Avelynn

by Marissa Campbell

  “A letter has arrived from Francia. My father continues on with his journey, but my brother has fallen ill.”

  “Oh, Avelynn, I’m so sorry.”

  Alfred rose and clasped my hands. “May God watch over him. I will say a prayer for Edward’s health.”

  “Thank you.” I walked to Ealhswith. Aethelflaed’s little hands were balled tight, her ruby-red lips pouting as she slept. I kissed Ealhswith’s forehead. “Take care of yourself, my friend, and spoil my goddaughter until I can get back and do it myself.” I looked at her pointedly. “I will visit here again in July.”

  The royal entourage grazed from manor to manor, depleting each royal village’s resources before moving on to the next. This way, the burden of supporting the crown was shared amongst the shires, and the nobility managed to keep a close eye on their subjects. Not knowing where she might end up, it was essential that Ealhswith found her way back to Bath.

  “July?” Her eyebrows shot up and a huge grin crinkled the edges of her eyes. “Really?”

  I had doggedly avoided the topic of my paramour coming back. It was one thing to tumble into one night of logical impairment, but to willingly engage in the activity again—it was hard for me to rationalize, never mind talk about. But I knew I would need her help.

  Alfred was looking directly at me and couldn’t see his wife’s salacious look of mischief.

  My cheeks reddened. “Until July, then,” I said, and retreated quickly.

  Seeking the guest cottage, I prepared myself for a night of listless sleep. A vision of Edward cloistered and scared, alone and sick in a dark, damp room far away from home, alternated with an image of his small, emaciated body, black earth packed tightly around him, his vacant eyes open, eternally searching for peace.

  TWELVE

  JUNE 870

  A month and a half passed without word from Francia or the arrival of my brother. I had written back at once, asking for an update on Edward’s and Demas’s progress but had yet to hear any news. I tried to keep my mind from dwelling on Edward’s condition and on my upcoming meeting with Alrik by busying myself with manorial tasks.

  The granaries were still being guarded. So far, no word of bribes or treachery had reached my ears, and the inventory was being checked consistently for any signs of theft. Milo and Walther seemed grateful to retain honorable positions at court by acting as advisors, and I had assigned Aluson to assist Eata. I was very pleased. Aluson was a fast and eager learner.

  In his role as head guardsman, Leofric continued to oversee the remaining warriors of the estate and proved skilled at tackling the added responsibilities while helping Bertram as reeve.

  Most encouraging of all, Sigberht had stayed in Kent—not a wisp of malevolence to disturb my fledgling calm. He had even made his first payment of one hundred pence without so much as a grumble. All seemed well, and for that I was grateful.

  The fields were sowed, children assigned the task of keeping hungry birds away from the newly laid seed with slingshots; hay was scythed, dried, collected, and placed in byres; cows were milked, pigs were fattened, sheep were sheared; fields kept fallow were plowed, manure mixed into the hungry earth; and gardens were tended with as much care as the larger fields of cereals, beans, and peas.

  Along with several other women, I spent a great deal of time fussing in the large garden behind the hall. Fenced off from the surrounding area, so no wandering sheep, cow, pig, or deer could trample or eat the tender shoots, the garden included a large variety of vegetation—from foodstuffs to culinary herbs to a few common medicinal plants.

  I knew very little about leechdom. My practical knowledge and experience with healing were pitiful at best. I knew simple cures for wounds and fevers, but anything more that I might have learned from my mother, she never got the opportunity to teach me.

  There were several leeches in Wessex, but many, if not all, revolved around the king’s court. Some of the more powerful monasteries had monks adept at healing, and they were charged with caring for the poor. However, the monasteries were crowded and often had to turn people away, and most villagers didn’t have the means of transport necessary to make the trip, nor did they have the money needed to send for a royal leech. Most preferred to die at home in their beds. If a situation looked dire and I was informed in time, I would personally send for the leech and pay for his services. At worst, I would stand with Father Plegmund, offering my own silent prayers to the Goddess if they passed into the afterlife.

  The more I weeded around the various medicinal plants, pulling out roots, or cutting the noxious stems close to the earth, the more I wondered what the witch had given me: both to ward off pregnancy and for the wound on my hand. Despite my trepidations, I was leaving on the morrow to attain more of her curious decoction. I wasn’t looking forward to stepping foot again in that squalid hut, but my fear of ripening with child and the scandal it would create, not to mention the terror of childbirth itself, more than outweighed my fear of her—and her beast.

  I pressed a leaf of sage between thumb and forefinger, inhaling the faintly musky aroma. Perhaps I could entreat her to share her knowledge? Maybe there was something I could offer her in return. I thought about the purse I had thrown onto the floor. She definitely liked coins.

  * * *

  Before I left for the witch’s cottage near Congresbury, I sent a message to Ealhswith, informing her of my intent to visit in just over a fortnight. I would arrive two days before the next full moon.

  Part of me wanted to stay at Wedmore in case word of Edward arrived, but I had waited in vain since early May, and it was now the end of June. With the manor running smoothly, it seemed an opportune time to leave. Bertram sensed something within my elusive moods, but my answer to his unwavering questions was always the same: I wanted to commune with the Goddess … alone.

  I needed to fend off his suspicions for only a little while longer. I knew this relationship with Alrik couldn’t last. This rendezvous was most likely the end of it. But I desperately wanted to see him again. I wanted to feel his arms around me, his body pressed against mine. I wanted to collect each sensory experience, each vibrant moment, and hoard them away, ready to relive again and again whenever I needed them. If Demas returned, I knew I would need all the inspiration I could get.

  As I drew farther from Wedmore, the noxious fumes of the tanner’s trade assaulted my senses. Pits of urine were used to help remove the hair from the skins, and vats of dog and animal dung were used to soften the hides. I raised my arm to cover my nose as Marma and I passed. I wondered what ever had become of the tanner’s son. He had kept his hand thanks to me, but I imagine my interference had not spared the lad other insults or injury. I glanced around but didn’t see anyone. It wasn’t necessary to constantly watch the pits, as each hide could sit in the mixtures for weeks or months at a time, the tanner removing them only to knead or scrape as needed before plunging them back into the noxious liquid. Spurring Marma forward, I encouraged her to set a brisk pace until we were no longer downwind.

  After half a day’s ride, the road through the highlands alternated between thick gravel tracks and narrow dirt trails. As I rounded a bend, vibrant green hills inclined away from me on my right, while a narrow band of grass and low scrub blended into the thicker forest to my left. I had made good time and allowed Marma to meander at a snail’s pace while I collected my thoughts. I was determined to gain the witch’s confidence.

  A muffled shout filtered through the trees. I reined the horse to a stop, scanning the path ahead. There were no signs of habitation nearby. Marma sensed the tension and pawed anxiously at the ground, pulling on the reins as she tried to convince me to leave.

  “Whoa, beautiful,” I soothed, stroking her strong, smooth neck. I dismounted, and despite her apprehension, tied her to a tree. While thieves and outlaws were uncommon since Aethelred’s reign had begun, the forests still held deep and dark secrets. I couldn’t walk away if someone was in need of help. No one else was likely to come
upon this spot for hours, if not days.

  Unsheathing my sword, I followed a deer track, pushing through the dense undergrowth, moving deeper into the forest. A lone horse snorted and shifted at my approach. I brought my finger to my lips, shushing the horse, and made my way forward, tiptoeing through slender saplings and leaf mold. The hairs on my arms bristled as the row of thrashing and grunting increased, the sounds of struggle carrying me to a clearing.

  I froze, the view before me opening. Two men were engaged in some sort of sexual act.

  One was bent over a large log, while the other, his trousers bunched around his thighs, thrust and groaned. Realizing my error, I tried to flee, but was stopped short by the presence of a sharp blade pressed against the small of my back. My sudden intake of breath seemed to echo through the clearing, and the men, stopping their horseplay, turned to face me.

  I blinked at the apparition, my mouth dropping in shock. Standing with his weight resting softly against the other man’s bare buttocks, Demas stared back at me.

  “I thought you were dead,” was the first thing that escaped my mouth.

  He looked down at his hands, turned them over, and shrugged. “Apparently not. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  The men disentangled themselves, the other extricating himself up off the log and hastily pulling up his trousers. Demas just stared, his eyebrows creasing. “I was on my way to see you.” He stroked the man’s cheek. “But I became rather distracted with my handsome friend here.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” The blade still pressed firmly into my back, discouraging any attempts at turning tail and fleeing, and a hand squeezed my arm until I relinquished my sword. A moment later, a hard tug pulled at my waist, and my knife followed.

  Demas shrugged. “It is nothing that cannot be finished later.” He pulled up his pants and righted his tunic.

  The man laid a hand gently on Demas’s shoulder, his face turned away. “I should leave.” He spoke in French.

  Demas leaned his cheek into the man’s arm. “Wait by the horse.”

  The man nodded and kept his head down as he slid past me. I studied him carefully. Warm black hair, bound by a thong, hung past his shoulders, and like Demas, his skin was darker. His clothes were made of fine material, and a gold brooch crafted in the likeness of a stag clasped a soft wool cloak.

  A shove from a large hand pushed me deeper into the clearing.

  Demas stumbled to a flask and swilled the contents. He wiped his mouth and regarded me. “You shouldn’t have seen that.”

  I didn’t care about his proclivities, it mattered not a whit to me whom he slept with as long as it wasn’t me. What shocked me most was seeing him here, in Somerset, when last I heard he was stricken ill in Francia.

  “How did you get here? Where’s Edward?”

  Demas retrieved his belt and sword. “On Edward, I cannot say. I left him in Francia with the monks. As for my part, I was just visiting our fine king in Bath, delivering a message from your father.” He swayed violently.

  “What message from my father?”

  “That he has been delayed. Something about Vikings.”

  “Is he well?” My heart was pounding in my chest. I could hear its echoes booming in my ears.

  “Better than you.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “Gil, my bodyguard.” He swept his hand, and I turned slightly to regard the man behind me. Gil cracked a toothless smile; drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth. One side of his face was badly disfigured; his forehead, eyelid, and cheekbone all dripped and oozed together, collecting in a sagging jowl.

  Demas took another swig from the flask and belched. “Where are my manners? Please, have a seat.” He motioned to the log that had only a moment before been used for matters other than sitting.

  Not wanting to give Demas any further ideas, I moved to a small boulder instead.

  “I am suddenly thinking that your presence today was divinely inspired, and I can use this occasion to my advantage, taking the opportunity to solidify our pending nuptials. While he may not look the distinguished gentleman, I assure you Gil is quite literate, reading and writing Latin with ease. As our witness, he can testify to the consummation of our marriage. Our arrangement will then be quite binding. A convenient happenstance to tie up loose ends.”

  I stood, my breath coming heavy. “You’re drunk and a fool if you think I’m consummating anything with you.”

  “Choice.” He scoffed. “You seem to think you are in possession of this illusive creature, but tell me, how has that worked out for you?”

  “I’ve always had choices. I could have run away, left England at any turn.”

  “Ah, but you didn’t. Could you really have chosen that, or was fate just toying with you, giving you the illusion of choice?” He sat on the log and upended his flask, tossing it with disdain when it emptied. “In Rome, I had no choices. Instead, I came here to this wretched hole looking for opportunity. Yet I find myself in no better position.”

  “You have wealth; you have enviable position. How is that not better than being a scribe?” I chanced a discreet look at Gil, whose attention seemed to be wavering as he leaned his bulk against a tree. Was it possible to keep Demas talking and distracted long enough to catch Gil off guard? “Why does this marriage matter so much to you? You could have any woman in Wessex. Why me?”

  Demas’s eyes hardened. “If it were solely up to me, puppet, I would have never pursued you to begin with. We are both pawns in a greater game, and since I have no choice in the matter, neither do you.” He stalked closer.

  I crouched low, ready. I may not have had my weapons, but I’d be damned if I let him touch me.

  “Tsk tsk. Two against one.” The edge of Demas’s lip curled upward.

  “One of you is drunk.”

  “Yes, but one of us is a giant with a slingshot. Gil, try not to kill her, please.”

  I spun toward the troll of a bodyguard in time to see his hand release.

  A blow glanced off my forehead, just above my temple, and I stumbled backward. My legs crumpled and curled, dropping me like a stone into the coarse grass at my feet. Warm rivulets ran down my cheek and neck. Arrows of silver flashed before my eyes. The forest blurred.

  “Nicely shot, Gil.” Demas’s voice was low and garbled.

  Something grappled with my wrists. I fought the rising panic and squirmed away, shuffling on my knees until I fell on my side, my face pressed into the ground, my hands tightly bound. One well-polished leather shoe stopped in front of my face.

  “Oh, look, Gil, my wife has finally learned her place.”

  “I am not your wife. I never will be.” I struggled to bring my knees underneath me and pressed my shoulder into the ground, desperate to right myself. I pushed through the throbbing in my head, kneeling before I found my footing and stood on shaking legs. Nausea pitched and heaved, tossing me in its swells.

  Gil lumbered over and placed a knife in Demas’s hand.

  “Why must you make everything so difficult?” He ran the back of the blade along my cheek and left the point hovering over my throat.

  I swallowed hard, my face flushed with sweat. “I’ll tell everyone you raped me. That you held me against my will.” I had a hard time keeping my focus on Demas’s face. His features pulsed and ebbed.

  “And who will believe you?” He trailed the blade between my breasts and down to my navel. A rough tug cut through the simple fabric belt around my waist, and the yellow silk floated to the ground.

  I was dangerously close to fainting. “You’re drunk. Please…” I lurched sideways, leaning into a large tree. Pinpricks of light danced through my vision. The world spun away from me. I fell to my knees and threw up.

  He recoiled away from me. “If your father had agreed to my insistence that we be married immediately, instead of waiting until the fall, we could have avoided these unpleasantries. But you would have fought the matter even then, isn’t that right?” His face turned a motl
ey shade of red. “No matter what I do, you manage to foul everything. You’re the only thing standing in my way.”

  “I don’t understand. I don’t know what you want,” I sputtered. My head felt like it was going to be sliced in two.

  He stormed over, fisted a handful of my hair, and yanked me to my feet, his hazel eyes filled with hatred. “I don’t need you to understand. I need you to shut up and do as you’re told.”

  I spat at him.

  “You spoiled little whore.”

  I closed my eyes and waited for the blow. But it didn’t come. Instead he released me. I opened my eyes, dazed.

  He slunk backward, creeping to the opposite end of the clearing; the blood had drained from his face. Gil appeared beside him and the two men stood stock-still, staring into the trees behind me. Fear spread its icy tendrils throughout the clearing. My heart strained against my chest, my palms slick. Another wave of nausea crested. I used the tree to hold myself upright. The world tilted and twirled. Something very large moved through the trees. I could hear the heavy breathing as it snorted and sniffed the air. Something massive and black lumbered forward, its shaggy body inches away from me. It stood on two massive legs, or maybe it was four. I blinked hard. It lifted itself as high as a tree and roared. It pounced, and something powerful swiped sideways, catching me in the ribs, hurtling me back against the tree. Everything went black.

  THIRTEEN

  I looked into the boughs of a flowering crab apple tree. Delicate white petals fell softly on my cheek. The shadow of a woman’s head blocked the blossoms from view. “You’ve broken some ribs, I imagine. And that lump on your forehead’s going to need tending.”

  The shadow receded. I could hear the woman rummaging in the foliage around me. A hand gently turned my chin. She clicked her teeth and went back to her ministrations. I lifted myself up on my side and winced while the world spun. I leaned back against the tree. My head pounded, the left side of my ribs burned, and pain stabbed with each heartbeat. A wave of nausea rose, the heat filling my cheeks. Oh, dear gods, please no. I breathed slowly through my nose. In, out, in, out. The thought of vomiting with the pain in my ribs … in, out, in, out. I focused on my breath, full of relief as the nausea receded. I scanned my surroundings. I was in a clearing. How did I get here? Who was the woman?