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

by Octavia Randolph

  “Did you say that, if it must fall, you would rather see him take Cirenceaster than another?”

  She nodded her head, and tears rolled from her closed eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “And tho’ he spoke not, his face showed his amaze at this. Yet he took me into his arms and held me close, as if... he were pleased with me.”

  Burginde had been busy readying the tub. Now she lifted her head and spoke. “‘Tis the understanding you have shown,” she said simply, and said no more.

  I thought about this, and said, “If Cirenceaster must fall, you accept it, and want the least harm done; and this he respects.” I recalled Sidroc’s words. “Yrling also wants the least harm done. He would not want Cirenceaster to end like Lindisse, for your sake and his own.”

  We were all quiet.

  “There are many other places than Cirenceaster. This he reminded me,” said Ælfwyn. Her voice held a note of hope, but her face showed it was not strong within her.

  She ended, “I do not want to help my husband to take over my own family’s home; but even this I would do to keep them from destruction.”

  Later that day we heard news from Burginde. “Toki is here, and down in the hall. He be the same as ever, on the outside at least,” she said, and then chortled, “but ‘tis not likely he’ll be grabbing at any cats, great or small.”

  “I wish he had never come back,” answered Ælfwyn, speaking for us both.

  When we went down into the hall that night we saw Toki by the firepit. Near him stood Sidroc, his foot up on one of the smooth hearth stones, looking into the fire. They appeared to be talking, but I did not study them to find out. Perhaps there was now peace between them.

  Toki took his place at the table as before, and we ate and drank as if he had never been away. One thing only was different, and it was this: Toki would not look at me. If he spoke to Sidroc or looked in our direction, his eyes never rested on me. It was as if I were not there, and I was very glad not to have the roving blue eyes of this man upon me. There was a change, too, in Sidroc. He looked differently upon me, and once I saw him scan the face of Toki, to see, I think, if Toki looked at me.

  Yrling spoke, and put this out of my mind, for what he said made us all listen.

  “I will not go to Jorvik,” he announced, and then gestured to Sidroc and to Toki, “but you, and you, will go, and leave tomorrow; and bring us those things as we want.”

  Ælfwyn was all interest at this, and asked, “And sheep too?”

  “Yes, sheep and other things we have need of. Everything can be found in Jorvik.”

  I looked at Sidroc to see how he received this news. I knew he wanted to again see Jorvik, and had often spoken of it, but I did not think he expected now to be sent with Toki to do so. His eyes opened wide for a moment, and then narrowed, but aside from this his face showed little sign of his feelings.

  Toki, however, was quick to show his gladness at being sent on this mission, and tho’ his mouth twisted in disdain at the mention of sheep, he called across the tables to some other Danes in a boasting way.

  I wondered why Yrling was sending them together, and watched his face as he spoke to them about the trip. He told them of the route they should take, the waggon they would need, and who to speak to when in Jorvik. Ælfwyn listened carefully to all that was said, as carefully as if she herself were going.

  When I went up to our chamber, Ælfwyn went with me, and told Burginde and I that we might ask for a few things, not too great in size, that might be brought back. Burginde had her answer ready at once, “Cheese”; and tho’ both Ælfwyn and I laughed, we agreed it would be good to taste cheese again, and she said she would ask for it.

  “I will ask for another large copper tub, so that I might bathe more easily downstairs,” thought Ælfwyn. “What would you like?” she asked me.

  “Bee’s wax,” I answered, “so that we might make you a true wax tablet, like mine.”

  “Very good,” Ælfwyn agreed, “and perhaps they could bring some candles as well.”

  She returned in the morning saying that Yrling would add our requests to those things he wanted brought from Jorvik. As we were dressing she added, “He is wise, in his own way, and I begin to learn from him. I asked why he is sending them together, since Sidroc had nearly killed Toki. He laughed and said that was why he sent them.”

  “Because they will have to work together on the road?” I asked.

  “Yes, just that.”

  Burginde was not impressed by this. “If only one comes back, the other’s word will be as naught as to what happened,” she warned.

  “They will come back,” said Ælfwyn. “Tho’ I would be happy if Toki would decide to stay in Jorvik.”

  We had our broth and bread, and then went down into the hall, where we found Sidroc and Toki preparing to leave. They had their bed-rolls and hide bags at their feet, and on the table before them sat their war-kits. Sidroc’s new sword, heavy and magnificent, hung from his red leathern baldric.

  Yrling was speaking to them as we came up, and we stood silently until he finished. Then Ælfwyn spoke, to both Sidroc and Toki. “Have you ever bought sheep before?” she inquired.

  Toki rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Sidroc smiled so that he nearly laughed. “No, never before have I bought sheep,” he answered.

  “There are important things to look for,” began Ælfwyn, earnestly. “Our greatest need is for good rams. Choose at least two, of the best you can find. Take a curly horn over the straighter kind, and choose those which have a deep chest and short legs. Sheep for sale would not have been shorn yet, so you will see them in full fleece. Take your hand and drive it gently into the fleece by the ram’s back hocks. The fleece should cover your hand at least from fingertip to knuckle; the longer the better. And look for a long tuft on the chest, between the front legs; that is also a good sign.”

  All three men were looking at her as she went through these instructions, and all I think were amused; but Yrling’s eyes were lit with pleasure as well.

  “Get as many ewes as you can, and as young as you can,” she went on. “The age of the rams does not matter; a good old ram can be got cheaply and will save silver. We will have young rams enough if those you now choose be good ones.”

  I thought how strange and wonderful it was, that this young woman should stand before these men and thus instruct them. I looked at Toki as he looked away, and recalled the curl of his lip as he had tossed the pouch containing the great pearl at Ælfwyn upon the journey here; and most of all I remembered the first night we had seen Yrling, and the real fear these men had brought us as they nearly broke into our chamber. All of this had passed, and the unknown was now known. I looked at Ælfwyn, and felt great pride, and great gratitude for the distance travelled.

  She thought of another thing. “Who is driving the waggon? It should be a man who knows the ways of sheep, and can help herd them.”

  Sidroc answered, “The ox-drover you brought with you.”

  “Osred,” she said. “Good. He will be a great help.”

  The men shouldered their packs, and Yrling took up some of their things as well. We walked to the steps and out into the yard. The waggon stood ready, and Osred scratched the ears of one of the yoked oxen as he waited. Sidroc’s bay stallion was there, saddled, as was Toki’s grey. They fixed their packs and weapons upon them, and Toki swung up into his saddle.

  Sidroc turned to me. I mumbled, “I wish you a good journey,” and looked down at the ground. He spoke, but softly, and in his own tongue. He mounted his horse, and turned to raise his hand to Yrling. The waggon creaked forward, and they moved away.

  Chapter the Forty-first: Death of a King

  A full week passed, and it was a peaceful and good one. No more strange Danes came to Four Stones, and the sentries on the palisade were quiet. In the village the fields were being turned, and men and women worked in the damp soil from light to dusk. Tumbled huts were straightened and rebuilt, and
the crofts once again protected by low fences of woven wattles. The rhythm of the village seemed nearly restored, and as no woman came to Ælfwyn to seek protection, we hoped none were abused.

  At night we sat with Yrling in the hall, and he spoke to us, and we to him, and I felt his strangeness grow less. Tho’ he was often stern, his eyes were kinder when he looked upon Ælfwyn, and he listened when she spoke. It was clear, too, that his desire for her was great, for tho’ he rarely took her hand or touched her before others, he often called her to him during the day, and the treasure room door would close behind them.

  One morning a messenger rode into the keep yard. The past two days had been wet, and the ground was naught but mud. We stood in the drizzle in our clogs and watched as Yrling spoke to the man, a young and haggard Dane with dripping wet yellow hair. Yrling gestured that the man should come in, and Dobbe was sent to bring him food and drink and refill his hide pack for the road. The messenger stood by the firepit drying himself as Yrling questioned him. We two women waited for news.

  At last he left, and Ælfwyn did not have to ask, for Yrling turned to her and spoke. “Æthelred of Wessex is dead,” were his words, and his eyes were bright.

  “The King is dead,” Ælfwyn repeated, but in a toneless voice.

  “He died from wounds he took at the battle of Meredune. All will be easier now, for his young brother is named King.”

  “Ælfred,” said Ælfwyn. “The Witan has chosen him as King?”

  Yrling nodded, and then smiled. “I have not seen him fight, but I do not think he will last long. The Raven will pick the bones of the Dragon.”

  Ælfwyn did not reply, but nodded her head and walked wordlessly away and up the stairs. I followed her and she told Burginde of the tidings.

  “King Æthelred is dead, and the Witan met and chose Ælfred as King,” she said, and then slumped down in her chair at the table.

  “Ælfred?” asked Burginde. “He be a fierce fighter, when he be well, but he is often not.”

  I looked my question to Ælfwyn, and she said, “He is the youngest of our great King Æthelwulf’s sons, and was never meant to be King; and never, I am sure, expected to, for he had four brothers before him. But all four have ruled, and now, all four died, and so the son that Æthelwulf had meant as a scholar is now our King.”

  “Burginde says he is not well?”

  “It is sad, but true, for he is plagued by an illness that saps his strength and gives him great distress. His bowel, I think.” She looked about her, and only shook her head. “The council must feel needy to have chosen him, for as Yrling says, I do not think he can last long.”

  “How old is he?” I asked.

  Ælfwyn thought for a moment. “He has twenty-two Summers,” she said, “the same as... the same as one who rides with him.” Now she lay her head down on her hands. This was the first time since we had come to this place that I had heard her speak of her lost love, and she could not hide the pain of thinking of him.

  “If your Witan chose him, they must believe he can win,” I said, “even if he be young and unwell. Many good men must have pledged to him, and he must be very rich, and can supply them with all manner of arms and horses.”

  “The best men are now sworn to him,” answered Ælfwyn in an empty voice, “and he has great riches.” She looked up at Burginde and said, “It is the end.”

  For once Burginde did not deny this, but sat lost in thoughts of her own. I wanted to rouse them, to bring some word of courage or of hope, but words failed me. All I could think of was the day that Sidroc had told us that Wessex and Mercia would fall. Nothing and no one would be out of their grasp. The bracelet on my wrist glinted as I moved my hand, and felt at that moment to be the heaviest lead and not purest silver.

  Burginde got up from her stool, and slowly went about her work, but Ælfwyn and I remained, she sitting, and me standing, mired in these thoughts.

  We heard a footfall upon the wooden tread of our stairs, and the thought that Yrling might be wanting her then was too terrible to bear. But it was only Susa, and she came into our room and told us that some sacks of wool Ælfwyn had sent to the village women to be spun had come, and were in the yard.

  We went with Burginde down into the yard. Before the hall stood Meryth, and a man of the village who pulled a simple wain. Upon it sat two large baskets, brimful with balls of newly spun wool thread. Meryth came forward to us, and bowed, and we saw her babe tied to her back. The man behind her dipped his head with an uncertain look upon his grizzled face. He still wore the animal hides he had come home in, and his feet were bare.

  “Here is our spinning work, my Lady,” she said, “and this man, my husband, Arsuf.”

  Burginde picked up one of the balls and unravelled an arm’s length of it. “Fair work,” she said, running her fingers along it.

  She passed the ball to Ælfwyn, who took it up and said, “It is good work indeed.” She could not smile as she said this; her grief was still strong upon her.

  They stood looking at Ælfwyn, and she said in a strong and grave voice, “More sheep are coming, from Jorvik, and they will be ready for shearing. Do you shear those brought from the forests, and those to come, and from that fleece spin for yourselves enough to weave garments for your returned men.”

  This was bold of her, for she gave away the fleece to the villagers as tho’ it were hers alone, and not hers and Yrling’s. She raised her hand to dismiss them, and turned her back and walked away. In the hall she saw Yrling, coming out of the treasure room, and went straight to him.

  “The village men have no clothes,” she said, and in her voice was both fear and a challenge. “I have ordered that they shear the sheep and their wives spin and weave for them.”

  Yrling seemed not to comprehend, but nodded his head. “The sheep are for you, to make gold from. I do not question how you do it.”

  We heard these words, and knew again the freedom this strange man granted her, and the respect that he showed her. I knew with what gratitude Ælfwyn listened, for in reply she took Yrling’s hand and touched it for a moment to her heart.

  Several noons later we sat as usual weaving in our chamber. The good light was fading when the sounds of whistles made us all three turn our heads to the windows.

  “They must be come back from Jorvik, unless it be another messenger,” mused Burginde, craning her neck to see.

  It seemed too much noise for a simple messenger, so we went down into the yard and there saw Yrling, standing and waiting as we did.

  The first rider we saw was Sidroc, and Toki behind him, both they and their horses dusty with travel. We knew they had brought sheep with them, for they could be heard, baaing and jingling their bells, tho’ see them we could not. Sidroc called out to us, and his face wore a smile, and I smiled too at him. He swung down from his horse and crossed to Yrling.

  “We heard on the road,” were his first words. “Æthelred is dead.”

  We did not hear more, for then we were near engulfed by a flock of sheep, trotting and tumbling around the corner at us. Walking amongst them, crook in hand, came Osred, and behind him were three strange Danes, mounted on horseback and leading a pack horse. The waggon we saw last of all, driven by another strange Dane who walked beside it.

  The sheep swirled around us, and Ælfwyn’s face shone as she regarded them. There were three unhappy old rams, glaring balefully at everything about them. There were two score at least of ewes, and many of them were followed by lambs which ducked their snowy heads against their mother’s round sides for protection.

  Ælfwyn waded into their midst, and Osred grinned with pride.

  “These are beautiful sheep,” she said, beaming.

  “They be fair; they be fair, Lady,” nodded Osred. He looked up for a moment to where Sidroc and Toki now stood with Yrling. “‘Tis a good thing I was sent too, or you might be standing amongst goats now,” he chuckled. “But when it came time to bargain, they were very close;
none better,” he added, in fairness; and he rubbed his thumb against his forefinger to show how well they had bargained for the lot.

  “Good,” said Ælfwyn, bending down and catching an ewe up by its neck. She pulled the creature’s ears and stroked its bony face as it bleated. “Keep them here in the old cattle pens tonight, so that I may look further at them, and count them myself, and tomorrow take them to the village shepherds.”

  We went to where Yrling stood, speaking now to the strange Danes. He made a gesture of welcome to them, and they dismounted. The waggon was now pulled up closer to the hall steps, and Osred returned and unyoked the oxen and led them away.

  Sidroc jumped upon the waggon board and unlaced the awning, and within we could see basket after basket of goods. First he brought forward several sacks, one of which he pulled open at the top and thrust his hand into. Grains of yellow wheat sifted through his fingers.

  “There is wheat, and barley, and oats,” he said, and if it had been sacks of gold and silver it could scarce have been more important, for here was the seed for the empty and waiting fields around us.

  Burginde was already at work at another basket, and I guessed by the wetness that showed about its base that she had found the cheeses. She pulled back a handful of dark rushes, and brought forth a small round cheese, white as a goose egg. She raised it to her nose and smiled. “And plenty of them,” she said, feeling about in the recesses of the basket.

  In the front of the waggon winked a great gleam of copper, and Ælfwyn clapped her hands together and cried, “My tub,” and Sidroc climbed into the waggon and brought it out, huge and beautiful, into the Sunlight. It was no ordinary wash-tub, but had upon it designs, impressed in the copper, of grapes and vines.