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

by Octavia Randolph

  “Sidroc expects you to come?” she asked in amazement. “Why?”

  She answered herself before I could speak. “Is it because you were heathen before you went to live at the Priory?”

  “Yes,” I began, “I suppose so. But he expects me because I told him I would be there.”

  “You told him you would come?” She pulled a chair from the table and sat down. “To make sacrifice to their Gods?” Again there was no judgement in her voice, only wonder.

  I felt I must say something. “They are the Gods of my father and kinsman,” I finally said. “For half my life they were my Gods.”

  Ælfwyn’s face softened, and her voice was kind. “What of your mother? Were they her Gods as well?”

  “No,” I said, “not her Gods; but she was heathen just the same, and worshipped the Gods of the Old People.”

  “Ceridwen, who bears the cauldron of life,” she answered with a nod. She stood up. “And you want to go and do this thing?”

  I waited a moment and searched my heart. “Yes, I feel that I want to.”

  “What will happen there? What will you do? I did not even think women were allowed.”

  “Women are important in offerings to Woden, or Odin as they call him; men believe the Gods listen best to a woman.”

  “They believe that? Our priest at home teaches that women must work hard to have their prayers answered, since it is by woman’s fault that we are all born in sin.”

  “Yes, I know.” I looked straight at her. “The Gods are not like that; the Gods honour women, whether they be Goddesses or mortals. And in their offerings, men honour women too. It is the shield-maidens that choose who is to die in glory, and who carry up the souls of the dead warriors to the hall of the Gods.”

  “Is that why Sidroc calls you that? I thought he just meant a fierce woman by it.”

  “They have another name as well, but most men call them the shield-maidens. Also Freyja, the Goddess of love and beauty, is a powerful warrior. Many men make sacrifice to her.”

  Burginde now came in with the ale, and as she filled our cups said, “They be gathering below, dressed to go out, and slinging on their swords.”

  Ælfwyn lifted her cup to her lips and drank. Then she said to me, “Let us go, and watch.”

  So we two wrapped our mantles about us and headed down the stairs.

  About twenty men were in the hall, strapping on their baldrics and pinning on their wool cloaks. Several of them, including Toki, were lighting torches from the firepit, and lining them up ready to be carried out into the night. Yrling was there with Sidroc, and they turned and saw us dressed to go out. Yrling’s face lit up at the sight of Ælfwyn. She went towards him, and Sidroc walked over to me. He spoke not, but only looked at me. He wore the slightest of smiles, so slight that his scar almost did not move.

  Yrling called to the men, and they picked up the torches, and we walked down the stone steps and out of the hall. The night was clearer than the day had been; already the brightest stars, the wanderers, shone out above.

  I had not been out in the keep yard at dark. Now I saw the canvas awnings pulled down over the armourer’s workshop, the storehouses shut up to keep the goods from damp, the great oak doors of the stable closed. Along the top of the palisade watchmen stood, and oil lamps mounted next to them on the ridge of the walls flared away. We walked singly or in twos, and the torches cast a strong light and made huge our shadows. Yrling led the way with Ælfwyn beside him. We heard a creaking noise and a side door in the palisade opened, and a Dane struggled through it carrying a large wicker cage holding two cocks. He was greeted by many of the men, and he fell in with the rest of us.

  We walked on, and soon the ground began dropping away, and we passed a clump of trees, and walked through them and on. All this time Sidroc said nothing, and I also spoke not.

  Ælfwyn had taken hold of Yrling’s arm, for the ground was growing rougher. We were no longer on a path but walking through trampled grasses. The ground grew soft, and softer still, and the torch light shone on the remnants of horsetail and bishop’s mitre and other plants that love the wet. We stopped, and just before us I could see a dark slash in the clay, as if a trench or ditch had been dug. As the torches grew closer to it, the glint of metal within the trench told me that weapons and other such things had been offered here. A wooden post, taller than a man, rose up out of the pit, and as the men moved about enough torch light fell to show that it bore the carved image of Odin.

  Yrling moved before it, and Ælfwyn came and stood by me and Sidroc. She did not speak, but slipped her hand into mine, and tho’ it was not a cold night, she shivered in her thick mantle of marten fur. We now all stood close together in a single curved line, and Yrling stood facing us with his back to the pit of clay and the image of his God.

  He raised his arms to the men, but it was clear he did not address them, for when he spoke he kept his eyes upon the starry heavens. His voice was different from any I had heard him use, smooth and rhythmic; and his words rose and fell as if reciting a saga. He went on, his words a chant, and I closed my eyes and only listened. The flatness of his tongue and the strange words began to yield some secrets up to me: I heard the names of the Gods. I heard the names of Odin and Thor and Tyr and Freyr and Freyja and Loki. And as I heard him speak these names in his own accents, I realised that these were the first words he had so spoken that I recognised.

  I opened my eyes and looked about me. Ælfwyn still gripped my hand. She was watching Yrling with wide eyes, but there was no fear in them. Sidroc stood on my other side, and when I glanced at him I saw his eyes too were closed. Yrling went on with his chant, and some one of the men, perhaps Toki, began another chant which wound in and around the chant of Yrling. Other men joined in with this second man, slowly at first, but with gathering voice. Then a third chant began, started by Sidroc; and men joined with him, so that all three chants were intertwined. It was as if three forces met and were speaking, and I knew it to be the Answer of the Gods, in which the men tried through their voices to engage the Gods in their requests.

  Then Yrling fell silent, and the second chant dropped away, and the third as well, and there was only a low sound, almost like a growl, coming from the throats of the men.

  The man who had the two cocks in the cage drew them out feet first, and the flapping and squawking of the cocks were the only other sounds. He stepped before Yrling, and squatted down so that the frantic wings of the birds brushed the damp Earth. Then the growling noise rose up loud in the throats of the men, and in one motion Yrling dropped down on his knees and pulled his sword from his baldric. He held it just a moment above the cocks, and then the blade flashed through the night and in a single movement struck off both bird’s heads. Then the Dane holding their feet let go and Yrling speared both birds on his sword blade at once, and with a cry cast the still-flapping bodies into the clay pit.

  The men cried out, and I knew at this moment they would all draw their swords as one, and salute the Gods; and this they did. And Ælfwyn and I stood there, clasping hands, as Yrling held his sword aloft, and each man held also their sword aloft behind him and cried out in joy and in hope that the Gods had listened well.

  Then with this joy on their lips each man strode to the pit, and plunged the tip of his sword into the soft clay, and so took part in the slaying of the sacrifice. Yrling turned back at us, and saw Ælfwyn, and looked at her with light in his eyes, and held out his sword to her. I said in her ear, “He wishes you to pierce the Earth with it for him; the Gods will honour him if you do.”

  She stepped forward and took the heavy gold hilt in her hand, and moved to the edge of the pit and raised the sword and plunged it with good force into the Holy Earth, and Yrling’s eyes filled with pleasure. We all stood a moment under the cloak of night, the wanderers bright above us. The only sound was the soft rustle of the men wiping clean their blades. I looked up into the heavens and felt as if a bright star had fallen into my
breast; as if my dead father and kinsman and lost mother stood with me.

  Yrling spoke, in a clear glad voice, and we began to move away from the place of sacrifice, back up through the moist ground and dry grasses and towards the palisade of Four Stones. And tho’ the men spoke around me, I heard not, for my ears were full with what Sidroc had said, ‘You are like us.’ He walked at my side the whole way, and never spoke. He had no need to, for those words of his were ever in my ears.

  We gained the palisade walls and walked through the keep yard and down the broad stone steps into the hall. The men went each to their war kits on the tables, and moved them onto benches along the walls, and began to set up the tables for the meal.

  Ælfwyn and I headed up the stairs. Her face was flushed from laughter with Yrling, and when we were inside the room her colour deepened.

  “Well,” she said, and almost seemed to hide her face as she took off her mantle, “now I suppose I really will go straight to Hell.”

  That night sleep took a long time to come. I looked up into the dimness of the roof rafters above me, and imagined the stars bright in their paths overhead. I closed my eyes and the hall below seemed far away. I saw again the torchlight under the night sky and heard the chanting call of the Danes at the place of sacrifice. I saw Ælfwyn raise the sword and saw again the face of Yrling, hot with pleasure and love for her action. I thought of what they were doing right now; that he was going away for many days, and going into danger, and even in my ignorance I knew that his embrace would be the stronger and his touch more urgent because of this.

  I did not want to think these things, but just then my thoughts were not mine to command. My mind ran from one thing to another. At times Toki’s face came before me, laughing and sneering. Most of all I seemed to see Sidroc, and to remember his words. If he really wanted me so badly, he must esteem me very much. Yet how could Sidroc ever be my choice?

  Then I would think of Ælfwyn, and that she never in a thousand Summers would have chosen Yrling, and yet she seemed to be content. Perhaps she would one day even love him. At least he was kind to her, and she tried to be kind to him in return. So all of these things kept tumbling about in my head, and beyond it all I knew that she and I would tomorrow night be alone with either Sidroc or Toki, and could not decide which was the better and which the worse.

  As I was pulling on my boots next morning Ælfwyn came into the room with her beautiful hair loose over her shoulders. She wore last night’s gown and sash, but looped into the sash was a huge ring of iron and bronze keys. They jingled as she came into the room and she burst out laughing when she saw us.

  “He has given me all the keys,” she said, and laughed again as if she could not believe it.

  “Too bad all the rooms they opened be burnt down,” answered Burginde.

  “They are not all burnt down. Besides, most of these are to chests in the treasure room. And he has given me the key to the room itself!”

  “To the treasure room itself?” I asked. It hardly seemed possible that a Dane would entrust his new wife, a woman of Wessex, to hold the keys to such riches in his absence. I did not have to say this; I knew all three of us were thinking it.

  Burginde gave a little whistle. “‘Tis hard to believe,” she finally said.

  Ælfwyn stood before us and laughed again. “I know; I can scarce believe it myself. I was surprised that he did not give me any keys the day we were married, as is the right of every bride in Wessex. Then I thought how foolish it was to expect this from him. And then this morning Yrling gave me this whole ring. He said it was a custom that on the third day of marriage the woman receives the keys.”

  “So she’s had three days to prove her worth, eh?” asked Burginde warily.

  “You are so hard, Burginde,” answered Ælfwyn. “We do not know their customs.”

  She untied her sash and let the heavy ring slip out into her hand. Even Burginde could not resist the temptation to look closely at the keys as Ælfwyn fingered them. “There is another set, of at least some of these, and Yrling said that either Sidroc or Toki would hold them while he was gone.”

  Burginde sniffed at this, and Ælfwyn gave her a little shove towards the door. “Go on, Grumpy, and fetch me hot water,” she said.

  When she was gone Ælfwyn turned to me as she was undressing. “You know Ceridwen, I begin to think he is not so different from our own people.” She looked about as if searching for words. “In some ways he is very different, his speech and his Gods, and of course he is a Dane, and all of that is so strange. But he is good to me; better than I ever thought possible.” Her voice grew soft, and she stood looking at the cluster of bright keys upon the table. “When he is with the other men, he is something fearsome; he looks just like what I had most feared. But when he is alone with me, he is...good to me. He is always very - eager, but he touches me gently afterwards.”

  She looked down and her cheeks flushed. “He wants very much to have children.”

  “Perhaps you will soon,” I said.

  She only nodded, and Burginde came bumping up the stairs with the bath water.

  Chapter the Twenty-ninth: Departure

  IN the hall Yrling sat alone with Sidroc and Toki. Food and drink were before them, but he spoke to them earnestly and they touched it not. As we walked by I saw Yrling’s and Toki’s war-kits, for they were easy to discern by the fineness of the helmets and the gilt upon the bosses of their shields. Next to these I recognised the shield and helmet and plain iron-worked sword of Sidroc. Even then they did not know which of them was to go and which would stay.

  Ælfwyn and I went to the table, and the men moved over to make room for us, but barely looked at either one of us. Yrling went on talking in the same low voice. I felt him more formidable than ever, and just at that moment imagined him sitting at table with Ælfsige, bargaining for the tribute and the hand of Ælfwyn.

  Ælfwyn and I began to eat, and slowly the three men joined us. Yrling stopped speaking, and both Sidroc and Toki asked questions. As he answered them he seemed to notice Ælfwyn for the first time, and took her hand as it lay upon the table. He smiled at her with real pleasure and went on talking.

  Afterwards they walked out of the hall and into the keep yard. Ælfwyn and I watched them go, and then went over to the firepit. We looked down silently on all the ready war kits of the Danes, and each thought our own thoughts.

  Up in the chamber we found Burginde spinning. She looked at Ælfwyn and shook her head.

  “How he can leave such a one as you so soon to resume his killing and plundering is beyond the likes of me.”

  “He is not killing and plundering,” answered Ælfwyn. “At least,” she hesitated, “it is not his intent as he leaves.”

  I could only think of what Sidroc had said about opportunities along the road. “Here,” I said, taking up our spindles and trying to make cheerful my voice, “let us catch up with Burginde so we truly will have enough for stockings.”

  Just before noon we heard a man’s step on the stair.

  “It must be Yrling,” said Ælfwyn, quickly setting down her spinning. “He said this morning he would come for me.” She gave me a quick, shy look and then went down the stairs.

  Burginde and I continued to spin in silence. At last I said, “I think he cares for her, and that it is hard for him to leave her so soon.”

  “Well, he be having his full of her right now. At least he be not indifferent to her beauty.” Her spindle reached the floor and she stopped in her work for a moment. “Nor should he be, for he could not find a woman as good and as beautiful as she. And of course right now he be kind to her; all new husbands are. The sooner she can be gotten with a babe, the better.”

  “You do not seem to like him very much,” I said.

  She went back to her spinning. “I like him as much as I need to; ‘tis only what Ælfwyn herself is doing.”

  In the afternoon I went down to the keep yard. I could tell by the whinnyi
ng of horses that they were being brought out from the stable, and I wanted to see them, and perhaps visit Shagg.

  Outside the hall a waggon was being loaded, and in it I could see shields and spears and several chests of provisions. From the great stable the horses were being led to a leathern tie stretched between two sheds, and their neck ropes fastened to it so they could be saddled and bridled. I stopped and looked at them long, for they all of them were splendid beasts, firm-necked, long-limbed, and tightly muscled.

  The horses stamped and tossed their heads, and the yard was filled with their whinnying and the laughing and calling of the men. I saw the young stable boy Mul, Ecgwald’s cousin, holding the head of one horse who was trying to rear, and watched in dismay as a Dane cuffed him for his efforts.

  Sidroc came out of the stable, leading a bay with a wonderfully long black mane and tail. He tied it far from a prancing red horse, and came over and stood by me. “They will fight if I do not keep them apart,” he said, indicating with his head the two animals.

  “Is the bay yours?” I asked.

  He nodded his head. “He is my favourite; I have five others.”

  I thought of the wealth this represented, to have six horses of such quality.

  Now Toki came up, leading his grey horse, and stopped before us. He slapped the loose end of his rein in his open hand and looked at us both, but did not smile or sneer. He spoke to Sidroc in their own tongue.

  Sidroc answered him in a short voice and Toki laughed and led his horse away.

  Sidroc stood and watched him. “He said if I am the one to go that you will be his woman by the time I return,” he said, still looking after Toki.

  I began to speak, but he went on. “He knows you do not like him. He only says this to try to torment me, so whether I go or not I am troubled.” He turned to look at me. “This is one reason Toki will never be powerful. He will always be a boy, playing the games of boys.”