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

by Octavia Randolph

  “Sir,” he started, and cleared his throat. “I see you bear a hurt to your eyes. We have a skilled leech here who might help.”

  Gyric turned his face to the man, and his answer was short. “They are not hurt. They are gone. A Dane called Hingvar burnt them out with a flaming iron.”

  Wilfric lowered his own face, but Gyric did not move. The older man pulled a bronze cross from around his neck, and touched it to his lips. “Christ blind him,” he swore under his breath.

  “He will be worse than blind before he is dead,” returned Gyric. His voice was colder, and quieter, than ice.

  I reached out and placed my hand over Gyric’s own as it gripped his cup. At that moment I did not feel bold in touching his hand this way. A sister would have done it, or any one who cared for him, and the pain he bore.

  The tables were set up, and benches carried in. All the household came into the hall, and we sat at meat together, with Gyric and I at the centre of the head table, seated between Wilfric and Hildfleda. We ate a meal that I had not had since a high feast day at the Priory, for there was two kinds of browis, and roast kid, and fishes stuffed with dried pears, and sheep’s cheese and goat’s cheese and many, many loaves of good bread. All of these things were put before Gyric and I on a brass platter, the best in the house, for we alone did not eat from wood. I broke Gyric’s food for him, and told him of each thing I set before him, and he ate well and with relish for the first time. There was more of the dark brown ale, and we drank many cups, and Wilfric spoke to Gyric solemnly and with respect; and the eyes of the household folk seemed fastened upon us during it all.

  I felt a strange sense sitting there, a sort of quiet joy in the very centre of me. I had been in danger, now I was safe; I had been hungry, now I feasted; I had seen great cruelty, now I knew kindness; the folk about me all spoke my tongue, and with my own accents, for I was back in Mercia; and all of these things gave me content. But my gladness did not spring from them, grateful tho’ I was. The deep pleasure - the joy I felt - was sharing all this with Gyric, sitting by his side, watching him eat and drink, rendering him small services to make lighter his sorrow.

  He did not say much; he did not speak at all of our tale, except that part pertaining to the trev; but his voice when he spoke to Wilfric was strong and full of authority. In that small hall I was allowed to know a different part of him, and he, another part of me. For the first time we had others about us like onto our own kind. Here we were not renegades, fleeing capture and death. Wilfric and Hildfleda regarded us with courtesy and honour, and to see Gyric treated with such dignity seemed to return one tiny part of all that had been snatched from him, tho’ it be as if one pebble remained from a whole mountain.

  The fire burned low in the glowing pit, and the last cups of ale were poured out, and the folk all about the hall yawned and stretched and began to take themselves off to their final duties of the day. Hildfleda rose and smiled upon me, and gestured to an alcove that her daughters were making ready for me. And tho’ sleep was heavy upon me from the rigours of the day, and I was drowsy, too, from all the rich ale, I did not wish to be parted from Gyric, nor let him be parted from me. But Wilfric rose too, and spoke in Gyric’s ear, and made ready to lead him off that he might prepare for sleep to come. So we all four stood, and I slipped my hand into Gyric’s for one moment. I said to him, “Bide well through the night”; and then I made myself turn and go with Hildfleda. I stopped one moment as Gyric placed his hand upon the arm of Wilfric to be led away to one of the waiting alcoves.

  When I turned back to Hildfleda, I lowered my eyes, which were brimful; and her own eyes were moist as she searched my face. What she thought of us I could not tell, for she spoke not her thoughts, but only smiled on me kindly.

  The alcove was next to that where Wilfric and Hildfleda slept, and I knew that her young daughters gave it up to me, that I might sleep in a place of comfort and honour. I pulled off my gown and snuggled beneath the wool coverlets, and the rush mattress let off a faint sweet odour of dried lavender. I murmured one word of prayer, that all be well with Gyric, and fell into the arms of sleep.

  Chapter the Sixtieth: Alone and Together

  WHEN I finally pulled back the curtain in the morning, I was abashed to see that everyone else was gone from their alcoves. Outside my own, on a bench, sat Hildfleda’s daughters, patiently waiting to attend me. A low fire burned in the pit, but the hall was otherwise empty.

  My eyes searched the alcove where I thought he had slept, and at last I said, “Where is my Lord Gyric?”

  “He is with my father, and the leech is with them,” answered the eldest with a curtsey.

  She had no sooner spoken thus, that Wilfric appeared through the main door of the hall. At his side, with his hand on Wilfric’s arm, walked Gyric. He was freshly dressed, with a clean linen wrap tied about his wound, and his copper-gold hair flowed in waves to his shoulders; but what caught my eye and held it was his face, for he had shaved, or been shaved; and the clean smooth line of his bare face set off his manly beauty as I had never before seen.

  I knew my eyes showed my gladness at seeing him, for after Wilfric’s greeting, he left Gyric alone with me. I touched Gyric’s arm, and we sat together on a bench before the fire. “How well you look!” I could not keep from saying.

  He smiled and touched his hand to his chin. “At least I am not so shaggy now.” He settled on the bench and added, “The leech did it, and gave me razor and oil to have upon the road.”

  “This house is full of goodness,” I answered, full in earnest.

  He nodded his head. “Wilfric has cared for us and our horses, and we will carry away much provander when we ride. I will make him take silver for all his trouble.”

  “Gyric, please to give me the jewellery pouch. I should like to give Hildfleda a ring for what she has done.”

  He pulled the red pouch from his belt and passed it to me, and I chose a wide silver ring, edged with granules of silver bead, as her gift. As he threaded the pouch back onto his belt he asked, “Are you ready to ride?”

  I looked around at all the comforts about us, savouring the safety and goodness of the place. I thought briefly of this, and then thought of the freedoms of the road.

  “Yes, I am ready,” I answered, and felt of a sudden eager to be off.

  “Good. After we have supped we will take our leave.”

  We rode through grasslands all day, and that night made camp just within a woods. When I had built our fire I drew out some of what Hildfleda had packed for us.

  “Roasted goose eggs, and boiled hen’s eggs, and sheep’s cheese in tansy leaves, and loaves of brown bread, and loaves of wheaten bread, and kid, and bunches of cress, and sacks of new peas, and beans and barley, and dried pears and apples and cherries, and much more, too, Gyric,” I recited, looking at all this bounty at our feet. A crumpled bit of waxed cloth caught my eye, and I unfolded it. “And salt - another twist of salt, too. How generous she was!”

  All of these good things made me feel almost gay, as if we were on an afternoon’s outing. “What will you have, Gyric? A little of each?”

  “Whatever you choose. It does not matter.”

  I stopped in my treasure-hunt and looked at him, sitting across from me. “Of course it matters,” I said, recalling that just last night, in Wilfric’s hall, I had taken pleasure in seeing him eat with some relish for the first time. “We have many good things here. I want you to have what you like most.”

  “It does not matter. Some kid or cheese, and a loaf.”

  The hollowness of his voice told me it truly did not matter. “Here is ale,” I said, and guided a cup to his lifted hand. He took it, and drank. For that at least I was grateful, and resolved to drink none of it myself so that he might enjoy it the longer.

  “We should hobble the horses,” he said. “Wilfric gave us a pair. Can you help me do it?”

  “Hobble them?” This surprised me, for they had never wandered. />
  “If we lose them, we lose much, for a horse triples its value in a land at war. We must guard them well against theft.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, glancing around me. The horses were grazing nearby, tied loosely by neck ropes.

  “They cannot be driven off quickly if they are hobbled, and your mare is sure to whinny if anyone strange tries to touch her.”

  I rose. “Shall we do it now?”

  We found the leathern hobbles in our kit bag. He held the horse’s heads as I slipped the slender straps over the front legs of both horses. They did not seem to be worried by them, and resumed their browsing.

  We sat down again, and I tried to engage Gyric in our food. He ate some kid, and a bit of cheese, and a small loaf. I tried to fill his cup again, but he would drink no more.

  Still, I was not troubled as I sat beside him in the flickering firelight. I knew he was sorrowed. No one had more reason to be, and this I accepted with my whole being. I did not want to try to change his sadness; I did not presume to think I could. I only bore within me that same feeling, alive and growing, that I had felt in the hall the night before: that deep and quiet content of sitting near him, watching his face, doing some small service for him that might light a candle in his darkness.

  And too, I was once again alone with him. With all the dangers and discomforts of the road, I knew that I chose it over the safety and comfort that a hall afforded; for the road we shared alone, and together, and we knew each other first and foremost in this way. I thought then of the rich timber hall at Kilton, and the greatness and wealth of his people. I could not know or guess what would become of me after we arrived there, and I did not allow myself to dwell upon it when so many other uncertainties faced us.

  Chapter the Sixty-first: The Well

  AT dawn the skies cleared as the Sun rose up in the East. Most of the morning was spent in the same woods, and not until we stopped at noon did the trees begin to thin about us. We leaned against a broad oak trunk and nibbled at some loaves and roasted eggs. As we rested there, a faint acrid smell wafted to my nose, and I gave a quick sniff and then a much deeper one. “Charcoal-burners,” I said. “Perhaps we are near their huts.”

  Gyric smelt it too, and inhaled deeply.

  “Charcoal-burners?” he asked, raising his face to the forest sky. “At work burning in May?”

  Of course he was right; the charcoal makers did not begin their burning until the Feast of Peter and Paul, and late June was six weeks away.

  We remounted, and the oaks gave way to alders and maples, and between these were many trackways, showing signs of old and constant use. “It cannot be long before we are at a trev, Gyric. The pathways are well-worn, and all begin to run together.”

  Now a smudge of smoke appeared behind the trees before us, and the smell grew strong indeed. Before I could tell Gyric of the smoke, he said, “That is no smith’s forge; nor burning of coke either.”

  The edge in his voice made me slow our horses even more. “There is smoke now,” I told him. “I see it clearly, rising above the maples before us.” Drifts of it now floated by us. It was sharp, and made of many smells, and held none of the sweetness of the charcoal-burner’s art in it.

  His face was uncertain, and I reined our horses to a stop. Without reply he pulled his long seax from his sheath, and held it low and flat against his gelding’s neck. “Be wary,” he said, as he had so many times before.

  “Shall we go on?” I asked, not knowing what we might find, but fearing the worst.

  “Yes, but tell me all as you find it.”

  I made my mare quicken her pace. “There are fields ahead. I see an edge of a furrow beyond the trees.”

  As we gained it, the wind shifted, and a cloud of smoke, black and acrid, stung my eyes and made me cough. I stopped our horses at the edge of the furrow, and with watering eyes looked across the field.

  I made myself speak slowly. We were a long way from what I gazed upon, and the distance made the scene seem less than real. “There are ploughed fields before us. Beyond the fields is a little burh, like onto the size of Wilfric’s, or larger; I cannot tell its size from what is left. Most of it is burnt, and there are a score or two of huts before it, burning too. The palisade is nearly down. There are many small timber buildings within the burh still smouldering. A few folk are moving about the fields close to the huts. There are no horseman. There is no fighting.”

  “Can we be seen?” was his one question.

  I scanned the scene again. The few figures moving about were far from us, and kept close to the heaps that were once huts. “No one looks this way.”

  “Take us back within the trees so that we pass without being seen.”

  “We are going on?” I asked dumbly, still blinking at the destruction before us.

  “Yes. There is nothing but misery there. We cannot help them, and may ourselves be harmed. Go.”

  “Yes,” I mumbled, and kicked my mare to turn her head.

  We entered the line of trees again, and picked our way past the fields that edged the despoiled burh. I did not speak to Gyric, and he did not say more. A few curls of smoke drifted through the trees, but I could no longer see their source. All was still. Perhaps the smoke drove the birds away. I was grateful I could not hear the wailing of those who remained alive in the burnt settlement. Thinking this, I cursed my cowardice, so great that I wished to spare myself the sound of others’ suffering.

  We went on, slowly and steadily, and in silence. The Sun began to lower in the sky, telling me that we should soon make camp. I did not wish to stop, but to travel as far as we could before nightfall.

  We came to a stream, wide and full-throated in its Spring flow, and my mare nickered as she smelt it. I slipped off her back, and went and plunged my hands into the cool water. Gyric’s gelding nosed his way to the stream’s edge, and I untied his rein so it might freely drink.

  “Since it is already dusk, and there is water here, we should stop,” said Gyric from his saddle. He swung himself down, and his gelding moved forward to the water. It was nearly dusk, for amidst the forest trees it came on quickly; but I felt much surprise that Gyric knew this.

  “You are right,” I said, and my voice must have showed my wonderment.

  “A nightjar sang, not long ago. They never call until the Sun is gone.”

  I did not recall the birdsong, but my thoughts were so heavy that I might have been deaf to much. Gyric heard and remembered everything; his knowledge of woodcraft was great.

  He put out his hand and found his gelding’s flank, and then unlaced his spear from the horse’s side. “Is there fodder enough here for the horses?” he asked me.

  I looked around the small clearing where we stood. “There is a bit of grass on both sides of the stream. It will be enough,” I decided.

  We freed the horses from their trappings, and I went about setting up our camp. We were both quiet. Gyric sat upon his sheepskin, leaning back against his saddle. After I had got the fire lit he spoke. “I am trying to think which way they are riding,” he began.

  I did not need to ask who he spoke of; the graveness of his voice told me it was the Danes.

  “You do not think they will stay here in Mercia?”

  “If that is their goal, they will turn East, and attack the larger and richer burhs closer to Burgred. The places they have destroyed here provide provisions, but little treasure in the form of silver or arms. I think their goal lies in Wessex.”

  “It is a rich land,” I breathed aloud, recalling all that Ælfwyn had told me.

  “Yes, it is a rich and fat land; and it is but imperfectly defended. The Danes must be ready to engage the nobles of Wessex on a scale that we have not yet seen.”

  I watched him as he sat, tracing over and over again with his fingers the carved design in the hilt of his seax. When he again spoke, his voice was low.

  “We won at the Vale of the White Horse. It was the first real contest we
won against them. I wonder if we have ever won again.”

  I wanted to say, Surely, yes; or remind him that the battle he had been captured at had finally been won by Ælfred’s forces; I wanted to say any word of hope or comfort, but no word came. I thought instead of sword-less Wilfric, and of the folk of the destroyed burh; and thought of any Dane at Four Stones with his ring shirt and gleaming sword and battle-axe; and this thought made me close my eyes.

  The smell of our little cook-fire made me speak. “What of those they meet in their path? Will every settlement suffer as the trev and burh did?”

  “By now runners have been sent by the reeves and bailiffs. The folk will be warned, and at least have time to shelter their livestock. Burgred himself may give chase if he is not far. The Danes move swiftly, but the ealdormen of Mercia have good forces. The Danes will not always find the taking so easy.”

  “And us?”

  “Nothing is changed. We must keep overland as often as we can.”

  We did not speak of much else, and the night closed up around us.

  The next afternoon we came upon a well-rutted track, old but too narrow for swift travelling by many riders, so we thought it safe to take it since it went South. We were wary in doing so, but we made good time upon it. The Sun and warmth gave its own comfort, and to my delight I saw whole sheafs of May roses, full in bud and ready to bloom, along the track as we went on.

  At one point we found a stone well, with a pail and dipper ready to be lowered by thirsty travellers. Nothing else was about, save for the pile of small stones heaped by the grateful as a thank-offering to the ancient water spirit of the place.

  “How well ordered King Burgred keeps this part of his land,” I remarked, after we and our horses had drunk our fill. “It is like the stories of times past, when a woman and new-born child could walk alone the breadth of Northumbria, from sea to sea, and do so in peace and with water and a brass dipper at every stream put there by the King.”