife. When a priest is sent to us, we will formally seal this union; but you here know that in accordance with the old ways, I am within my rights to make the lady Wynne my wife by announcing it publicly before you all. Her infant son, Arvel, I adopt as my own child. Come now and pledge your fealty to the new lady of Aelfdene Manor."

  "You would set this… this Welsh slave in our mother's place?" shouted Caddaric Aethelmaere. "How can you?" His fury caused him to redden unattractively.

  "Wynne was a captive, Caddaric. She is of good birth," his father told him.

  "How can you know that? Because she has told you so? I do not believe it for a minute! You are an old fool, my father! You have been ensorceled by this Welsh witch! You have already sampled her wares as is your right. Why must you wed her?" Caddaric demanded.

  "Because I love her," Eadwine Aethelhard replied, his blue eyes hardening. "Because I am master here, and I choose to wed her. Now kneel before my lady and give your fealty, Caddaric, or I will disinherit you this day!"

  For a moment it appeared that Caddaric Aethelmaere would defy his father, but Eadgyth Crookback gently tugged upon her husband's sleeve. Without even looking at her, Eadwine Aethelhard's eldest son fell to his knees before Wynne and hastily mumbled the required words of loyalty. Finishing, he looked up at her, and Wynne knew that Caddaric would never forgive her for this day. As he arose, Baldhere Arm-strang took his place and, with a wink at her, swore his oath of loyalty to Wynne.r />
  Rising, he asked mischievously, "Shall I call you Mother, lady?"

  "Not if you wish to become an old man," Wynne replied sweetly.

  Her humor broke the tension within the hall, and the others in the crowded room knelt, pledging their fealty in unison to the new mistress of the manor. Ale was passed about, and a toast drunk to the newlyweds' health. The hall then emptied of all but family. Eadwine picked Wynne up and returned her to her bed in the Great Chamber, for she was not yet fully recovered from Arvel's birth. Ealdraed followed behind.

  "I am so happy for you, lady," she half wept as she helped her mistress to disrobe and return to her sleeping space. "I never thought to see the master happy again, but since the day of your arrival he is a young man once more! You will not be unhappy with him, and it will be good to have babies about this hall as in the past."

  Wynne said nothing in reply, for she was distressed over the fact that her milk had not come in despite her own remedies to encourage it. She had reluctantly agreed to allow Ealdraed's granddaughter, who had given birth to a stillborn child the day of Arvel's birth, to wet-nurse her son.

  "I know how disappointed you are, lady," Ealdraed had told her, "but the child must be fed to survive; and my poor Gytha must have a reason to survive also. Her child is dead and so is her man. She is young, healthy, and free of pox. Her milk is rich, for it began to flow a week before her child was born."

  Wynne had had no choice but to allow the unfortunate Gytha to wet-nurse her son. The girl, younger than Wynne by two years, was pitifully grateful for having been given a reason to go on living. She cradled Arvel lovingly, and Wynne was ashamed to feel herself being strongly overwhelmed by jealousy. Gytha would have a sleeping space in the Great Chamber, the only servant in the house so honored, for Wynne would not allow her son from her sight.

  Summer was near, and Wynne eagerly waited for Madoc to come, but he did not. She tried to be patient, for she understood that he must seek for her as one would seek for the very first flower of the spring. Not an easy task. Beltaine came, the anniversary of their wedding day, and Wynne went out into the fields just before sunrise to gather flowers before the dew was off them. She washed her face in dew, for it held magical properties. Her tears flowed silently, and she looked to the brightening skies above for a sign of old Dhu, but there was none. There were robins, and larks, and sparrows and cuckoos calling back and forth to one another, but there was no harsh, raucous cry of a raven. She tried to reach out to him in her mind, but she could not seem to concentrate.

  His face. Madoc's fierce and handsome face was becoming harder and harder for her to focus upon. It seemed so long since she had seen him, and yet it was but seven months. So much had happened since they had been parted. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever see him again. It was becoming more difficult to resist Eadwine Aethelhard's persistent wooing. She had reached the point where she was not even certain she wanted to resist him. She was still not fully recovered from the ordeal of her son's birth, and susceptible to the Saxon thegn's loving kindness. There was no doubt in her mind that he loved her, and he treated Arvel as if the baby were of his own blood. Indeed she had come upon him in the Great Chamber the previous evening, Arvel cradled in his bearlike grasp, singing a lullaby to her son.

  It was not fair! Wynne thought. Madoc should be the one holding his son, singing to him, but Madoc, prince of Powys, was nowhere to be found. Would he ever find her? How would she deal with the problem of Arvel's heritage as he grew? Would she tell him, or would she let him believe that a kindly Saxon thegn was his father? No, Caddaric would see that Arvel knew Eadwine Aethelhard was only his adoptive father. Wynne sighed deeply. She had thought that when she remembered that distant past and came to grips with it, they would all live happily ever after, but obviously that was not to be. Why must she and Madoc be so torn apart just at the moment when they had begun to live their greatest happiness?

  "I am going to have to come to terms with my life as it now is," Wynne said to herself aloud. "I cannot go on like this forever! How long do I wait for Madoc to come? Why has he not come by now? Is he coming? She sighed again and then bent down to gather up the sheaf of flowers she had set down when she had washed her face with the dew. Straightening up, she saw Eadwine Aethelhard coming across the field toward her.

  "I awoke and you were gone," he called, waving.

  She walked toward him. " 'Tis May morn," she said, not needing to offer any further explanation.

  Reaching her, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her. "I missed you, sweeting," he said.

  "Did you think I had run away, Eadwine?" she half teased him.

  "You would not leave Arvel behind," he replied bluntly. "You are a good mother, Wynne. We should have more children."

  She stiffened in his embrace, knowing what was about to come.

  "Your healing period is over," he continued, "and I ache for you. I will wait no more!" His hand gently massaged her back in an attempt to relax her. "You are my wife, Wynne. I have said it before my sons, my family, my servants, and my serfs. None have denied you your rightful place at Aelfdene. Not even Caddaric. Now it is time for you to be my wife in the fullest sense."

  There was no escape, she thought, her emotions mixed and confused. Looking up at him, she said, "Of course, my lord, it is your right. You are good to me, and I will deny you nothing." What else could she do?

  "You deny me your heart," he said wisely, his blue eyes said.

  Wynne nodded. "Aye, I do, Eadwine, but perhaps it will not always be that way. I must have time. You have given me everything but that. Mayhap I will never love you, I do not know, but I will care for you, and I will respect you."

  "I want a child by you, Wynne," he told her.

  "If God will it, my lord," she answered quietly.

  "But in your heart you hope he will not, for then you would have to release your hold on your memories," Eadwine said half angrily.

  "I will never forget what has been, Eadwine Aethelhard, and you do not have the right to ask that I do. Arvel is part of those memories. Would you have me deny him and his father, that your conscience be clear? You could return me to Powys and to Madoc if you chose to do so, but you do not. Yet you know I speak the truth of my past life, for all your denial to the contrary.

  " Mercia and Powys are allies. My king's wife is Earl Aelfgar's daughter. You would not suffer in any way should you return me and my son to our own people, but you will not. You recognize my small status by your actions, my lord. You have honored me by declaring to all that I am your wife, but I wonder if the Church would agree and marry us within their sacred precincts.

  "You but desire a child to bind me further," Wynne said shrewdly. "What if Madoc comes after I have had that child you so desperately want? What if he comes before, and I am heavy with that babe? I will be torn apart by the two of you, and it is not fair! God, I wish I were back at Gwernach and an innocent girl once again!" She angrily pulled out of his embrace and, pushing past him, fled toward the manor house.

  Eadwine Aethelhard watched her go, sadness and frustration overwhelming him. She was right. It wasn't fair, but the chances of Madoc of Powys ever finding her were slim. There was too much distance between their lands. He had purchased her honorably. Even if every word she had told him since her arrival at Aelfdene was the truth, he was not legally bound to return her to Powys. He loved her, and to do so would break his heart. Wynne was his wife now. He was not yet forty-four. She made him feel like a young man. A young man with a fertile young wife. There would be children! He was dissatisfied with his two sons. He wanted other children for Aelfdene, and he would have them!

  Chapter 14

  There was no trace of Wynne of Gwernach in England, or so those sent out to seek her reluctantly reported to their lord, the prince of Powys-Wenwynwyn.

  "She's in England," Madoc said stubbornly. "I know it!"

  " England is a large land, my lord," Einion replied. "Our people have traveled the entire c
ountryside along the border, following the exact route of the Irish slaver, Ruari Ban, as his passing is always noted by those who live there, for he is unlike most slavers, being a kind and merry soul. He sold no slaves until he came to Worcester. In Worcester there are many to attest to his coming. It is said of him that his merchandise is always good, his slaves healthy and obedient. Ruari Ban is always welcomed in Worcester."

  "And no one remembers a woman of my wife's description among his slaves?" Madoc was beginning to look distraught.

  "No, my lord, no one remembers a lady to match my lady's description," Einion answered, "but that does not mean she was not amongst Ruari Ban's slaves. He may have kept her hidden because he felt he could obtain a higher price in a larger town. Such practice is common among slavers with an eye to a good profit. Ruari Ban may be a decent fellow, but 'tis said of him that he strikes a hard bargain. Or he may have sold her privately along his route, as we had previously discussed. There would be nothing unusual in his doing that. It may be harder to trace her under those circumstances."

  "Why have we not found her?!" Madoc cried angrily.

  Einion cast his lord a look of pity which he masked lest he offend Madoc. "My lord, it will take time. Each Saxon man who can amass for himself five hides of land upon which he builds a fortified house, a chapel, a bakehouse and a little bell tower with a bell, is elevated to the rank of thegn. In some parts of England a hide is equal to one hundred and twenty acres, but in others 'tis only forty acres. There are many thegns now, my lord. Any of them with enough silver could have possession of my lady Wynne."