Sidroc and Toki carried in the tub, and the baskets and barrels, and set up the tables on their trestles, that we might look at everything in its turn. There was all manner of useful things: Lumps of salt, and polishing stones, and bronze and copper goods; and also things that gave gladness. Sidroc unrolled a strip of cloth upon the table, and within lay twelve pair of candles; tapers so beautiful they must have been dipped for a church. He opened before me a small cask of pale yellowy stuff, and I touched and smelt it, and knew it to be beeswax.
“These things are not easily had,” he said in a mild voice, and we knew he was proud to set them before us.
Ælfwyn held the candles in her arms and said, “I thank you for all your work. Soon we will have bees kept, and we will have this precious stuff as we need it.” She sniffed at the candles and closed her eyes in pleasure.
She then looked across the room to where Yrling stood with Toki and the strangers. “Who are the men you brought?” she asked.
“Some who would join with us. I know one of them, and think they will be worth the feeding,” he answered, looking also at them.
She looked then at Toki, standing in the background behind Yrling. “Toki looks as sullen as ever,” she noted, and then looked back at Sidroc. “You did not quarrel on the road?”
He shook his head and laughed. “He is angry, for he lost his helmet,” he answered.
“Lost it? That which he was so proud of?” she asked, and I knew from the twist of her lip that she recalled our first sight of Toki and his helmet, with the setting Sun glinting off the gold of it.
“Given it away, I should say,” he replied, tho’ it was hard to imagine Toki giving any thing of value away. “I saw him lose it once, fording a stream, and he stayed behind and dived and dived until he found it.” He regarded Toki as he said this. “This time it is gone for good, for he lost it in a wager at Jorvik, to one of Jarl Healfdene’s men.”
We could hardly believe this, and showed it.
Sidroc only smiled. “We were gaming, and winning, and winning makes you bold. Then the Gods turned away, and the fall of the bones gave his helmet to another. He tried to buy it back next morning, but Healfdene had moved on.” Sidroc glanced over to where Toki stood. “Toki never knows when to stop,” he finished.
I could not tell if he shared some regret in the loss of something so wonderful.
“He will have another made,” he shrugged.
He turned now to his own bed roll, and the pack tied onto it. He smoothed out a tanned hide, and drew out of the pack a number of small things wrapped in cloth or in leathern pouches, and laid them upon the hide. He took up a folded square of blue-dyed leather, so small it would fit in the palm of your hand. He opened it and set two tiny vials of glass, stopped with wood plugs, upon the hide before us. One was of green glass swirled with gold, and the other of blue glass swirled with silver. He was watching our faces as he said to Ælfwyn and me, “These are for you.”
Ælfwyn laughed and said, “I will guess that the blue one is for me, and the green for Ceridwen; and that you have matched our eyes.”
He nodded, and handed the vials to us, and I could not keep my joy secret. I pulled open the stopper and lifted the vial to my nose. A scent like all the roses of Summer came forth, so powerful and strong that I gasped.
“They are from far, far to the East, and the oil more costly than gold,” he told us, but he did not say it in a boasting way.
I put the stopper back on and held the vial up to see the light through it. It was as if an emerald had been melted and cast with gold.
“It is fitting that the vessel for such precious stuff be a treasure itself,” I told him. “I thank you more than I can say.”
Ælfwyn too held hers up and marvelled over it, and she took his hand in hers and said, “How good you are to us, Sidroc,” with real warmth.
“The world is full of good things, and Jorvik has many of them,” is what he answered.
He stood watching our pleasure, and I was glad to show it to him. His eyes met mine, and he glanced down at the hide, and at the things he had not yet unwrapped. Then I knew he had more treasures which he had brought, and brought for me; and I felt the warmth of colour on my cheek and realised I should go before he tried to give them to me.
Ælfwyn read this too, and seemed to hesitate, and then said, “I must go and find Dobbe,” which let me say in return, “I will go with you.”
So we thanked him again, and held our beautiful vials close in our fists, and went and told Dobbe of the cheeses.
That night I lay awake until the stars faded, feeling at times troubled and almost angry with myself. I thought of Sidroc, and of Yrling, and of their strangeness, and their true goodness; for they were good men, at least to us; and lived, I tried to tell myself, to their own lights, as all men do. I saw Ælfwyn, grown content and even happy in her life with Yrling, knowing the freedoms he gave her and how much he esteemed her. If Yrling lived, she could, in her own goodness and wisdom, rebuild Four Stones and make happy the lives of the folk of Lindisse.
I thought of Sidroc, and his desire for me, and felt for the first time how wrong it was to turn from such desire from a good man; and I believed him to be good. Perhaps he might stay here, with Yrling, and Ælfwyn and I could be together, as she had once wanted. I thought of the women who would come from his homeland in the Summer, and wondered how I might feel if Sidroc grew weary of waiting for me and turned to one of them. I would be relieved, I felt; I would be free; and then I thought I lied to myself, for I knew I must feel the loss of regard such as he bore for me.
Then I thought of the conquest of Wessex, and that of Mercia, and of Kent, and of all other Kingdoms of this land; that they might all fall at the hands of the Danes, just as Northumbria and Deira and Anglia and Lindisse already had. I thought of the brutality of their taking, and that I lay safe in the hall where the daughter of Merewala was ravished, and Merewala bled, protecting what was his. I thought of the village women, and their cruel usage; and of all those slain, men and women, here at Four Stones, thegn or cottar; of poor Dobbe’s son; and of the holy man who once lived here and was cut down with no regard to his calling.
But beyond these sad thoughts rose this simple truth: I am with these men now, and live amongst them, and accept their gifts; why should I not wed one, and one who regards me so well? I saw Sidroc, and his scarred face, and his dark eyes looking into mine. I recalled the day he had held me hard against his body, and I knew again his desire for me. I recalled his voice, steady and low, telling me he would wait for me. I recalled, too, our times at the place of Offering, and heard his voice repeat, ‘You are like us.’
Yet the thought of these things, and my love of Ælfwyn, too, could not make me easy about this. Some thing inside me could not open to Sidroc, and I nearly cried in my anger as I tried to convince myself that I should.
I finally slept that night, but then was roused again by some noise in the yard. The sleep was so heavy on my eyes that I could hardly move, but then Burginde arose, muttering, and lit a cresset from the brazier. We could not tell what it was, and could see nothing but a few torches moving in the yard, but the noise of creaking waggons and men talking told us that some other Danes must have come without warning. We pulled on our shifts and mantles and crept down the stairs, listening. The hall was dark, yet I heard Yrling’s voice, questioning and harsh, as he spoke to some men in the open doorway. I did not see Ælfwyn, and wondered if she had come out of the treasure room. Yrling stopped speaking, and moved away into the yard with the other voices, and we heard more talk. We went upstairs again, and into our room, and looked out our small windows into the dim yard. We seemed to hear noises around the side of the hall, as if men were going through the animal pens to the kitchen yard.
“‘Tis nothing but late night visitors, looking to be fed,” grudged Burginde as she crawled back into bed. I too felt tired, and slept with the sound of a waggon filling my ears with its c
reaking as it moved off.
In the morning when Ælfwyn came up Burginde greeted her with, “More mouths to feed,” and jerked her thumb in the direction of the yard.
“I do not think so,” answered Ælfwyn. She looked distracted. “At least they are not here any longer. They were Danes, and I do not know what they wanted, but Yrling was very angry when he came back.”
“He would not tell you why he was angered?” I asked.
“No, and he is still angry now. He was going to take a few men hunting today, but now because of whatever happened he will not leave until tomorrow.” She pulled a tangle from her hair with some little force. “I feel fearful, and afraid of knowing; yet I wish he would tell me.”
“Perhaps it is better you do not know,” I found myself saying.
She looked truly troubled, and only nodded her head.
“‘Tis probably nothing bad in your eyes; or even something meaning good to Wessex,” suggested Burginde, and we all tried to hold to this thought.
Chapter the Forty-second: Everything Changes
THAT night we had ewers of special ale on the hall tables, and Yrling spoke to the men of the hunt to come, and we drank to their success.
“I will not go, this time,” said Sidroc to me. “I will be moving the horses to their new pasturage.”
My interest showed, and he went on, “It is not too far from the valley, on the way to the forests. There is good ground there, well-drained.”
“We are so glad that there will be flax,” I said, and tried to show in my voice the gratitude I felt for his help. “And if you are over that way, perhaps you will see Yrling and his group on the way back.”
“And carry in the kill,” he nodded. “The stags will all be gone to higher ground, but there might be pig for the taking.”
The meal was a noisy and a good one, for the men going with Yrling looked forward to the hunt, and the rest of them to the bounty they might bring back. Yrling too seemed at ease again, and to have set aside what had angered him during the night.
In the morning Yrling and Toki and a few others left so early that when Ælfwyn came up to our chamber she told us they had already ridden. Sidroc was about, she said, and had told her that tomorrow he would be gone for most of the day or perhaps over the night when they moved the horses. The morning was a quiet one for us, but we welcomed it, and spent the good light it gave at our looms. About noon we heard a slow tread on the wooden stair outside our room, and guessed that Susa was come with our supper. Burginde went to the door and opened it and there found Dobbe herself grasping the tray.
She had never before come into our room, and so we were surprised, but what surprised us the more was the look on her withered face. Burginde took the tray from her and placed it upon the table, and Dobbe stood in the doorway, gazing upon us, her arms shaking from the palsy, and perhaps, I thought, fear. We rose from our looms and took a step nearer to her, since it was clear she did not intend to move.
“Dobbe?” asked Ælfwyn in a kind way.
Dobbe’s eyes watered as they latched on to Ælfwyn’s face, and she shook the more. “Lady,” she croaked out, “I have ill tidings, and I am afeard.”
None of us questioned, but all of us must have stiffened as we waited for her next words. She took a step into the room, turned and closed the door behind her, and then came forward to within a few feet of us.
“There be a man, a prisoner, below the hall in the kitchen yard, and he be a man of Wessex.” Dobbe jabbed her finger at the floor as she said this, but never took her eyes from our faces.
“A man of Wessex? Here? Where is he? Who is he?” gasped out Ælfwyn.
“Who I do not know, for when the Dane - the Lord, that is - had him brought in, he ordered all of us back to our beds, and made it clear that it should be as tho’ we saw nothing.” She started openly to weep, and Burginde came to her and placed her stool before her that she might sit. But she stayed upon her feet, and wiped her face with her apron, and went on. “Where, I can answer, for he is in the remains of the old cellars beneath the hall. They open only to the kitchen yard, and there be a Dane there now to keep us away and the prisoner in.”
“The men who came in the middle of the night must have brought him,” I said. “I recall we heard noises around the side by the animal pens.”
Dobbe nodded her head in agreement.
“Have you fed him? Is there any way to learn who he is?” asked Ælfwyn, still shaking her head in the amazement we all felt.
“I have ladled up food for two, but last night the Dane who watched the cellar entry only laughed, and ate both platter’s worth. And I have not heard any noises from the prisoner, but the cellar, tho’ it be tumbled into in places, runs a long way, so perchance he be too far away to be heard.”
Ælfwyn turned to me, her eyes glowing. “We must help this man,” she said, and tho’ it was spoken in a whisper, it was a whisper full of defiance. She turned back to Dobbe and asked, “Who can help us help him? Do you know? Is there anyone?”
Dobbe put her hand to her forehead and said, “Mul, the stable boy, brought him in.”
Ælfwyn whirled to Burginde and ordered, “Bring Mul at once,” and Burginde was gone.
Then Ælfwyn crossed to her huge weaving chest, and pushed open the top, and with speed brought forth the small casket that housed her secret silver. She dipped her hand inside, and then went to Dobbe and pressed a silver coin into the shaking hand.
“You have done well by me, Dobbe. It took great courage to come. Go now, before you hear more. Tell no one that you have told us these things.”
“Eomer knows I have come to you. We have been man and wife for forty years, and have shared all between us,” replied Dobbe.
“Of course,” Ælfwyn granted. “Eomer is different.”
Dobbe kissed the white hands that had pressed the silver into hers, and wiped her face again, and went down the stairs, leaving us alone to wait for Burginde and Mul.
They were not long in coming, and the quick light step of Mul was followed by the slow tread of Burginde. I closed the door behind them, and stood near to it that I might hear anyone’s approach.
Mul’s gawky face did not wear the quick grin it always showed to Ælfwyn, and he stood before us as if he already knew what we would ask. He pulled at his straw-coloured forelock and bowed his head to us.
“Mul,” began Ælfwyn, without any word of greeting, “I know there is a prisoner below us, and that he is a man of Wessex, my own country. Do you tell me what you know, for I must help him if I can.”
Mul looked around the room, and swallowed hard. “Aye, Lady,” he choked out, “I will tell you all I know. He was brought by the visitors of two night’s ago, who asked your Lord to keep him. He be a man of Wessex, and the King’s own kin, and rode with the new King Ælfred; for he be the son of the ealdorman of Kilton.”
All colour fell from Ælfwyn’s cheek, and she dropped her hands like stones at her sides. She breathed out one word, “Gyric.”
A sound like a low wail came forth from Burginde’s throat, and I myself gasped to hear the name of Ælfwyn’s love spoken as the prisoner. Ælfwyn said nothing more, but stood and stared at Mul in unbelief.
I spurred myself and asked him, “Did you speak to him? Are you certain it is him?”
“Speak to him I did not, Lady, for the Danes were all about us, and it was dark; and he was bound, and I think, gagged and hooded too as they carried him in. I could not see well, and was kept away, and they only wanted me because I know the cellars.”
“So you led them into the cellar?” I asked.
“Aye, and then was chased out of it. But I heard them talking, and they forget or do not care that I know so much of their speech.”
Ælfwyn now spoke as if awaking from a dream. “I must see him. I must see him now,” she said, and made almost as if she would fly down the stairs that moment.
Burginde took her arm and pulled on it. “Stop
, Lady,” she said, in a voice as urgent as her mistresses’.
Mul too stepped forward and said, “Lady, he be guarded by a Dane as we stand here, and no one is to know that he be even here.”
“Yes, Ælfwyn,” I said, seeing the real fear Mul had, “we must not risk those who are innocent.”
Ælfwyn stayed herself, but her words tumbled out. “What will I do? I must get him a horse so he can escape.”
She took a step toward Mul and asked, “You will help me, Mul, will you not? If I have need of you, and can promise you will not suffer for the aid you give me?”
This time Mul was quick with his answer. “I will do anything to aid you, and will suffer for you, too, if I must.”
She drew a deep and calming breath. “I will not make you suffer, Mul, I swear it.” She looked at me, and I saw in her face all the questions that circled her mind. She turned her eyes back to Mul. “Go now, and wait to hear from me. I will need a horse,” she said slowly, and then her eyes caught flame, “at least one, so think you how you might help me in this way.”
He nodded his head and asked, “Will it be tonight?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Tonight or tomorrow night; I do not know.” Her eyes moved quickly around the room, but she was not seeing. “Perhaps two horses,” she whispered.
“Go, Mul,” I said, and nearly pushed him out the door. I did not want him to hear any more of this.
“Gyric is here, he is here,” she breathed aloud when we were alone. “I will see him; I must see him soon.”
“Ælfwyn, you are mad, and talking treason,” I implored. “You cannot see him. What if you were caught?”
“I will not be caught. I must see him again, and must allow him to escape.”
I sat down at the table, unable to stand any longer. “How will we do it? He is under guard. The Danes will never let us in. And even to show we know that he is there is to endanger Dobbe and Mul.”
Ælfwyn paced around the room, and said firmly, “I do not know yet. We must think, think, of how best to free him.”
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 30