The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga

by Octavia Randolph

  He turned to us, and gestured that we should come down from the waggon. Burginde clambered out the front flap and off the waggon, and held out her hand to help her mistress down. But the Dane jumped up upon the waggon ledge in an easy movement, and made to grasp Ælfwyn to swing her down. Tho’ she recoiled from him, she had no choice, and he grasped her by her waist and lowered her to the ground. Then was I suffered to be grasped in the same way and set upon the clay of the keep yard.

  Toki returned, and he and the other Dane spoke together. The tall Dane called to two men, and I saw he ordered them to watch the waggons. Osred and the thegns still could not be seen, so with only the eyes of the Danes upon us we were led away.

  We passed the front of the ruined hall. The sodden rubble of the huge beams gave off a faint smell of charred wood, but I could not stop and stare, for the two men strode on before us.

  As we turned the corner of this ruin, I saw along one wall a building intact; but whether it had somehow been spared the fire, or been built later by the conquering Danes I could not tell. It was of timber, two levels high, but part of it was sunken into the ground, for you walked down a broad flight of six or eight steps to enter.

  Down the stone steps the Danes walked, and pushed open the door, which looked to have been cut in size to fit this doorway. Its iron strappings were wrought with intertwined crosses, flowers, and hound’s heads, and I thought it to be the work of the perished workmen of Lindisse, and not the Danes.

  The men left the door open behind us. By the grey light of noon we could see a hall of perhaps thirty paces breadth, in the centre of which glowed a fire untended in a large firepit. Trestle tables and benches lay up against the walls, and a great amount of rushes on the floor, so many that I could not tell if it was wood or stone or beaten clay.

  More than this I could not see, for the room held no windows, only the firepit opening in the roof. Toki and the other man turned and led us along a short passageway. A flight of wooden stairs ranged against the timber wall. They creaked noisily beneath us but seemed sturdy enough.

  Daylight came from a window opening on the landing at the top. There were three doors, one of which was open and we all entered. It was a room of narrow but long shape, with two glassless windows with wooden shutters. The walls and floor were of wide wood boards. It was bare of furniture, having only two chairs, a small table, and a low, broad bed which looked to have a ticking stuffed with straw or fern. There was a rush holder of the rudest make upon the table. The ceiling showed the roof beams, so I knew we were at the top.

  The men turned to us and the one who had taken us from the waggon said, “This is your room. If you have need, call for me, Sidroc.”

  Toki said something to him in their own tongue, and Sidroc laughed. They turned and went out of the room and down the steps, and left us in that dreary place.

  Burginde went and closed the door at once behind them, and Ælfwyn stood speechless staring at the room. Then she roused herself and said to Burginde, “Follow them, and find Osred, and have brought up to us those necessaries as we shall need.”

  And Burginde, tho’ I could see she was afraid, did go, and we heard her creaking loudly down the stairs after the men. When we were alone in the room, Ælfwyn turned to me, and in her face was both anger and dismay.

  I did not know if she would weep or fume, but her anger won, and she cried out, “Never did I expect so great a slight! No one to greet me, and then I am cast aside into this monk’s cell of a room to await him. I bring him a dowry that many a King’s daughter might envy, and am thus welcomed!”

  She sunk down in one of the chairs, and I looked at her, and then at the bleak room. I felt that at least we had arrived from our long journey, and were safe, and out of the curious gaze of the Danes below. I said, “Lady, instead let us be thankful that we are here, and alive and well.” I looked around the room again and said, “At least it is clean.”

  She looked as well and said, “Yes, clean because it is so empty.” But the anger was gone from her voice.

  I took off my mantle and she also, and found some pegs on the wall to hang them by. We stood at each of the small windows and looked out past the iron that strapped them. We saw the burnt ruins of the hall below and beyond it a portion of the yard of the keep. We could look as well over a part of the palisade to the village we had passed through. The road which had brought us here faded into the gloom beyond it.

  We heard stamping upon the stairs, and Burginde’s voice, and we opened the door and she came in staggering under a load of blankets and pillows and cushions. Behind her came Osred and another man, a Dane, heaving a huge clothes chest into the room. I took heart to see this, for the comfort they brought into the room was the familiar comfort of the waggon.

  They put down their loads and went back for more, and Burginde brought in one hand my pigskin satchel, and in the other the willow cage that held the linnet. The Dane left, and Osred turned to go also, but Ælfwyn stopped him.

  “Stay, Osred, for I would ask you a question or two,” she said, and she moved to the door and closed it. “Sit down, Burginde, and rest.”

  Burginde plumped down on the stool which had just been carried up, and Osred stood next to her.

  Ælfwyn sat in one of the chairs and asked, “Tell me what you have seen. Are all here Danes? Are there no others?”

  Osred answered, “No, Mistress, we are not quite alone, for I have seen a few lads of ten or twelve years, boys of Lindisse, working in the stables.”

  “How did they greet you?” asked Ælfwyn.

  Osred answered slowly. “I greeted them, rather, for I was glad to see some of my own kind. But they said not much, and who could chide them? For the Danes are everywhere.”

  At these words Ælfwyn went to the door and pulled it open, but we were alone.

  Then I would ask a question, and turned to Osred. “What of my mare?”

  Osred grinned. “She be well enough, tho’ the stable master, a great brawny fellow of a Dane, made it clear she be more fit to eat than to ride.”

  My face spoke for me, and Osred went on. “Do not fear, Lady; if the Danes be too proud to ride her, she can always pull a cart.”

  I felt sunk in sadness at this, and realised Shagg was no longer mine, but had become part of the tribute to Yrling.

  Ælfwyn watched, and then spoke. “Ceridwen, she is yours still. The Danes will not care about so humble a pony. I will see that all understand that she is yours outright.” These words she spoke with such firmness and resolve that we three all looked at her, and Ælfwyn seemed to take heart from her own speech. She spoke to Osred again. “Do you know yet where you shall sleep?”

  He pondered before he spoke. “No, Mistress; most likely in the stable, or some shed as near to the oxen as can be, for I made it plain I was born a drover and wish to end as one, and all can see the oxen are well known to me, and me to them.”

  Ælfwyn replied, “At least for tonight I would have you sleep outside my door. Burginde, go with Osred, and seek out once more that Dane Sidroc who brought us here, and tell him - no, ask him that it might be so.”

  Ælfwyn went to one of the small chests that had been brought in, and took out of it a purse with a silver mount. From it she took a silver coin, and pressed it into Burginde’s hand. “Give him this as you ask him, but let no one see you.”

  Then Burginde and Osred left, and as they did so Osred said he would return as he could with more goods from the waggons, and if all went well, be back later that night.

  Chapter the Twelfth: All That’s Left

  IT was growing cold, and we found the shutters on the windows did not close aright. Burginde set the brazier up and fed it with coals, and also filled and lit two cressets so we had both heat and light. Ælfwyn and I pushed the clothes chests where they would be most useful, and as we did so Osred called up from below. Soon we had the luxury of the deer hides from the waggon under foot. He brought also willow baskets and a bron
ze ewer of strong and bitter ivy ale, which he delivered into Burginde’s care with a wink.

  “Osred,” asked Ælfwyn, “have you seen the thegns? I would speak to them before they go, and am fearful they will be kept away.”

  “No, Mistress,” he answered, “I have not seen them, but I heard from a stable boy that the thegns are yet outside the walls of the keep, and will leave on the morrow.”

  Of a sudden I had a thought. “Lady,” I said to Ælfwyn, “I would prepare a letter for the thegns to take, that you might speak yourself to your parents and tell them you are well.”

  “Yes,” she replied, and a smile broke upon her lips. “It will give them great pleasure to have such a missive. How shall we do this?”

  I looked around the room and thought before I spoke. “I do not suppose that we might find a piece of parchment here at Four Stones. Nor have we time to prepare a piece of linen.”

  Then I thought of my wax tablet, that it was sturdy and would well withstand the hardships of the thegn’s journey on horseback.

  I turned to Osred, glad of my idea. “Do you go, Osred, and bring back as soon as you can a joiner, and he will make for us a wax tablet box such as mine, for that will hold a letter that cannot easily be destroyed, nor suffer from wet; for the only enemy of wax is heat.”

  He returned with a ragged boy, whose brown hair and pale blue eyes stared out of a thin face smudged with grime.

  The boy looked at us uncertainly, and shifted from one foot to another.

  “Are you the joiner’s boy?” I asked.

  “No, m’Lady,” he answered in our own tongue, and looked around the room in a restless way.

  “Well, where is he?” I asked, and gestured to Ælfwyn. “This Lady is your new mistress, and requires work of him.”

  He rocked from foot to foot. “Joiner’s dead, m’Lady. Cooper’s dead too. I be the cooper’s boy.”

  I looked at Ælfwyn and then back to the boy. He would not meet my eyes and I tried to speak as kindly as I could. “Well,” I said, “does that make you the cooper now?”

  He shrugged and looked down. “I be what’s left,” he answered.

  I took a step towards him. “We have work for you. Do you think you could help us?”

  He glanced up. “I could but try, m’Lady,” he finally said.

  “Look here,” I offered, holding the tablet before the boy. “Do you think you could build by the morning such a box as this? The two sides must fit together well, for I will fill it with wax that must be protected. And you see there are hinges of brass, and a clasp that holds the sides together?”

  The boy took the shallow tablet from my hands and opened it, closed it, and turned it over.

  “You may take this with you as your model, but you must treat it with care,” I said. The boy nodded his head. “Can you do such a task as this? And by the morrow?” I finished, eager to hear him speak.

  He looked down at the box again, and then up to me, and shook his head. “No, m’Lady. I cannot get the hinges, m’Lady, nor the clasp. There is no metal-worker save the Dane’s armourers and smiths.”

  “It is all right,” I said. “We can do without them, and tie the tablet with leathern cords to keep the two halves together. But they must fit well. And bring as much beeswax as you can find; tallow and candle stumps and such. Can you do it?”

  He nodded his head, and turned to go.

  “Stay,” called Ælfwyn, and she went to the larder chest and opened it. She drew out two boiled eggs and two loaves. “Take these,” she said, and held them out to the boy.

  He clasped the tablet under his arm and stuffed the food into his tunic, his eyes wide with fear and thanks. He bobbed his head and fled out of the room, and Osred followed him down the stairs.

  Ælfwyn had turned away and gone to the window with the ill fitting shutter, where a large chink in the wood showed the palisade and the village beyond.

  Burginde stirred around behind us in the larder chest, muttering to herself. “The folk be starving, and the men all dead; and the women got with children from the Danes, and look half mad with it. And no one’s come to greet us, not even to bring a cup of ale or bite to eat. And no one in the keep save children and the two smirking Danes know our speech. And the looms will never fit -”

  Ælfwyn turned. “Burginde, enough. I have eyes and ears, and need you not to recount the grief of this land nor the slight we have received.” Her voice was calm and measured. “I think there is other work you might do, such as bring us water that we might bathe our hands. And then let us ourselves eat, for it is far past noon and we have had nothing.”

  After Burginde had left the room, I too looked around for more tasks that would occupy me, for I had no desire just then to dwell on all that I had seen. The little linnet’s cage sat upon the table, and I held it at arm’s reach before me and said, “Perhaps a nail could be pounded into the ceiling beams, so that this cage might hang by a cord from it.”

  Ælfwyn looked over at me and nodded, and then said, “You did well with the cooper’s boy. I am only sad that the first meeting with my new people shows them to be so wretched. I did not know what to expect; I have dwelt so long on my own grief in coming here that I could think of little else. But this is worse that I could have dreamt.”

  I put down the willow cage and the linnet chirped. “You are here now, and perhaps can make the way easier for this sad folk.”

  “I doubt it,” she replied. “I am not schooled in acts of mercy.”

  “That is not true,” I answered. “It was an act of mercy to feed that starving boy, which you did at once.”

  Our speech ended there, for Burginde came bumping up the steps with a bucket of warm water. As she poured some of it in a basin, she spoke of what she had seen.

  “There be cooks and helpers, all folk of Lindisse, most nearly all of them women. They say they did not come up to us for the fear of it, but I had a good talking to them, and think now they might show themselves and be of some use.”

  As if summoned, footsteps were heard below, and Burginde flung open the door. Two women of about middle age came in, dressed in the rough and greasy aprons of their calling. They carried a platter of cold roasted meat and a jug. They set their burdens on the table, and with wide eyes looked at Ælfwyn and I. Burginde shooed them away, and down they went.

  Burginde peered into the jug, and then dipped in a finger and tasted it. “Barley beer,” she said with satisfaction. She studied the meat on the platter. “‘Tis roast pig. When I asked if they had cheeses as well, they looked as if I had asked for dragon’s eggs. Cheese they have not had for many a month, as there are no sheep left.”

  We opened our larder chest and took out the last of our cheeses, and also some boiled eggs and loaves. Then with Burginde sitting on the stool by the brazier, and Ælfwyn and I on the chairs at the table, we ate our first meal at Four Stones. The roast pig was good, and tho’ a few pickled onions or roasted leeks would have set it off well, it was tender and full of flavour. Likewise the barley beer pleased me much. I praised the food, and Burginde laughed and said, “Yes, let us thank the wretches thither for it.”

  At this Ælfwyn bid her keep her tongue for swallowing only, and tho’ the meal did not lose all its savour for me, again I recalled the faces of the women of the ruined village, and felt full.

  Chapter the Thirteenth: The Trophy of the Danes

  I awakened to the shouts of workmen in the yard outside. The room was dim, but when I went to the shuttered window I saw the Sun half risen. I pulled open the other shutter, and Ælfwyn and Burginde stirred.

  “Ach! Miserable hole!” muttered Burginde as she stumbled, yawning to the window. “As dark as the lowest hut.”

  She joined me, and then Ælfwyn too. The day would be foggy, and the damp clinging to all we saw made the scene more barren to the eye.

  Ælfwyn shrugged and we turned away from the window to wash and dress. I chose again my green gown, and Æl
fwyn took from one of her clothes chests a blue gown with sleeves of dark red. She pinned this with a small gold brooch at her neck.

  As Burginde smoothed the beds, we heard noise on the stair. I opened the door to find one of the kitchen women we had met yesterday upon the landing. She bore a platter of small loaves, split and toasted, upon which laid slices of roast pig. There was also a mound of dried apples and pears, and another jug of barley beer. She looked at me with the same wide eyes of the day before, and I said, “I thank you,” and smiled to try to make her speak. But I could get nothing from her, and as soon as she had passed the platter into my hands she turned and clattered down the wooden stairs.

  We ate and even Burginde could not begrudge a word on the quality of the bread, for it was sweet and fine grained and full of flavour. “They did not kill the baker,” she said with her mouth full.

  After we cleared away we wondered aloud when we might receive the looms. Burginde thought the second waggon was not to be touched until Yrling arrived. As the looms were there as well we could not have them until he had received the treasure.

  This brought to mind the departure of the thegns. Burginde was about to leave to find the cooper’s boy when he called out from the bottom of the stairs, “Lady!” in a hissing whisper. In one hand he bore my wax tablet, and in the other the simple copy he had made. I opened it and saw there was a proper depth for the wax to fill, and also that the two sides fit together tightly. He had even brought a braided leathern cord with him. From his pockets he pulled handsful of chary candle stumps and a lump of tallow.

  “You have done well. I thank you, and your new Lady also is pleased,” I said, for I wished to praise his efforts as they deserved.