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

by Octavia Randolph

  “Go on your way now.”

  “Yes, my Lord. Yes.”

  So the man went.

  When we could hear the fellow no more, I touched Gyric’s hand. “What joy there will be when they all see you.”

  His answer was short, and sad. “They will see me - yes.”

  We went on, crossing from one trail to another, heading steadily South. We paused in a clearing late in the afternoon, and a breeze came up as it often does at that time of day. There was a smell in it that made me sniff.

  “It is the sea, Ceridwen. Do you smell it? That is how near we are.”

  “The sea? It can be smelt?”

  I took another sniff. It was tangy and fresh and not like any other thing my nose had met.

  “Yes, not only smelt, but tasted. It is salt, and fishes, and sea-weeds, and everything else that dwells there,” he said. “Tomorrow you will see it,” but his voice was quiet as he told me this.

  We stood together for a few moments longer, and he said, “In the morning we will come to the hall. There is a place I know that will be good to spend tonight at, a glade with a spring. From there we will be only an hour or so from the burh.”

  Near dusk we found the glade. We loosed the horses and unpacked our things as we had always done, and I built our fire and warmed our food as I had each night; but tonight we both knew that this was the last time we should live this way. Tomorrow we would enter the comforts and joys and sorrows of the hall, and our life together on the road be over, forever.

  And as I did every task that night, I held this knowledge within me, so that I think I touched my brass tinderbox in a different way; and regarded our little bronze cauldron with real affection. I recalled when Ælfwyn and Burginde and I had arrived at Four Stones, and the waggons were unpacked and the chests and baskets brought into our chamber, and thinking then that the waggon in which we had lived, and which had been shelter and a home to us upon the road, was now again only a common waggon. So now our tinderbox, and cauldron, and roasting fork, and bowls - all of these needful and precious things for our journeying - would lose their importance and become no more than what they were.

  Our meal was a quiet one. I did not try to rouse Gyric from his thoughts, for I knew much crowded upon his brow. He ate little, and spoke almost not at all, but I could not feel troubled, for always his hand was in mine, or his arm around my waist.

  We lay together that night without coupling, but only held each other, simply and sweetly. He stroked my face and hair for a long time, and I fell asleep upon his chest. Later in the dark I woke to his cry as he tossed in his sleep, and knew he rode the night-mare. I woke him with words and kisses, and he slept again, and tho’ he told me not of his dream, it was not hard to guess that it was of the night he was maimed.

  Chapter the Sixty-sixth: The Welcoming

  THE morning dawned, and I touched Gyric’s cheek. He took my hand at once and kissed my finger-tips. I felt then that he might have been lying awake by my side for hours.

  A breeze blew to us from the West, and on it was again the smell of the sea, telling us which way we must ride. I sat before our hide packs and drew out those clothes that I thought most fitting for us to wear that day. Amongst the silk gowns that Ælfwyn had given me was one of a watery green colour, and I chose that, and wrapped my pheasant sash around my waist. And I wore for the first time the green leathern shoes that she had packed for me as well, and put on at my throat the silver disc pin set with green stones she had given me the day she was wed to Yrling. And so thanks to Ælfwyn’s great kindness I would appear before Gyric’s people splendidly arrayed, with a gown and jewel of great worth.

  For Gyric I chose the best of the linen tunics from Merewala’s chest, and a pair of dark blue wool leggings, and the leg-wrappings of brown leather. He had no light-weight mantle, only the green one trimmed with gold wire and lined with miniver. But it was magnificent, and worthy of a King’s kinsmen, and he pinned it around his shoulders with the huge spiral silver pin that had been amongst the treasure that Ælfwyn had given us. On his right wrist he wore the silver bracelet set with lapis stones, and on each of his little fingers, the gold rings. Beyond all treasure that he carried was the silver and gold-hilted seax that he wore at his waist.

  We packed our camp for the last time, and I took a little effort to make our horses as trim as I could. I combed their manes and tails with my own comb, and as Gyric sat quietly by the spring, I plucked a rose for each and threaded its stem in close to the horse’s ears. Even they should be bedecked, I thought, for they had served us long and well upon our journey.

  We tied our packs upon their saddles, and I looked about the glade a final time, to be certain that we left no thing behind. Gyric stood by his gelding, and after he had lashed his spear against the animal’s flank turned to me.

  “I am ready,” is all he said.

  We set out into the beautiful morning, and I gave thanks for its fairness. We passed out of the glade into the trees, and one look told me that they were often trimmed and cut for wood. Here too were broad paths rutted from the wheels of heavy-laden carts. We travelled on the broadest of these, and the trees began to thin to grassland.

  To one side of us I spied a low wooden tower, of simple make, upon which was a platform of wood. From it a man turned and screwed up his eyes at us. About his shoulder he wore a leathern strap from which hung a brass horn.

  “Gyric, there is a sentry ahead of us, in a tower.”

  “He is one of the ward-corns. Stop your mare.”

  The man now was scrambling down the tower, and ran to us with his horn held in his fist. He stopped before Gyric’s horse and knelt. “My Lord, you are back,” he gulped, not taking his eyes for one moment from his master.

  “Yes, I am back. I go now to my father. Do not sound your horn, or leave your post. I know that you have seen me, and have been watchful.”

  The ward-corn was too astonished to say more than, “Yes, my Lord. As you wish it.”

  We left the man, gaping in the grass after us.

  The trees fell away as we rode up a slight knoll, and upon the top of it I reined my mare, for below and before us was all our goal.

  My eyes swept over the whole plain. Just before us were groves of trees planted in rows, with cottars working amongst them. To one side was a rolling expanse of pasture land, clustered with flocks of sheep so thick that hundreds must graze there. More were crowded into wooden pens, which I guessed might be the milking pens, for now that Summer was near upon us and the lambs weaned the cheeses would be made. Beyond the milking pens was a fenced pasture which held four score or more of spotted cattle, more than I had ever seen together in my life.

  Beyond this was the village of Kilton, with huts so many that I could not guess their number. Each had a large croft, and I saw many cattle biers and pig-houses and fowl coops within the crofts. A broad smooth road ran through the centre of the village; and my eye followed it, a dull red ribband, as it wound to the palisade of the burh of Kilton. There my eye rested long. The burh stood thrusting up upon a cliff of rock. Beyond it lay the brilliant blue waters of the sea.

  From our vantage I could see beyond the palisade and into the yard, and knew at once that I stood before the largest buildings, of the finest make, that I had ever seen or imagined. The hall itself was easy to mark, for tho’ it was set well back in the yard beyond the palisade wall, it was so tall and large that it proclaimed itself at once.

  There were many other buildings in the yard, of all sizes, and a chapel built of stone; but my eyes were fixed upon the tall white timber walls of the hall.

  “It is like the halls of the Gods,” I finally said.

  “There are orchards before us,” Gyric replied. “Let us take the road that runs through them.”

  I turned my mare down the grassy slope and we gained the road that would bring us to the trees. There were medlars, and apples, and quinces, and cherries, and I think many more that I cou
ld not name by their bark or tiny fruit. Folk bent amongst the trees, weeding or trimming sucker-growth, and as we approached they stopped in their work and looked at Gyric. Some of them ran out to us, and some of them ran away, and others crossed themselves. None of them spoke to us, or called out to Gyric, for they were too humble to approach a Lord; and since none of them looked to run ahead to tell others, I did not tell Gyric that they watched us.

  We passed out of the trees, and walked upon smooth grass. I looked back and saw a few of the orchard-workers trailing behind us at a distance, their faces filled with amaze.

  The burh was before us, and now I could see a great number of men at one end of the palisade fence, hard at work in the morning Sun. “There are many labourers digging a big trench before the wall, starting at the left,” I told Gyric.

  He turned his face as if he looked at the place. “That was Godwin’s idea. I am glad my father allowed it. It will help in the defence should we be besieged.”

  We were not far from the wall now, and my eyes were fastened upon the open gate. A movement above caught my eye, and I looked up to see the figure of a woman walking along a parapet on the top of the palisade. Her back was to us, and we were far below her and many paces away, but I knew at once it must be Modwynn, the mother of Gyric. She was tall and slender, and wearing a mourning-mantle of cream-coloured wool.

  I stopped our horses, and said softly, “Gyric, your mother walks the ramparts above us.”

  Then my eye was caught by a man who walked along the top of the gate arch. He looked at us and raised a shining horn to his lips and sounded a long low note.

  Modwynn turned, and looked down upon us where we sat on our horses, and she moved not. I raised my hand to her, and tried to smile, but I think she saw me not; her eyes were fast upon Gyric. Her hands went to her heart, and she stood without moving. Suddenly she turned and vanished from the parapet; and all the time the sentry upon the wall blew out the long note from his brass horn.

  Men dressed in the way of warriors started to rush out from the gate to meet us, but then stopped, their faces joyful and grave and wondering; and then Modwynn and a man in a cream-coloured mantle trimmed with gold thread-work hurried through them and came fast to us.

  “Here is your father and mother, Gyric,” I told him, for the man, white-haired and aged, carried the dignity of his estate upon him.

  I turned away from his parents to Gyric, and his face was pale. He took a deep breath, and swung himself down from his horse, and I slipped off my mare. Now his parents were nearly upon us, their eyes full of tears and joy.

  Gyric took a step forward and held out his hand, not in welcome, but to stay their movement towards him. They both stopped and stood speechless and wondering.

  “I beg you to stay father, until I speak to you,” began Gyric, and his whole body trembled as he asked this.

  He fell upon his knees and began to speak. “I have come back, and know you have grieved for me, and beg your pardon for it. I have come back, but nothing shall be as it was, and now I shall be only a burden and never a blessing to you. I am alive, but the Dane Hingvar has burnt out my eyes.”

  Godwulf gave a howl, and raised his clenched fists towards the heavens, and Modwynn pressed her hands against her face and wept. Then she took a step towards Gyric, but he raised his hand again as if to fend them off.

  A man, young and vigourous, now ran across the field to us from the farthest end of the palisade. He ran straight to us, and with such boldness that Gyric too turned his face towards his approach. The man ran up to us, and I looked him in the face, and my heart turned within my breast, for before me stood the face and form of Gyric, but whole and unmaimed, for his eyes of golden-green flashed as he looked upon his kneeling brother.

  “Gyric!”

  “Are you here, Godwin?”

  “I am here, brother,” he answered, and the horror in his father’s face told Godwin everything about the linen wrap that Gyric wore.

  Gyric turned his face back to his parents, and went on. “Now that I am back, maimed as I am, I beg you to accept me. And if in any way you welcome my return, then I beg you to accept this Lady with me, for without her I would have been dead many weeks. At great risk to herself she carried me from the keep of Four Stones in Lindisse, and kept me alive when I was near death, and has travelled all these many weeks with me, in hardship and danger, and has shown nothing but courage and faith. She is the sole reason I live, and return to you; and I have made her my wife.”

  During this speech the eyes that had been fast upon Gyric turned to me, and looked at me with wonder. Tears were running from my own eyes as Gyric spoke, not only from the horror and pity and love in the faces of his parents and brother, but to hear now his great praise of me.

  Now Gyric, still kneeling, pressed his two hands together before him, as a thegn does to vow to his Lord. His words were scarce above a whisper. “Do you accept me into your hall, father?”

  Godwulf waited not an instant, but crossed the grass between he and his son in one stride, and clasped the upraised hands between his own. I did not hear what he said in return, nor did I see what happened next, for suddenly Modwynn was before me. She caught me up and embraced me, and the tears upon our faces mingled as she kissed me and spoke. “My dearest daughter. You have brought my son back from the dead to me.”

  Her face, lined with years and ravaged by grief, was full of beauty and nobility beyond any I had seen in woman. I had no answer for her but my kiss, for her words choked me.

  She turned to her youngest son, and clung to him and wept in his arms, and Godwulf kept one arm about them both. I lifted my head and saw Godwin there, and again felt my heart move within my breast; and I could only stare at him as he stood before me.

  He was taller and broader than Gyric; he had more of his father in him. But the hair was the same coppery-gold, and the face had the same smooth brow, straight nose, and beautiful mouth. It was Gyric; it was him in every particular; but it was as if Gyric were whole again. I stood staring at him as if elf-shot. His eyes were truly golden-green, and he stepped closer to me and a voice within my soul whispered, This is Gyric, whole.

  Then Godwin spoke, and his voice was his own, and not Gyric’s. “Who are you?” he asked, but not unkindly. “You did what none of us could do.”

  “I am of Mercia. I am Ceridwen, daughter of Cerd. My father was an ealdorman by the river Dee.”

  I said these words as I had so many times before, but now they seemed without meaning, or at least not to answer his question.

  He just looked at me, and then he turned to his brother, and the two of them embraced, and I could not tell if they were laughing or weeping.

  Gyric called my name, and I was in his arms, and he embraced both me and Godwin at the same time. And there was such strength in this embrace that I could not breathe, so strong was it; and in the arms about me I felt that all the strength and health of Godwin and I flowed willingly and joyfully into my beloved Gyric.

  Then Godwulf started to shout out commands; and Modwynn came up beside us, and we were all walking towards the gate. I was aware that a large number of folk were now gathered about us, and that there was much noise and tumult; and that men were leading our horses behind us; and I even saw that the orchard workers still stood, a long way off, watching us. Now we were going through the gate, and there were so many men about us that it seemed a whole army dwelt there, for they were all dressed in leathern tunics and wore seaxs strapped cross their bellies.

  Everyone was talking at once, and some of us were still crying, and folk who knew not what had happened were coming out of this or that work-shed or stable in the yard, and seeing for the first time the returned Gyric; and all of this was on top of the ordinary noise of a great hall’s yard, for there were penned cattle lowing, and sheep baaing, and pigeons cooing and fluttering in and out of a big dove-cote, and roosters crowing for no reason.

  Now we were before the great hall it
self, and I looked up at timber walls made of slabs of oak four times my height. The huge oak door stood open on iron hinges as thick as a strong man’s wrist. Godwulf walked in first, with Gyric’s hand upon his arm, and me holding Gyric’s other hand.

  I had nothing to compare it to; it was twice as large as the ruins of Four Stones. Like all timber halls, it had a firepit, and trestle tables ready to be set around the walls; but nothing else was like the hall of my kinsman or the hall at Four Stones. Firstly, it was light inside, almost bright; and it was not the smoke hole above the firepit that made it so. At the centre of each of the two long walls there were set two wooden frames with iron casements, and these iron casements held many score of small pieces of glass, so clear that the Sun streamed through and made sharp shadows on the floor. The walls, too, were painted white, but not only white; for there were coloured designs of all sorts upon them, birds and dragons and flowers and trees and running harts and hinds. There were several doors cut into the walls, leading to where I knew not; and one of the long walls had many sleeping alcoves cut into it. The floor beneath our feet was of creamy stone with grey veins in it, and it too seemed to give off light. At the far narrow end of the hall the stone floor stepped up to form a low platform. It was there we all went to, and serving men came running out before us and set up a broad table on its trestles before we reached it.

  Godwulf still held his son’s arm, and I his hand, and when we came to this step Gyric seemed to be waiting for it, so that Godwulf had only to say a word and Gyric stepped up upon it without tripping.

  There were thirteen of us who came and stepped upon this stone platform. There was Godwulf, and Modwynn, and Gyric, and me, and Godwin, and eight men, all dressed as warriors, save one, who I just noticed, a young man with dark hair who wore the surplice and beads of a priest. The men who were warriors were of all ages; two of them looked as young as Gyric, three of them looked to have thirty years or so; and the last two were older still, with streaks of grey in their hair and eyes lined with years. And all of them, even the youngest, looked battle-hard and grim, and all watched well the faces of Godwulf and Godwin.