Now Ælfwyn laughed out loud. “Do you think I suspect you to be a felon?”
And I laughed too, for I saw I was pleading my case for no reason.
“Besides,” she went on calmly, “the Prior who raised you - did he not do so using the estate of your father and your father’s brother? Even if your portion was not great, for the little trouble you must have caused him, I think the Prior was enriched, and not you, by your father’s death.”
I did not know what to say, for I was abashed by the thought. But no, I said to myself, it could not be: He was generous-hearted to the village folk, and not such a one to take from an orphan maiden. And of a sudden I thought of my mother, and her face flashed before me.
Finally I spoke again, for I would hear Ælfwyn’s tale, and so felt bold to ask her for it. “Lady,” I said, “you go to a burh, or keep called Four Stones, in Lindisse, which is now ruled by the Danes. And you are to wed a jarl named Yrling, and you do this thing as part of a treaty made by your father. Tell me how this came to be.”
Some little time passed, but she closed her eyes and spoke. “Yrling is indeed a Dane, and a jarl, and the enemy of my father, and of myself, and of all I hold dear. My father Ælfsige holds such lands at Cirenceaster that a swift runner cannot cover in a week. Beyond that is East Anglia, which beyond the call of memory was ruled by ealdormen who were at peace with my father. These ealdormen are no more, for in the last few years the Danes have murdered and enslaved them and in their fierceness now rule that Kingdom as their own. Likewise the next Kingdom to the North, that of Lindisse, is now fallen to the Danes, and the jarl Yrling is powerful in it. My father has lived as he could against this threat, sometimes warring, sometimes conceding land, and other times bargaining with gold and silver to satisfy the lust of the Danes. But now my father is weary, and desires a lasting peace, for the Danes have got horses from Anglia, and now horseman from Four Stones in Lindisse trample our crops and kill our slaves and thus wreak havoc on all of us, so that no joy lives under our roofs.”
She took a breath and began again, more quietly. “Last year came a great sickness to the Danes, and at Four Stones many died, and Yrling did not come forth to waste and destroy. And Yrling had a young wife who died in that same sickness. It was during this time that my father thought to act, for now the Danes will never depart our homeland, for they have grown rich on the fatness of our wealth. But still we must forge a Peace with these hated men, for if peace does not come, surely we shall all perish.” She sighed deeply. “Thus say all the wise men.”
She looked at me and finished. “I am a part of their plan, for by me and the contents of these waggons, my father and grandsire hope to buy peace.”
After I had heard all this I spoke. “Your father has ordained this thing?”
And Ælfwyn nodded and answered, “My mother and sisters wept, but he would not be stayed.” She looked away and said, “He is a hard man, and I am cursed in having no brothers. My father must use us as he can.” Her head drooped, and she finished. “So I go, to marry a man I hate.”
“Hate?” I asked, and glanced first at Ælfwyn and then at Burginde, who sat silent on the floor in the back of the waggon. “How can that be, when you have never yet seen him? He may yet be good to you, tho’ he be a Dane.” And here a chill struck me, but still I finished, “Or at least, not cruel.”
“Ah!” she scorned. “A Dane not cruel?”
And to this I had no answer, for I knew naught what to say. “At least, Lady, do not hate your new Lord,” I finally said.
But Ælfwyn’s head fell lower, and she said, “Hate him I must, for I have met the man I love.”
I was full alarmed. “You do not mean that you are betrothed amiss?”
“Amiss?” she answered. “I was born amiss, and cursed be that day, for I was born to look into the eyes of Gyric, and so love him.”
For the past few moments Burginde had been watching her mistress as one distracted, wringing her hands this way and that. Now she sprang up from her cushion, and nearly falling over me, clasped her mistress’ hands and implored her to stop.
“Lady! Lady! You speak death and treason! Never more must you name him, never more think on him! Girl, you are mad! What! Will you lie in your bridal bed and call on his name?” Here Burginde burst into violent weeping, but Ælfwyn did not weep, and only clung to her serving woman silently. I moved away from them, for their sorrow was their own, and together they must share it.
I went to the larder chest at the back of the waggon, and brought out an ewer of strong ale, and filled a bronze cup half full, and handed it to Ælfwyn, spilling not a little. For I trembled, and she also, and the road beneath us.
But she found voice, and drank, and caressed the head of her childhood nurse, and suffered her to drink from her own cup.
I sat on the bench next to Ælfwyn, and thought, What comfort I could bring? And I answered myself: No comfort, for I am but a maid and ignorant of men and of life, save but from the stories of the Holy Book and the tales of my people; and I know full well that many a bride goes unwilling to her husband, for the Prior, who had blest any number, often said so. And I had never felt the sting of love, and knew not such sweetness and such pain.
Then the eyes of Ælfwyn met mine, and her beauty and her bravery touched my heart. “Friend,” I said, “if your father has decreed this thing, then it must be. But if by this deed you win for your family some respite, all your people will honour your name, for you shall be a peace-weaver. And Heaven above will be your guide in this your duty, and I and your faithful Burginde your friends.”
Her eyes were water-still. “You will come with me to Four Stones?”
I took her hand. “Yes, to serve and befriend you there.”
She clasped me in her arms, and kissed me on the cheek; and I kissed her, and so was sealed between us our friendship. Thus was I taken into the service and company of Ælfwyn, daughter of Ælfsige of Cirenceaster, and gained, before I ever reached the Cæsar’s Road, the station I sought.
Chapter the Seventh: Choose Well
WE made camp that night as we had before, and I slept well. It was the little linnet that awakened me, and for a moment hearing this birdsong I thought to be back at the Priory. I sat up and remembered where I was, and also that it was the Sabbath. The air was sharp with the chill of Winter, and I pulled my blanket about me. The little bird sang out again, and I rose and gave it a crumb of bread from the larder chest. Then Burginde stirred and yawned, and Ælfwyn awoke, and thus began our Sabbath.
After we were on our way I turned to the Lady and asked, “Ælfwyn, who will bless your marriage?”
She answered calmly, “No one shall bless it.”
“But is your new Lord not a Christian?” I asked in my ignorance.
She looked at me wonderingly. “A Danish jarl a Christian? No Dane accepts Our Saviour.”
At this I was greatly struck, for tho’ I knew the Danes to be followers still of Woden, yet I assumed that when they wed the daughters of Wessex or of Mercia they became Christian. I said nothing, and listened.
“He is heathen, as they all are, and I would not by my request have this union blest.”
“There are perhaps worse things than being heathen,” I began, thinking of my early years and the laughter of my kinsman. “Would it not comfort you to have it blest? Surely your new Lord would not mind. And when there are children -”
Her raised hand bid my silence. Still I would continue, along a track less painful to think of.
“This jarl, Yrling - he speaks our tongue and also his own?”
“Yes,” she answered slowly, “he speaks well enough. For my father and grandsire spoke with him, and he to them, when they met and made the Peace.”
“But you have not seen him.”
“No. I shall soon look on his face; that is enough.”
Then she turned away and said, “Braid up my hair, for I am weary of it down.”
I
took her comb of pear-wood and combed out her hair smooth and even, and plaited it in two thick plaits. These I wrapped about her head as in a crown, and fastened them with hair pins of bronze. She lifted her mirror of pure silver before her and admired my work, and while still thus watching her reflection, said in a soft voice, “I would that he who praised my hair so well could see it now.”
Hearing this I knew she hoped to speak again of the man she loved, and by my attentive silence I bid her to go on. For I did not see what harm it might do; I saw only her need to speak of him, and my interest in hearing.
Still looking into the mirror she said, “The first day we met he praised my hair; I cannot look at it and not think of his words.” She turned to me with half-closed eyes and a smile on her pale lips, as if remembering.
“Ælfwyn,” I asked, “is Gyric from your home of Cirenceaster? Did you grow up with him?”
She opened her eyes. “No, to both. He is Gyric of Kilton, son of Godwulf, the great ealdorman; and his home is on the seacoast of Wessex, far to the West of mine. I have never seen it, but he says his father’s keep sits on a bluff, looking out across the sea to Wales.”
“Then Kilton is a distance from Cirenceaster. How did you then meet?”
“Yes, it is a great distance, but Gyric is in the train of King Æthelred and the King’s young brother, Ælfred; and so travels the breadth of Wessex.”
“You do not mean he fights with the King himself?” I asked in some wonder, for all knew of the prowess of King Æthelred and Ælfred, sons of Æthelwulf, dead King of Wessex; and my own King Burgred of Mercia was allied with this royal house, for Æthelwulf had years ago given his daughter Æthelswith to be Burgred’s wife.
She answered with pride. “He fights with Ælfred, the King’s brother, and travels in his very train. And Gyric’s own father and brother are mighty in their shire, for they are athelings of the King, and faithful and steadfast in their service. Godwulf, father of Gyric, was as a brother to King Æthelwulf, and that love between them continues now that his son Æthelred rules.”
“Have you then seen the King?” I asked, for I would hear more.
“Yes, I have seen him, for he came twice to my home in Cirenceaster, once in Summer, and also in late Fall, and that last time, spoke at length with my father; and he and his men stayed with us three days.” She fell suddenly silent, and cast down her eyes. “King Æthelred had come again to ask for aid from my father, wanting him to ride with him against the Danes. This time my father refused him, but armed ten thegns and sent them to Æthelred in his stead. This my father did because his mind was set on his own troubles, and he sought to end them his own way with a separate Peace.”
I nodded and she went on.
“Æthelred had with him many ealdormen and thegns, of all the great families of Wessex, and some too of Mercia. Amongst those travelling with him was Gyric, and tho’ we met but briefly, he owned my heart, and I gave it.”
I felt I must know one thing more, and touched her hand as I spoke. “Ælfwyn, it is true that you must not think about him in this way. Tell me only this: did you exchange vows?”
Then the tears started from her eyes so that they dropped upon our clasped hands, and she answered, “No, that we did not, for he would not allow it. He said the time was not right; we could not do such a thing without our parents’ knowledge and consent. He is twenty-two and so of a good age to marry, and I am nearly seventeen; and his only brother is older and well-married, and I felt certain that all our kin would welcome such a match as ours. He bid me wait until he might plead our case with my father, and with his, which he could not do until he returned to Kilton after Twelfthnight. I listened, and believed his goodness, for friend, if he had but said a word I would have been his, and damned be my maidenhood.” Here her weeping choked her words. “But he is a man of virtue, and steadfast, and so I was safe. Little did we know of the plan my father secretly devolved, for now I am sold away from love, and may be, from life itself.”
“No more of such talk!” I entreated, and chided myself for having encouraged it.
She sat huddled in my arms, sobbing. I tried to soothe her, but she wept on. Finally I squeezed her hands and said, “Stop now,” as firm as I could. She leaned back upon the cushions and her tears did stop, but whether it was from my words or their own exhaustion I knew not. I went to the basin and poured in a little water from a crockery jug, and dipped in this a linen cloth. Ælfwyn lay quiet, her eyes closed, her face wet with tears.
I laid the cloth upon her hot brow, and said, “Ælfwyn, some time this week we reach your new home, and a day or two after you will be wed to the jarl there. Tho’ he is a Dane, and tho’ you may choose to hate him, he must be a great Lord, or your father would not yield you up to him. You may respect your new husband, and all may go well, and your people be free of the curse which they have suffered. He may be kind to you, or he may be cruel, and pray God he is kind; but if he is not you may escape to the veil, and all of this would have been for naught. If you go to him now with hatred and scorn, then he will scorn your father’s gift, and so all will also be lost - you, the hope of peace, and your friends with you, who, tho’ humble as we are, you take also into danger with you. Choose, and choose well.” When I had finished this I felt my face flame, for then I knew the boldness of my words.
Ælfwyn sat up and looked at me and murmured, “Your words are the words of my father, and true counsel.”
More she did not say, but only leaned to kiss my cheek.
Chapter the Eighth: Dwellings of the Dead
WHEN we stopped at midday the road was no longer flat, but crossed gentle hills and vales, flanked by meadows in their Winter-brown dress. At the top of one hill was a bend in the road, from which, across a marshy distance, the great mouth of my own river Dee could be seen. The lead thegn called out, and the waggons halted, and we all gazed down across the plain to the ancient settlement of the Cæsars, the city called by them Deva, and by us Legaceaster.
The first thing that stood out was the great wall of stone, bermed over in places with soil. There were breaks in the wall, some of them large, and through them we saw what remained of the city. No roofs survived, but from the great number of walls still standing, there must have been two score or more fine buildings. The walls were of white and of grey stone, and a great quantity of this stone sat tumbled about the bases of the walls. Doorways and windows could be seen throughout the walls, leading inside to where grasses grew under the roof of the sky. I had never seen so many stone buildings, even if they be in ruin, and I exclaimed over them, as did Ælfwyn and Burginde.
We looked long at the white walls as our waggons passed, and were silent.
Then Ælfwyn said, “Never before have I seen such buildings as those. The followers of Cæsar must have been both rich and powerful.”
“Yes,” I said, “they were rich, and clever in their learning, and kept great armies.”
“And yet they are no more than these broken walls, now.”
“Our people came here, and made war with them, and overran them, and took this land for their own,” I said. “Just as the followers of Cæsar themselves came and overran the Lovers of Stones, who came and overran the Old People.”
Ælfwyn looked at me, hard. “And just perhaps as the Danes do now to us.” I stared at her as she went on. “Now this country is ours, but as we won it from those who came before us, so might the Danes win it from us, and we become no more or less than these ruins.”
I felt cold inside at these words. “What makes you speak this way?” I asked.
“It is the way my father speaks, and my grandsire, and yes, even Gyric have I heard speak such words.”
“Perhaps there is a way other than war to have peace,” I said. “Perhaps the union of you and Yrling will help.”
“Yes, and perhaps we shall soon be as the savage Welsh, in which the race of the Old People survive; and what we once were will be no more than that.”
>
And this thought, that we might become to the Danes what the remnants of the Old People were to us, chilled me again. “No,” I said with firmness, “I do not believe that. We have made this country our home, and have walked its forests and farmed its fields and fished its rivers too long. We have cared for it, and it has fed us. It is ours.”
Ælfwyn’s voice was mild. “Do not speak with such heat. I meant nothing amiss, and want with all my heart to see our people thrive, and drive out the Danes.”
I smiled as well, and said, “I did not mean to speak in heat. I have learnt much these past days, and begin to see how little I knew of such things. But I do not believe that we won this land from so great a people as Cæsar’s, only to lose it to such as the Danes.”
Now the thegn riding before us called out, and we looked forward and saw the pitted Earth of the Northly Road crossed by a stone road twice its width. We went to the right, East upon the Cæsar’s Road, and the wheels of the waggon seemed to roll over the polished floor of a great house, such was the smoothness of the Cæsar’s Road to the Northly Road.
I saw then, as did Ælfwyn and Burginde, that the thegns were more watchful than ever. They rode each hour with their spears laid across their saddles, and their sword sheaths hanging from the leathern baldrics over their shoulders uncovered by their cloaks. They switched positions often, with the thegn in front changing with one of the two that rode in back, so that their eyes might be fresh to danger hidden in the trees ahead. We women saw these things, but did not speak of them.
At dusk we made camp in the largest clearing we could find. For the first time the thegns kept watch, and two of them slept while one stood guard by the horses. I heard them at times moving outside, and then again when they awakened each other for relief.
The morning was not fair, but no rain fell, and we set out at the same good pace. At midmorning we saw a flock of spotted goats being herded across the road, and saw down the meadow the man who drove them. He looked up at the thegns in surprise, and they called out that he had nothing to fear. He stopped and came back to them, and the first thegn questioned him.
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 4