Avelynn

by Marissa Campbell

  Ealhswith leaned in closer to Demas, her voice a low whisper. “The lady Muirgen told me everything.”

  He straightened the gold brooch that held his cloak in place. “Many things revealed at the tribunal were not based in fact. Avelynn herself has recanted all her accusations.”

  Ealhswith narrowed her eyes at me. I merely shrugged my agreement.

  She turned back to Demas. “Know, sir, that I will be watching you.”

  “I welcome the attention from such a beautiful lady.” He bowed.

  “We’ll talk further, Avelynn,” she promised, and stormed out.

  Demas looked at the empty doorway for a moment before nodding to Adiva, who curtsied her way backward out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

  “Your friend is troublesome.” He rubbed his neatly trimmed beard with the back of his fingers.

  “Might be hard to threaten the sister-in-law to the king,” I said pointedly.

  He smiled. “Everyone has a weakness, everyone a price.” He looked me over carefully. “The ceremony will start in two hours. Adiva is bringing you a basin to wash.” He walked to the door. “I’ve had a dress brought in from Francia for you. Try not to sully it.”

  When he left, I closed my eyes, preparing myself for a perpetual state of misery, but the loud croak of a raven caught my attention. I blinked at the vision in front of my eyes. Sitting on the sill plate of the open window, the raven fluffed its glossy black feathers until its neck resembled a puffy mane. It croaked again, its thoughtful eyes regarding me, and then flew away. If only I could transform into a bird and soar through the window. My heart fluttered. I scanned the room. I was alone! I looked at the window carefully. I could certainly fit through it without problem. But where would I go? I wondered where Demas was holding Edward. Would I be able to find him? My strength had returned, but how far could I get before Adiva sounded the alarm?

  As if on cue, my thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the talebearer herself. Holding an exquisite white clay basin with intricate green twining vines, she smiled weakly. “It’s time to get ready for your wedding, my lady.”

  * * *

  The ceremony would be held in Demas’s great hall. There were no decorations, nothing to belie a woman’s touch. Stark and open, the benches were pushed against the wall. Guests stood in one somber mass, patiently waiting for the ceremony to end and the feasting to begin.

  Dressed in a bright green tunic that set his hazel eyes swimming in a sea of deep green, his hair as shiny and slick as an otter’s pelt, Demas looked every inch an affluent, gallant gentleman. I, in my white gown, shimmering with silver thread and accented with freshwater pearls, my long blond hair flowing softly down my back, looked every inch his opulent lady.

  Archbishop Aldulf joined our hands together and placed a silk band over top. In his nasal drone, he intoned the words that would bind me to Demas forever. I thought of Edward, of his short life, and my part in his death. Dutifully, I repeated, “I take thee, Demas, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and health, to be bonny and buxom in bed and in board, till death do us part, and thereto plight thee my troth.”

  Demas repeated his lines in this tragic play with surgical precision. “I take thee, Avelynn, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, at bed and at board, for fairer and for fouler, for better and for worse, in sickness and health, till death do us part.”

  With a flourish, Demas produced a fine gold ring from a pouch hanging from his belt. He placed it over the top of the thumb of my left hand. “In the name of the Father,” he said, and moved the ring to the first finger. “In the name of the Son.” He moved the ring to the second finger. “In the name of the Holy Ghost.” He placed the ring on the third finger. “Amen.”

  That last word echoed in my head like a hammer striking a bell.

  “Who is to give the bride away?” Aldulf asked the crowd of witnesses.

  “I am.” Osric stepped forward.

  My father wasn’t here, so my uncle was in charge of my transfer. Marriage was a contract of ownership. The maiden, once under the control and administration of her father, was placed formally into her new husband’s care. In the marriage contract, Demas must state clearly what my bride-price consists of—the prearranged worth of my value as a woman and wife. Most brides received land and tokens of wealth. I was under no such illusions. The ransom he paid the Vikings for my freedom assured that, on paper, he owed me nothing. In the wedding ceremony itself, the giving and receiving of the bride was played out figuratively.

  Osric handed his knife to Demas. Demas walked behind me and grabbed hold of my hair. He tugged the strands roughly, causing my head to jerk back. He placed the knife against my back, just below my waist. He was careful to press hard enough for me to feel the steel’s edge. Aldulf nodded and Demas sawed through my hair. Half its length fell to the rushes. Demas stepped over the fallen strands and waited in front of me.

  Many took this next part of the festivities as a gesture of fun, and the task was completed with gentleness and humor. That was not to be my fate.

  Osric slipped my right shoe off my foot. Bowing, he handed it to Demas. With all due ceremony, Demas struck me hard upside the head with the offending leather weapon, indicating the transference of ownership—as custom dictated—was completed. I staggered and leaned heavily on Aldulf for support.

  Extricating himself from my shaking arms, Aldulf walked to the far right corner of the hall. Osric wrapped his arm around mine and followed. He pushed down forcibly on my shoulder, and I crumpled, kneeling before the archbishop for benediction. Without any acknowledged family in attendance to present him, Demas proceeded alone and knelt before Aldulf.

  A tall, lanky man, dressed in simple monk’s robes, stepped forward holding the care-cloth. He placed the veil over our heads while the priest prayed and blessed the union. We repeated this process in each corner. At the last, we were raised anew, two souls joined in the eyes of God and the Holy Church.

  Aldulf led us solemnly from the hall to my bedchamber. He blessed the room and the marriage bed, and then placed a wreath of victory on my head. Made of myrtle leaves, early-blooming white wood anemone, and purple lesser periwinkle, the wreath symbolized my victory over the temptations of carnal sin, for I was of course a virgin. He produced the marriage charter, and we signed the contract. I was officially Demas’s chattel.

  Three beeswax candles—one tall and thin, two as thick around as my thigh—were set on a silver charger in the center of a small table near the foot of the bed. Aldulf lit the tall candle. It would burn until midnight. The two remaining candles would count down the hours of one day each. I would be spared the indignation of bedding Demas for sixty hours. As protocol demanded, we were to spend the first two nights in silent contemplation and prayer, each in separate chambers. It was not until the third night that we were expected to consummate the marriage. The consummation would wait, but the feasting would begin immediately.

  Aldulf led us back into the hall. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I present to you, husband and wife.”

  The hall erupted into clapping and cheers, and we took our place at the head table. Pages scurried in with wooden platter heaving with food, while serving women bore clay pitchers of drink.

  Demas had spent lavishly on the feast. Exotic wine, imported from the Continent, was poured into bottomless horns ornamented with sheet gold. Ale and mead flowed like the River Frome, which flanked the southern boundaries of the manor. Trays of food issued forth in a never-ending display of delicacies. Ten oxen alone had been roasting for days in pits strewn about the grounds to sate the guests’ considerable hunger. For three days, their appetites were surfeited. For three days, their every thirst was quenched. Even the royal weddings of the past paled in comparison.

  Servants dressed in fine clothes catered to every whim. Hunts were arranged. Horses were given as gifts. Gold
and jewels were tossed about as tokens of appreciation. Demas dazzled the nobility of Wessex with finery.

  I watched all this in detached fascination. The politics in play here were carefully calculated. Secret words, darting eyes, curt nods, and strong handshakes weaved amongst the pleasantries like snakes in the grass. Demas and Osric were forming powerful allegiances, beguiling their audience with forked tongue and sleight of hand. But to what purpose?

  On the third night after the feast, a procession of half-awake drunk revelers sang and cheered us to the bedchamber. Demas gave strict instructions for Gil and Sigberht to remove the debris from the hall first thing in the morning. There was to be no one left in the manor after cock crow.

  “The moment you have been waiting for has arrived,” he said, staggering a bit to the large trestle table.

  A wave of revulsion as thick as week-old pottage overcame me.

  “Don’t look so enthusiastic,” he said dryly. “You are not my first choice either.” He sat on one of the chairs and removed his cloak and shoes. “We have a little time to kill before we make this marriage official.” He stretched out his feet, cracking his toes, and poured another hornful of wine.

  I had been careful to meter out my consumption, thinking it prudent to keep my wits about me. Demas, with all the toasts he had to acknowledge and match horn for horn, was clearly drunk.

  “You promised I would see Edward.” I hadn’t seen him since before the wedding ceremony, three days prior.

  “And you shall, my wife, you shall. Once the greedy dogs pass out and stop draining me dry.”

  “You don’t seem to have much affection for your fellow noblemen.” I sat on the bed as far away from him as possible—though he gave no indication of wanting to come near me.

  “They are a bunch of fools, following a weak, dying king and his useless brother. They will never defeat the Vikings. But all that will soon change.”

  My mind raced with questions, but my thoughts were halted by the flicker of the day candle at the foot of my bed. A meager stump of wax was all that remained, floating in a puddle of hot liquid pooling around the quivering flame. I swallowed hard and looked up as someone knocked on the door.

  “Ah, about time,” Demas said, standing.

  Gil walked in, leading Edward in front of his massive body.

  “Come,” Demas said, motioning to Edward with a crook of his finger.

  Edward moved obediently to his side.

  My arms ached to hold him, to protect him. But my feet were rooted. Anything I did or tried to do would only make matters worse. A tear ran cold down my cheek.

  Demas stroked Edward’s hair, which had been brushed to a brilliant shine, like fields of silken wheat under a full moon.

  “Such a good lad, is he not, Gil?” Demas caught my gaze and smiled. “Pity.”

  Gil garbled his agreement; spittle dripped onto the rushes underfoot.

  “Don’t touch him,” I warned, my voice low and menacing.

  “Avelynn, don’t,” Edward pleaded. “It’s all right.”

  “It is not all right!” I said, gasping.

  “You see, Edward. I have not hurt her,” Demas soothed.

  Sigberht entered the room, carrying an axe. Gods, how could I stop them? It was now three against one!

  Demas stepped away from Edward, and my heart stilled.

  “Gil.” Demas inclined his head behind him.

  Gil walked over and grabbed hold of Edward. His trunk of an arm wrapped tightly around Edward’s chest, and a knife appeared at his throat. A look of shock and confusion darted through Edward’s trusting blue eyes.

  “No,” I yelped, and started forward.

  “I wouldn’t do that, wife,” Demas called out.

  Gil pressed the blade into Edward’s throat. A small trickle of blood ran down his neck.

  I couldn’t do this. I didn’t care what happened to me, but I could no longer sit here and just watch Edward die. I crouched, ready.

  Demas shook his head and sighed. “I warned you any struggle on your part would result in Edward’s suffering.”

  Grabbing the axe from Sigberht’s outstretched hand, Demas moved in front of Edward and brought the full force of the shaft to bear on Edward’s shin as he swung. The sound of bone shattering ripped through the small room. A scream rose from Edward’s throat, but Gil moved his knife hand to Edward’s mouth and efficiently silenced him. Edward’s body shook, his eyes wide with terror as tears rolled down his face.

  “Bastard!” I lunged at Demas, but Sigberht raised his knee, catching me in the stomach. I was pitched backward, colliding with the ground and curling onto my side, wheezing and gasping for breath.

  Satisfied, Sigberht bound my hands, securing them to one of the posters of the bed. My lungs bucked and heaved as breath slowly trickled through my nose. Nausea built in my gut as pinpoints of light flickered across my vision. I strained through watery eyes to see Edward. His face was ashen, his eyes lolling in their sockets. He looked close to fainting.

  An urgent knock at the door drew Sigberht away. He returned a moment later. “My lord, there is some sort of trouble in the courtyard.”

  Demas removed his belt, laying it across the back of one of the chairs. “I have a rather pressing matter to attend to here.” He slipped his trousers off, kicking them onto the rushes beside him. He motioned to the axe. “You two take care of it. I need to consummate my marriage.”

  Gil released Edward, who dropped like a stone, and slipped out the door with Sigberht.

  “Avelynn,” Edward hiccupped through tears, as he crawled on hands and knee, dragging the one leg awkwardly behind him.

  “Isn’t this a cheery picture of domesticity,” Demas said, stroking his erection, and stepped in front of Edward, blocking his progress. Demas yanked hard, lifting Edward by his hair, and placed a forearm around his neck. His hand covered Edward’s mouth. “Do you know what it’s like to feel pain, Avelynn? To have your heart cut out and mashed underfoot?”

  “Yes.” My eyes pleaded for mercy.

  “You think Muirgen or your father count?” Edward struggled, squirming to break free. Demas grabbed his knife from the belt hanging on the back of the chair and struck Edward’s temple with the iron hilt. Edward’s body slackened. Demas searched my eyes. “I want you to feel firsthand the suffering you have caused me. I want you to live with the knowledge that I have taken away everything and everyone you have ever loved.” His eyes, rimmed in red, glittered with tears, his gaze never leaving mine.

  “I never meant to hurt anyone. Osric killed your friend. He is the enemy. Not me.”

  His face waxed white. “How do you know that?”

  Admitting to witchcraft could in no way aid my cause now or in the future. “I saw the stag brooch. I know how much the young man meant to you. Osric is the only one capable of doing such a vicious thing.”

  He hesitated.

  “Please.”

  Edward’s limp body crumpled to the floor. Demas stepped away, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve, and poured another glass of wine, slogging it down, his back to me.

  Edward lay unconscious, but his chest moved with each precious breath.

  Demas stumbled back to the bed. “You are right about Osric.” He drained the cup and threw it at the hearth. It landed several feet from its target. “Your brother might yet prove useful. In the meantime, his life would secure your continued cooperation.”

  With my wrists still bound, he extricated me from the post and dragged me forward. He nudged Edward’s side with his boot, earning a plaintive groan. “Such a handsome lad.” He cocked his head to the side. “Since my young friend has been taken from me, perhaps your brother can serve in his place.”

  “He’s only a child!”

  “Ah, but he’ll grow.” His erection jerked and tightened. “I bet his mouth is tighter than your cunt.”

  Something snapped. I twisted out of his hold and lunged for the silver charger. I grasped it with my bound hands and t
hrew the basin of hot wax into Demas’s face. He yelped, dropping the knife as his hands clawed at his face, and fell backward, tripping over Edward. I grabbed the knife and then brought my foot down hard onto Demas’s crotch. I stumbled to the table and held the hilt tight between my thighs, frantically sawing through the thick fibers binding my wrists.

  I extricated myself from the rope and sent a prayer to the Goddess. Demas growled and lunged. I spun out of the way. He missed his target and fell, landing on his knees. I picked up one of the heavy, ornate chairs and brought it down over his head. Having momentarily dazed him, I used all the strength I could summon and connected my fist with the side of his jaw.

  He tumbled sideways, rolling onto his back, his slackened arousal limp and harmless against his thigh.

  If he thought he would find pity for his loss, his plight landed on deaf ears and a cold heart. Mad, blind hatred drove me forward. I raised the knife high in the air and brought it down swiftly and cleanly. “That was for my brother.” His cock flopped lifeless onto the rushes between his legs. He howled and writhed, curling into a ball. But I wasn’t finished.

  I ran to the heavy plank table and dragged it between the door and the bed, a solid deterrent against anyone attempting to get in. I threw on Demas’s cloak, fumbling with the brooch to secure it over my shoulder, and pulled on his shoes. Though large, they would serve to protect me better against the cold than the slippers I’d had on. Demas seemed close to fainting, and I wanted him wide awake. I grabbed the pitcher of wine and threw what was left of the contents in his face. He stirred and flashed me a look of venomous steel. I stepped behind him and yanked hard on his hair. He grabbed at my dress and tried to pull me down on top of him. My foot ground into the bleeding stump of his crotch and put a violent stop to his struggles. “That was for my father,” I hissed in his ear.

  I took the knife and cut deep across his forehead. “This is for my grandmother.” I yanked hard, cleaving the skin in one fluid motion from his skull. Blood poured, covering his face, spilling into his sputtering mouth.