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

by Octavia Randolph

  At that moment I hoped that Toki and not Sidroc would be going with Yrling, but I could not bring myself to speak openly this wish of mine. I wished they would all go, or none of them go.

  Another Dane came up and said something to Sidroc, and he said to me, “Yrling wants me in the hall.”

  So we both turned and walked to the hall.

  Toki was before the firepit, shouldering his pack and shield. He grinned at Sidroc and spoke to him, and Sidroc answered. I could sense no anger in their voices or their faces. Toki walked past us and out into the yard, and we saw Yrling and Ælfwyn through the open door of the treasure room. She raised her hand, so I followed Sidroc across the hall and through the treasure room door.

  Yrling was lacing his ring shirt over his leathern tunic, and already wore his leathern leg wrappings. Upon the bench his black baldric lay ready. Ælfwyn was dressed as she had been when she went down, with her new keys looped onto her sash. She smiled at me as she stood before the bed.

  Yrling spoke to Sidroc, and Sidroc nodded his head and answered, and I saw no disappointment or surprise or other emotion in Sidroc’s face.

  Then Yrling spoke in our own speech to Ælfwyn. “Until I return Sidroc commands. You must obey him and keep all in good order. I will return as soon as I can.”

  His voice was firm and his face serious. He looked at Ælfwyn and said no more, and Ælfwyn answered, “I understand,” in a clear grave voice.

  He smiled and pulled her close with his arm. He did not kiss her or speak more to her, but turned to his baldric and sword. Beneath it sat a ring of keys, which he tossed to Sidroc. Then he lifted the baldric over his head, and strode out of the room.

  We followed him, and passed the shield and baldric of Sidroc, alone at the firepit. I wondered how he really felt as he walked by it.

  Outside the door Osred was harnessing two horses to the waggon. Danes carried bridles and saddles to their tied mounts. The horses stamped and tossed their heads, and the yard was filled with the whinnying of the horses and the laughing and calling of the men. We saw Toki mount his beautiful grey horse and force him to prance about so he jostled the other horses, which made the Danes near by curse him. Toki laughed and sped forward as if he would be the first out the huge gate, now standing open for the horsemen.

  Then Yrling swung himself into the saddle of his red stallion, and all the men were horsed. Yrling spoke out loud to Sidroc, and Sidroc replied, and Yrling turned his horse and looked down on Ælfwyn, and raised his hand in salute. She raised her own, and a slight smile crossed her face, and he called out and the horsemen moved across the yard and out the great doors of the wooden palisade. The waggon creaked behind it, and then it too passed through the palisade gate, and the doors were slowly shut.

  Chapter the Thirtieth: To Bear the Truth

  WHEN darkness fell we began to hear the men fill the hall below.

  “Sounds as loud as if they all were there,” said Burginde, as we prepared to go down. “They be wanting to make up for their smaller numbers with louder noise.”

  Burginde was right. The men sprawled over the tables and benches as if it was the first day of a holiday. As I looked them over a new thought came to me, that perhaps Yrling had had Sidroc stay because he could keep them in better order than Toki.

  Sidroc sat at the main table. Only two other men sat there; the rest had been chosen by Yrling to go with him. Sidroc rose as we approached, and to my delight he took the place where Yrling always sat, and placed Ælfwyn at his left hand, and me next to her. This was the first time we had sat thus, and I felt glad for it, for it meant she and I could really speak to each other during the meal.

  We three laughed and jested together as we never had before, and then Ælfwyn asked him, “How is it that you speak our tongue so well? For you speak much better than Yrling.”

  He nodded. “It is only because of Yrling that I do. When Toki and I were still young, and Yrling first began coming to these lands each Summer, he brought back many slaves from Northumbria and Lindisse. These became part of our household, and because Toki and I were young and always near them, we learnt their speech. We knew we soon would sail for the rich lands from which they were captured.”

  He paused. “Yrling was older, and away, and so did not learn as we did. But he will soon catch up, since he has taken a wife from Wessex, and one who is not afraid to speak to him.”

  Ælfwyn did not seem to notice this praise, and it was clear she thought about the folk carried off in raids so many years before. Then she asked, “You knew then you too would come here?”

  “O, yes,” he answered, “for there is little for us at home. We are too many with too little land, and it is poor and stony. Here there is much land, and few people, and Winters as mild as our Spring. So we knew we too would soon sail, and make our fortunes here.”

  She only nodded her head. Some little time passed, and the mood of the table had changed. Then she asked, earnestly, “If you intend to stay here, why have you not brought wives?”

  “We have been at war for almost two whole years. Those of us who have wives at home thought we could bring them before this. But not until this Summer will they come.”

  She went on. “So your wives, and sweethearts, will come this Summer, and the men will begin to farm?” There was a note of intent in her voice, and she did not take her eyes from Sidroc’s face.

  “Yes,” he answered, shrugging, “the women will come this Summer, when the seas are calm.”

  “And the men will farm?” she persisted.

  “Crops will be raised,” he replied. “Also animals.”

  “And there will be no more raids?” she asked, and once again I wondered at her courage and boldness.

  At last impatience shown on his brow. He looked at her long, and then spoke as if well choosing his words. “We do not all have what we want. Those who are tired of battle will farm.”

  She thought of this, and tried another way. “And Yrling will divide the land between you, so that each man has so much, as we do here?”

  “Yes,” he said, “I think he will.”

  She was again quiet, and then looked at him. “And what of the village women? How will they survive?”

  He shrugged, and she went on. “Their husbands are all dead. Why do not the men here take up with them?”

  “I do not know,” he answered. “I myself never visit them. It is said they will have nothing to do with those who want to marry them, tho’ some of them will meet with the men in return for food.”

  “They are hungry, and have hungry children,” said Ælfwyn, and her voice was on the verge of anger. “You have already despoiled all of them, and their daughters too. Why should you wonder that they will not marry you?”

  “Because in other places the women will wed us, if only as you say, to keep themselves alive.” His voice bore no anger, but the words were terrible just the same.

  Ælfwyn did not speak; her eyes were lowered and I felt her trembling at my side. I could think of nothing I could say to drive out these awful truths.

  Sidroc looked over to us, and shook his head. “You do not understand these things,” he began, and he looked about him as if searching for words. “It is the nature of war that men are killed and women are taken.”

  Ælfwyn lifted her head, and there was fire in her blue eyes. “Is that what you said to the daughter of Merewala when you killed her father and ravished her?”

  Sidroc clapped his hand upon the table so that the platter jumped. “I did not ravish the girl. Yrling and I were fighting Merewala and his men when it happened. Some of us broke into the hall and found where the women were hiding. It never should have happened. Yrling was very angry. He wanted to wed her.”

  “Wed her?” asked Ælfwyn, in a voice without colour.

  “Yes. He had never seen her, but she was a princess of Lindisse, and so he wanted to wed her. He was very angry.”

  Ælfwyn shook her head as if try
ing to accept all this. “Did Yrling punish those who had despoiled her?”

  Sidroc thought for a moment. “No, he did not,” he conceded. “But as it turned out, they did not live long, for they were amongst the men carried off in the fever we had last Winter.”

  There was nothing more to say. Ælfwyn and I sat silently, and Sidroc picked up his goblet and drank. He said to us, “It is hard to hear such things. I will speak of them no longer.”

  Ælfwyn shook her head and said, “No Sidroc, do not say that. I am glad that you speak to me thus.” And it was clear by her voice that this was so.

  He leaned forward a little with his reply. “I am glad you can bear the truth. Most women, and many men, cannot.”

  “I hope I can always bear the truth,” answered Ælfwyn. She sipped from her golden goblet, and it felt as if all was right between them.

  We ate a bit more, and drank, and then she asked him, “You told us that those who were content would settle down. Tell me if you will be one of those?”

  Here a smile spread across his face, and tho’ he did not look at me my face burned and I looked down. “No,” he answered slowly, “I am not yet content.”

  Chapter the Thirty-first: There Will Be Linen

  “LET us find Dobbe,” suggested Ælfwyn in the morning. “She was once seamstress here, and will know all about the growing of flax and the making of linen at Four Stones.”

  I was eager to go anywhere, and so we two went down into the kitchen yard. The bread ovens were being stoked by two men, and on the massive table Eomer was dressing a pig. He looked up at us, and dipped his head, and called out for Dobbe. The old woman came forward from one of the sheds, her hands all over flour from her bread baking. “My Ladies,” she croaked, and her eyes watered so she looked as tho’ she forever wept.

  “We have come to ask you about the making of linen at this place,” began Ælfwyn. “I do not see a retting pond, nor any flax in the fields.”

  “Aye, there be precious little of anything in the fields,” answered Dobbe. “But a pond we have, or had; the Danes let it dry up. ‘Tis the hollow yonder before the great wall, to the left of the gate.”

  Neither one of us remembered noticing such a hollow. Ælfwyn asked, “What about flax? Or did you buy it?”

  Dobbe smiled faintly. “Buy it we never did, nor grow it either, for we were so blest with it growing wild in the vale that we gathered it at will, and it grew as thick as parsley, so that we never wanted for it.”

  “And now it too is gone?” questioned Ælfwyn.

  “I hear tell it is gone, all trampled by the Dane’s horses, for the vale is now naught to them but a pasture ground for their beasts.”

  Ælfwyn nodded her head. “Another thing, Dobbe. We want women to spin and weave. What village women could come here?”

  “Here?” echoed Dobbe. “None will come here.”

  Ælfwyn tried again. “Then will the women spin for a wage in their village?”

  Dobbe looked as if she could not comprehend. “There be nothing to spin, and no one to spin it for,” she said at last.

  “You do not understand. There will once again be sheep and flax. Therefore there will be fleece and linen, and we will need many women to spin and weave, and they will weave for this hall and also for their own families.” There was great firmness in Ælfwyn’s voice.

  Dobbe trembled the more, and the tears flowed fast down her withered cheeks. “If you make such things come to pass, then you are an angel sent from God.”

  Ælfwyn laughed aloud, but she spoke with gentleness to the old woman. “I am no angel, only a woman who must provide clothes for her household.” She took a step nearer to her. “You will help me, Dobbe? You will tell the women not to fear me?”

  Dobbe nodded her head. “No one living could fear you, Lady. I will do all I can.”

  “Then I thank you,” smiled Ælfwyn.

  As we were walking past the great stable I saw the boy Mul moving within, and we went in after him. He bobbed his head but was speechless.

  “Mul, this is your new Lady,” I began, raising my hand to Ælfwyn. He bobbed his head again, and I felt it best to go on with my talking rather than try to get a word out of him.

  “We are going to ride out today, and I want you to ride my mare first so she is tame again.” I spoke slowly and tried to make my words kind. Ælfwyn and I began to walk to the end of the stable where I knew Shagg was.

  “I ride her every day, Lady,” Mul finally choked out. “Each morning we take all the stabled horses out, and run them, and yours along with them. She be fit to ride.”

  We three stood before Shagg. “I am glad to hear that,” I said, scratching her ears as she pressed forward to greet me. “We will come back later then,” I said, still rubbing her ear.

  Mul reached out his hand and she nibbled at his fingers. I began to laugh, but then saw how thin was the hand and arm that Mul extended. He was at the age when boys begin to shoot up to young men, and are often gawky; but it was more than this; he looked as tho’ he were starving.

  I turned to Ælfwyn and read the same thought in her eyes. Mul still held his hand out, generous with affection. His rags barely served to cover his thin body, and there was an ulcer on his leg above his naked foot. Over his right eye was a brown and purple bruise that extended to his ear, and a bit of dried blood sat in the hollow of the ear. I remembered how a Dane had cuffed him across the head in the keep yard.

  I stood looking at him, and then Ælfwyn did something. I do not know who was more surprised, Mul or me, but I think it was the boy, for what she did was this: She touched his face. She reached out her beautiful white fingers and gently touched the bruise above his bloody ear.

  He almost jumped, but did not; only took a gasping breath.

  She drew back her hand, and looked straight ahead for a moment and then to me. “Go to the kitchen,” she said calmly. “Bring eggs and bread and whatever you can.”

  I turned and left, walking as fast as I could. The whole way my eyes were burning at the memory of how he had flinched at the touch of a gentle hand.

  In the kitchen yard I saw Susa and had her take a scrap of cloth. Into this she tied boiled eggs and loaves and half a roast fowl and two cold boiled turnips. As I watched her tie this small bundle, I knew that this was more food than Mul had eaten or even seen for many days. I knew he would never have bread made from wheat; if he had bread at all it was from barley or oats. I wondered how long it had been since he had had any fowl. I tucked the bundle under my arm and started back for the stable, aware of all the meat and drink that was set before me each day in the hall, and that I ate without thought. I remembered how we had eaten our first meal in the chamber, and praised the food, and Burginde had simply said, We must thank the wretches thither for it. Mul was the wretch who went hungry while we ate.

  When I entered the stable I saw Ælfwyn still standing with Mul. I went to them, and Ælfwyn pointed that I should give the bundle to him. He took it, trembling, and backed into the corner.

  Ælfwyn looked at his hunted face and said quietly, “Eat it now before anyone sees you.”

  She turned away, and she and I walked slowly up past the row of stalls. We could just hear the rip of the cloth being pulled apart, and a then a gasping, gnawing rush of sound as he fell upon the food.

  We walked on without turning, and stopped in the stable doorway until we were sure Mul had enough time to eat in safety. Then we went on, straight into the hall and up the stair to our room.

  Burginde was not there, and the room was quiet. I did not want to speak; I could not read Ælfwyn’s mood and was fearful of saying the wrong words.

  “Now I understand why Dobbe does not believe we can once again make linen.” She looked at me, and her eye was bright and her voice steady. “There will be linen, and wool, and these people will be fed.”

  I took Ælfwyn’s arm and squeezed it. “How wonderful you are,” I said.

  She
laughed. “Please not to say that. I have no idea how I am going to do all this.” She sighed, and then said, “I only know that I will.”

  “Yes,” I said, “I know that you will.”

  Burginde came clumping up the stair. “There you be,” she said, huffing as if she had been running. “That Scarface be looking for you. Something about horses.”

  “We are going to ride out,” said Ælfwyn. “Do you wish to come? We could find a very mild horse for you.”

  “‘Twould have to be dead to be mild enough for me,” answered Burginde. “No, there be plenty to be doing here. Laundry and spinning be my choice over riding.”

  “As you wish, since I know I hardly work you at all,” said Ælfwyn.

  “I did not say that,” protested Burginde.

  “No, I did,” answered the Lady, which made both she and me laugh.

  We took our mantles and gloves and headed downstairs. Sidroc was in the hall in front of the firepit. Under his leathern tunic he wore one of linen. Leathern wrappings strapped his leggings. He did not wear his baldric and sword, only his knife on his belt. He was pulling on a pair of gloves.

  He nodded at us, but said nothing, and we were quiet too. We walked out into the yard and back towards the stable. Outside it were two stablemen, holding the halter ties of three beautiful mares: a black, a chestnut, and a grey. We stopped before them.

  “These are three mares of Yrling’s,” he said to Ælfwyn. “Choose one.”

  She regarded them all. “Since it is just for the day, I choose the chestnut,” she said.

  “It is not for the day, but to be yours each day,” Sidroc said.

  She looked at him, and he nodded his head. “It is true. He told me to bring you these three that you might have your choice.”

  She laughed. “Then I still choose the chestnut; I think it the most beautiful.”