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

by Octavia Randolph

  “Yes,” I said, pulling a little crockery vial from the box. “Here is that which the leech gave you; also, I have oil as well.”

  “I will use this.”

  He turned his head to me. “Is there some warm water?”

  “I will bring it,” I answered, and came back with a bronze basin. He had set the razor down in front of him.

  He looked uncertain, and I wondered if I should offer to help in some way or if I should just go. To my relief, he smiled a bit and then said, “I hope I do not cut my nose off.”

  He splashed his face with the hot water, and then dried it, and then rubbed the oil upon his beard. He took up the razor and held it against his cheek as I held my breath. The first few strokes were very small and cautious, but he seemed to grow in confidence as he held the blade. “How am I doing?” he asked, after he had scraped away almost all the growth on one side of his face.

  “Very well.”

  “I am not bleeding to death?”

  “Only in a few spots,” I joked back to him.

  The hardest part was near his mouth, and he nicked his upper lip, and there were a few skipped places here and there, but in all I could scarce believe how well he did. I think he too took some pleasure in the finishing of this task, for his mood was now much lighter.

  I brought him fresh water, and he rinsed and dried his face. The afternoon Sun was hot and bright above us, and even tho’ my gown was still wet from my washing duties I felt warm.

  “I think now I will swim, since you say this lake is so fair,” said Gyric.

  “Swim?”

  Since I did not know how to swim, I did not think I wanted him to swim, either. How would he know where he was going? What if he should get into some trouble?

  He began unlacing his shoes and pulled them off, and then stood up. “Do you mind if I take off my tunic? I will swim better without it.”

  “Of course not,” I mumbled, still not wanting him to go but feeling glad at his desire to do so.

  He stripped the white tunic off, and I knew I blushed. I touched his arm, and he took my hand, and I led him to the edge of the water. “There is grass all the way here. At the other end there are reeds.” I looked down at my wet gown. “While you swim, I will stay here and wash my hair.”

  The water touched his feet and wet the wool of his leggings. “Just call to me, and I will know which way to swim back,” he said.

  He let go my hand and stepped onto the soft margin of the lake. A few more steps and the water was up to his knees. I stood there on the bank, watching him with clasped hands. He moved slowly, but with steadiness; and with a few more steps he struck out and cast himself full length into the blue waters. He swam strongly away from me. I was amazed to see how quickly he moved, and amazed too to see the grace with which he did it. On land he must always go slow, and with caution, and even then often tripped or bruised himself by hitting something. Here in the water he moved unfettered, and seeing him so made my eyes grow wet with tears.

  When he had gone some ways he turned and faced back to me, and I called out, “How well you swim!” and in reply he raised his hand before striking out again.

  I turned and fetched my comb, and feeling foolish, pulled off my gown and stockings but not my shift. Then I came back to the water’s edge, and waded in up to my knees, and knelt in the soft soil, and wetted myself and my hair all over, and all the time took pleasure in watching Gyric as he swam back and forth in the deep water. I stood up, and wrung out my hair, and went to my satchel and pulled off the shift that was clinging to me, and rubbed myself dry and put on a fresh shift.

  Gyric was still swimming about far from shore. I called his name, and he began to swim towards me. I stood at the edge of the water with a linen towel, and he came steadily closer to shore. Then the water was shallow enough to stand up in, and he waded in towards land, his dark wool leggings streaming with water and the linen wrap about his wound wet through.

  “How well you swim!” I praised him as I handed him the towel. “I wish I could do it.”

  “You cannot?”

  “No. The waters of the Dee were marshy, and the Prior never allowed me to go in the fish pond.”

  “Godwin and I learnt when we were young, in the sea. Lakes are simple compared to swimming in our swift channel.”

  “I admire you so much,” I said, and I think there was so much meaning in my voice that I tried to temper this by going on, “Let me get you dry things.”

  He had no dry leggings; they were all wet; but his linen tunic was so long that it covered him decently, and he made no comment of it. I went and brought out one of our blankets, and lay it upon the grassy shore, and fetched my comb, for I had not finished combing my wet hair.

  When I had hung Gyric’s things up to dry I told him, “I have spread a blanket, if you like to sit down,” and he put out his hand and took my arm.

  We sat down on the blanket facing the blue of the shimmering lake, and I combed my hair, and oiled it with a bit of the lavender oil I had, and sat with pleasure in the golden Sun. It warmed my bare arms and ankles, for I still wore aught but my shift; and Gyric leaned back on his elbows next to me and stretched his slender bare legs out before him.

  We sat thus in silence, with me combing my hair dry, and a slight movement from Gyric made me turn my head to him. A lock of my hair had fallen against his arm, and he had closed his fingers around it, and held it quietly in his hand. I put down my comb, and he spoke in a soft voice.

  “Ceridwen...what colour is your hair?”

  I thought a moment of how best to tell him. “It is almost like yours, gold; but yours is more red-gold, and mine like the colour of chestnuts.”

  He did not release his hold on the lock of hair, but now asked, in a voice even softer, “What colour are your eyes?”

  “They are green, dark green, like moss.”

  Now he dropped the hair and lifted himself on one elbow, and raised his hand before him. “I want to... touch your face,” he said, almost breathing the words.

  He reached forward and gently touched my cheek with one finger. Then he stroked it with his whole hand, and then slipped his fingers over the line of my brow, my nose, and then around my mouth. His finger rested for a moment on my lips, and I knew I moved not, for I could scarcely breathe. He leaned towards me, still touching my lips, and then his own lips were touching my face, and he pressed them to my forehead, and to my cheeks, and then he kissed my mouth; and never had I been kissed by man before.

  He kissed my lips very gently, and then held my face with his hands and pressed his lips against mine, and slipped his tongue into my mouth and tasted me deeply. I clasped my arms around his neck and felt the smoothness of his face and the ripples of his soft red-gold hair as I grasped it, and most of all the long sweet pressure of his tongue inside my mouth.

  And then one of his hands moved along my shift, and I felt his fingers slide up my naked leg, and caress my thigh. He pushed my shift up and cupped my breast in his hand, and drew his mouth away from mine, and took my nipple into his lips. I knew I gasped for breath; my heart was beating so that I felt it might burst beneath his tender lips. He said my name, Ceridwen; but did not so much say it as breathe it; and then he said it again and again as he brushed his lips over my breasts and throat and fastened on my mouth.

  I could not speak; my only answer was in my kiss. He pressed his thigh between mine, and groaned as he panted out my name. And within me everything opened to him, everything; and every part of my being was his; and the smallest part of what I wanted to give him was my body. I felt no fear, there was no room in me for anything but the bliss that his kiss awakened; and I moved my legs and he seemed to fall into me, hard and urgent. There was pain for a moment; sharp and hot, but nothing could mar my joy as he buried himself deep within me; even that pain brought me joy. His lips kept kissing my face and panting out my name, and he moved within me with great powerful strokes. I felt as part of the Ear
th beneath us, and part of the sky that blanketed us, and part of every living thing; I felt for an instant that I was him and me too. Then he shuddered, and made a sound almost like a groan, and clasped me even tighter to him; and then he lay still on top of me.

  He shifted a little, but kept his face close to mine, and with one hand pressed against my cheek. His breathing slowed, and became regular, and I did not know if he slept. After a little while he moved again, but did not speak. The way in which his arm still held me said everything to me, and I only hoped that my arms about him spoke my heart to him.

  His face was buried in my hair; I could not look at him. He sighed, and pulled himself away from me, and just lay face down by my side. He still did not speak, tho’ now with all my heart I wished he would, for the sigh troubled me greatly.

  I turned to him, and he moved a little farther from me, and I began to tremble so hard that no power at my command could make me stop. But he would not turn to me, or speak either; and now my heart, so full and joyous before, was shot through with fear. I yearned to speak his name, to touch him, but I thought he shrank from me.

  The Sun was still bright above us, the sky as blue, the air as warm, but the fear that took control of my heart was as the icy hand of Winter. I lay there, trembling alone beside him, and as I watched him his shoulders began to move, and I wondered if he wept.

  “Gyric?”

  For answer he thrust out his hand, and I grasped it, and he pressed my hand hard to his lips, and then released it. He spoke, and his voice was hoarse. “We should go on. I want to find someone to ask news of.”

  Numbly I rose, too miserable for speech or even tears. I smoothed my shift, and roughly braided my hair. Gyric rose too, and found his way to our packs, and I picked up the blanket and folded it. I walked to him, and felt the tenderness of my broken maidenhead.

  I plucked our damp clothes from the shrubs, and handed the driest pair of leggings to Gyric. I pulled on a gown and stockings, and mutely began packing our kit up. I felt I moved in a dream. Nothing I touched seemed real, even our horses as I caught them and saddled them were like shadows.

  We tied the packs onto the saddle-rings, and through it all Gyric never spoke. We climbed onto our horses, and left the lake and the greensward of grass behind us.

  Perhaps an hour passed. We walked through scrub growth, the lowering Sun to our right. Once or twice we crossed trackways, small and unworn. A few birds sang in the afternoon light, and the tall grasses brushed against our horses’ legs and made a swishing sound. The rest was silence.

  I felt as if I sat upon my mare in a stupor, but even in my dullness I saw a movement in the brush ahead of us. I lost sight of it, but as we went on saw it again. I was loath to speak, but knew I must. “Gyric, there is a man, a wood-gatherer, I think, walking before us. He is trying to hide from us.”

  His answer was quick. “Stop him. I must speak to him.”

  I looked at the set of his lips as he said this, and urged my mare forward. I glimpsed the man again, looking over his shoulder as he darted amongst the shrubs. “Stay, fellow,” I called out, wanting him to know I was a woman and he need have no fear of me. I lost sight of him, but as we approached where he had last been I called again, “Fellow, do not fear us. We will not harm you.”

  We stopped, and a rustling to one side told us he was near. “Come out,” Gyric commanded.

  The man came out, bent under the cloth sack of fallen branches strapped upon his back. He was old, and his face full of fear. Perhaps he was gathering in woods forbidden to him. He stood before us, speaking not, and perhaps gauging if we were of his shire.

  “There is coin for your answer,” began Gyric, in a voice so sharp that the man’s legs nearly looked to crumple in fear beneath him, despite this promise.

  “Yes, my Lord,” stammered the gatherer.

  “Where is there a Holy House near here?” demanded Gyric.

  The man blinked his surprise. “Near here, my Lord? We are near nothing.”

  “There is no Abbey or Priory near?”

  The man blinked again, and shook his head, fearful that his coin was at stake by this answer. “No, my Lord, I would there was for your sake.” The man jerked his head and recalled, “There be a monk not far. He be a watcher, and a fierce one, too. But ‘tis no Holy House, only his hut.”

  “Where is he?” demanded Gyric.

  “Not far, my Lord, not far,” answered the gatherer, and he brightened, for now his reward seemed secure. “Go on until you find an ash as great as they ever grow, and turn West, and then there be a brook, and then the path to the watcher’s. ‘Tis not far; your horses will take you there before dark.”

  Gyric was pulling at the red pouch at his waist. He flung something bright down on the ground, and the man pounced upon the quarter piece of silver.

  “All blessings to you, Lord,” he cried.

  But Gyric turned in his saddle and said to me, “Let us go.”

  I urged my mare forward, and only one thought was in my mind: That Gyric sought a Holy House so that he might leave me there. From a Priory I had come, and that is where he meant to leave me, for he was ashamed of me and what had happened.

  I found the ash tree, for it was indeed as great an one as ever I had seen, and as I looked upon it remembered it was the tree of all learning and truth, and my truth now was of my misery.

  We turned West, into the lowering Sun, and went on through the woods, tho’ I had as little desire to find the holy man as to meet my own death. I saw the brook, and then just by it, a pathway that turned off, and knew it must be the one leading to the watcher’s hut.

  “Here is the path,” I told Gyric, and my voice caught so that I could scarce form the words. “We will have to walk the horses. It is too low to ride.”

  He swung down from his horse at once, and I got off mine, and he put his hand on his gelding’s saddle and was led by him as I walked at the head of my mare. The Sun was going down, and it was darker still as we went farther into the trees.

  My legs felt so weak that I could not keep going forward. I stopped, and at last my throat opened, and I sobbed out my misery. “O, Gyric, do not put me away. Please just let me go with you to Kilton. I will leave you before we reach your hall; I only want to be sure you are safe.”

  His mouth opened, but he did not speak. He reached his hand out through the space that divided us and found my shoulder. He pulled me to him, and then both of his arms were around my waist. He pressed his cheek against mine and his voice was tight. “Put you away? I do not want to put you away from me. I cannot; you are my wife.”

  “Your wife?”

  “Yes, you are my wife, if you will have me as I am.”

  Now I think he also wept. He clung to me, and I to him, and all the joy I had felt and all the pain were as one within me; and I felt as one with his joy, and his pain.

  He kissed my wet face and whispered, “I made you my wife in my heart there by the lake, but was too cowardly to ask you. I only wanted to find a priest so that I could ask you before a witness.”

  “Your wife?” I asked again, when I could find my breath.

  “Yes, if you will take me as I am now.”

  For answer I pressed my lips to his brow, and to his lips. But even in my joy I still did not understand, and must ask him, “But why did you turn from me at the lake? I thought you were angry at me, or ashamed.”

  “I was, angry and ashamed both, but not with you; never with you. I was angry at myself. I did not really mean to... do what I did, but I wanted you so much, and once I began to touch your face I could not help the rest. Then I felt shame because I had not spoken for you in any way, nor told you that I wanted you for my wife. I was afraid to ask, but could not keep myself from acting.”

  He took my hands in his and kissed them, and held them folded in his, to his face. “I felt I did not have the right to ask,” he went on. “I could not tell what you wanted. You only spoke of getting to Kil
ton; and since I could not see you I never could guess if you might think of me.”

  “Think of you?” I echoed, and some laughter mingled itself with my tears. “I have thought of nothing else since the first time I saw you. From that night nothing else mattered. I only wanted to free you, to see you grow strong again, to be with you.”

  He laughed, too, and endlessly kissed my hands. “Then you are my wife?”

  “Yes, yes, Gyric, I am your wife, and I make you my husband. From the moment you kissed me you were my husband.”

  “I want to find this watcher and say these things in front of him.”

  “Yes,” I said, laughing and wiping away my tears, “I want to hear them again, and forever.”

  So we started down the path again, and this time my body felt as light as a wind-blown thistle, and my feet scarce seemed to tread upon the ground. The little brook was once again before us, and we crossed it in two steps, and beyond I saw a clearing with a tiny timber hut centred in it, and the hut was so thatched with straw that it looked a haystack with a door. Before the hut was a cook-fire, with an iron cauldron hung above it, and dinner ready cooking within, for steam rose out of it.

  I stopped our horses at the edge of the clearing, and told Gyric, “Here is the monk’s house.”

  Almost as I said this a figure emerged from the timber hut, and so filled the doorway as it came out that I wondered how it ever had gotten in. It was a man, large and powerfully built, and with a dark curling beard that nearly covered his face. His eyes were narrow and bright, for even in the setting Sun they twinkled as they regarded us. His clothes were of the simplest make, a dark brown surplice of coarse wool; and a cross of iron or some other black metal hung on a cord about his neck. He moved slowly, and stood before his camp fire, and regarded us not unkindly. He moved his right hand in welcome to us, and I saw the tips of two of his fingers were missing.

  I remembered myself, and bowed my head to him, and said to Gyric, “Here is the monk.”